Summary: A little Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys AU for my Spooky Season Fic List
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My hands shake around the ancient text, the worn tome heavy and dust laden from years upon years of sitting on a shelf, untouched and forgotten. The old latin script is illegible in places, the ink faded and hidden under unidentifiable stains; the parchment is dog-eared and scribbled in, the margins full of strange, archaic markings I’ve never seen used in our Coven’s rune work. These are not the spells of my ancestors, not the runes my mother and grandmother cast upon the old foundations of our family home. We are a family of witches, dating back beyond the ages of written word; I am supposed to carry on that legacy, but truth be told, I’ve always been terrible at spellwork. My potions are mediocre; powers of persuasion abysmal. I truly am a poor excuse for a witch, and everyone in the coven knows it. Perhaps that is why Sister Ruth chose me to put on a demonstration at the Solstice Festival tomorrow. If I cannot prove my worth, well, maybe it is in the best interest of the coven to throw me out, or worse, make a sacrifice out of me.
I would not be the first.
I grip the tome a little tighter. I must prove my usefulness. I cannot fail my sisters, or worse, my grandmother. She raised eight successful witches, it would be to her utter shame to have been my teacher all these years for nothing.
I draw a shaking breath. These spells are old magic. Dark magic. But I must get good at something quickly, and the gods know I will not get there on any natural talent. Perhaps I don’t need to be a natural. Perhaps I just need to summon something that is.
On the old wood floor of our basement, I have laid the circle of obsidian salt in three overlapping circles, each etched with runes of chalk for protection. Just in case, I’ve dusted the floor with dried rosemary and anise seeds; an added barrier against whatever evil I might accidentally conjure if this goes wrong. My mother’s amulet feels heavy beneath my sweater, the cold iron biting against my skin as if in warning against what I am about to do.
I take another deep breath and ignore the warning. I must not fail.
The words are clunky, foreign on my tongue, the first couple of tries produces no results at all. Perhaps I really am the worst witch ever!
I grip the tome so tight the spine groans as I try again, slower this time, sounding out each word piece by piece. I will not fail.
The whole basement is lit with candles and as I finish the final words of the spell, the light suddenly snuffs itself out.
The air in the room drops to near freezing temperatures. My hands so stiff and shaky around the old tome that the book slips from my hands and falls somewhere in the darkness. I make it onto my knees to look for it in a mad scramble before the sound of rushing wind fills the tiny room. It’s so loud I have to cover my ears with my shaking hands.
In the center of the salt ring, dark shadows begin to slither out from a crack in the floor, hissing like a dozen tiny snakes.
What have I done?!
I scramble to find the book in the dark, hands tearing over the anise seeds and clumps of rosemary. Perhaps the crushed scent of herbs will be enough to ward off whatever terrible shadow I’ve just called upon!
The temperature of the room continues to drop, lower and lower, even as the screeching wind gets louder and louder. The shadows within the circle grow darker and thicker by the moment, spinning now like a whirlwind. At least the salt holds.
And then, as quickly as the noise had begun, it suddenly quiets. All the candles light themselves again, allowing me to see where I’d dropped the book: Directly into the circle, having bounced over the line, and it now sits at the feet of the most handsome male I’ve ever seen in my life.
I can do nothing but stare. I had meant to summon some help, the soul of an old mage or a spirit from another world, perhaps, but not… well, whatever he is. He’s definitely alive, his bronze, bair chest rising and falling, making the swirl of dark ink over his skin move in twining patterns. Not a spirit, though I do not know what to make of the great, bat-like wings that sprout from his back, the leathery membrane twitching as he brings them close to his body to avoid the barrier the salt creates. And his eyes! Gods, there like two blazing, violet suns inside the sharp planes of his face.
“Well isn’t this interesting,” he purrs, voice smooth as velvet.
“Gods, what have I done?” I whisper to no one in particular.
His mouth twists in a devilish grin as he bends down to pick up my tome. From the tips of his fingers come dark claws. A bit of living shadow curls over his wrist, moving like snakes across the worn pages. “No gods here, Darling.”
I, somehow, find it within me to stand, despite my shaking legs. It is still terribly cold in this basement; the source of it seems to be coming from him. “What are you?”
He chuckles as he flips through the pages, claws running affectionately over the runes written in the margins. “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”
The longer I watch him the more off I realize he is. There are fangs in his mouth, the sharp tips of them glinting in the candlelight. Tiny, glittering drops of starlight glisten in the strands of his raven-black hair. Intertwined within the ink across his chest are smaller versions of the runes written within the pages of the book.
“I’ll stay right here,” I say.
He sticks out his full lower lip in a pout. “That’s no fun!”
He takes a step closer to the line of salt, testing the barrier with the tip of his boot. At least I managed to summon him half-way decent in a dark, leather pair of pants and boots. I don’t know what I’d do if I had summoned him fully nude.
My cheeks flush at the thought, drifting down to follow the defined V of his abs, and where his pants slide low on his hips. If he were human I’d climb him like a tree.
“Don’t tell me you summoned me just to gawk?” He presses. When he catches where my eyes are on his body, he adds, “Although you’re welcome to enjoy the view for as long as you like.”
I let out a huff. “I didn’t summon you for anything! I was trying to talk to the spirits.”
“There’s only one spell that can summon me, and you picked it,” he turns the book to show me the exact page I’d been reading from. “So tell me, what is it you want, Witchling?”
The way he says Witchling makes my skin flush; the heat in his tone enough to make me second guess myself. Why did I think that spell would summon something else?
Perhaps I am a fool for saying it, but I blurt, “I need help.”
“Do tell,” he purrs.
“I’m supposed to give my coven a display of my magic tomorrow, for the Solstice, and well… I’m kind of the worst witch ever.”
He glances at the herbs on the floor, and then back up to me. I swear there are actual violet flames moving around within his irises. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think it’s anything that can help me. But how am I supposed to send him back without the book?
“I meant to summon a spirit to guide me in some quick magic. I didn’t mean to summon, well, whatever you are.”
“I am many things,” he says, walking a slow circle around the barrier, testing it. It’s like watching a recently caged animal at the zoo; he’s testing every point for a weak spot, and if he finds it, he’s using it.
I swallow the lump in my throat. What do I do if he gets out?
“But you can call me Rhys.”
If there is any heat left in the room, it leaves in a rush. “As in Rhysand? One of the Princes of Hel?”
Rhys drags his claws over the invisible barrier the salt creates and I watch the magic ripple and pulse under those sharp tips. “Perhaps.”
“You need to go back,” I say in panic, even though I know it can’t work that way. I summoned him. I have to be the one to send him back. Without the book, Hel, even with the book, I can’t do anything.
“Then send me back, Witchling.”
I’m going to have to get my grandmother, and everyone is going to know that not only am I a failure as a witch, but I am a danger to all of us. I can’t even read a spell book right! I summoned a Prince of Hel by accident!
I chew on my thumbnail, pacing now myself around the outside edges of the salt. What do I do? What do I do?
“Oh but you can’t, can you?” He teases, knocking the book against the barrier. “Not without this pretty little thing.”
The dried herbs crunch under my boots as I keep pacing. There are no other tomes like that accessible to me, not without the Elders knowledge. This one had slipped past unnoticed in my grandmother’s grand collection, I had found it by sheer luck. There were no other texts to help me out of this one, and at this rate, even if there was, could I even get it to work?
“So how about we do this my way, hmm?”
A shiver crawls its way up my spine.
“You break the barrier, and I will help you with your little Solstice tomorrow.”
I finally turn to look at him. “You would do that?”
“After tomorrow night, you can send me back and we can pretend this whole thing was a bad dream.”
Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all! Maybe I can still turn this around!
“You won’t cause any trouble?” I ask.
He puts a clawed hand over his heart. “I will not cause any trouble.”
“You swear it?”
“I cannot break my word, Darling,” he returns.
My hands shake. What other choice do I have? “Just until the Solstice passes.”
“I promise you, that is all the time I will need.” I have to admit, his voice is strangely soothing. He does not strike me as some malevolent ruler of darkness at all.
I grab a broom off the wall. “It’s a bargain then.”
He grins wolfishly the entire time, watching my every step as I approach with the intensity of a wolf stalking a deer.
I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s only one night, what could one night hurt? With one last shaking breath, I drag the broom through the salt and break the seal.
The book clatters to the floor for a second time tonight, as he lunges forward, a clawed hand wrapping around my neck as his momentum propels me back against the wall. I hit the worn stones so hard dust rains down from the ceiling.
Panic grips me; I have no magic to save me as a real witch ought. He’s taller than I thought he was, towering over me as his grip on me tightens to the point of pain, the tips of his claws leaving indents in my skin.
Rhys chuckles at my plight as he leans down and brushes his lips over mine in the ghost of a kiss. Ice fills my veins at the contact. “Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”
・✦・Haven・20's・she/they・MDNI 18+・monster lover・haunted house enthusiast・inbox - OPEN・anon - ON・✦・
✦ Theme of the Month・The Forest
✦ Monthly Miniseries・//
Info
this is a sideblog mostly to post my monster romance stories and ideas! i have a sizeable backlog of works that i'm rewriting, but i'm working on new stuff and i'm always up for more ideas and opinions!
i love all interaction! likes, reblogs, asks, tag games, and whatever else are all welcome here! inbox and anons are usually kept open, but if, for some reason, i have to close either, i'll update the above info. all i ask is for people to be polite - blank blogs, ageless blogs, and anything rude or otherwise will be an immediate block.
Recent
Monster Monday - Mimic x F!Reader | link
Witch x F!Reader x Witch || masterlist・✦・i.
Monster Monday - Necromancer x F!Reader | link
Friday the 13th Special - Serial Killer x GN!Reader | i.・ii.
Monster Zookeeper x Reader || masterlist・✦・i.・ii.・iii.
April Fool's Day Special - The Fool x F!Reader | link
Easter Special - The Rabbit x GN!Reader | link
Monster Monday - Vulture x GN!Reader | link
Monster Monday - Rat King x F!Reader | link
Monster Monday - Bat x GN!Reader | link
Upcoming
Request - Slime!GF part 2
Request - Mermay
Request - The Fool (cont.)
Monster Monday - Ogre x Reader
Monster Monday - Swamp Monster x Reader
Monster Monday - Troll x Reader
Holiday Special
・✦・
Credits
pfp ✦ joanmadethis (insta・ko-fi)
header ✦ Timo Ketola aka Timo Tapani Ketola (Finnish, 1975-2020, b. Helsinki, Finland, d. Rome, Italy)
I think the title says it all. This is a list of all I read and reblogged in January. I highly recommend all these fics. There are clones, Call of Duty, "monsters", and Yautja. A little something for (almost) everyone.
What I Read Masterlist
Hunter
Hunter Bad Batch Headcanons by @tanobatcher - Headcanons about Boyfriend Hunter
Bad Batch - Omega Isn't Going Back to Kamino - Extended Scene by @almostcanon1409 - Hunter comforting Omega
Dead Imps Tell No Tales: Ch. 3 by @badbatchposts - Pirate Captain Hunter x OC
The Bad Batch
Cross x Tahny Modern AU: Part 10 - End by @tahny-andthe-diamonds - Crosshair x OC
TBB x GN Reader Flirting Headcanons by @onemass
Wolffe
No Turning Back: Ch. 8 by @ulchabhangorm - Wolffe x OC
No Turning Back: Ch. 9 by @ulchabhangorm
I Yearn and So I Fear: Ch. XXVI by @enigmaticexplorer - Wolffe x OC
I Yearn and So I Fear: Ch. XXVII by @enigmaticexplorer
I Yearn and So I Fear: Ch. XXVIII by @enigmaticexplorer
Other Clones
Pan's First Life Day by @ulchabhangorm - No pairing, just Jedi and Clone OC sweet fun
No Foxes in This Hole: Ch. 5 by @frostycatblr-fandom-files - Fox x OC
Quantum Entanglement: Ch. 11 by @freesia-writes - Howzer x OC
Quantum Entanglement: Ch. 12 by @freesia-writes
Quantum Entanglement: Ch. 13 by @freesia-writes
Quantum Entanglement: Ch. 14 by @freesia-writes
Quantum Entanglement: Ch. 15 by @freesia-writes
Quantum Entanglement: Ch. 16 by @freesia-writes
Call of Duty
Whimper (viii) by @mooncalfed - Insomniac!Simon x Insomnniac!Reader
Should've Been a Better Son by @impurefawn - Simon x Reader
Ghost is Amazing at Giving Gifts by @rawme-price - TF141
And the x Reader addition by @soapsjockstrap - Simon x Reader
In Your Eyes I Saw A Longing, While I Longed to Lift You Up by @theorist-fox - John MacTavish x Reader
"Bet you'd make cute babies..." by @konigswaifu - Konig x Reader
Older Price With a Sir Kink by @silverlullabies - Price x Reader
Yautja (Predator)
Yautja x Human Prompt (after a Christmas party) by @afreakforyautja - Yautja OC x Reader
Unbound by @afreakforyautja - Yautja OC x Reader (Continuation of Trapped)
Eyes on Me, Part 1 by @afreakforyautja - Yautja OC x Reader
Eyes on Me, Part 2 by @afreakforyautja
Eyes on Me, Part 3 by @afreakforyautja
The King's Right Hand: Pt. 20 by @afreakforyautja - Yautja OC x Reader
"Monsters"
The Big Bad Dragon and his little shiny human by an Anon and @vals-lente - Dragon x Reader
Seaweed Monster x Reader by @bumpen-underbeds
The Orc Next Door by @aelia-likes-monsters - M!Orc x F!Human OC
Your Orc Husband by @iwanttoadoreyou - Orc x Human Reader
Hate Sex With a Werewolf by @specsthesecond - Werewolf x Human Reader
Hate Sex With a Werewolf, Continued by @specsthesecond - Werewolf x Human Reader
Miscellaneous
Executioner Gets to Pick His Wife by @mintmatcha -Executioner x Reader
-gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit-
Pairings: Count Orlok x OFC! Elenor
Content Warnings: language, very dark themes, mentions of death including child death(off-screen), vampirism, "monster fucking," mind control, drinking, drug use, hallucinations, physical and mental abuse, violating a grave, and burning of a body. If I miss any content warnings please let me know and I will be happy to add them!
Summary: You wakened me from an eternity of darkness.
You... You... You are not for the living. You are not for human kind.
And shall you be one with me ever-eternally? Do you swear it?
Elenor grew up hearing folklore about her family lineage. When death takes someone close to her, she’s forced to step foot into a home she was exiled from. Something draws her towards a box in the attic and once she opens it, she’s visited every five years by the darkness she was destined to always find.
Authors Note: So this is a modern version of Nosferatu with Bill Skarsgard's version of Count Orlok. As I mentioned in the warnings, this is a very dark/mature story so please read at your own risk. I will do my best to keep things true to the movie/story but some things might change. Tags will be open if anyone is interested.
2010- 20 YEARS OLD.
ELENOR
Grief is a very peculiar thing. It hits everyone differently, some bedridden for weeks while others continue on with their day as if nothing happened. I suppose I’m a mixture of both; not really bedridden but I do find it extremely difficult most days to live on with my life knowing who I lost.
My grandma, Helena Hutter.
She passed away in her sleep the other night which was odd to my father and I because my grandma was a healthy person. No signs of age or sickness, even though she was in her eighties. That’s considered young to most.
When my father found out she died, he fueled his private jet so we could fly to Romania. We lived here up until my fifteenth birthday and suddenly the morning after, my father whisked us away to the States. Whenever I tried to ask him why the sudden move, he always had the same answer.
“Last minute job opening.”
Growing up, my life was what some considered privileged. My father owned a multimillion dollar company and gave me anything I wanted. I didn’t realize until I was older that I realized it was because he was a single father and felt guilty for what happened to my mother.
On my sixth birthday, when I wondered why I didn’t have a mom while my friends did, my father said it was because she died giving birth to me. That was the first and only time he ever talked about my mother.
For the last five years, I lived in the states, finishing highschool and I was currently in my second year of college. I was studying history, unsure what I wanted to do with it once I graduated. Thankfully it was fall break so I had a few free days to help my dad clean up my grandma’s house.
“Elenor. ELENOR!”
Snapping my eyes away from the packed up kitchen, I glanced over towards my father who was sitting at the kitchen table with papers strewn about. He’d been going through my grandma’s will and financials, the stress evident on his face. Out of four kids, my father was the only one that was willing to come to his mothers house to pack things up. His brothers, my uncles, wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. All because of The Hutter Curse.
Since my grandma was born, our line was only filled with men. There wasn’t a woman born for sixty years until I was born. My uncle Tony said that is what killed my mother; giving birth to me. I broke the curse and for that, someone had to pay the price.
“Did you say something?” I asked with a sheepish smile when my father called my name once more.
He pinched his eyes shut with a sight. “How many more rooms do you have to pack up?”
“Just the upstairs bathroom which really shouldn’t take me long. Why?” I ran a hand through my black hair.
Another part of the curse from what my uncles tell me. Everyone besides my grandmother, was born with blonde hair and blue eyes.
Me?
Black hair with brown eyes dark enough they could be considered black.
“We need to get back home by tomorrow evening. An important board meeting came up and I have to be there,” my father explained.
I nodded, silently thankful that we were going back home. As much as I loved my grandmother, her house gave me the creeps. I alway felt like someone was watching me.
Leaving my dad to finish whatever he was doing, I slowly took the stairs towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. My feet came to a halt just right before the bathroom, not quite stepping over the threshold. My father warned me when we first arrived here the other day not to go up in the attic and when I asked why I couldn’t, he said it had been locked for years and no one had been able to get inside.
Yet, my wide eyes stared at the open attic, the ladder pulled down to the ground. I know for a fact it wasn’t open like this when I was up here earlier today. Maybe my father had opened it while I was doing our lunch run and forgot to close it.
Veering away from the bathroom, I hesitantly took the stairs up to the attic, feeling this sudden magnetic pull to see what was up there. Almost like a voice was calling for me.
There was a light already clicked on which I should have thought was odd but again, I assumed my father forgot to turn it off. There were boxes lined everywhere, I could barely walk through. The smell of something old and moth balls permeated the air and I had to pull my shirt over my nose.
Better to pretend I didn’t see this mess and head back down.
Turning on my heels, I was about to do just that when I caught sight of a small box on top of a shelf directly ahead of me. I couldn’t explain it but it seemed off, like it didn’t belong with the rest. The same magnetic pull that brought me up here began to guide my feet towards the box, almost as if I was in a trance. The only thing on my mind was finding out what was inside of it.
Grabbing the knife from my back pocket that I’d been using all day to cut pieces of tape, I cut open the box.
“Fuck!” I cursed, bringing my finger to my mouth to suck the blood that began to pour from cutting it against the sharp blade.
This was not how I expected to spend my 20th birthday. I’d rather be out with my friends, getting drunk, and dancing the night away. Instead I’m slicing my hand on a knife while going through my dead grandmother's belongings.
My heart sank when I thought of her. I hadn’t seen her in five years due to what happened the last time I was here; the incident my father refuses to talk about.
“Grandma, I had this weird dream,” I called out to her as I ran into the kitchen that morning, ready for her breakfast of pancakes and two slices of bacon.
“About what?” She asked me, curiosity filling her eyes.
Sitting at the table, I rested my chin on my hand. “I can’t remember much, just this hand reaching out to me. It had long fingers and even longer fingernails. I wasn’t sure if it was a human or some kind of monster. He only said three words.”
I’d been so engrossed in talking about my dream I hadn’t noticed my grandma freeze over the stove, her back rigid with this unknown emotion.
“Dream of me,” I said, still not noticing the shake in my grandmother’s hands. “It was so weird!”
Blowing out a shaky breath, I held my bloody hand against my chest while I opened the box in front of me with my good hand. I smiled looking at old pictures of her before setting them to the side, digging through some more until my fingers brushed along something hard at the bottom. Pulling it out, I raised a brow at the older looking jewelry box and realizing I needed both hands to open it, I wiped away some of the blood on my jeans before opening it.
“Oh shit,” I gasped seeing the older necklace inside of the box.
Picking it up with my injured hand, I didn’t pay much mind that my blood was smeared over it now as I turned it over to inspect it. Still holding onto it with my injured hand, I looked into the jewelry box to see something engraved in Romanian on the inside of the cover. Thankfully I was still able to read the language even though I’ve been gone the last five years.
"Come to me, a guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, spirit of any celestial sphere, anything. Hear my call,” I spoke in Romanian.
I continued to kneel in the attic of my grandma's house, waiting for something to jump out in the eerie silence. All I felt was a sudden chill as it brushed over my neck causing me to shiver.
Knowing I wasn’t even supposed to be up here, I pocketed the necklace and wrapped up the jewelry box into the sweater I had taken off. Just as I was about to decide on going to wrap up my injured hand, a deep voice spoke out into the air, brushing along the shell of my ear.
“Elenor. You are not lost to me. Dream of me. Only me.”
Whirling around, I choked on a breath nearly expecting to see someone behind me but when I saw no one, I took that as a sign to run down the stairs.
Wrapping the towel around my chest, I stepped out of the shower and wiped away some of the steam from the mirror. My eyes were tired from the last few days and my body ached for the comfort of the bed in the guest room. It was nearing eleven in the evening and my dad still hadn’t returned from drinks with old friends. I never used to worry about where my dad was or what he was doing. Back in the states, we lived separately. I lived in the dorms at school and him in the same house for the last five years. But ever since I found that box in the attic a few hours ago, I’ve had this looming fear that something is wrong. I couldn’t stop the way my hands shook or my heart raced even when I wasn’t thinking of the things I found. Or the voice I heard speak to me.
After changing my bandage on my injured hand, I let the towel drop to my feet and stared at my reflection once again. I had thrown my hair up in a messy bun before my shower, now a few strands fell around my face. I grazed my hand across my chest, over the birthmark and let out a low hiss.
I’d had this birthmark since I was born and never paid attention to it until recently. It was an odd one, placed in the valley between my breasts and it was red, the skin raised. The shape, however, was what perplexed me every time I looked at it.
It was in the shape of a bite mark.
Sighing, I threw on the tshirt and panties I had set up on the closed lid of the toilet and turned off the light to the bathroom. I walked across the hall towards the guest room, ready to finally sleep the long day away, yet when I saw the glimmering necklace on the dresser I paused. It was the necklace I’d found upstairs in the attic. It was a gorgeous piece of jewelry, definitely older, so I assumed it was my grandmothers. I hadn’t had the chance to ask my father if he knew or not since he left beforehand.
It wasn't anything special, just a simple heart shaped necklace on a silver chain. I couldn’t ignore that familiar magnetic pull, however. It was strong, nearly suffocating, and when I picked it up from the dresser, I shuddered at the feeling that filled me. Something only to be described as pure euphoria and elated peace. I wanted to feel this way until the end of my days so with careful hands, I clasped the necklace around my neck; it rested right against my birthmark.
The sounds of heartbreak, loneliness, and despair filled the dark space. Sobs over took my body as I felt like I’d been floating, hands outstretched into the darkness that surrounded me to look for an anchor.
No, not an anchor.
Someone to hold onto.
My bottom lip trembled as tears fell down my face, my feet dragging through the scratchy carpet while I walked towards the open window. A soft breeze danced around my ankles, the curtain wrapping around me like a warm blanket moments before darkness began to creep in. The darkness loomed like a shadow, tall and frightful.
"Come to me, a guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, spirit of any celestial sphere, anything. Hear my call,” I sobbed out, holding my hands together as I stared up at the looming darkness.
The necklace burned on my chest as a foreign language breathed life into the darkness, my body slowly rising from the ground.
“You. You awakened me from an eternity of darkness. You…You,” the voice rasped, that shadow now within a fingertips reach of me as he blended in with the curtain. “You are not for the living. You are not for human kind.”
Suddenly, everything around me shifted and I now lay outside in my grandmother's garden. I was bathed in the scent of lavender, it staining my skin along with the early morning dew from the grass. I lay there frozen, almost in a catatonic state unable to move or even breathe properly. All I could do was stare up to the night sky, the moonlight hidden behind the thickness of clouds.
“And shall you be one with me ever-eternally?” The foreign voice graveled. “Do you swear it?”
A ghost of a hand slowly dragged up between my legs to rest over my panties. Nails pressed against my clit causing a moan to fall from my lips. I arched my back off the ground when my panties were moved to the side, those fingers gliding between my folds before pressing two sharp nails into me. I hissed a moan of pleasure while grasping at the grass underneath me.
A face only to be described as death appeared in front of me, our shared screams breaking into the thick darkness when his physical hand wrapped around my throat. His naked form loomed over me, his clammy skin pressing against my bare lower half. I thrashed against his vice grip around my neck while his other hand continued to pump his fingers inside of me.
“Do you swear it?” His voice asked into the deep confines of my mind.
Completely under the spell, I did my best to nod just as my orgasm ran through me with such force I cried out.
“I swear.”
I sat up in bed with a start, gasping for breath as I took in the room. I wasn’t outside. I was back inside of the guest room in my grandmother's house, alone. No deep voice or face covered by death.
It was a dream.
But it felt so real. His voice, his hand around my throat, his fingers inside of me, and that orgasm. How could it have been a dream if it was one of the most euphoric orgasms I’d ever felt?
“It’s the jet lag,” I ran a hand over my face. “It’s finally catching up to me.”
No matter how many times I tried to tell myself that, the wetness between my legs told me otherwise that everything I dreamt was real.
hi! I recently just started getting hooked with reading monster fics and I finished reading the orc warchief x reader, do you have a plan on continuing that?
I love your works so much btw! <3
Heya Lovely!!
Welcome to monster fic reading! I hope you're enjoying it.
And yes, I do intend to continue the WarChief story. However, I am giving it a massive rework. Its at 10k words atm. I'll be posting it whenever I finish this chapter.
It finally arrived after an ENORMOUS wait. It did come last week and i was waiting for day where I didn't look like death to pose with it. Since that is an impossibility I decided to pose it with some skulls instead! Can't wait to reread and meet the girls all over again 😊💗 @monster-bait congratulations again on publishing! I so can't wait for Parties to drop 👀
Or at least that’s what Will was told over the phone by Jack Crawford one morning after a long night of no sleep. He came disheveled and cranky, cup in hand, ready to see a crime scene but instead walked into a nightmare.
There were twelve people in the chapel, all slumped over in various pews, and every single one of them had no head on their shoulders.
The cut looked messy, almost as if they’d been chewed but that couldn’t be true. Who could chew someone’s head off?
He walked down the aisles and took two steps up to the stage before he turned. This killer’s mind wasn’t easy to pin down but all Will felt when he attempted was one thing.
Hunger.
“He’s eating them,” he said, shoulders slumped as the words came to him.
Jack blinked. “Heads? How the hell is someone eating heads?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, Jack. All I know is it’s hungry and thinks these people would make good meat. Maybe it’s an alien from outer space. ”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Sure, Graham. E.T.’s homicidal brother.”
Will smiled and pushed the glasses up on his nose. “Well, it wouldn’t be so strange. I hear they have a man who can crawl walls in New York. I mean, is it so strange that we might have an E.T.?”
“Spider-Man is one thing, Will. This,” Jack said, looking around, “This is horror, pure and simple.”
“I couldn’t put it better myself.”
When he headed for his car after a long talk with Bev, Jimmy, and Brian, Will felt oddly like he was being watched. He got into his car and wiped the sweat from his brow, his hands shaking as he tried to calm down.
The killer’s mindset seemed still in him, the hunger and brutality, which didn’t help matters much.
“Get out of my head,” Will muttered to himself, starting the car.
He was just around the corner when his body convulsed in shock and he felt as if he were dunked into a tub of ice cold water. Will pulled over and lay his head on the steering wheel, still shaking, trying to calm down.
The feeling of being watched now felt like it was inside him, slithering around in a massive way as it invaded every part of his body.
“What’s...?”
“Hello, Will,” a voice said, smooth and icy as it saturated every part of him.
“I’m going crazy,” Will muttered, wiping his face again, “I’m hearing voices, and...”
All of a sudden what seemed to be a black tentacle came out of his chest and he watched in horror as it formed into what could only be called a face. The creature, yes that’s what it was, had red eyes and a mouth of razor-like teeth.
“No, Will. You aren’t hallucinating. I am very real.”
