Here are the days I will do and what I plan to do for them. For each empty day I will do a poll at the end for different asks for that day and whichever wins, I will do! So please don't be alarmed if I haven't replied. I have seen it and am making a note of the asks! IF you see a day that is already filled it was filled by me but feel free to still ask since they aren't `set in stone until mid September but I will prioritize asks for empty days than the full ones first.(I will post when dms for this is closed but my dms are always open).
Quick sketch of our rock/bismuth god. Will draw more if someone is interested and his design will probably change.
Someone is in your house. You’re convinced.
The night was another Friday night. You were quick to pack your bag and leave work, eager because today was self care day. You had your nails and toes done the day before. You were scrolling through inspo photos when you swiped too far and landed on the picture of when you bought your new furniture set. The nail artist was thrilled and went all out. It was simple gold base with small thin strips of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple and some small intricate gold scrollwork and filigree on the thumbs and pinkies. You ate some takeout so you could skip to the fun part. You lit some candles on the floor of your bathroom, waiting patiently for the soaps to form into a nice layer of foam on top of your water—which was also the perfect temperature.
After a while and feeling your body begin to prune, you get out. Before you can look at the mirror you see many finger prints and what looks to be dots. You have grown used to seeing the random dots and fingerprints ever since you bought this mirror and the other new appliances you recently picked up as a set.
As you move from the bathroom to your bedroom, you notice the small dots on the mirror on your bed. You can feel the eyes on you increase as you walk around getting your stuff together for the night--no convinced--someone is watching you. You hate to admit that although you hate the thought someone has been watching you--and especially this long--that you hate it even more that a part of you is somewhat thrilled by the idea.
As you settle on your towel on you nice silk sheets, as you hear the buzzing of your new vibrator, you truly start to relax. The little spark on your clit is what you have been looking forward to. Once you truly give in to the sensation everything else falls into place.
Your shoulders relax. You stop propping your arms up to look at where you're placing the vibrator and just let your mind go blank. With your eyes closed as you lay on your back, you can really feel the eyes on you amp up. The sicker part of you starts to speak once again.
You wiggle your body forward, angling it until you can see everything in the mirror including part of your face. One dot appears on it followed by the sound of tapping as two more dots pop it next to the first.
A small smile forms on your face. You moan, turning up the intensity, fully giving into it, into the pleasure of everything. A part of you can't believe that you denied yourself this small pleasure when you were younger.
You feel like you're gonna cum, in fact you know it. You still haven't worked yourself to look at the mirror in front of the bed. It's one of the reasons you even put it there.
You wake up every morning to your face even though it took a while. But after about two weeks of seeing yourself in the mirror whether it was to wash your face, doing your hair, or having trouble picking out an outfit you noticed something different. Maybe it was seeing yourself in a different light-literally and figuratively--but it was less about your face and more so the body attached it. You loved your body through and through; however, you would be lying if you said you didn't feel some type of way by the silent glares, the ignorance from others when in groups, and everything else that followed you for being a bit bigger.
You keen, toes curling, slowly working up the courage as you flick your eyes for the mirror just a bit. Your covered in a sheen of sweat, toes curled, one of your hands toying with your boobs while the other keeps a firm grip around the handle of your vibrator doing a fast circle motion on your pussy experiencing nothing but bliss. You feel a small smile creep on your face before you fall back into onto the sheets, hips elevated off the bed as you cum. In the middle of your haze you toss it--somewhere you don't care--to playing with your clit, rubbing to fast and hard back in forth, anything to prolong your orgasm. You feel yourself gush, only stopping when you can feel yourself come down from your high. You're glad as you relax on the bed since your hand just started to cramp.
Like usual, you don't remember when you closed your eyes all you know is that you are opening them. However you are glad you open them slowly, shutting them as tight as possible when you feel hands on you.
Although you can feel the weight on your bed, you feel no heat from the intruder as they grab your legs, spreads them open, and puts something warm and wet on them. You slowly realize you're being... washed via washcloth before flipping you over and does it again.
The intruder leaves coming back to wash you all the way down--only briefing between your lower lips--before leaving again. It's cold whatever they put on you but the smell you recognize all too well from your peach and lemon scented lotion. After the intruder is done, he pushes you off your bed, levitating before you feel some thin night dress slipped on you before you are laid to rest back on the bed. The sheets being pulled over you is when you truly feel... different.
The intruder feel like nothing, like there is no one truly next to you almost like a ghost. But you know this isn't a ghost when you feel something between rock and smooth crystals touch your face. The touch is light as it goes from your cheek to up and down your arms. Nothing else.
Then, you hear something twinkling like wind moving against a windchime. You wait a bit before opening your eyes.
There are six dots on the mirror.
He’s convinced you are the one. He hasn’t dreamt in years but being close to you-- even if its just for a bit--means a night of picturing a future with you, like in the past.
"Head forward," your head lolls to the side and jaw slack. He tilt your chin up as his little fingers detatch from the main "hand" which is a part of growing bismuth from his main hand. He knows you’ve always been a bit resistant when it comes to looking at yourself but he loves seeing you—it’s one of the reasons why he misses his old mirror realm made specifically for you. He wishes you could see how beautiful you are, peer into his many mirrors and see how you look in his “eyes”.
But alas you are unable to so he’ll settle on tilting your head, making sure you see just how beautiful you are in the mirror, in his eyes.
You barely put up a fight due to your brain being mush from the vibrator he’s kept held to your clit the entire time. Your thighs are pinned to his with the very tips of his pointy “feet” like stilts planted firmly on your carpet floor. Your back is flush with his hard chest, your plumpness molding against his hard exterior like y’all were made for each other—but he knew that from the moment he met you.
He taps his finger rocks together, bringing your head forward forcibly, turning up the intensity so your eyes shoot open. He leans forward, careful with his weight as he wedges his head in the crook of your shoulder, maintaining eye contact.
“Eyes up here,” he whispers in your ear. “Or has someone else been whispering in your ear since I’ve been locked away?” He tilts his head, eyes squinting to look like he is smiling.
“N-no.” You stutter out quickly.
“Then did you forget—” he turns up the vibrator “—what I said?”
“Y-you wanna see me—”
"Correct, my butterfly" His fingertips tap rhythmically from your jaw to your thighs as your voice trails off into a moan. He discards the vibrator as you slouch forward, quick to pull you back.
"But," he fake pouts, "can't see your beautiful face if you won't look in the mirror."
His fingers caress your cheek, "From your cute cheeks," --they go to your nose-- "to the cute way you scrunch your nose when you're close," --fingers traveling further to tap beside your eyes-- "to the way your eyes have a certain... sparkle when you look at me--" --his fingers grip your jaw so you can see everything, eyes mainly on him--"the way mine do for you."
Small rocks wrap around under your knees, folding you in half like a pretzel. Legs pushed up to almost touch your chest as his arms lock around your waist. In the mirror you see parts of his crouch plate peel back, the hard crystal exterior revealing flesh the color of an oil spill. Small ombre tentacles of the rainbow surround bigger ribbed cock, leaking what looks like black goo. It doesn't look solid, texture closer to slime then a liquid or a solid. Your face is turned to the side to look him in his eyes. He fakes a pout as he peers at you before pecking behind your ear.
"Such a shame." his fingers tap your lips like he's waiting for approval to enter. "But don't fret, my butterfly," his fingers pull at the bottom of your lip before you open your mouth, toying with your tongue, "I'll make sure you can see how I see you if it pleases you."
You nod your head sluggishly.
"Good," and with that he thrusts up into you. His arm tighten around your waist. You thank god that his arms are smooth on the underside seeing how much they dig into you just like his cocks twirling and unfurling inside you as he pistons in and out.
He continues this harsh pace whispering in your ear, his fingers making sure you can’t move your face away from the mirror, from him, but mostly yourself. All you can do is watch as you take all of him. Drool dribbles out of the corner of your open mouth, watching as it goes down your chin, gathering in a blob before seperating and falling on one of his smaller cocks. It’s sandwiched between your lower lips, gathering your slick as it bumps your clit in unison with every thrust up into you.
“You seem to have forgotten everything I drilled into that head of yours,” he places a fat wet kiss on your cheek, “Before everything hit the fan,” he places another. “When it was just the two of us,” —and another kiss— “when we could sit by the fireplace,” placing another kiss on your lips this time whispering huskily in your ear, “flames dancing along your back, cradling you in my arms just warming my cock up.” His thrusts slow down.
His face suddenly darkens, forcibly your face to look at him, not in the mirror but truly at him and into those eyes.
“Never letting you go again,” something in his eyes flickers, “I fought tooth and nail before and I don’t mind doing it again.” He kisses you passionately, tongues clashing, his quick to domineer yours like he wants to force his tongue down your throat. He pulls away, wiping some hair away from your forehead.
“But enough about the past and more focus on the present,” he slowly leans down until your body is hovering above him with his back flush against your silk sheets, his body out of view in the mirror.
“Look at yourself not me,” he says and you listen. Your eyes, although hesitant, go back to your body in the mirror, folded like a pretzel by and semi for him, a delectable sight indeed—at least he thinks so. He could care less what anyone else thinks if it’s someone other than you. Only your voice matters. Only your opinion matters. Only what you treasure, cherish, and hold close to your heart matters to him simply because it matters to you. Because it will always be you. Only you.
“Good girl,” he slurs out as his thrusts speed back up. You bounce up and down, mewling and chanting what you assume is his name in some unrecognizable ancient tongue. He watches from below, eyes ping ponging between how you look from the mirror to you in real life. He can’t believe you are actually with him. He can feel your warmth, your breath quick and hitch as your close, your pussy squeeze him so tight as you cum, squealing into the air his name following by a few moans. He can’t help but tighten his hold on you, unable to fathom how lonely he was before you came back into his life. He doesn’t want this to end, to go back to his mirror all alone is hell on earth. And he’ll be damned to not use this opportunity given to him to the fullest extent.
“That’s it,” he can feel his power slowly come back to him along with his need to cum increase. “I’m close, my jewel.” He sputters out. He can manage to lift some jewels to aid him in seeing as the surround you like a halo. A multitude of colors bathe the room as the moon’s rays pass through every gem, reminding him of his old realm, wheee he could see you, every part of you from every angle, in any position. But this would suffice. For now.
He unsheathes himself, turning you around before slamming his cock back into you and setting a brutal pace. His face is so close that your nose is touching the smooth plane. Your eyes were scrunched up but seeing how beautiful his eyes were, you couldn’t look away—and neither could he. He couldn’t remember the last time he held you this close, this intimate—that’s a lie, he knew the exact date to the time before he was locked away—but he knew he didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want to awake from this dream and a sicker part of him wondered if you shared this same dream with him. An even sicker more selfish part of him wanted to keep you like this, with him, even if it meant you would never wake up.
He wakes up, cum all on his stomach and the floor. He stares at the ceiling before becoming enraged once again, rocks spewing from his body to bunch a mirror as it shatters into pieces before tumbling back up into place slowly.
One day he would make sure you would remember him and you can be back in his arms again. Forever.
You come home from a grueling day from work and just need to relax. Your feet are aching, your shoulders on fire from both your purse and your bra straps digging into your skin. The under wire popped earlier today but it was too late to return home and change so you had to work from 9 to 5 with something continuously shifting and poking you.
All you can do is groan the entire way up the stairs of your house but your husband is quick to open your door. You collapse into his beefy arms, relieved to see him. He wraps his arms around you as you snuggle into his apron. He closes the door with his foot, doing the rest of his routine like it's nothing. He takes off your bag and blazer placing them on the rack. He tosses your keys into the bowl before picking you up off your feet and placing you on the couch. Within seconds he is back in front of you shaking a different selection of meds and drinks. You pick Advil and a sprite, taking them and handing them back to him. You feel bad when you notice how he has set up the house like he was ready to celebrate something.
"What's the occasion?" You ask.
"I saw on your calendars you had that presentation today." He says from the kitchen, putting everything back in its rightful place. "Wanted to give you your own spa day." He slinks behind you on the couch as you fully take in his attire--which is the usual loose shirt, sweatpants, and some slippers.
"Soft or hard?" He asks.
You ponder for a moment.
"Soft." You get off the couch, dragging yourself up the stairs to take a quick shower but you see the bath is already set up with rose petals was lit candles. The lights were dimmed with your e-reader in w waterproof pouch sitting on a caddy tray with a wine glass. You felt the water, hot and just how you liked it.
As you're getting underdressed, you hear a knock on your door.
"Yes?" You answer.
"Can I come in and tend to my wife?"
You smile, giggling a bit. "Of course."
You slink into the tub just as the door opens.
Your husband rolls up his sleeves before messaging your shoulders. Immediately, you feel your body start to relax, moaning a tad bit by how good his fingers feel.
"When did you get good at messaging?"
"Anatomy. Learned it to please my future wife," he says. "In more way than one."
He stops briefly, getting up to hit the speaker as calm music starts to play. When he clicks a remote and starts the water jets, that is when you truly relax. He uses everything ounce of his body to make sure you have the best experience. Using his knuckles to kneed your back, switching to roll your from the middle of your spine to the sides and outwards.
Your arms are on the side of the tub, eyes closed to focus on actually feeling like all the kinks and knots in your body are disappearing.
Suddenly, you feel his fingers slide from your back to inch closer and closer to your boobs, feeling the underside of them. You wince when he touches the fresh scar from today. It seems that the wire did more then just poke you, more like cut you as he traces a fresh scar that goes all the way from one side to the other side of your boob.
He gets up, rubbing some cold silicone gel on it before putting it back where it was.
He leans in beside you ear, messaging you boobs.
"My poor wife." He kisses your ear before moving to sit beside the tub instead of on it and behind you.
He makes sure to lift your boob with the scar under it to help the gel dry.
He leans in to give you a kiss on the lips, slow and sensual, as one of his fingers disappears under the water.
You pull away from his lips, head nearly bumping the tile behind you but his other hand stops you before traveling back to message you boob.
"Relax," he mutters softly as you hear He Loves Me by Jill Scott start to play in the background. "Your husband will take care of everything." He kisses your temple as you lay your head on his wrapped around you to get to your boob. He smiles kissing you again as you drool, slowly inserting one then two fingers inside you. "Taking care of you is one my husband duties." -- He starts to speed up-- "And you have every right to teach me my errors if I forget my place." Using his elbow, he moves the caddy far away from you to bring one of your legs up and over the tub, kissing up and down your leg. You gasp, holding onto him as his hand moves swiftly from your boob to your ankle, keeping your leg steady as he licks it from your ankle to your knee, picking up his speed again, his thumb drawing circles around your clit. He smirks like a fox, his head resting on the tub, leveled with yours that is leaned back. He licks the tears from your face as you slowly look over at him. You want to look away, biting your lip to hide your moan but he grabs the side of your face, bringing it back to the other side to maintain eye contact.
"Honey, what did we talk about?"
You bite you lip knowing the answer, stumbling over your words as the knot forms in your stomach. "T-to maintain-" your voice trails off when he speeds up, switching to flicking your clit fast and hard.
"Maintain eye contact," he breathes on your skin. "Can't remember the face you made when I'm painting this if you keep me from seeing that perfect fucked up expression on your face."
You keep your head where it is as he pulls his hand away to touch your lips as he leans in.
"Much better," he whispers before taking your lips again, this time deep and fast, more passionate. His fingers speed up as all you can do if open and close your eyes rapidly, moaning into the kiss. Your back arches off the tub, collapsing as a wave of water overflows out of the tub and onto the floor tiles. He slowly pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting you.
"Beautiful." He smiles. As you bask in the aftermath of your orgasm, he cleans you up, drains the tub, putting away everything before messaging some scented oils into your skin everywhere.
He takes you out, grabbing some silk pajamas--that you know are new since you have no recollection of ever seeing these let alone wearing something so comfortable--and lays you on the bed. He turns the diffuser on as you relax, smelling a new scent as you slowly fall asleep.
You wake up to laying on his chest, arms wrapped around your waist. Two days later when you go back to work, recharged from the weekend you see a package with your outfit for the day. It's a huge pack of pretty bras in different colors and styles, some shoe pads, and something that goes between your shoulder and your purse. You smile and it grows as you read the note, making sure when you leave the house right shower your husband in kisses before taking your lunch and promising to treat him when you come back.
You love when your husband takes care of you, but you love how he feels comfortable enough to let you take care of him, even when in such a vulnerable state.
Your first thought when you return home is where is your husband. It was just another day, a great one at that, excited to tell your husband you got the promotion you wanted and even an added raise. However when you knew something was up when your husband didn't open the door for you, knowing how he watched the cameras like a hawk waiting for you to come back home.
However, you know the exact reason when you're hit with a sweet, fruity smell in the air, so potent and heavy to the point it suffocates you.
You look around the house for your husband, growing scared when you can't find him in any of his usual places. Then you realize something: you haven't checked your bedroom.
Before you open the door you can hear his heavy breathing. You know he must be able to smell you, grateful his mate is back to help him with his rut as he whines for you to come help him and that "he would do anything in return love."
You open the door as the fruity scent only grows stronger. You are a tad bit ashamed to admit you love when he is in a rut since you are always greeted with a wonderful sight.
Your husband is naked laying on some new sheets, seeing how he has completely clawed the other ones and soiled them in what looks like cum stains.
He rolls around on his back, playing with his tail tucked between his legs. One hand lazily strokes his cock but it seems like torture with how flushed and red his tip like he's been overstimulating it. His chest heaves heavily as the tip of his tail tickles his nipples before slowly moving back and forth over his chest, spreading his scent around him. "You've been taking care of your fur." You smile, giving him a strip tease as you slowly take off every piece of clothing off you aw he watches with hooded eyes and w lopsided smile.
His ring tail wraps around your leg as you slowly crawl on the bed, beckoning for you to come closer.
"My poor husband," he whines as you replace his hand on his cock, rubbing his tip before plugging it, knowing how much he loves to be denied to cum and submissive.
"How long?" You ask. Your other hand caresses his face before tugging and scratching behind one of his ears. He whines, leaning into your touch, wrapping his tail around your arm in a futile attempt to keep you touching him.
"Every since you left today. Your perfume only helps me a bit." He nuzzles his face into your hand, his tail bringing you closer as you lay beside him. He bites his lip when you stroke him faster. He whines when you move your hand, settling his hands on your thighs. He moans, back arched off the bed as you cup his balls, messaging them while paying extra attention to his tip.
A sly smile forms on your face as he squeezes your thigh, his tail's hold around you tighten and tighten and tighten. His eyes glaze over as drool dribbles out of his mouth. You lean down, making sure he can smell you. His head leans into you, rapidly smelling your face, using his second tongue to lick you.
"Cum for me." You don't need to say anything more. His tail constricts around your waist, getting a bit harder to breathe as claws dig into the sides of your thighs. His back arches off the bed before collapsing on the sheets, looking down seeing the loads of cum on his chest and on your hand. You grab whatever was close and wipe him down before tossing it to the side.
He twitches as his tail loosens and falls beside you. He looks so pathetic with his arms above his head, tail wrapped around your arm trying to pull yo7 on top of him as he humps the air. He mumbles something incoherent before you hear soft snoring. You kiss him on his lips, snuggling up to him, scratching behind his ears and playing with his limp tail. “Goodnight, my love.” You kiss him again, snuggling up to him closer as you feel his tail tighten around your waist.
But as much as you love when your husband is soft and sweet, you love it even better when he reminds you of his primal instinct.
You knew it was only a matter of time until your husband experiences the worst of his rut. When he stops wanting to be dotted on and wants to fuck you within an inch of your life. You open the door and you’re immediately grabbed inside before being pushed up against it and smothered in kisses. “Need you,” he whispers against your skin, smashing his lips against yours. “Now.” Hands cup your ass, feeling you up when suddenly you are swept off your feet, hands having a firm grip around your thighs as your legs wrap against his waist. His tail wraps around your waist tightly. To enthralled in the kiss, you fail to notice him slowly making his way up the stairs and to the bedroom.
His dick plows into you from behind. His arms have your head in a headlock from behind as he nips on your earlobe. He makes sure there is no space in between ya’ll and if there is, he makes sure to close the distance with another harsh thrust from his hips. “Needed you so bad,” he says, continuing to give you backshots. You can hear the swish from his tail going back in forth in the air, definitely content and definitely by now drunk off of you. You scratch against his arms as he goes deeper inside of you, knowing your ass will be aching in the morning. He kisses on the back of your neck, before you’re squealing, realizing he bit you.
He giggles---that trails into a growl--- thrusting deep and harder now. From his sharp thrusts, you feel your body go forward, but your husband isn’t letting you leave him even for a bit, sniffing you in short rapid breaths. “Trying to escape from me honey?” He makes it clear what he thinks about that with a sharp thrust. “Not gonna let you get away and run to some other lemur.” He nips at your neck, licking and kissing the spot where he bit hard.
Thrust
And with that final thrust, you cum with him following after. You think he's done until he gets fully on top of you, pinning your legs all the way back. Before you know it he's putting you in a mating press. You manage to stutter out a "WAIT" but are cut short as his dick enters you in one big thrust from above. He looks really animalistic with how he looks: dilated eyes bulging out of his skull, mouth open as drool dribbles out and tongue lolling out. His eyes look only at your face as he plows into you from above. You can make out his tail--or the blur of it--as it goes back and forth so quick it picks up some wind.
He blabbers above you, eyes never leaving yours. The minute your eyes even falter just a bit to roll back into your skull, he pulls your face down. His hands cup and go under your head, keeping it up. His arms are pressed firmly on the sides of your face but not enough to keep you from hearing him. He would hate for you not to hear his grunts as you feel him bottom out and plow deeper inside of you.
It continues for a while until he collapses on his knees, rhythm still going as his huge thighs cage you in. He's close, you can feel it.
If you weren't so focused on hearing him and only thing--no distractions for any of your senses--due to how close he was, you probably wouldn't have heard his babbling again.
"-- 'nother lemur. Never... happen. Ever." His breathing is heavy now, smile growing on his face. "All mine. N-no one... No one else."
He kisses you harshly, speeding up but focusing on making sure he thrusts deeper this time.
"You understand?" He doesn't give you a chance to say yes or no before continuing.
"Mine, ya hear? He tilts his head, rubbing his scent on you more and nuzzling your nose with his small snout.
“You—“
Thrust
“Are—“
Thrust
“Mine.”
You cum first. He thrusts some more before his hips stutter and soon you feel the heat inside of you before it slowly pools out of you. He stops that quick, balls to the hilt and dick buried inside you we deep as it can. He leans back looking at you, smile wise like the joker before he collapses on top of you, happy that maybe his cum will take. When you look down, he's nipping and sucking your boobs, before kissing up. His arms are wrapped around your neck, keeping your face close to him as he kissed your face every where. His tail has stopped violently swishing, calmed down to a small back and forth. He purrs as his tail lowers, wrapping around you waist.
You love everything about your husband but you mostly love when he's like this ---content with life and happy to just be with you.
Imagine a monster that is trapped in a mirror. The mirror, one handheld, has been melted and used in a bigger project until he is split up into different things: a handheld mirror, a compact mirror, a wall mirror, a mirror chandelier, and a large floor-to-ceiling mirror, each one decorated with gold and small multi colored gems, creating a rainbow color on all of them. He sits, able to see the entire store with all the pieces spread out through the organized store.
Then he notices you. His mirror is at the front of the store, an eye catcher, but he sees nobody worthy to get even a piece of him, so he meddles the best he can using what little power he has yet. Whether cloaking his gold to look dingy and worn or rolling under shelves, furniture, anything he can. But the minute he sees you enter, he tried everything he could to be seen. He knew you were the right owner when you noticed he seemed to be a set of items thanks to the rainbow arranged gems and similar sigils. He knew that you were the one when you searched under everything finding the rest of him-although you had a little help with finding two pieces thanks to a perfectly timed light hitting the gold and catching your eye-literally. He always thought he was priceless even when he was alive but he scoffed at how little he was sold for to you, especially when selling him as a set the owner gave you a discount seeing how determined you were in finding the rest of him. However, he was quick to let go of his price when he got to your house, able to see everything you did in your home.
You carried him with you everywhere you went, always happy when you opened him in whether on a date or at an event or anytime you went out, able to see your beautiful face again. He loved seeing you cook in the kitchen, bouncing between the overhead view the chandelier gave him and the mirror you placed in the hallway. He adored when you would pose in the hallway mirror, almost as if you were asking him for his silent approval before going out—even having the blessing of seeing you change out of them, naked body on full display for him to truly appreciate. He found it hilarious when you needed to use the handheld mirror to do your hair, fix your mirror, or make any tiny adjustments you needed to see as close as possible. But everything paled in comparison when he was truly able to see all of you late at night or anytime you had time to yourself.
The floor to ceiling mirror hung in front of your bed, able to see everything as you prepared for tonight. He was able to see your calendar out of the corner of his mirror in the hallway. Today you were off, meaning you had a three day weekend, and he knew what was he in store for.
Watching you walk around naked, lock all the doors before getting in the shower and doing an everything shower. Soon, you were done as he waited patiently—not like he could go anywhere —as you placed a towel on your bed, hearing a buzzing sound, before you went to town. He always believed everyone should take care of themselves in every aspect: emotionally mentally, physically, but most of all sexually. Today, he knew what you wanted, judging by the vibrator being on a low setting and your slow movements, you wanted to edge yourself, enjoy your orgasm today.
He wanted a lot of things in life—his greed was one of the things that led to him being this way now—but he desperately wanted a body to actually be with you. He wished to touch you, kiss you, show you just how little you needed for your multitude of toys, especially show you how your dildo collection paled in comparison to his dicks. He was grateful how you managed to show every part of yourself as you pleasured yourself—the delusional part of his mind thinking somehow he knew he was watching and wanted his pervy self to see all of you. The jolt of your hips slightly off the bed, your fingers spreading your cunt to reach your clit better as you worked the vibrator back and forth, rocking your body against it. He was a little pissed off he wasn’t melted into tiles to be a mirror ceiling, being fed the smallest crumbs whenever you lifted your face before resting it back on the pillow of your bed. This fueled his want—no his need— to be not an inanimate object but in his true form, to see every part of you, but mostly your face and its sinful expressions as you touched yourself until your hands cramped and your head was dizzy.
He doesn’t stop watching until you are done, watching your hand go limp against your chest, legs still spread, the towel under you soaked. You and him were grateful you laid alone seeing how awkward it would be to stumble upon your body to see you had passed out from many orgasms—made him chuckle just thinking about it before becoming angry at the thought of someone else seeing you nude. He waited, placing his hand on the mirror like usual, until it slowly went through. He lept in joy once again as he exited the mirror, needing to be as quick as possible, not knowing when he would return to the mirror.
This monster wasn’t just a monster, he was once a god, specifically the god of lust and all things sex. He never knew he could cross over into the real world until one night after you had squirted on the mirror surface before falling asleep, he tapped mindlessly on the barrier between you. He was in the middle tracing this precious moment on the mirror when all of a sudden his finger went through. And the rest was history.
He learned slowly that he could bring things into his mirror realm and that the longer you masturbated in front of the mirror, the longer he could stay in the real world, estimating that each hour gave him about 10 to 20 minutes.
He rushed, first getting a washcloth and wiping you down. 2 minutes he thought, keeping track of every precious minute he had with you. He gathered you in his arms, helping you take a shower and wiping you down. He tucked you under your covers, about to get something but felt his body slowly being pulled back into the mirror. His claws clawed at the ground, trying everything in his power to stay longer but like always it was futile. He found himself in his mirror realm once again. Although sad, he was grateful with his new trophy, a sketchbook and a pencil. He placed it with his other trinkets he used scarcely whenever you would go days sometimes weeks without masturbating. Ever since he discovered he could crossover, he held his self back to only get one thing, making sure he could remember every trip—and to make sure you weren’t getting suspicious or been scared that you were being robbed right under your nose.
The first thing he took was the remote to some vibrating pantries you purchased, finding that it would be useful sooner or later—it would be soon. The second thing he took was small, a ring you took off while cooking but lost it since you didn’t remember placing it on the counter while you cooked. You didn’t remember where, but he did when he saw you knock it over accidentally as you fumbled to take off the vibrating panties, the feeling too much when the remote went on the fritz, setting on high. The more you started to grow on him, the more sentimental items he started to take from you. The third thing he took was a perfume bottle he saw you spray every time you left out the house. He knew what you smelled liked when he first left the mirror realm, committing it the best he could to memory. He could never bottle up what you smelled like so he took what smelled the closest to your natural musk, hence the perfume bottle. He only sprayed it once, on the fourth item he took from you, a pillow you always laid your head on that he loved to smell, jerking off with his face pressed against it. The fifth, sixth, and seventh items he took was a series of books you finished, wanting a glimpse into what you liked, finding how not so innocent you weren’t—some of the book made even him blush. The eighth and ninth items he took was a scrapbook that you always had open on your desk with a bunch of folders of printed out pictures and a handwritten love letter to yourself. He shed a tear seeing how ill you thought of yourself, and the goals you set for the new year. The tenth item was the sketchbook and pencil he took today. He made sure each item was lined up in chronological order he took them.
He was proud seeing all his trophies. He wasted no time, drawing what transpired tonight. Before he was a god, he was a human, a devoted follower to a god that he spent most of his time painting portraits, building shrines out of wood and stone , carving sculptures out of expensive slabs of marble, anything he thought was fit. When he died, he was dragged to hell before getting the opportunity to get power of his own seeing how devoted he was.
Once he has finished, he wrote down the exact time and date of today. He looked forward to many more nights like tonight, but he what he truely wanted was for you to see him and embrace him. He just wished it was under better circumstances.
It was a date gone wrong. He already knew how much he despised the guy when you ranted on and on about him to your friend one night, although all you did was say how nice he was and how you planned to go out and he wanted to pay for dinner. However, after he brought you home and you rejected his kiss, his true nature came out. He yelled, ranting on and on how nice guys finish last before calling you a bitch. You slapped him in the face before making him. You shouted for him to lose your number, a few more curses spewing out of your mouth as you slammed the door shut. He could see everything from inside the house since one of his mirrors faced your security cameras that alerted everyone of your devices movements and any sound outside.
You were in a bad mood but you both knew what could cheer yourself up real quick. But, you were soon interrupted when a loud alarm rang through the room, you alarm flashing sensing movement by your door before it escalated to hearing a broken window, your bedroom. He watched as the bastard rushed through your bedroom. You rushed to grab the gun in your drawer but it jammed as he threw you back onto the bed. The sick fuck grinned, brandishing a knife in his hands, whispering whatever brought a smile to his face and a frown to yours in your ear. He banged on the mirror, punching the barrier as hard and as fast as he could until he could see a small crack. It seemed to get both of yours attention until the next thing you knew a towering figure lept out of the mirror, arms already outreached as he pulled the guy off of you. He punched him over and over again, before tossing him around. However, the figure before you was slowly pulled back into the mirror but not before holding a firm grip around your assailant, hellbent on bringing him back with him into his territory along with a bag the man had dropped by your bedside.
He tied him, eager to have another thing to toy with and many things to torture him with thanks to his backpack of malicious things. He had something better to do in his free time and he was going to enjoy every last minute of it.
Continuation of the last drabble…one shot? Idk hope you enjoy!
Once again, the group is ready to leave and continue their trek to the monster’s liar, this time with someone new. The figure draped in long black rags and a hood stays tied up, cowering by your side. They used to be held firm by the group’s muscle, Sin, but seeing how behaved he was next to you, they let you old his chains. He refuses to tell speak at first but you soon learn is name when he whispers is one evening in the third person. His name is Ren and he is always quick to tender to your every need, which you find quite both cute and concerning. Whenever the group takes a rest, he is immediately on his knees, speaking in a whisper that you can use him as a stool.
“To dirty your clothes is to dirty you and my master would not like that.” You chuckle but he does not. You simple keep standing asking him to as well. The rest of the group finds it funny but you don’t take his “joke” lightly. You try to find a middle ground before settling on using a torn piece of his many layers of fabrics as a blanket to sit on. He is still weary but after you reassure him that his master—but most importantly his mistress—would be pleased with him, he is ecstatic.
Your group stumbles upon a village late into the night. Already on edge, you feel the group’s nerves grow as the air gets thicker and a dense fog settles in the air and rain begins to fall. Everyone is ready to turn around when all of a sudden, Ren blocks your path as something cuts through the air. He stumbles into your arms, scared seeing the arrow deep in his back. He is quick to remove it, breaking the part that sticks out from the front and reaching to pull it out of his back himself. Figures descend from the trees, arrows drawn and ready to fire as you keep Ren up. You guys are surrounded by Black cloaked figures with red colored signals on them while one figure is cloaked in a red hood with a gold lion’s head on the front and a huge lion’s body like it was hunting prey on the back in gold marking. He points a sword at your group before walking forward on the path you guys just tried to retreat from.
The group is tied up ans linked together, as you all are led behind stone walls and led into what looks like a shrine made of granite and redwood. You guys are forced to your knees, as another red cloaked figure appears, this time with a scorpion’s tail on the front and a scorpion ready to pounce, tail high in the air on the back in the same gold markings.
“Strip them of their weapons.” A booming voice rings out in the room, echoing.
You guys are then forced to sit in front of him on your knees.
“State your name and business,” he looks at the red cloaked figure with the lion motif. “Kill any who make any sudden moves.” The lion one nods, drawing his sword out of his sheath and pointing it at you guys. You can hear the drawing of arrows being pulled back on something, now noticing guards on balconies above y’all.
The scorpion motif figure points at Ren first.
“You first.”
“Ren, Master M’s Quiver.” A gasp is heard before whispering spreads.
“SILENCE!” The scorpion figure shouts. He points a golden hand at Ren.
“Is it true what you speak?”
“Why would anyone lie being an affiliate of someone so veneered?” Ren speaks with confidence, the clearest you have ever heard him.
“Look at my back,” he lowers his head back to look at the ground. “And you will see it mirrors yours.”
The scorpion figure jerks his head at Ren as the lion figure descends down the steps. With the tip of his sword he lifts Ren’s cloak. Lo and behold, there is a manticore with its wings flared and fangs bared, scared like an untreatable burn mark before drawing his sword back as the cloak cascades back down his back. He shudders like he is briefly in pain before shrugging it off.
“I thought the Master’s shadow walked this earth alone to find his master’s one and only equal?”
“I did,” he pauses. “But was quickly ambushed while distracted by this group of nomads.”
“Then where is she?” questions the scorpion figure, chuckling to himself as he sheathes his sword.
Ren shoots a look at you but gulps hard. He doesn’t say anything.
The lion figure waves his hand holding it up in a pause motion.
“Kill them.” He says calmly sending everyone in an uproar, Ren shuffles closer to you, ready to shield you the best he can from the onslaught of arrows.
“3–”
“STOP THIS! WE ARE INNOCENT!”
“2—”
“IF YOU ARE GOING TO KILL US, GIVE US A FIGHTING CHANCE!”
“1–”
“I’M YOUR MASTER’S EQUAL!” You finally confess, standing up and taking off your coat to reveal the marks on your collarbone.
The arrows stop as everyone gasps.
“Our mistress!” yells the scorpion headed figure, collapsing to the ground in a praying fashion as everyone soon does the same, the lion figure the last, cowering as he kneels like everyone else, except his head is raised looking at you with fear in his eyes through the lion mask.
Relishing in this power you slowly have come to like a little bit, you saunter up the steps slowly before grabbing his face by the jaw.
“I’m sorry, my mistress. Do whatever you may to please you.”
“Ren,” you question, “what usually happens to traitors?”
“Punishment varies,” he answers, “but to try to harm our mistress is punished by many torture methods before a slow death.”
You can feel his shake beneath you.
“I am feeling generous since you were unaware of who I was.” You say, letting go of his face as he quickly places it on the floor, literally kissing your shoe, whispering thank you’s like a prayer.
“How can I ever repay you, my mistress?” He whispers.
“First, we wish to spend the night here so ready a bath for everyone and a room for everyone. Everyone must be treated with high respect starting with cutting this rope.”
He nods, as everyone hurries to do so.
You close the door to your bathroom , sighing in relief that you were seconds away from death. He always did say I needed to speak up more.
Suddenly, you hear a knock on the door. You put on a red colored robe. It has some fading, making it look pink at the bottom. You open the door to see the top of a black hood.
When they look up however you are met with
"Ren?" you stared at him questionably as he remained sitting on his knees.
"I'm sorry, my mistress," he begins "I should've led with the fact that you were our master's equal. It would have been your blood on my hands had any harm come to you." He looks down whispering, "Master would have made sure I suffer until you were reborn again."
You almost didn't catch what he says but dismiss it.
"Ren, who are you talking to?"
"My mistress."
"Which means I am still alive. Next time we know to lead with that if we run into some of his followers again."
"Yes, my mistress."
"Goodnight, Ren." He sulks like usual, but a small smile is on his face as he waves shyly before you close the door.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea comes over you, collapsing to the floor when a pair of arms keep you upright.
"My star," the voice whispers into your ear. "Your body needs rest. The goal of those bloodthirsty travelers means nothing if you come to me dead."
You caress his arms around you as he pulls you to his feet and turn your body to face him.
"I'm fine, love," you mutter, "just--" your voice trails off as you feel yourself drift off again.
He sweeps you off your feet, carrying you into the bath, still fully clothed, placing you in his lap. Quickly, he splashes some water on your face before he sees you wake up.
"What's wrong with me?"
"Our binding," he simply states before continuing. "You are in my territory where my power is the strongest thanks to my followers in close proximity."
He grabs something that looks like a ladle and poors water on the both of you.
"The poison in your body--" he grabs something out of a bowl, spreading it on his fingers before lathering your up in it starting with your hair.
"--reacts to that strength."
He grabs something out of another bowl, lathering between his hands.
"May I?" You nod. He starts with your shoulder, slowly inching his way, first by taking off your robe's sleeves.
You lean back into his touch, and he continues talking in a soothing tone.
"It reacts to strength because it recognizes who it belongs to--who you belong to."
"You calling me an it?"
"No." He states firmly. "Never."
"Then what are you saying?"
"What I'm saying," you gasp as his hands move down, slightly brushing over your nipples before settling around your waist. "is that my poison senses my power, thus pulling to reshape or find me."
You arch your back as one of his hands reaches down, slipping a finger in and out between your bottom lips.
"Your body is adjusting to me." He bites your ear, bucking your hips as you feel one of his fingers catch on your clit and rubbing small circles.
"Because your body belongs to me. As my body belongs to you, of course."
You arch your back, but something keeps your thighs pinned to his as he speeds up, seemingly spelling something out on your clit.
"We are one in the same." he growls in your ear, continuing as he spells out the words he says in your ear on your clit, fast.
"Mind--"
Kiss
"--body--"
Kiss
"--and soul."
He bites your earlobe again. You try to push his hand away, feeling your orgasm approach, too sensitive to stop, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth are moans.
"We will become one," you hear a hand--obviously not preoccupied with bringing you closer to an orgasm--come out of the water.
Small droplets of water fall on your shoulder as he continues to bite and suck on your neck. His hands trail down until intertwined with yours--the very one that tried to put his away.
He stretches it out, kissing along it, before twisting it behind your back. He leans his head down to kiss the back of your hand.
"Can't have you interfering," he says, tightening his hold just enough to remind you how easily he can control your movements. "Not with the bond, not with me, and certainly--" a hand shoots out from the water to grip your jaw, forcing your face to turn to the side to look at him. "--not with what's already taking root inside you."
His finger taps on the side of your blissed-out face, your eyes closing shut, signaling to him you're close.
He hums, smiling at how easily you fold under his touch.
"Not until our souls are together," he kisses you softly, placing his head on your shoulder to watch you writhe and shiver from his fingers. He inserts two of them, ever so slow but quick to find that spot inside of you.
"The closer you are to finding me, the closer we are to being one again. I've waited centuries to find you once again." You keen as he doesn't relent on his touch anywhere.
Meanwhile, Ren stands outside guard of your door. He has...somewhat gotten used to hearing the sounds of sex but he knows what it means in the bigger picture: the closer the prophecy is to being fulfilled.
Suddenly, like a broken clock, clad in some black robes appears your troublesome group again.
"Step aside, Ren," says the leader, brandishing his sword as the rest do the same, unsheathing their weapons
"No." A stern voice says from the shadows to reveal two red-cloaked figures from before.
"To interfere is to stop the prophecy," says one of them. "And to stop the prophecy is to anger our god." Says another.
"I'd rather choose death." Ren finishes, quick to draw an arrow and shot at the group, purposefully hitting the ground near the group leader's feet.
"I am his quiver," Ren continues. "His right hand man, his weapon on earth. I have done my job at finding his star," he readies another arrow. "And I'll forbid it if you stop me from completely it."
The fight was long and quick but the group was no match for Ren and the cult leader. However, while distracted, the magician transforms into a shadow, sliding under the door and into the bathroom to a sight to behold.
Puddles of water have been splashed onto the floor with a slight fog in the air. You sit still, seemingly in a daze in the lap of the malicious manticore.
The magician stares in awe seeing his the manticore treats with... care? And not just care but the best they have seen in forever as you seem to be passed out of his lap. A claw slowly brushes up and down your shoulder, caressing it while the pushes locks of hair out of your face. Another hand picks up your limp hand, rubbing the back of it before kissing your knuckles.
If the magician didn't know any better, he would think this was a happy couple. And maybe in another life it was.
The magician was hesitant but soon the door bursted, startling him and the manticore--just a bit.
The group leader threw his sword like a spear but it passed threw him like most.
"Careful," a slow husky voice whispered in the air from every direction. "she has any scratch, bruise, or blood not shed of caused by me or on her own accord-" he reemerges from the most and points a clawed figured at everyone, "and I will make sure to hang your heads in my room."
The manticore chuckles.
"Would be a wonderful addition in centuries to my throne room."
He laughs, swirling around everyone, leaving you last stealing one last kiss before disappearing out the door until the fog is once again clear.
The magician goes your aid first.
One more. All it needed was one more meeting, one more time with you uninterrupted and the constellation on you would be complete.
The magician overheard Ren talking about the prophecy. It would be complete once the constellation is under a full moon along with something else but he had to leave lest he pass our from the amount of magic he was using.
➹▪︎3,589 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), Monster x Hunter!Reader, dubcon/noncon, size kink, choking, biting, blood, non-human anatomy, predator/prey dynamics, fear arousal, missionary->matting press->doggy, degradation & praise, possessiveness, sex dream, horror erotica, etc▪︎➹
A note before you read: Not my regular dubcon. This is noncon so I added the tag. Please proceed with caution. If this isn’t something you’re comfortable with, I encourage you to skip it—I’d never want my writing to cause anyone harm. If you think any additional tags or warnings are needed, please let me know. Take care, lovelies 💌
You were trained not to run.
Not when the woods go quiet. Not when you smell the copper tang of blood but find no body. Not even when you sense something circling, its breath a hot, sulfurous weight in the air. That’s when you’re supposed to wait. Steel in your hands. Steady breath. Trigger finger loose. Trust in the training.
But right now, your lungs are a furnace. Your boots are slick with mud and the dark plum of your own blood. Your heartbeat is too loud, a frantic drum that drowns out the forest’s warning. And you’re running—not just from the monster, but from the truth of why you’re here.
The branches claw at your face like skeletal hands, whipping your cheeks raw. The forest is too quiet. No birds, no wind... just the suffocating sense of something wrong following you. It feels like the ground is carrying him toward you, the trees parting to let the nightmare pass.
You stumble into a shallow ravine and fall hard. You drag yourself up with a hiss, your thigh burning where he clawed you—just a single, casual swipe, like a predator marking its territory. You hadn't even seen him then. Just a blur of black oil and moonlight.You reached the tree line and shoved through the underbrush, only to trip and fall flat in the dirt. You turned, hand scrabbling for a weapon that was ripped away miles ago.
That’s when he emerged.
He didn't rush. He stepped out of the shadows as if they birthed him—seven feet of solid, shifting nightmare. His shoulders were broad, dripping with forest grime, and horns curled from his skull like ancient, weathered bone. His skin wasn't fur or scales; it was something in between, a gleaming, oily black that seemed to drink the light. "Done running?” His voice slithered over your skin like smoke, rough and knowing. “Or should I chase you more, little killer?”
You lunged for a broken branch, swinging with a scream of pure desperation. He caught your wrist mid-swing. Effortless. The branch clattered to the dirt as he stepped forward, his shadow swallowing you whole.
He laughed—a low, throaty, cruel sound. “You are fun.”
He shoved you flat to the ground. The weight of him followed instantly, a massive, unnatural heat that made the air shimmer. His claws bracketed your throat, firm enough to hurt you, but not enough to kill.
“You smell like sweat,” he murmured, dragging his nose along your jaw. “And fear. And... want.”
“I’ll kill you,” you whispered, your throat dry as ash. “I've seen what you do. I’ve spoken to you in the dark when nobody was listening. You’re going to pay for every body you left rotting in these woods.”
His grin widened, revealing rows of jagged, needle-sharp teeth. “You’ve been dreaming of me, haven't you? That’s how you found me. You followed the voice from your sleep. You felt this skin against yours in the safety of your bed, and you couldn't stay away.”
“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, though the horror of it was the truth. The dreams were what led you here. You’d felt the phantom brush of that oily skin for months. You’d asked him who he was in the static of your sleep, and he’d answered with a hunger that now sat heavy on top of you.
“No,” he purred, his eyes shimmering with a predatory light. “Just starving. And you brought yourself right to me.”
He dragged his claws down your ribs, slicing the front of your shirt like it was wet paper. The cool night air kissed your skin, making your nipples harden in the chill. You were exposed, trembling under the gaze of a creature who ate hunters for sport.
“Filthy little thing,” he rasped, cupping your jaw in one massive, clawed hand. “You hunt monsters, but your body begs for one. Look at you... so wet for a thing you claim to hate.”
You spat in his face. It hit his cheek and sizzled, a faint wisp of steam rising from his skin.
He went still.
For a second, the forest went dead-silent, and you thought he might actually tear your throat out.
Instead, he growled—a deep, vibrating sound that shook your very bones—and forced your thighs wider with a snarl. He didn't rush the entry; he gave you a heartbeat to realize the sheer scale of what was happening. His cock dragged against your entrance, thick, pulsing, and inhumanly hot. The blunt head smeared wet heat over your folds, lining up with a terrifying precision.
“No,” you gasped, your body already arching in a treacherous, instinctive welcome.
“Yes,” he purred, and shoved in.
You screamed. It wasn't just fear—it was the stretch. The agonizing burn of him splitting you open. He was too big, his girth forcing your muscles to yield or break. The blunt head of his cock drove into you, stretching your walls until they felt thin as parchment.
“Be still.” He grabbed your wrists in one hand, slamming them above your head. “Take it. Greedy little hunter—you want to be split open, don’t you? You want to feel exactly how much of a monster I am.”
“F-fuck you,” you sobbed, your voice shredded raw.
“I am,” he snarled, his breath hot against your neck as he sank another inch deeper, his weight pinning you into the dirt. “And I’m not stopping until I’m buried in the hilt of this cunt. You're going to remember the taste of this dirt and the feel of my skin every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life.”
He slammed the rest of the way in, bottoming out with a force that made your vision go white. You scream—high, hoarse, and shattered—your back arching violently off the damp forest floor. Your chest heaves as you feel him hit the very end of you, a blunt, heavy pressure that blooms deep in your gut.
It’s a sickeningly perfect fit, a mix of agony and a dark, rhythmic pleasure sharp enough to sting your spine. Your walls clench down hard, a primal reflex not to force him out, but to anchor him in—and the way it makes him groan, a low, savage vibration that rattles your ribs, leaves you trembling with a terrifying realization.
“Fuck—so tight,” he grits out, his voice a gravelly rasp against the shell of your ear. “Like your body’s trying to swallow me whole. You don’t even know how perfect you are, little killer. All that training just made you a better vessel for a monster.”
You whine, writhing beneath him, but it only makes him clamp his massive, clawed hands onto your hips, anchoring you to the dirt. Then he starts to move. It’s slow at first—obscene and deliberate—dragging his thick length out until you’re empty and aching, before ramming it back in so hard you swear your lungs skip a beat. The sound is filthy—the wet, messy slap of skin and the squelch of your own slickness mixing with the heavy drag of him.
“M'fuck. You were made for this,” he grunts, his eyes glowing with a delightful, predatory hatred. He fucks into you with a crude, mechanical rhythm, his weight pinning you into the moss. “All those silver blades. All that talk about making me pay for the deaths I caused. And now look at you.”
“Hnnn—ahh—mmnh—!” You can’t stop the sounds. They’re animalistic, torn from a throat that’s forgotten how to speak.
He lowers his face, his nose brushing yours, his breath smelling of the cold night and ancient earth. “Shaking. Crying. Dripping around a monster. You didn’t just hunt me, girl. You chased the dreams of this. You felt my skin in your sleep and you came running to find the real thing.”
He shifts your legs, shoving them up until your knees are pinned to your chest, and slams in even deeper. The breath whooshes out of you. He’s in your stomach. You can see it—the terrifying, unmistakable bulge of his cock distending your soft skin.
“Ohh… look at that,” he moans, a sound of pure, cruel satisfaction. He drags a claw down your belly, pressing right where the outline of him stretches you from the inside. “You’re stuffed. You’re so full of me you can’t even hold your own breath.”
You’re crying now—hot, salt-heavy tears spilling freely. It’s too much. The stretch is too wide, the heat too intense, and the pleasure is a white-hot storm building at the base of your spine.
“You’re gonna cum for me,” he growls, his voice near-unhinged. “You’ll cum with this cock breaking you open.”
“Uh-uhn,” you mutter, shaking your head, but your body is already screaming its betrayal. The pressure builds—impossible to fight. Your clit grinds against his pulsing skin with every punishing thrust. Every nerve is raw, every bruised edge of you buzzing with a dark, forbidden electricity.
You cry out, your hips jolting in violent spasms. Your eyes go wide as your pussy clenches down in a crushing, milked-dry orgasm that crashes through you like a landslide. You scream through it—sob through it—but he doesn't slow. He fucks you harder through the peak, his movements turning savage.
“Yes,” he snarls. “That’s it. That’s how a hunter cums. Wrung out and ruined.”
You’re twitching, too sensitive to be touched, but he won't let you go. He grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his glowing, inhuman gaze. His cock still pistons inside you, heavy and merciless, slamming deeper until your thoughts blur into grey.
“Gonna fill you up now,” he pants. “Gonna breed this pretty little hole. Mark you inside so you never forget who owns your breath.”
Your eyes go wide. “Please—wait—slow dow—mhn—ahhm!”
He groans—a deep, filthy roar—slamming in to the hilt as he cums. It’s violent. His whole body locks up, shaking with the force of it, his dick twitching deep inside as thick, scorching jets of him fill you to the absolute brim. You feel the heat of him flooding your womb, a heavy, internal baptism.
The world went dark. You don’t remember when you passed out—maybe it was when he sank his teeth into your shoulder, claiming the flesh as he claimed the rest of you.
But now you're waking up.
You’re flat on your back in the cold dirt, your thighs slick with a drying, heavy mess. The inside of your body is still fluttering, still throbbing around the ghost of him. You’re raw. Your limbs ache like you’ve been through a war. You try to crawl, your fingers digging into the soil, but you barely manage to get to your elbows before claws hook around your knees.
He yanks you backward—hard. Your body flops uselessly to the forest floor.
“No,” he growls, the sound like gravel and smoke. “I’m not done with you.”
You whine—a high, broken whimper. “Please—wait, I—I c-can’t—”
He’s already spreading you, his rough palms dragging your thighs wide with the easy entitlement of a king. Your legs twitch helplessly. You try to push at his arms, but he just growls and pushes deeper, the motion grinding his leaking, still-hard length against your sensitive skin.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, dragging his dick through your folds, smearing the drying cum and your own slick into a fresh, lubricated mess. “You're still open for me. It’s pouting. Begging for another round.”
“Mnngh, please—” You babble through fresh tears. “Wait, I—too much—”
“Shhh.” He presses a clawed hand to your chest, pinning you like a trophy. “You can. You’re mine now. That means you take every drop I have to give.”
He plunges back inside.
You scream—a shattered, stuttering sound that cracks your voice. Your nails claw at his chest, but he doesn't flinch. He just pushes deeper, hitting that aching, bruised place in your gut. The wet slap of skin is loud in the silent woods.
“Still so fucking tight,” he snarls, his pace turning frantic. “You came on me. Passed out while you were milking me—and now you’re tighter than when we started?”
You’re shaking, your head tossing from side to side. Every thrust brings a babbling, incoherent moan from your lips.
He slams into you with everything he has, lifting your hips and bending your legs back until your knees press against your chest. He fucks down into you, his jaw set, his breath coming in jagged hitches.
“Wanna run again?” he pants, his lips brushing your damp temple. “Try it. I’ll chase you all night. I’ll drag you back and breed you against every tree in this forest until you forget your own name. You’re not a hunter anymore. You gave that up when you decided to come here.”
Your fingers curl weakly against his shoulders, your nails scraping his hide as another orgasm begins to tear through you—violent, raw, and utterly breaking. Your body clutches him greedily, spasming around him as if trying to pull him even deeper into your soul.
“That’s it. Cum on it. Milk my cock, you ruined little thing,” he moans, his voice a deep, filthy growl. “Show me what a monster’s bitch sounds like.”
He slams in again. And again. And again. Overflowing you until the forest is nothing but the sound of your screams and his heavy, rhythmic conquest.
You twitch beneath him, your hips jerking in violent, uncoordinated spasms with every bruising thrust. Your arms flop uselessly beside your head, fingers digging into the cold, damp earth until your nails are packed with grit. You’re babbling again, a high-pitched, senseless sound that borders on a scream. “Nnh—p-please, I—too deep—fuck—please—s-stretching me—gonna break, gonna break—”
“You’ll take every inch,” he snarls, his voice a low vibration that rattles your teeth. He presses a massive, cooling palm low over your belly, and you gasp as you feel the hard, thick bulge of him pushing against your internal organs, distending your soft skin from the inside. “You need this. You’ve been hunting the ghost of this feeling since the first time you stepped into my woods.”
He doesn’t stop until you go silent, your voice finally failing you. You’re too wrecked to cry, too full to plead, your body a shattered vessel for his hunger. He delivers a final, brutal thrust that pins you into the dirt, and a guttural snarl tears from his throat as he cums. His dick pulses inside you, a hot and endless torrent, thick spurts of his seed flooding your womb until you’re overflowing.
You feel the scorching heat of him spill out around the edges of your stretched-open slit, dripping down your trembling thighs and pooling in the dark moss. You whimper—a soft, cracked little sound that is half-sob and half-surrender.
His massive arms wrap around you this time, tight and possessive, his claws pricking your skin as he curls over you like a beast shielding its prize. His breath is ragged and sulfurous against your throat. “Now you really smell like mine,” he murmurs into the silence of the trees.
You don’t know how long you lie there, your face turned to the side and pressed into the dirt, your mouth slack as drool slips into the earth. Your body isn’t yours anymore; it belongs to the forest and the thing that just claimed you. Everything between your thighs burns with a raw, pulsing fire. Your skin is scraped bloody from the stones beneath you, and your limbs refuse to move. But you're awake. Barely.
A soft, broken noise escapes your throat. You shift just enough to feel the slick, viscous mess between your legs, the slow, rhythmic drip of warmth down your inner thighs. His cum. It feels heavy, a brand left inside you. You flinch at the reminder and try to crawl away again, your fingers clawing at the dirt for just a few inches of distance. It doesn't matter. He was watching. Massive, clawed hands wrap around your waist and lift you as if you weigh nothing—prey that is still twitching in denial.
He drags you down the incline of the forest floor, over damp moss and crushed leaves that smell of rot, until he has you face-down. He shoves you into a deep arch, bent at the hips with your ass shoved up into the moonlight. The position is humiliating, exposed and raw, and the cool air hitting your wet, gaping hole makes you shudder.
“I—I thought y-you… you were done…” you moan, your voice cracking.
His voice comes low and terrifyingly close behind you. It’s different now—still dark, but laced with a cruel affection. “I told you,” he murmurs, dragging sharp claws down the length of your spine, leaving thin white lines that sting in the night air. “I’m never done with something that belongs to me.”
His weight presses down over you again, and the sheer scale of him is suffocating. His skin is rough like weathered stone, but beneath the surface, you see those faint, glowing veins of molten gold—lava trapped in a shell of muscle. His chest is impossibly wide, blotting out the stars as he leans over you. His long, coarse hair brushes your back, damp with sweat and the blood of the hunt.
You hear the wet rasp of his breath behind fanged teeth. His dick grinds between your thighs, and you let out a broken whimper when the thick, pulsing head brushes your oversensitive, cream-slicked slit.
“What are you?” you whisper, your fingers clutching the moss.There is a pause, the forest holding its breath.
And then, so softly it sounds like a death sentence: “I’m yours.”
He thrusts in without warning. Your body jerks forward with a high, wrecked scream that is choked off by the forest floor. He’s deeper like this, hitting you with a blunt, devastating force that feels like it’s reaching your ribs. Each inch is a battle against the resistance of your stretched, aching walls, but your body yields. It has no choice.
You sob into the ground, your legs shaking as you babble, “O-oh—f-feels so—full—oh god, yes, f-fuck—”
“That’s right,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hip bones hard enough to leave purple bruises. “Say it. Say who’s making you feel like this. Say who’s breaking you.”
“You,” you whimper, your mind fracturing. “Y-you are—can’t stop—please, please—don’t stop—feels s-so good—”
He snarls with approval, the sound vibrating through your chest. “You learn quick, killer.” His claws rake up your sides, a mockery of tenderness that makes you flinch and arch higher into him.
He bends over your back, his massive body covering yours completely, and begins to slam into you with a punishing, rhythmic force. Each thrust rocks you forward, your belly scraping the dirt, your breasts bouncing and slick with sweat as he drives deeper into your soaked, ruined cunt.
You moan louder now, a helpless, wild sound that echoes through the trees. Every time he fills you, it feels like he’s going to split your body in two, the sheer girth of him forcing you open past your limit. But you can’t stop praising him. “Y-you’re so big—s-so fucking good, fuck—I c-can’t think—can’t—”
“You don’t need to think,” he growls into your ear, his tongue flicking against the shell of it. “Just feel. Just take it all.”
You scream when his hand wraps around your throat, not cutting off your air, but pinning your head down into the moss, reminding you of his absolute strength. His hips slam into you faster now, the wet, violent slap of flesh on flesh constant and echoing. The sounds you’re making aren't even words anymore—just soft, cracked sobs of broken pleasure and terror.
And still, he talks to you in that monster’s lullaby. “You asked what I am. I’m the thing that waits for the brave. I’m the price you pay for entering a cursed place with a blade in your hand. I’m the one who heard your blood call out the very first time you stepped into my woods.”
Your body shakes with a fresh wave of tremors. Tears mix with the dirt on your face. Your walls pulse around him again, tight and fluttering, and you’re close—so close, even though it hurts, even though you’re already ruined. He keeps going, his thrusts slower but harder, grinding deep as your climax finally crashes through you. You scream, your body arching into a bow, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you come so hard your vision goes white.
He groans, a feral, possessive sound, and slams in one last time, staying buried to the hilt as he cums again. You feel him throb deep inside you, hot and heavy, pumping his release into your spasming cunt. The molten heat spreads through your gut, and you finally collapse, twitching and sobbing beneath his massive weight.
You feel marked. Bound. Kept.
His voice wraps around your shuddering body like a curse. “Sleep, little hunter. The forest will keep you safe until you wake up back home."
-
You bolt upright, your eyes snapping open to the suffocating stillness of your bedroom. A sharp, jagged gasp tears from your throat as you claw at the air, your fingers tangling in the damp sheets instead of the forest floor. You’re drenched in a cold, sickly sweat that makes your skin itch, and your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
For a long minute, you can’t breathe. You’re waiting for the trees to close in, for the smell of damp earth and musk to return. But as the frantic rhythm of your pulse slows, the shadows in the corner resolve into your dresser and your desk. The terror begins to recede, leaving behind a hollow, trembling ache.
It was just a dream.
You lean back against the headboard, dragging a hand down your face. This one was different. It wasn't just the chase or the fear of the kill; it was the way he had caught you. The memory of the sex—primal, invasive, and overwhelming—clings to your skin more than the sweat does. He hadn't just hunted you; he had ravished you, turning your own body into a landscape of heat and pain.
You glance at the bedside clock. The red numbers burn into the dark: 3:33 AM.
A heavy, bitter sigh escapes you. You don’t get the luxury of falling back asleep to forget. For you, these nightmares are a nightly ritual—a twisted training ground where you are broken down just to see if you can put yourself back together. Every night is a different horror, a different way to die or be used.
You stare at the ceiling, the phantom sensation of his hands still ghosting over your hips.
You have to get up.
You have to arm yourself because the monster that just spent hours terrorizing your mind is waiting for you out there in the real world, and you’re the only one hunter enough to finish him.
and thoughts of sexy orc man (inspired by art by this lovely person are running rampant through my brain. i imagine he finds you somewhere in the village/town working a stall or just going about your day while he does the same, you catch his eye. he does nothing short of make it known then and there. full on just walks up to you and asks your permission to court you. i could do fluff of the courting process, i really could, but rn the only thing i can think about is...
..him having your legs spread over his thighs in front a mirror so both of you can see how much his thick fingers stretch you out. and he's very vocal in your ears about the fact that his throbbing cock is going to stretch you even more...you barely register the thought, of course, too focused on how good two of his pleasantly rough fingers feel as they massage your g-spot, on the deliciously tight circles he draws on your clit with his other hand, the burning stare through the mirror. by the time he's satisfied with the gape between you legs you've lost times of how many orgasms he's already wrung from you. legs still trembling in his hold and still embarrassingly wet. what doesn't help, is the glance of the monstrous dick that catches your eye in that dreadful mirror before you feel the already leaking tip start to press into your much too eager pussy. the stretch is noticeable, but not a bad one, he really did make sure to warm you up nice and proper...that doesn't mean every inch, especially the last one, doesn't have you borderline panting and digging into his arms though. he still has you in that same position from earlier, giving you the perfect view of how your slutty little cunt swallows him up and makes a shiny wet mess. you honestly thought he'd start ruthlessly fucking you without a thought outside of breeding you. so when he starts with slow, deep thrusts? the wind is gradually pulled from you with every push and pull. you can make out a very prominent bulge in your stomach and from the borderline snarls he emits every time it pokes out? you can tell it turns him on just the same. he readjusts you both so that he can angle more of his cock into you, deeper, faster, but he makes sure to savour every moment of your walls milking him for his cum, every last one of your choked moans, whimpers, and whines, especially your pleas for him to go faster, which are quickly silenced by a rumbling chuckle and his thumb finding it's way back to your puffed clit and causing another quick orgasm to wreck through you. you can tell he enjoys it. making you cum. it brings him a twisted sort of pleasure knowing that he's the one that has you in this state, to see that his cock is the one you're so helplessly and happily impaled on. so after one more dragged out orgasm, he gives you what you wants. he fucks you so silly you can barely make a coherent sound. you can still feel him looking deviously at you through the mirror as his balls slap against your skin and he presses on the bulge on your belly, but you're too busy spasming the hell out to give a damn, held up only by your back limp against his chest. when he finally does cum you can feel it. hot ropes shooting into you and the growing bump you know is going to be there for a few hours, the way his tusks seem to frame your neck perfectly as he desperately marks you while pumping you impossibly full of his load (his favourite way to cum <3). and lazily rubbing figures on your clit even as he grows soft inside of you, still throbbing at the way his thick, still steamy cum, oozes out of you and onto the sheets he'll have no issue cleaning later. by the time he's done with you? you're completely fucked out and not at all paying any mind to the impending sore muscles you'll have. he cleans you up after the feeling starts to get uncomfortable then asks if there's anything you need, which he gladly provides. <333
When people find out your husband is an Orc, they usually suspect him to be a trepidation huge monster. But once people saw him, they were shocked to see an orc 5'6 singing lullabies to the kitten. Jerry is a sweet guy. Completely sweet.
" You make being slut look so cute as you take my c-cock like a good girl." Jerry compliments you, his dick was dangerously close to your womb. His warm mouth sucking and tugging on your nipples. You wanted to say thank you, but with how rough and relentless his thrusts you couldn't think clearly.
