Gargoyle lover who can't spend time with you during the day, as he truly is nothing but a stone statue at sunrise. But at night, he moves around freely in his true form.
He makes up for the lost time by filling you up each night. Ensuring to keep you awake all night, cock drunk, so you can sleep the whole day. Now you sleep when he ''sleeps'' and you're awake when he is.
But sometimes he gets carried away, not realizing that the sun was peeking above the clouds as he's far too distracted pounding into you to ensure you take every last drop of his cum before he sleeps. It's not until he notices that his movements were halted, but he was too late. He turned completely into a stone statue whilst balls deep inside of you. Both of his arms still wrapped around your waist, you're unable to move. It's not as though you can push him off either; he's far too heavy.
Now you're stuck, still wriggling with pleasure as his now cold, hard cock is still inside. Even though he's now in statue form, his dick is still able to reach all the right spots without moving. It was going to be a long day.
Imagine you have a guardian angel who goes everywhere you go and sees everything you do:
"Do stop, you can't do that in my presence."
"What, too chicken to watch me masturbate? Afraid your little shiny halo is going to crack? Well too bad, because I've been stuck with you since forever and now I'm too horny to care. Join me or go home."
You both know he can't do either and after a big struggle he gets your clothes back on and carries you into the livingroom, dumping you on the couch.
"Here, let us watch a movie instead."
The sight of him fumbling with the remote cools off your annoyance and you grin.
"Ahahaha!" Your best friend Elan is nearly falling on the ground as he laughs, clutching his stomach.
"Will you stop?" You huff. "This isn't funny."
"Are you seriously thinking about buying that?" He wheezes. "He looks like he wants to kill you."
"If you were stuck in a cage, I'm sure you'd be pissed off too," you reason, and peer at the demon.
He looks like a model fixed up for a fantasy photo shoot. But no cameras are flashing in this display window. The horns, the silvery skin, and the platinum hair are very real. The part of the eyes that would typically be white is gold instead, and he has no irises, only pupils that are huge and cat-like as he stares, unblinkingly at you.
And you look back at him long enough to realize he's not looking at you. He's staring at nothing. It's the sort of faraway gaze you can expect from someone who is in a place they don't belong. Your heart sinks a little but you're brought back to the present when Elan says,
"Resting bitch face," and tosses a handful of popcorn at the window.
You catch the exact moment the demon snaps out of it because you see his pupils shrink and sharpen as he looks at your friend. Damn, you'd hate to be on the receiving end of that look.
"How much did you drink?" You scowl. "I knew having a night out today was a bad idea."
"So what, my boyfriend ditched me. Big deal," Elan says, wobbling. "Who gives a shit about him?"
"Can you move?" An irritated voice calls out. "The last thing I want is a drunk teenager throwing up all over my display window."
"I will have you know I'm twenty-two!" Elan calls out. "I'm a responsible adult now."
"Uh-huh, sure," the shop owner says, entirely unconvinced of the latter. "Go and be responsible somewhere else."
"Actually, I was looking to make a purchase," you pipe up.
The shop owner brightens up. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Come on in. Leave your friend outside, they should get some fresh air."
"I'll be fine!" Elan says in a sing-song voice. "Go and get yourself a little pet."
You roll your eyes and step into the shop. You wince as the heavy scent of incense hits you.
"It's for the smell," the shop owner says. "Demons have a smell you know."
"Did I need to know that?" You muse.
"You want one, don't you? It's best to be aware of all the small details. Demons aren't like dogs, you can't just send them to the pound when you get tired of 'em."
The shop owner thunks a heavy catalog onto the table and says, "Before you ask, you can order them for a fee and get them delivered as well."
"I already know which one I want to get. The demon in the display window is on sale?"
"Lord yes, please take him!" The shopkeeper says quickly.
Of course, that immediately makes you suspicious. "Why?"
The shopkeeper clears their throat and says sheepishly, "He bites."
Your confused expression probably tells them all they need to know because they sigh.
"Hold on a minute, I'll fetch him so you can have a look."
You watch as they approach the brooding demon. You can tell the shopkeeper is afraid by the way they snatch the trailing leash off the floor. You're beginning to doubt your choice as he stands up, towering head and shoulders above the shopkeeper. This demon might be the figurative mastiff of the demon world. He follows the shopkeeper, but only because he wants to.
It looks like he's a little curious about you as well.
"Open your mouth," the shopkeeper orders.
The only two things keeping the shopkeeper alive at this point are the muzzle the demon is wearing and the taser the shopkeeper holds. You know for a fact that there's enough electricity in there to kill a horse. The demon glances down at the shopkeeper, seeming to bask in the way it makes them squirm. And then those golden eyes fall on you and the demon leans down until his face is level with yours. You have a pretty good view through the bars of the muzzle as he parts his lips in a sarcastic smile. The sheer amount of needle teeth bracketed by large canines weakens your knees.
"He's bitten people with those?" You gawk. "Are those people dead or missing limbs?"
"Not that I know," the shopkeeper says. "He only bites when you're rough with him."
"Promise I'll be nice," the demon says in a cavernous rasp that startles the shopkeeper as well as you.
"Since when could you speak English?" The shopkeeper says scathingly.
The demon clamps his teeth together and says nothing else, looking vaguely amused.
"Um, he might be a little too much for me," you tell the shopkeeper. "I want a bodyguard of sorts, not a murder machine."
"This is his last chance," the shopkeeper says. "Sure you don't want him? If not, he's going to the pits."
You wince at that. As scary as he looks, this demon is almost too beautiful to get messed up in the fighting pits. You hesitate and then ask,
"Can I have a trial run with him?"
"Up to a week," the shopkeeper says.
"Okay," you say. "I'll try him out."
─────────────── · · · · ✦
I keep trying to nail down this idea I have that monsters are treated as pets, toys, or "guard dogs" at best and slaves and gladiators and scum of the earth at worst. I can't get it exactly how I want and it's making me mad.
"Shit," you squeak as the ladder you're standing on wobbles violently.
The wind, the rickety ladder, and life in general are doing you no favors today. Of course, you fall, making things worse. The basket goes flying with the apples and you follow like a bag of stones. Your face gets muffled in your skirt and your thighs feel the cool breezy wind rushing past.
"Shit!" You cry again like it'll make a difference.
You fall on top of something hard, but not quite as hard as the ground. The surface area is small and you flail, still blinded by your skirt, to find something to hold onto.
Bingo, a large stick! Except, it's not a stick. It's a horn, and there are two of them. You're draped over someone's head, and you can feel the tremendous whoosh of their lungs as they take in a breath and you're quite certain the wet thing against your stomach is their nose. You're awkwardly perched on their shoulders like god dropped you into an ill-fitting highchair.
For a moment your mind goes blank. And then you toss your legs to the side and try to slide down elegantly. The ground is further away than you think and the shock of impact twinges painfully up your heels.
"I..." You look at the minotaur farmhand and scramble for a decent explanation. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sit on you."
Now that doesn't sound decent at all. But you can't take it back.
His nostrils are flaring like your scent is still on his mottled pink nose, so you reach up with a handful of your apron in an attempt to wipe your scent away. You're far too short to reach though, so you end up looking incredibly lame. So much for that.
He lowers himself into a crouch, and you smile in triumph and dab at his nose. He jerks his head back and lets out a loud huff that could be a sneeze or a laugh. And then he holds out a bruised apple to you, and you realize that's what he was doing. Picking up your apple. Not leaning down for you to wipe his nose.
How embarrassing.
He hesitates, then pats you on the head and lumbers away. You hold the apple, defeated.
The sack is itchy against your skin, but your arms are tied tightly behind your back and you can do nothing but twitch your face. You've been lying on your side in the cart for over an hour and the bumpy ride has ensured that you're bruised all over like an overly ripe fruit.
The cart comes to a stop and you can hear your captor whistling as their boots thump to the ground.
"I brought her, a spitting image she is," he says cheerfully.
You mumble something garbled against the gag but stop when your captor bangs a hand against the side of the cart as a warning.
"Here she is, my good neighbor. I picked her just for you!"
The tread of feet comes closer.
"My, look at all that black hair," a cultured and accented voice sighs.
And then, they take in a deep, sharp breath and say in a strained voice,
"Why are there bruises?"
"Ah, the road up to yer little cottage is rather bumpy, it is," your captor says. "She'll heal up in no time. Why don't you unwrap the goods and see the rest of her?"
There's the briefest scuffle, and your captor lets out a shout that turns into a gurgle. A body hits the ground. The sack is yanked away from your face and the bright sun above you is eclipsed by a face that is bloody around the fanged, smiling mouth.
The vampire is tall, spindly, and androgynous, either an ancient or simply malnourished. They have blank red doe-eyes and long brown hair twisted into a bun and held in place with a stake.
"My love is brought back to me," they murmur, rubbing strands of your hair through their fingers.
You mumble into the gag, trying to work it loose. The knot is slipping on the back of your head.
"Oh, you want to speak? In a minute, my soul. I want to see what the rest of you looks like."
The vampire doesn't hesitate to shred your threadbare clothes, and their hands fall to the sides as they stare at your body.
"Oh," they say.
With another shake of your head, the gag finally comes loose and you sputter,
"I was trying to tell him, I'm not a bloody woman!"
The vampire rubs their hands together.
"Not that," they declare. "I couldn't care less about that. You are alarmingly scrawny, and it unsettles me. My darling should not look so."
They scoop you up easily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "My, I shall have fun with you! I will feed you strawberries and milk and sweet cakes until you are warm and soft. I will dress you in lace and darling shoes and a little bow for your neck. I am going to make you into the perfect dolly, that I am."
With a giddy laugh, they swoop inside with their new toy.
You wake up to the soft sound of rain drumming against the tent. You're about to roll over when you feel a pair of large manly hands clutch your hips and a warm fluffy tail curling around your ankle. Above the sound of the rain, a moan. Your heart leaps in something like surprise and excitement and you force yourself to lie still.
In the dark of the night it doesn't really matter if your eyes are closed or not but you close them anyway. It makes you hyperaware of what he's doing, his claws caressing over your hipbone, how carefully he scoots closer until his hips press against yours.
Another choked groan. His hand slides up carefully over your ribcage and cups your breast. He murmurs something to himself as his fingers eagerly finding your nipple and squeezing gently. You stifle a gasp as electricity jolts down your spine. From what you've seen, females of.his kind don't have breasts unless they're breastfeeding. Do yours seem like a useless burden?
Maybe, but right now it's obvious he likes them a lot.
* * *
This was supposed to be longer. But I am hopeless at rising to occasion whenever I actually want to write something. * apologetic shrug *
He is a naga and a single father who is distrusting of humans. But he has an important meeting to attend and his usual Elf babysitter is sick. However she recommends you to him and having no other choice, he grudgingly calls you. Parting is difficult for him and he politely tells you all the ways he can kill you slowly if you as much as ruffle a scale on his five-year-old son. He calls the meeting off early because of how anxious he is and when he gets home he finds both of you asleep snuggled on the couch with movie credits rolling on the television screen.
The next time he needs a babysitter, it's your phone which is ringing.
I made this into a longer story! You can find it here.
