#monsterxreader

[flowerbetweenfangs]

A Lesson In Discipline

Warnings: Breeding/Mating/Use of Pheromones

When you had brought the jars of pheromones, there was a bit of doubt lingering in the back of your mind. After all, plenty had taken advantage of the werewolf pack moving into your city. While the identities of the members were a secret, they were always skulking about on the full moon, picking their mate for the night.

Those who were chosen said it was the best sex of their life, raw and primal. Bowlegged walks and the scent that clung to them gave credence to their claim. And for the remaining cycle of the moon, they would have good fortune and preferential treatment as the packmember’s mate.

You dabbed a drop behind your ears. While your nose couldn’t pick anything up, you hadn’t expected it to. Hopefully, you hadn’t been duped with just plain water.

The next day while out, you caught a few people looking at you with hunger. Glazed over eyes, lips parted slightly as drool seeps out just enough to moisten lips, some stand up taller, muscles taut as they look ready to pounce on you, a slight rumble in chests and throats as they look you over, nostrils flaring as they drink in your scent.

Even when you washed behind your ears in the public bathroom at university, you could see the few who let their gazes linger just a little longer. The glimmer of hunger was there, but restraint had returned. It figured college students would be a prime pick for the pack.

During your latest lecture, a few stragglers seemed to paying more attention to you than the professor. Tight fists gripped pens and pencils hard enough to snap, fingers pounded on keyboards despite the owners not taking their eyes off you. The overwhelming scent of musk quickly filled the air as condensation formed on the large windows facing the courtyard.

When the bell rang, a sense of relief washed over you when the professor clapped his hands together.

“Class dismissed!” His normally monotone voice boomed through the classroom. The lookers slumped and slunk out. If they had tails, they would be between their legs.

“Except for you.” The professor pointed right at you.

As you walked closer, you noticed his nails seemed to be a little longer than usual. Or maybe they had always been that way? He leaned on his desk, but still towered over you.

“What were you thinking?” He hissed. His canines were slightly elongated, the rest of his teeth tapered. “Wearing something so potent?”

“Sir?” You asked. You swallowed hard, a quiver in your stomach.

“There are less disciplined wolves out in the city.” His nails scraped against the top of the desk, small shavings curling under the tips. “If you wander off campus, then you’ll be putting a target on your back.”

“I tried to scrub it off.” You confessed, not even trying to feign ignorance or innocence. “I thought that—”

“Less disciplined wolves wouldn’t give you a warning.” He growled, his muscles audibly straining as he gripped the desk tighter. Even as he spoke, there was a shift in his pants’ fabric as his erection grew. “Fortunately for you… I’m far more restrained.”

“Thank you for the warning.” You managed to stutter out, although you could feel the desire starting to fan to life inside you. He was an older man, but remarkably handsome, silver hair and a beard, with caramel colored eyes that looked almost amber. His dress clothes were tight against his body. Strong, and big. Both wide and tall.

Your face burned, and you hoped he didn’t see it. Actually, a small part hoped he did.

“You’re in no danger as long as you remain on campus.” He assured you, finally letting go of the desk and closing the distance between you. The scent of his cologne was strong. No, not cologne… Musk.

“We deal with unruly pack members diligently.”

The windows seemed to fog up more when he leaned down to your neck. Warm breath rolled over your neck as he panted, taking in your scent.

“That includes mates.”

(Part 02 is here!)

[miya-sugar]

Plans! & FUCK CANCER

Hey guys it’s been a bit since I’ve posted or talked to you guys😭

Where have I been?: I’ve been away since December to focus on my brother, who is my only sibling and was fighting stage 3 cancer. He officially beat it in December, and I’ve spent the last few months by his side, helping him get back on his feet and assisting with his daily life. He’s been home for two months now and is doing fantastic, which has finally given me the peace of mind to return to my writing.

What am I planning to post?: In terms of my stories, I’m currently in the process of rewriting parts 8 and 9 of My Best Catch. I felt those chapters were a bit rushed and jumped too far ahead for my liking, so I’ve deleted them to ensure the story gets the pacing it deserves. I’m also working on new drawings for this series and several other stories I’m planning to post soon.

When I’ll officially return?: My goal is to be officially back by March 15th. My brother has been incredibly supportive and is actually pushing me to write again because he knows how much I love it. I’m still navigating the worry I feel when I lock my door and put my headphones on to get into the zone, but knowing he’s doing well makes it much easier to focus on my passion again.

Edit: change of plans I don’t know when I’m coming back. Nothings wrong with my brother for anyone wondering but something else has come up. Everyone stay safe

[lilstylez01]

Little Red [Johan Liebert x Reader] [Monster x Reader] - Seminar (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1594992059-little-red-johan-liebert-x-reader-monster-x-reader?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=SkadiSnoe  ♱Chapter 3: “You wonder if they hear it differently. The word cost. The word human. You wonder if your accent gives you away before your opinions ever could. If you sound naïve just by opening your mouth.A familiar discomfort settles in your chest. Not fear. Awareness.“ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. “He removes his coat slowly, methodically, hanging it with care. The movement feels intimate, like watching someone undress in another room. You look away and then, inexplicably, look back.When he turns, his eyes move across the class with calm precision.They pause on Maxine. On Matthias. On Serena.Then they find you.It's brief. Barely a heartbeat.But it feels like being brushed by a thought that doesn't belong to you.You feel suddenly aware of your posture. Your breathing. The weight of your hands in your lap. Not embarrassed. Exposed in a way that feels... deliberate.“

[oddheadd]

Frostbite °• : ⁠｡ - Chapter II

Chapters: ~I/prologue, ~II (You're here), ~III

Wendigo/Skinwalker x Reader

CW: Gore, animal deaths. The religion is made up and in no way do I intent to offend anyone, please don't read if such subjects trigger you.

I stare at my laptop screen, wanting to bang my head against the wall as I observe the blank page.

Yesterday I actually managed to fall asleep. The tapping didn't continue, but that's probably more disturbing. I would've brushed it off as the quirk of the cabin, but it was so random.

I sigh and close the laptop, lazily lifting myself off the couch and deciding to make myself another cup of coffee. I go outside and sit on the porch, drinking the steaming, bitter liquid. I gaze into the forest and feel it drawing me in.

I keep watching the hypnotizing sway of the trees with the gentle wind, before I bring the cup to my lips to sip the coffee again, and realize I've drank it whole. I take the now empty cup into the house and head out again, walking straight into the forest.

I wonder if it's still there.

As a child, I'd always wander into the forest, making mud pies, finding big sticks and hopefully searching for the animals. In my child, naive mind I thought I'd hop on their backs and they'd take me away into the wonderland.

Then I saw it... Not a cute, big eyed, furry animal, but the monstrously enormous monastery. What once used to be a praying space was then broken down and abandoned and despite my fear, I went in.

The walls were painted with blood, carcasses of small animals hung loosely from the ceiling... In the very edge of the room, what I assume a recently killed deer, was hung on the wall, its body was cut from neck to stomach, as if showing off its insides.

I ran home crying and mom never brought me here after that. I assume it was something ritualistic. I shouldn't have wondered into the 17-19th century broken down catholic church anyways.

I sigh and kick around in the snow.

Looking down I see something. I furrow my brows and lean down, looking at what I assume is a deer footprint.

Then I hear shuffling behind me. I immediately turn around and-

"Oh, hi..." - A man waves at me awkwardly. He has dark hair with a matching pair of almond shaped eyes. Lashes, longer than my own rest on his eyelids under his thick brows. His hair is a little overgrown and he has a bit of stubble. He's wearing warm clothes and there's a hunting rifle in his left hand.

"Ah- You scared me." - I chuckle sheepishly.

"Sorry." - He smiles. - "What are you doing here?"

"...Taking a walk, I guess?"

"All alone? These woods are dangerous." - He furrows his brows a little.

"Really? I used to play in here all the time when I was a child..."

"You live here?" - He tilts his head and rests the rifle on the snowy ground.

"Not really, me and my family used to come here in summer. Now I'm here to uh, work, I guess?"

He smiles again. - "I just moved a few months ago."

I eye his rifle. - "You like hunting?"

"I hunt for food." - He corrects me. He then gives me his free hand to shake, and I do so. - "...Nathan."

"Y/N. You said the forest is dangerous? I've only seen deer so far..."

"Wolves, jackals..." - He answers Shortly. - "But yes, there are lots of deer in here. Check this out," - He comes closer and leans down, pointing at the footprints I was observing before. - "I've never seen a footprint of a deer that big. If I manage to catch it, I won't have to hunt for a few weeks, maybe even a month. I swear to God I've been trying to hunt it down for days." - He sighs.

"Oh wow." - I tilt my head. - "Hunting seems intense."

"It's not as hard if you know the basics. Just a long process... And I'm impatient." - He chuckles. - "I could show you."

He looks at me with a smile and I find it hard to decline his offer. I smile back and nod.

We walk for a while, getting to know each other. He then lays down behind a fallen log and motions for me to do the same, which I do. We wait for a while and then two deer walk into our view. Nathan looks at me and brings his finger to his lips to hush me.

It all happens fast, there's a bang and the deer falls as the other runs away. Nathan gets up and approaches it. - "You gotta be humane when killing them, try aiming where it would have vital organs so it dies fast."

I hesitantly follow him. - "Yeah, I don't think I've got that in me... Really impressive and... Humane, though." - Nathan eyes me with a playful look on his face, before looking back at the deer. I look at the deers hooves and only then do I realize the huge difference between these and the footprints I saw earlier. The footprints were three, if not four times bigger.

I start to get bad vibes from this. - "...Have you seen big deer before?"

Nathan looks at me with a puzzled expression. - "Huh?"

"You said the footprints we saw earlier were big." - I say and sit on the nearby rock. - "You see them often?"

"...Not really."

"That's... Disturbing." - I sneer.

Nathan grins. - "Why, you worried for me?"

I snort. - "No, I'm worried for myself. I live on the edge of the forest." - I joke and he chuckles.

"It's totally a deer, I'm sure nothing to worry about." - He shrugs and starts tying the rope around the dead animal. He then grins again when he looks at me. He stretches, comically so, and starts speaking. - "If you're too worried, though..."

He stands up straight and approaches me, placing his hands on the rock, trapping me in-between. - "I could give you my number."

I chuckle and he does too, then he backs up. - "The service is shitty but we can text. I don't like calls anyways."

"Okay." - I grin and he smiles. I write my number in my notepad, tearing the paper out and giving it to him after.

"You should go now, it's getting dark. Want me to walk you?"

I shrug. - "Nope. Just lead me towards the main path and I'll return myself." - I instruct him.

The walk home isn't too long, and I find myself attracted to the man as he waves at me. I walk into the cabin and sigh, happy to be embraced by warmth.

Then the deer footprints float up into my mind and I feel uneasy. How can Nathan be so calm? The deer is probably humongous, why? Is it a type of anomaly?

My worries wash away as my phone buzzes and I see a text from an unknown number.

"So you live on the edge of the forest? If you see a seven foot deer, text me asap ;P"

[momolady]

Magnus the Siren

Imagine if you lived next to one of the loudest people in the village. They're music and voice carry out almost like an enchantment. Now imagine this loud fellow had a certain affection for you. I also challenge you to guess who this character is based on.

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

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The disruption usually happens at dawn. Which, in itself, is aggravating enough to be woken up too. But it’s the music that wakes you up which is the most aggravating. You lay there in bed, staring up at your ceiling while a lute is strummed at such a high volume that the air is filled with nothing else but its raucous sound.

If that weren’t enough, the one playing the lute also had to sing. His voice carried through the morning air, causing the dew to shine and reflect light so brightly into windows, it was even harder to ignore.

It was by this point you would get up, throw on a robe, and step outside. Just beyond your guard there was a hill, and one that hill was a large, strange house that seemed to lean to one side. It was from there that music flowed.

“Shut up, Magnus!” You yelled this every morning. Sometimes you yelled other things, but this was usually the most uttered.

The singing stopped and the strumming of the lute became much softer. “Good morning, neighbor!” The music carried on and his song changed to start singing good morning to you.

You growled under your breath, turning back inside. You tried all you could without having to go into his presence.

For years no one lived in that strange house, then one day, out of the blue, that music started one morning. Every day at dawn Magnus rose and played his lute, singing his ridiculous songs until all the hillside was awake. Why some people liked him you could understand, but you never got onto that boat.

“So many of the girls in town love him,” you heard through whispers one day.

“He comes in, charms them, and leaves them lovesick puppies. Like nothing we have here is good enough for him,” another whisper scoffed.

You turned to listen to the conversation, curious as anyone would be. You hadn’t met Magnus yet, but you certainly had heard enough about him. Though this bit of gossip was all new to you.

“He got to my girl!” One whisper exclaimed. “She’s not looked at me twice since. All she does is sing and dance around.”

“What a cad. Going after someone’s broad like that,” the other whisper snarled.

You frowned at this, gently setting down what you were looking at and walked away. “Serves him right to lose her to that singing loon,” you thought to yourself. “Talk shit like that, you shouldn’t be surprised when it falls into your lap.” As a butcher, you knew what ‘broad’ really meant.

A few days later, you would meet Magnus for yourself; during the summer festival and parade. The main part of town was packed and overflowing with people. You were scooting along the street, trying to get to your shop at the end of town. But it was growing more and more difficult to traverse the farther you went. People became thicker packed the more you went, so you decided to go the long way around, hopping off main street, and going down a small alley.

There was a small cluster of people leaning against one of the walls. As you approached, one thrust out their hand to you.

“Got any spare change, ducky?” The young man asked with a forceful tone, but the others sniggered as they came off the wall.

Pickpockets and other thieves were always busy during the festivals. It surprised you little to come across some going down an alley.

“Afraid I’ve already given my charity for the day.” You continued to walk, but your path was cut off.

You sighed heavily and glanced back towards the man who still had his hand out. “I have no money. You are more likely to get something from a stone than you are me.”

You were becoming encroached upon, and the helpless feeling of being unable to move crept in. You felt lucky, after all, you had taken home your best knife the night before to properly sharpen. You just hated the thought of dulling it before you got to work.

“I’m sure you’ve got more than nothing,” the thief laughed. “Everyone has something today.”

You were ready to pull out your knife when a laugh filled the narrow alleyway. “My goodness, such a crowd. Such a crowd!”

A tall figure towered over the pickpockets at the back. “Beg your pardon. Beg your pardon,” the new person laughed. “Ah yes, thank you,” he chortled as the crowd parted for him.

He was huge, broad like a barn and probably just as tall. From behind, his feathered arms shone with deep green and gold, and at the top of his head was a red comb.

“Neighbor!” He announced loudly. “So good to see you here.” He came up towards you, placing his hands upon your shoulders. “We’ve not been properly introduced!”

“Excuse me,” the thief snarled.

Magnus turned, looking back at him. “Yes, hello there!”

You glared up at him, hand still readied on your knife under your skirt. “They’re thieves” you whispered between clenched teeth.

“Leaves? What leaves! It’s summer!” Magnus laughed merrily. He then winked at you. “No need to go stabbing at leaves after all, not when they are in midair.”

You were taken by surprise! How could he know?

The thief grabbed Magnus’ shoulder. “We were talking to the lady first.”

“Ah, I see,” Magnus turned slightly. “Forgive my manners. Sometimes I can’t help but forget them. I have had this song sung stuck in my head, you see, and nothing else seems to get through to me when that happens.” He turned around, shoving the thief’s hand off his shoulder.

“Tell me, have you heard this tune?” Magnus began whistling, and while the tune is familiar, you weren’t sure you’ve heard it before.

“That’s it-” The thief went to swing, but his feet began to float up. He flipped upside down, as did all the other pickpockets in the alley.

You noticed too that you were starting to lift up and be carried like a dandelion seed into the air.

“Don’t worry, neighbor! I have you!” Magnus grabbed your hand, pulling you away like a child with a balloon.

Above you could see the pickpockets floating above the buildings, they were screaming, but couldn’t be heard over the caucus of the parade.

“What did you do?” You shouted at Magnus, your legs now far above your head. You tried to fight with your skirt, but it was a losing battle.

“They’ll come down safely! Not to worry,” Magnus guffawed. “Did you see their faces? That was wonderful!”

“You’re crazy!”

“And you’re unharmed.” He took you towards your butcher shop, despite the looks you received along the way.

Once you were at your store you floated down to the ground.

“There now, right as rain.” Magnus smiled. His beak was shining gold, and his gray eyes still shone brighter.

You smoothed down your clothes and looked at him, unsure if you should be annoyed or grateful. “Thank you, I suppose. Even if your method was maddening.”

Magnus tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t like it?”

“I would have been fine, but I am grateful I didn’t have to resort to my method.” You then pouted. “Yours was the safer option.” You searched your deep pockets trying to find your keys.

“I’d say a bloodbath on such a magnificent day would be a mood killer.” Magnus hummed and your front door opened.

You stared back up at him, stiffening your back and narrowing your gaze. “I’ll let that slide for your help today. But before you go, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Magnus laid both feathered hands upon his barreled out chest. “I love questions, especially about myself.”

You took a step closer to him. “You play that lute every morning and sing as loud as hell; what the hell for?”

Magnus smiled brightly. “So that my sun will rise.”

The sun rose with or without provocation. But if that was his reasoning, you at least had something. “That’s all?”

Magnus nodded. “As far as I know.”

You sighed, unsatisfied with the answer, but pleased to have one. “I owe you a thanks. If there is anything I can do for you, I owe you a favor.”

“Wonderful!” He cheered. “I will certainly keep that in mind.”

You smiled faintly then went into your shop to begin the day and he went on down the street, happily singing to himself.

Summer came and went, and the first signs of fall began with a slight shift in color outside. Crisp mornings were becoming a welcomed pleasure. And your shop was getting more and more orders for marrow bones so that people could make stocks for the oncoming cold.

One afternoon, as you were finishing packing up such bones to send with your delivery boy, Magnus walked in.

“Good afternoon, neighbor!” He announced himself quite loudly.

You were wrapping up a bone with twine and wax paper. “Magnus, long time no see. Good to know there is still a body attached to that voice of yours.”

Magnus chuckled smugly. “As my neighbor, you must get the music while it is still fresh and warm, like a loaf of bread. Others in town must hear it when it is stale.”

You grunted in reply, attaching a tag to the wrapped marrow bone. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’ve come to collect that favor you owe me.”

You had almost forgotten about it. It had been months ago, and nothing had been spoken between the two of you since; aside from the usual neighborly things.

“That’s right,” you murmured. “I’m a bit busy right now is it possible to-”

“Oh heavens not now. I only just thought of it! I came here while it was still on my mind, because sooner or later I would forget and keep putting it off and-”

“Magnus,” you chimed to get him back on track. “Just tell me.”

“Oh right!” His chest fluffed out and he swooped his wing over his waist. “I would like you to make me dinner.”

“But I’m not a cook,” you said plainly. “I’m a butcher.”

Magnus’ smile became sweeter, and those bright gray eyes took on a puppy-like appearance. “But you can still make a meal, right?”

You wiped your hands on your apron. “I suppose.”

He raised two long fingers. “Then you can make a meal for two? Yes?”

“Possibly.” You eyed him, letting a smile grow. “Might I ask why this is the favor you’re coming for?”

Magnus waved his finger. “I think that’s a conversation for dinner. Don’t you? Just so we’ll have something to break the ice. I know you're off on Sundays, will that be okay for our supper?”

You sighed, but your smile grew. “As good as any.”

“Wonderful!” He cheered. “I will arrive with bells on.”

Knowing him, you thought, he probably would. You started to turn back to your work, but Magnus approached the counter again.

He started speaking very intensely. “By the way, I know this may hinder you, maybe even offend you considering your business, but I don’t eat meat.”

You looked him up and down. “You don’t eat meat?”

“I do not eat it,” he said sincerely.

You clicked your tongue. “Well, alright. I’ll figure something out I suppose.”

Magnus beamed again as he stood upright. “Wonderful! Thank you so much for the consideration. I look forward to what you can do.”

You were no cook, at least nothing special. You knew how to make meat and potatoes taste good to you. This would be a whole new chore.

You managed to get a couple of recipes from some of the grannies who visited your shop a lot. One gave you her special vegetable broth recipe. Another provided you with her garlic rolls recipe. Then another gave you an eggplant and how to cook it. All of them adored Magnus and were eager to try and impress him vicariously through you.

“What on earth does this guy do to these ladies?” You grumbled as you kneaded the dough for the rolls. The garlic was exceptionally strong, almost spicy in the air. “I know his music has some sort of power, maybe that’s his game.”

Just as you had placed the eggplant into the oven, there was a knock upon your door.

“Geez,” you huffed, wiping your hands on your apron. “Who could this be?” You walked across the kitchen to the door, finding Mgnus standing there tuning his lute.

“It's way too early!” You exclaimed out of shock.

“I know, I came to bask in your warm company.” Magnus let himself in, sitting at the kitchen table which was still covered in flour from when you rolled the dough for the garlic rolls.

“I haven’t even cleaned up yet, you’ll get flour on you!” You tried to shoo him away but he started playing his lute.

“What is your most favorite song in the world?” Magnus asked, oblivious to your efforts to wipe up the table.

“What’s yours?” You asked, finally able to sweep away the flour without hitting him.

He plucked the strings on his lute and thought deeply. “Sweet rose, sweet dew drop.”

“Sounds saccharine.” You sighed. “But if you must play, play.”

Magnus was smiling, tuning the lute again. “Do you not like my playing, neighbor? You seem annoyed.”

“I hear your music every morning. I hear it loud and clear as if you are inside my head.”

“But do you like it?”

You cut your eyes at him. “If I didn’t hear it exploding in my bedroom each morning, maybe I would.”

“You wake each morning to my songs,” he hummed softly. He strummed and hummed, going soft and quiet unlike what you were used to.

“I do.” You go back towards the oven. “You told me once why you do it, but I still find it a bit odd.”

“My sun,” he sang softly. “I want her to rise. I want to open her shining eyes. She lights up my day and it is night when she’s gone. I’m singing to her in hopes of my dawn.”

“That’s lovely,” you murmured. “But still odd. The sun rises and falls no matter what we do.”

Magnus smirked towards you. “You think so?”

Something about his gaze made your stomach flop upside down. “Isn’t that how it works? After all, it’s more powerful than us.”

“She is,” Magnus spoke softly again. He then perked up, his comb rising high on his head. He then looked at you excitedly. “What have you made for dinner?”

“Oh, well, I had some help from some of the grannies you come to my shop,” you replied. “I have a vegetable stew, garlic rolls, and some sort of eggplant thing.”

“Eggplant thing?”

You made an awkward smile. “I followed the recipe, but I’m still not sure what it’ll turn into.”

Magnus laughed. “You really aren’t a cook.”

“Not at all.”

Despite all your hostility and annoyance with him because of his morning singing, you found yourself drawn to him. He didn’t have to sing or play his music, but there was definitely an allure he had. This may have been the same charm that all the other women in town were attracted to. Even as you fed him, he didn’t complain. The eggplant was awful, but he still ate it regardless.

As he left to go home, he turned in the doorway to look at you. “When I sing in the morning, will you listen to me?”

You were a bit surprised. “I mean, I always have to.”

Magnus shook his head. “No. I mean listen.”

You weren’t sure what he meant, but you nodded as bid him goodnight.

Come morning, you were woken by the sound of his lute being strummed. Still loud as ever, but somehow it sounded so much softer than all other mornings. His voice, too, sounded lighter and airier.

From that morning onward, his music sounded sweet and calming. You woke up gently rather than annoyed. And to your surprise, one morning, you walked outside and yelled.

“Good morning, Magnus!”

“Good morning, neighbor!” he crowed back with a sound of triumph.

A few days later, just as you were closing up shop, Magnus came through the door. “I was wondering if I could walk you home?” He asked.

You pushed a loose lock of hair from your face. “What for?”

Magnus smiled. “Do I need a reason?”

You sighed and went along. You were silent at the start of the walk, but as he started to hum a question rose in your mind.

“Has your music changed? Because it is nowhere near as annoying as it used to be,” you said.

“I’ve not changed it in the slightest. I did ask you to listen though.” He placed a wing around you back, settling his hand on your arm.

You watched his dark fingers on your sleeve then glanced back into his gray eyes. “Then tell me what you are doing.”

“Doing?” He asked.

“All the women, and some men, in this village have some level of attraction or fascination to you. Is that what you are trying to do with me?” You said pointedly.

“Oh gosh,” he said in thought. “I’m not trying to woo anyone. I’m just nice to everyone. I treat them like I want to be treated. You’re the only one I’ve been trying to woo.”

Your stomach flopped again. “You’re teasing me!”

“I told you, I always sing to raise my sun.” There was no irony to his tone, no sense of teasing. He was being honest.

“Me?” You exclaimed. “I’m the sun?”

Magnus tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t get that?”

“No!” You blurted.

He sighed and dipped his head down. “Oh gosh, I’m no good at these kinds of things. I thought I was being clear.” He pouted a bit. “You’re just my type. It’s part of why I got that weird house on the hill. So I could be close, maybe see you in the morning-” He started to get embarrassed. “But all I can do is sing.”

You cocked up a brow in shock. “Type?”

Magnus went silent, going from slightly shy to very shy. “Well yeah.”

“And what would that be?”

He looked away, his smile faint, and his expression demure. He shifted a bit, taking a step back from you. “You’re a little mean and bossy,” he muttered.

“Should I be offended?” You grumbled.

He shook his head. “I mean that in a good way. I know I don’t look it, being as tall as I am, but I like to feel like I am small and-” Magnus shut his beak and turned away.

“So-” You tried to piece this together as best you could. “You like me because I make you feel this way?”

He nodded.

“Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting,” you huffed.

“I don’t mean to make this sound weird. I really do like you for much more than my own oddities.” He fidgeted with his fingers. “You’re strong and witty, your not afraid of anything. But you’re also tender and sweet, and you have such a nice...shape.” It sounded like he had more to say, but he decided to end it with that one word.

You pressed your lips together and looked at the ground. “You have a nice shape yourself.”

Magnus chuckled, then you chuckled.

“Maybe we can show off each other’s shape one day,” Magnus said shyly. “If you’d like such a thing.”

“Not tonight, maybe Sunday?” You suggested.

His eyes widened and he turned to you with a look of shock. “You really-you would-you are-” He couldn’t get out what he wanted to say.

“Maybe this time you could make dinner?”

“Okay!” He exclaimed happily. “Come over whenever you’d like!”

You still weren’t exactly sure on what to take in. You just knew you held an excitement in your chest that didn’t go away until Sunday morning. You heard him singing on his hill, and that excitement burst, turning into urgency and nerves.

You waited as long as you could before heading up the hill. It was still a bit early for dinner, but had shown up early to your home as well. Once he opened the door you knew you came at the right time.

“Good! You did come!” Magnus pulled you inside.

“I was bored anyways,” you said nervously.

Magnus gripped your hand. “Let me give you a tour.” He took you through the odd house, which was larger inside than you expected.

Most of the rooms were filled with musical instruments, sheet music, and long scrolls tucked into vases and buckets. Up in the tower was his room, which he took you to with a proud look on his face. He showed you the balcony where he played his music each morning. From that perch you could see your house below.

“You really are singing to me.”

Magnus nodded. “I like seeing you walk out your door every morning. I often wonder what you’re doing or how you wake up.”

You look him over then stare back into the room. “Your bed is much bigger than mine, but I could show you.”

Magnus swallowed. “Really?”

You took hold of his hand and led him over to the bed. You made him lay down upon his back and placed his hands upon his chest. “I lay like this when I go to sleep. Although; come morning I’m on my side.” You then crawled on top of him, straddling your thighs around his waist.

Magnus gulped and his feathers on his chest fluffed up. “Do...do you usually wake up feeling heavy?”

You shook your head. “No. I just did this to get you here.” You leaned down, kissing his beak and down to his cheek. Magnus ruffled and moaned, arching his back as you drug your hands down his chest.

“I see. I like that,” he laughed.

You opened up his shirt, stroking down the sleek feathers that went from black-green to golden ginger. “You’re quite colorful. It’s lovely.”

Magnus nodded, holding his breath as your hands explored his body. You rolled your hips, rubbing yourself against the front of his trousers.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being too forceful,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “Just the right amount of forceful.” He opened his eyes back up to look at you. “I was hoping this would happen. Although I’m a bit embarrassed by that thought.”

You kissed his beak again then placed your hand around his throat. “What else were you hopeful for.”

He shivered at your touch, moaning loudly then sucking in his breath. “Just uhm-” He wiggled beneath you, rubbing himself against you. “Just that you would uhm-”

You moved your hand away.

“Play with me!” He yelped and you placed your hand back. “Play with me-” he moaned again. “Like I’m your own personal toy.”

You smirked. “How fun. Anything else?”

His eyes moved towards a small chest sitting by his bed. You picked it up, setting it on his chest as you looked through. Inside there were a few strange objects, one was small and bulbous, maybe of a black shining stone. There were two phallic-shaped crystals, one was a clear quartz and had small ball shapes through the shaft. The second was bigger, made of rose quartz, and flared at the base and was wattahced to a leather belt.

“Should I use these before I use you?” You teased.

Magnus fidgeted again. “I’d love to watch but-”

Inside the chest was also a flask filled with olive oil. “You’re excited today. I get it.” You lifted yourself off  him, sitting by his side as you undid his belt and tugged down his pants.

Since he was a type of siren, his anatomy below was a little different. There was a growth that rose from his loins, along with a small opening. You trailed your fingers around the opening, which felt warm and wet within.

Magnus gasped and his back rose from the bed. You slipped a finger inside, feeling him tighten around you while his voice became much higher and more aroused.

“You’ll be very fun to play with, Magnus.” You panted as you moved your finger inside. You added another finger, which made him whimper and throw his head back.

“There now.” You pulled out your fingers then rose from the bed to undress. Magnus watched you with awe, his eyes gazing down your body. Your arms and back were strong from your work as a butcher, so you never felt quite pretty until his eyes landed upon you. In his gaze you felt like a beauty.

“I knew you’d be stunning,” he panted.

You put on the leather belt and Magnus’ eyes became dewy. You poured olive oil into your palm, rubbing the shaft like it was your own.

As Magnus watched you climbed back onto the bed and threw his legs over your shoulders. He whimpered as the rose quartz touched against him.

“I’ll go easy, but I have a feeling you’re used to this.” You watched in awe as the rose quartz disappeared inside him. He cried out and you bit your lip.

Magnus started singing a new song. His voice peaked and rang out as you drove the rose quartz inside him. Your own wetness grew as you watched him. His body writhed in such a sweet, docile way. Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore.

You took off the belt and left the rose quartz inside him. You mounted him again, taking his shaft inside you.

“Yes!” Magnus cried out. “You’re all around me.” His hands gripped around your thick waist. “All you!”

You rutted on top of him, feeling him warm and hard inside. You pressed your hands to his belly, taking leverage as you began moving.

“Oh my sun!” Magnus cried. “My shining, glorious star! Take me! All of me!”

You moaned and reached out, placing your hand around his throat. “You’re mine. You’re all mine.”

Magnus grinned with glee, bucking his hips upward inside you. You cried out, throwing your head back and letting your hair spill around your shoulders. You reached back, thrusting the rose quartz inside him. He bucked harder, whimpering pitifully, even starting to cry.

Something inside you was rising. It was coming fast and hot inside your belly, shooting through your chest. You and Magnus were singing together, duetting as this rising sun inside you began to spill out.

You shivered, thighs tightening around Magnus. The rose quartz slipped from inside him, and he whimpered as tears rolled from his gray eyes. You leaned forward, falling onto his barreled chest and laying there as his shaft popped out from inside you.

You both laid in silence. You breathed in sync until it felt like you were fading from this world. Magnus’ wings wrapped around you and he started singing softly.

“My sun, I want her to rise. I want to open her shining eyes. She lights up my day and it is night when she’s gone. I’m singing to her in hopes of my dawn.”

You smiled and nuzzled to his chest. “I love your song,” you murmured.

“Finally,” he chuckled.

[imerologiofantasion]

SMUT

If you feel uncomfortable with smut then please avoid this post monster x reader i(i didn't know who to do it with) is this 18+ ? use of dirty words like slut whore cock whore and ya know cursing oh and unrealistic size of cock i mean ive never seen a 12 inch cock

btw he like royalty cause he like the devils son

srry for blurry pic(pershone and hades love story)

oh and ur like gods daughter so like an angel???

"such a slutty girl mhm" he mumbled his head in the crook of your neck. As you whimpered his sharp nails tearing through the back of your dress. "o-others m-might see" you said griping the balcony rails."so?" he asked in teasing tone, his hand griping your ass through your clothes you squeaked "we shouldn't do it. Not here m-my father won't be happy" "let him be mad beloved" his hand sliping through the undergarment "do you really want to go above today hmm…" he said grinding his hard cock under his pants.Slipping your dress down "Gahh please not here" "not here eh" "pleasee" his tail wraping around your leg. He started fondling your breasts while sucking your neck. Please you whimpered as he picked you up bride style brought you the library.

Placing you on the table sliping his hand between your clothed folds. "someones wet " he said tearing your underwear out and taking his hard cock. Bringing it up and down your lips . He brought his mouth near you privet as you felt his breath on it . Your checks burning. Teasing your clit. You where pooling "Such a whore" he said leting out a merciless chuckle he said. Shoving his 12 inch in you a visible bulge in your stomach. "Your my slut got it " "Yes!" you cried out" Thrusting in and out tears pooling in your eyes. "Slow down!" "im gonna gonn-" " you better not " as he spead up slapping echoing through the library.

Cum spuring out of you "such a whore '' "gahh" you moaned as he continued

5 hours through

"please just cum already" you've had way to many to handle anymore he chuckled orgasming again "you little cock slut" "who do you belong to" "you" "only you" his cum spuring through your pussy mixing with yours his wings covering your back "good girl" he moans. Flipping you from missionary to doggy "just one more please" he pleads "i- i need it" "mhhhmmgg oh ok" "biting your neck" growling and moaning "i love you" "I love you t-to" "your my cock slut MY MATE got it " he growled against neck as you came against his cock slaping your ass giving it a pink color. Cuming in your hole his thick load filling your cervix his cock sliping out of you the bulge of his 12 inch coming out of you but being replaced with his cum. "So so much" oozing out of your two holes "did i go to hard" he said in a soft tone touching your bruses he made "Y yeah " "you should have used the safeword" "you needed this though" "i love you" "i love you to".Ad he tended to your injuries.

this is my first smut sorry if its bad

i dont own the pics if you know the author then please tell me i will give credit my friend sent it to me so i used them:)

[benevolentcalamity]

The rain pounds onto your head to the rhythm of your heartbeat, the thunderous dashing of your horse maintaining the urgency twisting your stomach as the pair of you race through the forest. Lightning the only thing keeping you from ramming into trees or altogether fumbling, you peer through wet eyelashes, trying to find somewhere that would promise safety. If anything it’s a gamble; you’re surely miles from civilization and the last semblance of it you remember passing is some fellow in a carriage that looked like he hadn’t slept a wink his whole life.

What exactly landed you in this predicament, you still don’t know. All you know is that you were suddenly being chased out of the blue. With some nasty rumors going around, about a possible killer on the loose, regret of being out alone has finally caught up to you.

Glancing over your shoulder, the towering figure, clad in a coat with long strands of hair swaying as it ran after you, is still somehow maintaining a good pace. Even with the occasional lightning that illuminated your environment, you couldn’t see their face. But even so, all you know is that you have to just. Keep. Running.

“Gunpowder, hurry!” You plead, putting your eyes back on the path ahead. The gray horse whines in response, but he shares your urgency enough to obey you. You know he’s getting exhausted, and it pains you that he’s having to do so much, but you make the silent promise to give him apples - his favorite - as a reward once this... person is off your tail.

Your lip quivers at a fork in the road. “Dammit, which way...?!”

Without much time to think, you swerve Gunpowder right, and just when you feel you’ve become immune to the small jarring the lightning brings, a terrible sound followed by a loud ‘CRACK!’ scares your equine friend so terribly he nearly screams while standing tall on his back legs, jumping about in fright until you find yourself tumbling off.

“Gunpowder-!” You shriek, landing on the ground, your swift attempt at regaining your footing miserably failing as the bright lightning and roaring thunder scares Gunpowder into speeding off without you as a tree falls behind him.

You attempt to call after him, but then your back collides into a tree at the bottom of the dip, knocking the words from your throat. Coughing horrifically, you push down with your hands to get back up, peering up to find somewhere to climb.

Newfound dread washes over you as the figure that was chasing you before now stands at the top, where Gunpowder had previously been panicking. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you try to maintain being still and quiet, hoping they’ll think you’re gone or something and move on. Much to your horror, the lightning flashes again, and you can register the light on your eyes before it quickly fades.

Go away... Please...

An uneven yelp wrenches from you when the figure implies an advance toward you. Hurriedly, you turn to push to the side, getting onto your feet in no time. A shooting pain bites your leg, and you nearly stagger, but the adrenaline stemming from your anxiety is the only thing keeping you upright. Despite your aches, you continue running, crying out again as you hear another pair of footsteps, heavy and almost brutish, coming up behind you.

Your ankle snaps to an angle, not enough to break, and you fall with a scream, tumbling onto your back with sweetgums digging into your back. Opening your eyes - shielded by the canopy of the forest from the rain - you can only watch as the large figure reaches you in what feels like a few steps.

Frantically, your hand pats your pants beneath your coat, eventually finding your knife. Taking it out of the leather casing, you point it out, lamenting how small the blade is.

“L-leave me alone!” You quiver. “A-any closer and I’ll stab you!”

The figure’s head tilts, but it doesn’t quit approaching. Pushing with your other hand, you try and maintain distance to no avail.

“I-I said, get away from me!”

When they finally reach you is when you realize your threats are in vain, and you bring both hands up to shield your face when they kneel. Too afraid to cry, you can only curl up slightly as large, strange feeling hands find your injured leg.

Expecting pain or a slow death, you inhale sharply as the hands poke and prod, but when after some time of this nothing happens, you find it in yourself to peek through your fingers.

Strangely the person who had previously been your pursuer is showing in a far from aggressive manner that they aren’t trying to hurt you, but seem to be, in some strange way, trying to get your attention. Slowly removing your hands, you tilt your head as they notice they have it, backing away a little to give you some space.

Blinking, you tilt your head, the thunder and lightning ceasing, leaving the rain to keep the pair of you company. Swallowing, you push until you’re upright, to which they perk up a bit.

“... Um.” Is all you can manage. “... Hello?”

They nod, as if in reply.

Alright... “Who are you?”

No answer. No nothing.

Your lip becomes firm. “Who. Are. You.”

They lean forward slightly, reaching with a hand to brush some hair from your face. Their skin feels... almost like wood against yours. Splintered, rotting wood. Then it’s here you realize by the broad stature and naturally larger size that this is a man. A very... large one.

“Are you... going to hurt me?” You ask. It’s foolish, but you want to have some assurance he knows you’re speaking to him, figuring it’s mutual in that you can only see his outline.

And much to your surprise, he shakes his head.

“Why did you chase me? Where are you from?” You ask.

At first, he seems inclined to try and answer, and you register him opening his mouth before his head suddenly snaps upward, and he looks off somewhere like a startled guard dog. After a moment, he hurriedly pushes until he’s standing again, and it’s only when a faint orange glow appears that you can begin making out his face.

However, before you can take it in, he suddenly turns and runs, his thundering footsteps shaking the ground before he fades into the darkness once more, away from the glow that’s swiftly becoming stronger, accompanied by the shouts of people. You don’t even have the time to call after him.

Looking, your eyes go wide at the sight of men on horses, carrying torches and pitchforks with enraged determination in their eyes. When they begin looking around, you shakily raise your arm, calling.

With even the softest peep, the men snap their heads toward you, holding out their torches so they can see you better. Some dismount their horses, rushing down to you and helping you.

What comes after is foggy, but you remember being met halfway by your father’s carriage, his gentle hands taking your waterlogged shoulders and leading you into the wagon, and the next thing you know you’re home.

Before you blow out your candle to turn in for the evening, relieved that Gunpowder had returned home unharmed, you could’ve sworn you saw a familiar figure standing in the town’s shadows...

[love-and-monsters]

Drider Husband

Sorry for the late update, I was at work training yesterday and it went longer than expected.

You’ve come down with a nasty cold, so your drider husband decides to take care of you for a day.

There was a scuttling, clicking noise and a slightly raspy voice spoke from the shadows. “Go back to bed.”

You cleared your throat, which was thick with phlegm. “I’m fine.”

“Mmhm,” the voice said, sounding a little amused. “You certainly sound fine.”

“I sound great,” you replied, your voice quivering with the effort of not dissolving into a fit of coughing. There was a sigh from the shade and your husband emerged. He was a drider, a slender drow torso attached to an oversized spider abdomen. His skin was pitch black and his hair was long and white, like spider silk. One of his long ears twitched and his red eyes glinted as his many legs clicked over the kitchen floor.

“And you always look lovely,” he said, reaching out his hands to rest on either side of your face. “But you are looking a little less healthy than usual.” He leaned over to press his lips to your forehead and hummed an ‘mmhm’ of confirmation. “You’re warm.”

“It’s a little fever. Like a degree over normal, maybe,” you said. “I’m fine.”

Your husband raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to get a thermometer,” he said. Without waiting for you to say anything, he skittered away down the halls of your house. You grimaced and slouched into a chair. He returned a moment later with an ear thermometer. “Turn your head,” he told you. You did so, wincing as he pressed the thermometer into your ear and held it.

“One hundred and one point seven,” he declared when the thermometer beeped. “You’re sick.”

“It’s a little fever. I don’t feel that bad,” you insisted. He lifted a white eyebrow.

“How bad is ‘not that bad?’” he said. You shrugged, trying to avoid his eyes while not looking like you were avoiding his eyes.

“Sore throat, runny nose, headache,” you said. “Look, we can still go. I’ll be-” You lapsed into thick, grating coughs that ground against your chest and made your head pound.

“Oh, love,” your husband said, tone sliding into gentle sympathy, “I know you were looking forward to the tour, but do you really think you’re going to be okay with walking around town when you’re not feeling well?”

You slumped back, rubbing at your eyes. The ghost tour had been scheduled months in advance and you had been looking forward to it for even longer, but of course, your immune system had to fail on you.

“I’m really sorry,” your husband said, tucking his legs under him so he could sit next to you. One of his hands rested on your back. “I can call them, see if they can fit us in another time.”

“You could still go,” you said. “You were excited for this too.”

“I’m not leaving you at home all by yourself when you’re not feeling well,” he said. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

You sniffed miserably, but left him to crawl back into the nest of blankets that made up your bed. Driders didn’t do human-style mattresses and so your bed was more circular than rectangular. You worked your way into the lump of pillows that made up the middle of the bed and lay still.

A soft clicking noise preceded your husband’s arrival. He approached the edge of the bed and reached down, hand brushing against your head. “I left a message with them,” he said. “Hopefully they’ll call back soon.” You nodded absently and he carefully climbed into bed next to you. “Is there anything I can get for you? Water, or breakfast?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

His fingers trailed along your head, making your scalp tingle a little. “If you’re sure.” He rose slowly. “I’m going to clean up the kitchen. If you need anything, just yell.” You heard him leave the room and buried yourself further into the blankets.

Once you were alone, there was nothing to distract you from your abject misery. Everything from your chest up was thick with congestion that made it difficult to breathe and swallow.  Your head pounded in perfect time with your heart. You alternated between being suffocatingly warm and hideously cold. Sleeping was almost impossible. You just had periods where you were slightly less aware of your surroundings.

You drifted awake again when your husband returned to the room. “How are you feeling?” he asked. The back of his hand pressed to your forehead. “You still feel warm.”

“Just thirsty,” you said. Your husband left the room for a moment, then returned with a glass of water and the thermometer.

“I’m going to take your temperature again,” he said. “Hold still.” You sipped water as he pressed the thermometer into your ear again. It beeped and he removed it. “One hundred and two,” he said. “Your fever’s going the wrong way.” He stroked your sweaty hair back from your face. “I’m going to get you some medicine.”

He went to the bathroom and returned with some pills that you swallowed. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I’m not really hungry.”

“You should still have something in your stomach. You need to keep up your strength.”

“I’m sick, not running a marathon,” you mumbled.

“You still need strength to fight it off,” your husband insisted. “I’ll make you some soup. Just eat a little, all right?”

He started to get up, but you grabbed his hand. “I don’t want you to leave me,” you said.

“You’re so clingy when you’re sick,” he said, but he was clearly touched. “Come here.”

He picked you up almost effortlessly and swung around to place you on his abdomen. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and rested your head on his back.

You’re sure you can hold on?” he asked. You nodded. “Okay. And try not to sneeze into my hair or anything.”

“I won’t,” you muttered. He reached up to squeeze one of your hands.

“You’re really not feeling well, huh?” he said gently. “Just hold on.” He started walking, slow enough that you weren’t jostled by the motion.

You clung to him as he walked around the kitchen. He was a steady ride, much more so than you imagined a trotting centaur would be. With your head pressed against his back and your arms looped loosely around his waist, you were secure enough that you could almost doze.

“Love.” Your husband shifted his position, turning his head to look at you. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

“Are you really sure? You’re practically falling asleep.” There was a little laughter in his voice, but you could hear a little worry under it.

“I’m not that tired,” you said, but you still slumped against him. He turned carefully and pulled you from his back, lifting you into his arms.

“Let’s try this,” he said. He carried you into the living room and placed you down on the small couch. A thick, red-and-white afghan sat on top of the couch and he tugged it over you, taking the time to smooth it around your shape.

When he started to move away, you reached out for him. He squeezed your hand, sharp nails ghosting against your skin. “I’ll be back in less than a minute. I promise.” His hand slipped away from your and he clicked off into the kitchen.

True to his word, he was back in only a few seconds. In one of his hands, he had a tall, frosty glass of water and in the other, he had a cool cloth. “Drink a little,” he said, handing you the glass, and you sipped from it. The water was freezing, especially in comparison to your burning skin, but it felt amazingly nice. When you had finished, your husband took the glass and rested the cool cloth on your forehead.

“That might help with the fever,” he said. You gave a little nod and the cloth slid sideways on your head. Your husband replaced it. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Stay here,” you said. He nodded, smiling enough to show off his sharp teeth, and settled in next to you again, long legs tucked under his body.

He stroked your hair, hand cool against your feverish brow. Your eyes drifted shut. It was still impossible to find sleep, as uncomfortable as you were, but the gentle motion of his hand grounded you. It gave you something to focus on rather than how miserable you felt.

A shrill beeping from the kitchen signaled that a timer had just gone off. Your husband left for a moment and returned with a small bowl of soup. You sat up, reaching for it, and your husband gave you a cheeky grin. “Are you sure you don’t want me to feed you?”

“Give me the bowl,” you said. He passed it to you and you ignored the spoon, just sipping the broth directly from the bowl. “Mm. It’s good.”

“Thank Campbells,” your husband said. “I just got it out of a can.”

“You’re so good at heating up soup,” you said. He rolled his ruby-red eyes and smiled at you.

“I’m glad you like it, anyway,” he said. Your husband leaned against the couch as you drained the bowl of soup and chewed on the soggy vegetables at the bottom.

When you finished the meal, your husband took the bowl back into the kitchen. You hard running water as he washed it out. He returned to the room and settled down next to the couch again. One of his hands brushed over your forehead.

“You feel a little cooler,” he said. “Are you feeling any better?”

You shrugged. Your chest still ached and you still felt hot with fever, but you didn’t feel quite as out-of-it as you had earlier. “Not awful, I guess.”

He folded his arms on the edge of the couch and rested his chin on them. “You’re still bummed about not being able to go on the ghost tour, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been looking forward to it for such a long time,” you sighed. “Of course my immune system had to shut down on the one day I’ve been looking forward to.”

“It’s because you’ve been working yourself so hard lately,” your husband said. There was a little note of scolding in his voice. You poked your tongue out at him. He lifted a white eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. “You can pout at me all you like, but you know that I’m right. You’ve been pushing yourself at work a lot lately, you’ve been staying up to all hours of the night. No wonder your immune system is shot. You must be exhausted.”

“There were just a lot of projects that we had to do. We had a lot on our plates,” you defended Your husband smiled gently.

“I know. And I’m very proud that your business is doing so well. But you’ve been working so hard and you’ve barely been resting at all. You were going to crash sooner or later.” You frowned and he stroked his fingers over your head. “I’m not saying I’m happy you’re not feeling well, of course, but I think it’s a good thing that you’re going to rest for a little while now.”

“I hope I don’t have to rest for a long time,” you groaned. “If I’m still sick on Monday, I’m going to be pissed. There’s still so much I have to do-”

“Okay, okay, I regret bringing it up now,” your husband said lightly. “I swear, if you’re not back to one hundred percent and you try to go into work on Monday, I’m going to pin you to the bed.”

You raised your eyebrows and dropped your voice into a sultry tone. “Pin me to the bed, you say? Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

His skin was dark enough that you couldn’t see him blush, but his expression told you that he probably was. “You know what I meant,” he said. “Though maybe that’s something we can work on when you’re feeling better.”

“We could work on it now,” you said, reaching feebly for him. He snorted, deftly dodging.

“Maybe when you aren’t burning up with fever. I don’t want to catch what you have.”

“Oh.” You sagged back onto the couch. “That’s probably a good point.”

“We can still spend time together, though,” he said, leaning down to give you a soft kiss on your forehead. “Hey, I have an idea. We can’t go on the ghost tour tonight, so why don’t we have a scary movie marathon? I have a few I’ve been saving. If you’re feeling up for it, of course.”

“I guess it’s the next best thing,” you said. “Netflix me, babe.”

You started making more of a blanket nest as your husband turned on the TV and set up the movie. He couldn’t sit on the couch because his spider lower half was too big, but you had come up with a system for it: you would lie on the couch above him and he would sit on the ground and you carefully draped blankets half-off the couch so they were over both of you.

“Comfortable?” he asked as he sat down next to you. You nodded, reaching down to hang onto him. Your cheek pressed to the top of his head.

The movie was something about a ghost haunting a family that had recently moved to a town for a new start- standard fare. It was middling in its scare content, but you kept fading in and out of consciousness and dreams were mixing with the movie. You would startle awake with visions of the ghost clawing its way out of the TV and reaching for your throat.

Your husband reached up and stroked your hair. “Doing okay?” he asked.

“I think I keep falling asleep,” you said. “What’s going on?”

“They’re researching the ghost with the priest to see what her unfinished business is. And the youngest kid is either possessed or just a strange kid. It’s kind of ambiguous.”

You gathered your blanket around your shoulders and carefully slid off the couch. Your husband opened his arms on reflex and you nestled yourself into them. He closed them around you, cocooning you in gentle warmth. A chill had started wracking your body, so the heat was welcome. Not only that, but being cuddled so close to your husband grounded you. The nightmares seemed distant and fake.

“You feel a little cooler,” your husband said. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” you said.

“That’s good.” He shuffled his legs, changing his position so he was holding you more securely, then he pulled one of the blankets on the couch around you. You dozed again, soothed and comforted as your husband cradled you against his body.

When you woke again, the movie had ended and a new one had started. Your husband was leaning against the couch, not really paying attention to the movie anymore. He was looking down at you, a peaceful expression on his face. You stirred and he glanced away, evidently a little embarrassed. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” you said. “Not great, but better.” You shifted your position to work some feeling back into the limbs that had fallen asleep.

“That’s good.” He moved his arms to let you settle into your new position before re-enveloping you. “Do you want to know what happened in the movie so far?”

“Sure,” you said, but before he could start talking, a piano rendition of ‘The Isty Bitsy Spider’ started playing from somewhere in the house. He looked over his shoulder, then back at you, a confused expression on his face.

“Don’t look at me,” you said. “That’s your phone.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and rolled his eyes. “Stop changing my ringtone! It’s the same song every time and it’s not even that funny!”

“It’s hilarious,” you insisted. Your husband rolled his eyes again, much more expressively this time, and put you on the couch before heading off to find his phone. He always insisted that he hated it, but given that he still hadn’t installed a passcode in his phone, you had a feeling he thought it was as fun a little game as you did.

The song had time to loop and get halfway through its second play before your husband located it and answered. You strained your ears, but the phone volume had been much louder than his voice was, so you could only hear a soft, indistinct murmuring.

After a few minutes, he returned, grinning widely. “Good news?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yes. They agreed to move our tour to another night. It’s in two week’s time.” He settled down next to the couch and carefully lifted you down to snuggled against him. “Now all we need to do is get you better.”

“You’ve been doing a good job so far,” you said. He smiled, smoothing his hand through your hair again.

“Thank you. I do try.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“What we really need to worry about is you getting sick,” you added. He grinned, then pulled a pained expression and lifted a hand to his throat.

“Well, my throat is kind of scratchy,” he teased. “Maybe you’ll have to take care of me next.”

“Anytime,” you said. “Want to finish the movie?”

He settled in and put his arms around you again. “Anything to spend more time with you, my love,” he said.