Synopsis: You, an archeologist, accidentally release a thousand year old, glowing-eyed mummy from its tomb, who has a unique way of saying thank-you.
Warnings: Penetration, dick-having mummy, age gap (millennia, lol)
Possessed Mummy! X Gender Neutral! Reader
Gems painted the high walls of the tomb, aligned in intricate patterns and used as outstanding jewelry for the crudely drawn figures decorating each corner. They must’ve been priceless, worth thousands if you could reach them. You’d get more academic credit than your entire research team combined if you were to bring one back for them to see, leading them to the rest of this amazing, death-trap-ridden underground tomb.
Too bad you were shoved in the bottom of a limestone grave, wrapped in endless rolls of linen bandages, and fucked out of your mind.
“Never in my years--” You had started, watching as the coffin pulled itself open, a wide figure walking from it as if a moving corpse was as natural as the blue sky. The tomb had rumbled once you managed the trick to unlatching the trapdoor, releasing the creature that had been trapped in here for a reason.
Your voice was cut not long after, pulled into the deep bed of the coffin with the mummified beast. Planted ass up, it tore your clothes with what could only be described as inhuman strength. You were a sack of flesh to this bony, wrapped being that glared at you with emerald eyes, commanding you with them.
If this had been some long lost monarch or emperor, it had become more than just an empty husk from millenia ago; now it was a vessel, filled with something mortality could not take. Its bandages stretched across the room, the foul stench of death cascading like a black wave across the open tomb.
Your fingernails left scraped marks on the inside of the coffin, dainty jewelry cascading the bottom of the tight box. They had been buried as a tribute with whatever person laid within the linen wrappings, seeming more like an eldritch, long forgotten god more than a dead body the more it moved.
It groaned, creaking with each touch, every twitch inside you. Dust had caked your lower half, forgotten as sexual arousal rose from the deepest pits of your pleasure. You shouldn’t even be lying here moaning, you couldn’t understand it-- but this creature had drawn it out from you, whipping your hands backwards as its bandages held a mind of their own. Your wrists were pulled by separate pieces of linen against your backside, jerking as your body pummeled with the reverberation of thrust after thrust.
“A kindness…” A husky voice from around the tomb boomed, like the deep echoes of a monster that had been awakened from an eternal slumber. “A kindness for you… for releasing me from my shackles…”
You writhed at the sensation of your orgasm bubbling inside your stomach, pushing your thighs together and biting hard enough on your lip that it drew blood. The metallic tang did nothing to ease your senses, blurring the lines of pain and pleasure as the mummified creature leaned over you, exhaling death in your ear.
This wasn’t anywhere in the guidelines of your job, your life's work-- you had never felt yourself getting aroused at the archeology sites you perused; not until you were at the mercy of this tomb-locked god, one who had unconsciously known your every desire, every pressure point that released your lust.
You clenched your teeth to stop it, to prevent the orgasm from escaping. But it wasn’t in your hands anymore, not as the mummy ground upwards, abusing your insides with a bruteness that you could hardly call “kind.”
It grunted a satisfied, victorious chuckle, letting the cold air from a corpse’s lungs drift against the shell of your ear. It sent shivers tumbling down your skin, foreshadowing only seconds before your orgasm.
It crashed through you with intensity you had never felt before, the bandages constricting around your wrists and legs as you quivered, feeling the mummy drag you through each wave of pleasure.
Time seemed to mean nothing as images of the tomb’s room swirled, your thighs shaking as your orgasm broke into nothing but small aftershocks. You could feel the tense, deadly stiff cock of the mummy still inside you, bandages slowly falling from your arms as your hands dropped, limp.
It’s linen-wrapped fingers came into view, right in the corner of your eye as your cheek lay smushed against the bottom of the coffin.
A pile of rubies strung on thin gold chains were dropped in front of you, clinking beautifully together. Out came the mummy’s thunderous voice once more, pleasure stricken and triumphal.
synopsis: you never pictured yourself in a polyamorous relationship with your nerdy boss and the mummy he freed from the museum you both worked for. especially when they won't stop bickering - even in the bedroom. but what's better than a birthday to bring all of you together?
pairing: mummy! x night guard!reader x dorky!museum curator
wc: 3.1k (part two to night at the museum)
content: mdni, smut, porn with plot, fem reader, threesome, 2 bfs that are ACTUALLY boyfriends, mummification (reader getting wrapped in gift paper), sex toys (vibrator), cucking, unprotected piv sex, gagging, pulling out, oral sex (m! receiving), lots of teasing, dick licking literally, they are all very much into each other, men being jealous and petty
Having two boyfriends who were also boyfriends was fun.
Until one of them was mummifying you in wrapping paper, shiny silver plastic crinkling as he wrapped it around your legs, sticking a bright blue bow between your thighs.
“Stop squirming, brat,” he scolded under his breath, only emboldened by your scoff. “He’s going to return soon.”
And okay, this stupid idea had been yours but you were finding it hard to stay still when he had decided to add his own special twist. Which, really meant shoving a vibrator inside you after he already wrapped your arms over your head.
Your mouth opened, but the only sound that came out was a muffled moan, holes thankfully poked carefully through the gift paper to make sure you could still breathe. For a little finishing flourish, he lifted your head up enough to tie a fancy blue ribbon you bought around your covered mouth.
Thighs trembling as he notched the toy nestled between your thighs up higher from the phone your other boyfriend had bought him. The once-mummified king took rather quickly to technology even though you both had to explain to him multiple times it was not, in fact, a new form of magic.
With most of his bandages off, he nearly blended in with normal society.
If he wasn’t ridiculously tall and marked with tattoos and scars. He kept a few of the bandages wrapped around his chest and torso, mumbling that he was still regaining some of his strength. But still, he hadn’t been lying when he told you he was handsome.
And really, in the past six months of your, uh, threeway relationship, he actually made a decent boyfriend too. Although he spent half his time teasing your other boyfriend.
You used to think your boss was a dork.
Dating him just confirmed that.
But there was more to him than just his affliction for anime and random history facts and his unwavering dedication to curating museum exhibits. He was surprisingly funny and sweet, treating you to cheesy sonnets and home-cooked meals, acting like you were a queen to worship.
Your mummy, on the other hand?
He meant it when he called you his concubine.
Honestly, you didn’t think there was a single position you hadn’t been fucked in since you traded your sucky studio apartment to move in with both of them.
The vibrator kicked up higher again.
Buzzing loudly between your thighs as you scrunched your eyes shut tight, the wrapping paper over your eyes preventing you from seeing anything anyway. The pressure churning in your stomach building towards a precipice that he snatched away from you before you could appreciate it, the rumble of his low grunt enough to make you whine.
“You can’t cum before he shows up,” he insisted. The sort of man who was used to making arbitrary rules and enforcing them. No matter how much he’d adapted to modern living, there were still stiff habits he couldn’t shake.
In your lust-fueled brain, you were tempted to mumble that your other boyfriend wouldn’t care. That this was just a last minute gift since the two of you were too broke and cheap to do more than making him a fancy dinner at home and baking him a cake considering your shitty guard salary and his nonexistent one.
What was he supposed to do?
Put ancient ruler on his resume?
He didn’t even have a birth certificate. Technically, he wasn't even a citizen.
Although, he’d been testing his hand at using his magic to fabricate documents.
Last week, he managed to heal a sick kitten you picked up off the street – despite his constant claims it wasn’t meant to be used on such mundane things.
It didn’t stop him from using it to bring the tv remote closer to him or steal the blankets from across the room either.
And when you both heard the front door open, he was using it again to readjust your position on the bed.
“We’re in the bedroom,” he gruffly called out, shushing you under his breath when you shifted your legs and the crinkling noise cut through the dull hum of the air conditioning.
“I didn’t say anything,” you mumbled back although it was barely comprehensible, sweat starting to stick stray hairs to your forehead as the wrapping paper rubbed against your bare skin.
He flicked your arm, only making even more noise as you heard a familiar laugh from the hallway, the creak of hinges as the bedroom door opened next.
“Did you guys miss-” The birthday boy’s question was immediately cut off by a surprised gasp. “Holy shit.”
FULL FIC ON PATREON HERE (also features a wide assortment of other oneshots/series!)
Summary: Inside an ancient crypt, you happen to awaken three powerful kings. They are cursed and you are the chosen one who is destined to satisfy the hunger of their curse.
Warnings: 18+, dubcon, size kink, overstimulation, oral (fem and males), mummies taking turns pleasing their mate, big 🍆, lots of 💦, mummies tranformation.
——————————
“Oh god, oh god, oh god…”
But your protests fell on deaf ears. Before you could deny them, their hands were all over you, the rough linen of their wraps brushing against your flesh as they explored, their touch growing bolder with each passing second. You sighed, your breath coming in quick bursts as the curse took hold of you. Your body deceived you by responding to their touch despite the surprise of what was happening.
They found your relatively dry pussy, but as one finger parted your folds and teased your petals, it quickly started producing more moisture. Round and round the finger teased while the other two creatures cupped your breasts, kneading and licking your sensitive buds. They settled you on your back, their hands gripping your thighs— keeping them open as the first touch upon your clit caused you to jerk.
The blue-eyed mummy was between your thighs; all you could see were his eyes and feel the wicked rolls of his tongue over your cunt. He licked a large stripe, soaked up your juices, and roared. Then he moved, allowing the amber-eyed one to do the same, probing your folds with his tongue. Then the last mummy touched you, the green-eyed, more powerful as his mouth clamped upon your clit, tongue swirling and swirling, pushing you to the edge of bliss.
This is a sneak peek of the special monstertober oneshot I uploaded on Pat/reon. Part 2 coming soon. Come join me for more exclusive stories or even for the free goodies, without a subscription.
I'm so excited for kinktober! I would like a request for the bonus week. Specially I would like fem reader and male mummy with bondage and just the messiest, filthiest, sloppiest, drunken sex you can put to pen.
YASSS A MUMMY REQUEST!!!
I love this idea!! And the "filthiest, sloppiness, drunken sex you can put to pen" made me cackle! I love this energy!
oooo boy, I would love it if you could write something for Mummy from heroes rising. Anything you want, really. I would prefer something with some angst and fluff but it's up to you. Only if this strikes your interest, of course! love you ♥
i was hoping to get some mummy requests too, thank you for this!!
—mod hitoshi
Mummy
“Do you even know what you’re doing anymore? Why you’re doing it?” The tips of your fingers were white as you gripped his arm.
“You’ve known from the start what the end goal is, to bring about a different world.” Forcefully pulling his arm from your grasp, causing your hand to sting from the sudden roughness of his movement, he looked straight into your eyes. “If you no longer understand that, then there’s no point in you staying.”
His words stung more than the friction burn he’d caused. Was he really going to cast you aside after all you’d been through together? All because you expressed how worried you were about the lengths they were taking? Makihara might be willing to follow Nine blindly, but you weren’t. Not if it meant losing it all to a dream, a fantasy.
“H-Hoyo… please. I’m only saying-”
“That you no longer agree with our vision for the future.” His voice was so cold and full of bitterness you flinched.
“No, I don’t. I did at one point. Before it became a search for power. Before we had the heroes on our tails. Before I thought I’d lose you, but if I’m going to lose you regardless, I rather leave now.” Walking over to the door, you wrapped your injured hand around the doorknob and turned it, glancing toward him one last time. “I hope your vision comes true and you prove me wrong.”
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Day One is up!
Happy Christmas! Given that this is the first of 12 exclusive stories that will be going up on Patreon between now and 6th January 2020, this one is much much longer than normal - clocking in at a whopping 10,027 words!
I really hope you enjoy it! I'll be writing a mix of readers and monsters on here, so hopefully there'll be something for everyone. It's my way of thanking you for your support, and I wish you all a very Merry Christmas!
(For more info on the Twelve Days of Exomas Extravaganza, click here)
Summary: You’re the curator of a local museum and you often stay working well past dusk, cataloguing existing materials and arranging for new ones to be brought in. It might seem like a tedious job to others, but your love of history sustains you more than coffee ever could. However, when love poems and jewelry from the Egyptian exhibit keep appearing on your desk, your job gets that much more interesting. You realize that the mummified pharaoh isn’t as dead as previously believed.
You had been working at the local Museum of Natural History for about three months when it started happening. You’d be up late, authorizing the transfer of new artifacts or using the building’s free wi-fi in order to finish some research, and would leave the room for just a moment, only to come back and observe that items from Pharaoh Neferkha’s exhibit had made their way onto your desk. The first item was a golden necklace strung with beads made of lapis lazuli. You initially thought it was a janitor playing a prank. You set the necklace back in its display case and thought nothing of it.
Until it happened again. The second time someone placed an ivory jar of perfume next to your half-finished stack of paperwork. You picked it up gingerly and looked outside into the dimly lit hallway. No one was there. Even the janitors had left for the night.
You placed the jar back and surveyed the pharaoh’s burial chamber, hidden from the main exhibit room by a wall of painted hieroglyphs. Nothing was disturbed.
A few days passed and you had begun to relax, thinking that the prankster had gotten the hint that you wouldn’t be frightened so easily, before you received something new: a love poem etched onto a piece of pottery. Your brow furrowed as you deciphered the hieroglyphs.
My beloved has come,
my heart rejoices,
my arms are open to embrace her.
My heart is as happy in its place
as a fish in its pond.
O night, you are mine forever,
since my lady came to me!
You marched back into the exhibit. Nothing was amiss, save for a missing pot. Your eyes returned back to the shard within your hand. Your fingertips ran over the inscription’s edges and came back dusty. Had this just been carved?
“Whoever is doing this, it’s not funny! This is a museum full of priceless artifacts. Show a bit of respect.”
You almost expected someone to answer. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, a hand poised on your hip, but the pharaoh’s tomb remained still and silent.
Frustrated, you checked and double-checked every corner, yet still found nothing. You then decided to walk downstairs to the security office. The officer on duty, a middle-aged man whose name tag read Mac, obeyed your urgings and replayed the security footage.
You both watched, transfixed, as someone, or something, emerged from the tomb. The figure was hooded and cloaked, and not every motion it made could be caught by the camera. It passed by the wall. Skip. It had the clay pot in its hands. Skip. It walked out into the hallway, towards your office. Skip. It vanished without a trace.
Mac seemed just as baffled as you were. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Ever.” He turned your way. “Should I call the police?”
A knuckle rested against your lips as you thought. A part of you felt outraged, if this was indeed a prank. You had been working to secure this job for years, and you didn’t want anyone thinking they could play games with your mind and destroy museum exhibits while they were at it. And besides, it had taken more beseeching than you cared to remember in order to receive everything from the Egyptian government in the first place. If they found out that their property was being defaced, they could take it all back.
But, if this was what your imagination said it was…
Ah, well, there was no harm in making sure.
“Not yet,” you murmured. “I want to test something.”
“Test what?”
“If I’m crazy or not.”
The next evening, you disabled the cameras in the Egyptian exhibit and tried to remain nonchalant, but your heart was racing and your ears distracted you with every slight sound. When you retreated briefly into the break room to grab some coffee, you paused by the doorway, listening. You flexed your sweaty hands against the doorpost and gasped when you heard the faintest sound of shuffling footsteps.
You suddenly contemplated what you would do if you encountered it—him—whatever it was. If it was a human, would they try to harm you for attempting to spoil their fun? If it wasn’t, what would it do? You thought back to those old black and white films you enjoyed watching as a child. A sacrifice to the old gods? A forced mummification ritual?
You shook your head, trying to dislodge such irrational fears, and took a steeling breath. You gradually inched away from your temporary haven. Keeping close to the wall, you slowly regained your courage as you continued your pain-staking return to the office. When its light was a mere foot or so away, you grit your teeth, tensed your legs, and rushed forward.
No one was there. You did, however, receive a new offering.
I wish I were her little signet ring,
the keeper of her finger!
I would see her love
each and every day,
and I would steal her heart.
You shakily chuckled, running a hand through your hair as you translated this new proclamation of love. “Oh, yeah? How can you steal my heart if I can’t even see you?” You exhaled and placed the pottery shard alongside its mate on your desk. “You better already be dead. If you’re not, I’ll kill you myself. I am the museum curator. That means it’s my job to preserve and guard everything in this building.”
Was that a chuckle coming from the shadows just outside the lamp light or was it your imagination?
I can do what I like with my belongings. It wasn’t spoken aloud, but you swore that you heard it.
An unseen wind rustled your papers, and you caught the whiff of something heady. Frankincense. Olive oil. Pressed white flowers that hadn’t seen the light of the sun in thousands of years.
Despite the pulse pounding in your ears, you clenched your fists. “All right. No more games. You have until Friday to show yourself to me. If not, I’ll—” You weren’t sure what you’d do or if three days was a sufficient enough time to plan. Guns and authorities never worked in those old movies, and enchantments were only effective half the time.
You cursed under your breath, grabbing your jacket and purse. “I’ll think of something!”
You thought you heard laughter follow you out the door.
The next evening, as expected, you received another poem. With a frustrated sigh, you picked up the pottery shard and silently mumbled along with the hieroglyphs.
I wish I were her Nubian maid,
her attendant in secret,
as she brings her a bowl of mandragoras.
You flushed, eyes rapidly blinking. From what you remembered, mandragoras, or mandrakes, in addition to being a hallucinogenic narcotic, were often used in ancient medicine to ease arthritic pain, and act as an aphrodisiac.
It is in her hand,
while she gives pleasure.
In other words:
she would grant me
the hue of her whole body.
Your splayed fingers came to rest over your gaping mouth. You glanced out into the darkened hallway as if the shadows had an answer, and you realized with dismay that your heart was racing with something else besides fear.
You looked again at the carved poem and set it down on your desk along with the others. The scent returned, this time stronger and far more cloying. The unexplainable breeze that teased your hair and traced your collarbone felt like thin, tapered fingers. Goosebumps erupted on your flesh.
You thickly swallowed. “You’re becoming rather presumptuous. Besides, I am granting you nothing unless I see the hue of your body. No cloaks. No hoods. No camera tricks. No shadows.”
Laughter echoed down the hallway, and this time you swore you heard it.
You straightened your shoulders. “No disguises, but you had better be clothed!”
The second evening came and this time, instead of poetry, the pharaoh’s crook and flail appeared. You briefly hesitated before gingerly picking them up. If it weren’t for the fact that both were gilded in pure gold, the wood would have disintegrated in your hands.
“What does this mean? Why are you offering me your crook and flail?”
You would have laughed at how easily you had come to think of this stranger as the pharaoh if you weren’t so distracted with deciphering the figure’s intentions. A gust of warm wind pushed your arms upward so the crook and flail rested against your chest. It was almost an exact replica of the pharaoh’s crossed arm funeral relief.
Your eyes widened. “The gifts… and this… You want me to be—”
My queen.
The wind raced around you faster than it ever had, and you thought you could make out a figure standing outside. Its golden eyes were smiling.
Flail and crook still in hand, you drew closer. Much to your exasperation, the figure took a step back every time you took a step forward.
“If you want me, then let me see you, damn it!”
Then it—he—spoke. His tones were as harmonious as a lyre’s and as rich as honey. “You gave me until Friday, woman. I have one more night, as do you. If you can accept me, knowing who I am, then come to my tomb willingly. If not, then stay in this room and close the door. I will receive the rejection gracefully.”
“If I reject you, would you keep everything in its proper place?”
He chuckled lowly. “You amuse me, thinking that you own all of my treasures. I am dead, not gone.” He stepped backwards, and the lights of his eyes faded. “Until tomorrow, my lotus.”
“Wait! Don’t you dare!”
But he was already gone.
You found that you couldn’t sleep that night nor could you bring yourself to leave the office. You instead sat at your desk, pensively gazing at the two symbols of a pharaoh’s authority. You mulled over his proposal. For some reason or another, he had chosen you. He had been wooing you and had every intention of making you his queen. And, although your logic railed at you for even considering the idea, you thought it wouldn’t be such a terrible fate. Ancient Egypt had interested you ever since you were a little girl, and you eagerly wanted to know all that he had seen and experienced. He could answer questions that scholars had been debating for centuries!
And he was undead.
How? Were the ancients correct in positing that the ka could endure far after death?
And he spoke to you in English. How did he learn it? How long had he been conscious in that tomb?
You placed a hand on your forehead and smiled wryly. “Well, if his majesty keeps writing me poetry, it isn’t such a bad deal.”
After a day of pretending to be hard at work, you watched as the sun god Ra slowly returned to the Underworld. The moment his rays died, you took a steeling breath and waded through the darkness until you saw the backlit entrance to the pharaoh’s tomb. You entered and saw him waiting for you.
He wore the nemes headdress, complete with golden vulture and cobra, as well as a golden collar. You marveled at how his linen robe and sandals could still be intact after all these years and how he wasn’t as frightening as you’d imagined. You reached out a hand and hesitated. His thin lips quirked upward, and he nodded his approval. You placed your hand on his chest. The skin was leathery and dry and surprisingly warm. He leaned closer to you and when he spoke, rather than smelling death and dust, you smelled cinnamon, mint, and lotus flowers.
His eyes glinted roguishly. “Your answer?”
“Yes,” you said, feeling the course of your future lock into place. “I willingly accept you, Neferkha.”
He wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in the scent of spices and desert sand. Your eyelids drooped. It was strangely comforting, even though your ears detected no heart beat. “Then I am your servant, my lady. Ask and it shall be granted to you.”
“Write on the paper I’ll give you instead of breaking another pot. I don’t want the Egyptian government breathing down my neck.”
He laughed. “And?”
“Tell me about your world, what it was really like when you were alive. Tell me how you’re alive now. Tell me why you chose me.”
“As you wish.”
You talked in each other’s arms until daybreak, when he was forced to retreat back into his sarcophagus. He was apparently the victim of an ancient curse from a rebel régime who condemned him to permanent separation from his family in the Underworld. Under the light of Ra, he said, his soul was forced to leave his body and roam about aimlessly on Earth. But he promised you that he would return to you the next night and every night after, for all eternity.
The next morning, you brought him the notebooks and pens, as promised. You also spent your lunch break researching traditional Egyptian poetry.
When Neferkha awoke and rose from his coffin, he saw a piece of paper decorated with his native hieroglyphs.
My god, my lotus,
The north wind blows.
How pleasant it is to go to the river.
My heart longs to go down
to bathe before you,
that I may show you my beauty
in a tunic of the finest royal linen,
drenched in fragrant oils,
my hair plaited in reeds.
I’d go down to the water with you,
and come out to you carrying a red fish
which feels just right in my fingers.
I’d set it before you
while gazing at your beauty.
O my hero, my beloved,
come and see me!
When the pharaoh stalked into your office, your heart fluttered at the cat-like grace of his movements and the impish curve of his lips. “You summoned me, my queen?”
“I did. I… remembered something.”
He leaned closer, so that you were mere inches apart. “Yes?”
“We’re married, aren’t we?”
“If you still accept me, yes. I claim you as mine before all the gods of the Duat.”
His thin lips briefly brushed against your own teasingly, and he moved to back away before you pulled him to you, fingers entangled in the folds of his headdress. “Then two can play this game,” you murmured in ancient Egyptian before overtaking his lips with your own.
The security cameras were never turned back on, and your employees questioned why you seemed to live at the museum, but their suspicious talk paled next to the thought of meeting your pharaoh at the end of every twilight.
Note: All the poems listed above are translations of actual Egyptian love poetry found in my textbook: The Norton Anthology of World Literature, vol. A, 3rd ed.
