Before you choose anything, let me explain that your answer will be weighed heavily and determine an outcome. Please do not pick rashly. Consider what you really want in this poll.
The poll in question relates to my Monster Boyfriend OCs and their story which is called Sweet Savage Hearts. The monsters are Grease (oil demon), Hawthorn (mothman creature), and Calmo (sentient robot). This post goes into more individual detail about them, and this is the general tag for the whole concept.
Now, again, I ask that you carefully choose the answer below!
Which monster would you choose to romance?
Grease
Hawthorn
Calmo
Voting ended onJan 24, 2025
And please, let me know who you choose and why! Doing so adds a lot of sway to my decision.
Talk about your monster husband ocs coward (affectionate❤️)
Everyone, the tumblr user themeeplord is bullying me (affectionate <3)!!
You have no idea how normal I am about my monster OCs. They're so lovely just let me—ahhh!
Hawthorn is a Mothman monster. His wings are based on the garden tiger moth and he is so fluffy! He has a thick fuzz on his neck and chest and is a warm, cuddlebug. He also possesses bright orange eyes that pierce the darkness and startle the unfortunate late-night hikers or anyone piercing into the woods after midnight.
He has a thing for hanging out in the thick woods near where the MC lives. Wherever he goes, bad omens follow. He really shouldn't be near MC—he knows he'll be the death of his precious little human, but he can't help it. He's drawn to the MC like a moth to a flame (heheh). He's delightful and gentlemanly, but don't let that fool you. He's got a possessive stretch a mile wide and does not take kindly to anyone giving the MC looks or reaching out for a too-familiar touch. He will bristle and buzz, and fly swift and silent through the darkness to chase after anyone to ensure the MC stays all to himself. He is a bad omen, after all.
Grease is an oil demon! He feeds off of fear, literally, and delights in terrifying people in the night. His body is slick and iridescent, and he is constantly dripping black goo from his person. He is capable of shifting his form to hide in a puddle, slink underneath doors, or bubble through a crack in a broken window. He's got wicked sharp teeth, and eyes like a tiger but with a pale, unsettling blue color. He possesses tendrils on his head that constantly drip and a long, slick tail that he can use to grab MC by the ankle. He's terribly seductive and charming, terrifying but mischievous. He likes to say 'boo' just to watch MC jump. Of course, he's not all tang and salt. He's got a sweet side that rouses in a protectiveness over MC. He's possessive, sure, and he's marked his claim with the oil stains on MC's work apron, but he's got an ooey-gooey center of sweetness that MC occasionally finds when he blushes at a stray touch or a nice comment about him.
Calmo 91, otherwise just called Calmo, is a robot. Constructed in the 90s with a box TV screen head to match, he has bright yellow optics in the screen face along with thick wires falling behind his head in a ponytail-like fashion. He is cool and difficult to read but wickedly intelligent and learning much about humans and affections. His body is a thin endoskeleton with plastic matt gray coverings that give peeks of blue, red, and yellow wires at his metallic joints. He's got a mysterious past the MC is attempting to unravel that he truly wishes the MC would leave be. He's got much to learn about technology but he quickly figures out how to connect to the MC's phone for texting, phone calls, and other useful things of course, like keeping tags on where MC is and monitoring MC's heart rate. Useful tools. Modern technology. Living in the MC's house, he gets to spend more domestic time with the human he decided is kind and generous, but the MC occasionally finds him at the foot of the bed in the darkness, his yellow optics strangely switched to red until the MC says his name and his optics revert back to yellow again.
I am rattling @o-cinnamonstickz for commissioning one of my monster boyfriend OCs and letting me go absolutely feral with this guy! Grease is such a menace and the poor reader must sweetly suffer him. After stealing a break while on a late shift, the reader will run into Grease behind the diner, and one tease will lead to another.
Content Warning for suggestive themes.
———
The customer smiles as he hands you back the black check presenter, his mouth spread a little too wide to show off his molars. You feel the money tucked within, but with an inward groan, you fear there is no tip. You wish him and the few others eating with him a good night. Maybe you’ll get lucky and one of his friends will pity you and dump a few quarters on the dirty table.
As they all throw down their napkins and scurry away, out into the night of Hebron, you step back to the cash register. Feeling the inside of your apron pocket, you brush against the worn and half-crumpled box of cornstarch hidden within before snagging your pen to tuck behind your ear.
With a few taps and clanks, and a little slam to get it to open properly, you deposit the cash for the meal. Stealing a glance over to the table, you find the dishes piled high, the clear cups half filled with watered-down soda, and not even a dime in sight.
Great. Just lovely.
You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff through your nostrils. Where did the virtue of tipping go? Is it just tourists or is it simply everyone that steps through the diner doors who forgoes the practice?
Such questions will only leave you with a headache pounding away at your temples. Biting back a few choice words due to their rowdiness and the not-at-all-subtleness in looking you up and down, you slip the bill into the towering pile that has collected throughout the day.
It’s close to the end of your shift, right? You keep yourself from staring at the clock in the diner too frequently lest the hands get stuck in one place, endlessly ticking without spinning. Everything seems stuck in time here.
The Hebron Diner, aptly named after the town Hebron, in which you and this poor restaurant reside, is a vintage theme with black and white photos of old cars driving between the trees and sepia pictures of scenery from the nearby national park. You’re growing to hate the lilac coloring of the tables, stools, and booths, and your own stupid waitress attire is drenched in the same hue. Your apron is white—a poor choice, considering how well it shows the stains of burger grease and ketchup.
You return to the table and begin gathering plates. One hardly touched his fries and you think the other merely played with his country-fried steak. Only an hour to go and then you’re free to rush home and scrub off the smell of fast food from your skin and hair. As the darkness holds over Hebron and its neon-dusted but quaint main street, your hope for the end of a long shift grows.
You bring the dishes back into the kitchen. Darren, the cook, seems content to clean the grill while the diner remains open but inhabited by hungry customers.
“Hey, would you mind taking out the trash?” he calls over his shoulder, never even looking up from the faint steam that sizzles over the grill top. “I’ll keep an eye out, let you take a break for a minute if you do.”
“Deal,” you answer without hesitation. You still need to wipe down the table, but you’ll do that after your break. You’ve earned one.
Dropping off the dishes, you look to Darren for directions on which garage. He jerks his head in the direction of the trash bag sitting in a gleaming silver can, and you quickly tie it up and lift it from its container. Without another word, you breeze outside towards the dumpster.
Darren scratches your back, you scratch his. You don’t talk to him much, but your habitation as coworkers is seamless as butter on fresh hotcakes.
The coolness of the night washes over you, chasing away the heat and stress of the diner. A faint street light shines into the employee parking lot filled with cracked pavement and the remnant odor of grease traps.
The dumpster is located on the other end of the small lot, unfortunately. The light doesn’t quite reach there and deep potholes collect water and whatever may fall into their depths. Your heart skips a beat, your fingers white-knuckling the tied-off garbage at your side.
There are monsters out there. You never thought of such things since you were a child, but the world became a lot bigger and unknowable, and this town became a lot smaller and strange since you discovered the truth. There are things in the dark that hide with mouths full of teeth. They like to watch you. They hope to follow you home and catch you where no one will hear you scream.
Is your paranoia striking because you’re alone now? The darkness is thick and inky, wrapping around the edges of the weak streetlight.
No. Stop being a child. Heaving the trash bag up with a soft clatter, you grind your teeth. The night isn’t what scares you. You push yourself forward, one foot after the other, until you catch sight of one of the potholes. It brims with dark liquid shining iridescently. It stands between you and the dumpster, and you catch an unmistakable ripple across its surface. There is no breeze tonight.
Your breath catches in your throat before you roll your eyes. A name is on the tip of your tongue, ready to call out, but you stop yourself.
A wicked grin crosses your lips. A juvenile idea infiltrates your brain and you run with it. You set one hand on your hip before arching a brow, staring down at the oil puddle. Does he really think you don’t know he’s here?
Dropping the trash bag into the puddle, you promptly sit on top of the black material—not allowing logical thoughts such as the fear of something sharp poking you or the general distasteful smell reeking from it stop you—and throw the puddle outwards in a thick, black splash.
You recline back on it, hands on your knees, as you shift your hips slightly to sink into what feels squishy and crumples slightly, perhaps old food and cardboard boxes. Gross. You ignore it and keep sitting pretty. Underneath you, the puddle begins to bubble and froth. The iridescent sheen of purples and blues and yellows flash in a way you haven’t quite seen before.
Then the thought lingers a little too long before it manifests into something searing with embarrassment. You might as well have plopped yourself into a demon’s lap.
No. You hold firm. This is payback. He’s stalked you, hunted you down, and grabbed you. The least you can do is embarrass him with the rotten cherry being a trash bag on top of him. You lounge as if it were a throne.
Then a growl emerges from below you. Goosebumps roll over your arms until every tiny hair pricks. Your heart begins to thump hard and fast like a rabbit fleeing from a fox.
You spring off of the garbage bag as if burned. Breath caught in your throat, you whirl back to face the sleek ripples of the oil puddle.
The black liquid rises, funneling into the figure of a man, lithe with muscles and powerfully sleek not unlike a tiger. The trash bag is ripped upwards in a grip of indignation. Your gut clenches as claws, iridescently gleaming and dark, sink into the thin black material.
A creature of living oil. A demon. Grease.
Two dark tendrils drip down from the top of his head, the tips resting at his shoulders. A long, sleek, and wicked tail snaps behind him. His face is flat with a sharp jawline, lacking a nose but his mouth bears bone-white teeth. Two pale blue eyes, centered with black pupils, pierce you in the darkness of the parking lot as if he might devour you whole. You’re reminded so vividly of a tiger before it strikes.
“How disrespectful,” Grease snarls, his silky and dark timbre carrying a slight threat underneath it. “I’ve come to see you and you put trash on me. Must I remind you who I am?”
You shift on the gritty pavement from one foot to the other. The candle flame of mirth inside of you is not yet extinguished. A small voice warns you in the back of your mind that you’re pushing your luck, but you are nothing if not a glutton for punishment.
“I know who you are, oil boy,” you say, much braver than you are. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”
His grin widens.
“Oh?” He steps forward, his shoulders lowering like a cat about to bounce. The sway of his tail is excited, thrilled for a chase. “Neither are you, little nymph.”
A brief burn infiltrates you at the nickname he’s unfortunately bestowed upon you. Your brow furrows as you take a step back. A powerful concoction of adrenaline and confusion floods your veins, interrupting the flow of your thoughts as a primitive instinct to survive takes hold.
“What…?” Your tongue is too heavy.
He tilts his head, revealing a terrible mouth filled with shark-like teeth. Fear spears your heart.
“If you want to sit in my lap, you merely need to ask.” He cackles a heinous sound of black glee.
Red heat fills your face, coloring you in both rage and embarrassment. No, no, this is backfiring. You should have known he would have twisted it in his favor. He’s so seductive and intimidating. You forget which part of him is more dangerous: his teeth or his words.
“Ah, just how I like you, all pretty and pink,” he purrs deep in his throat. His black tongue, oily and black as midnight, swipes over his teeth as if he just found dessert.
Forget this. You twist on the balls of your feet, pushing off the cracked pavement in a dead run for the back door of the diner.
It’s over before it’s truly begun. Long, slick claws snatch you by the arms. Grease rips a gasp from you as he whirls you around and pins your back to the wall. You glare up at him, a breath rattling into your lungs.
“Let me return your little favor.” His voice coils within you. Your heart beats against your ribs, wild under his devouring gaze. “A little tease for another.”
The sleek tip of his tail finds your ankle and begins winding up your leg. You bite back a yelp at the squeezing, staining pressure from the tendril. A chain to ensure you can’t run.
“I wasn’t teasing you,” you protest, but it’s a lie. A filthy lie that is only met with a sinister chuckle from Grease.
“Don’t be so coy. It’s not a good look for you.”
Fighting words long to fly off your tongue but his own emerges from his jaws. Dripping black saliva coats it like thick honey. Your eyes widen. He leans in closer with a monstrous grin. The tendrils upon either side of his head twist up gently and press into your cheeks, securing you into place as you suck in a sharp breath. Your palms press flat against the wall at your sides. He bends low to find access to your neck.
The cool, slick caress of his tongue on the curve of your throat draws out a shiver. It fills your chest and rolls down your spine. Tenderly exploring your skin, the tip of his tongue licks slowly upwards before disappearing from underneath your chin with a cool trace. You gulp.
The fiend. You would curse him if you weren’t half-paralyzed underneath his mouth. Your fingers inch toward your apron pocket.
“On second thought, why stop with a tease?” Grease slips back just enough to capture your gaze and watch you squirm. A threat of blush is bearing down upon your defenses. “You deserve more. A proper… tantalizing…”
He finishes his thought with a too-wide smile and his tongue flicking out of his mouth, closing the precious little distance between your lips. The gallope of your heart roars in your ears. You can’t name the roiling in your middle. It is too hungry, too excited for an oil demon’s touch.
Still, you lean forward in the slightest, just to catch him the slightest bit off guard. His tail loosens from your leg. His eyes widen, but he presses in—
You snatch the box of cornstarch out of your apron and whip it in front of you, spilling out fine white powder onto the oil demon. He screeches in fury. Backing away from you as the cornstarch latches onto his chest, he writhes and hisses, claws raking at the substance gluing up his sleek form.
“You—! You—!” He howls but all you can do is steal one breathless sound before sliding out from underneath him and grabbing the door handle. Twisting it, you fling yourself into the kitchen.
You twist back to slam the door closed but catch a sharp, pale blue glare, frothing with a promise so vile, it ignites your core into a hot bubbling mess.
Grease will make you pay. But not tonight.
You lock the door and fall back against it. Deep gulps of air heaves through your chest. You slowly push your hair away from your sweaty face.
Who would win? An oil demon with wicked claws and shark-like teeth who can shapeshift, hunt down his prey with ease, and feed on fear or one old box of cornstarch
Now I'm invested in the monster bf OCs AHAHAH like Hawthorn sounds like such a cutie !!! Also a mothman hello?? 😍 ( I kinda lowkey wanna draw him even tho I'm not well versed in drawing monster-esque characters 🤣✨ )
May I ask about how they'd all give affectionate gifts to MC? Any way shape or form to tell MC they love them and stuff 🥹💕 thanks in advance 🙏🏻
AH THANK YOU! I'm glad you like Hawthorn, he is such a cutie!! Ohhh, if you did, I'd love to see it! I need to get some refs commissioned for the monster boys but that's gonna have to wait a minute due to school starting soon for me ;-;
Hawthorn has a plethora of natural gifts for MC and he painstakingly takes the time to find the right beauties to present to his darling human. He sets spiral snail shells into MC's palm and tucks feathers from beautiful birds into MC's hair. Mostly, he brings flowers. He's a bit of a sap like that when he swoops down and stands before MC, all endearing, and quietly telling MC to take the bouquet of pink, blue, and yellow wildflowers that he spent the entire day collecting with little twigs and shrub leaves. He really hopes MC enjoys each and every gift. He puts a lot of thought into them. He just wants to see a pleased smile and a little bit of a twinkle in MC's beautiful eyes.
Grease isn't great at gifts but when he does have something to give, he bewilders poor MC with his offerings. A shiny ring that doesn't fit on MC's finger. An antique wristwatch with a cracked face. Once, a phone that clearly belonging to someone else. Misplaced valuables. MC grills Grease until he confesses that he finds most of his 'gifts' while he's going after fresh victims to feed on. MC tells him to stop stealing. Grease gets grumpy about it but he does turn to dumpster diving and finding little treasures tossed away along the side of the road. The things he does for MC.
Calmo doesn't have a way to give gifts like the other boys. He lives in MC's house and refuses to leave the safety of its walls. He figures out how to order items off of the internet but doing so costs money, and he's not going to dip into MC's bank account to supply MC with a gift. That would be meaningless. Instead, he turns to learning how to do human things, like cooking, dancing, and immersing himself in MC's interests. He gives MC a fresh, home-cooked meal after the end of a long shift at the diner. When MC's favorite song comes on, slow and romantic, he takes MC by the hand and softly spins with his dance partner around the room. A new book comes out that MC loves and Calmo ensures he reads it when MC is not home so they might exchange thoughts about the text later. MC doesn't realize they're gifts, but MC seems happy.
Of course we wanna hear about your ocs!!! Your mers are so cool!! If you have any crumb of lore to give GIVBB
Maybe about ur mischievous mermaid? >:] or if you have any ocs that arent mers?
Thank you sobs!!!
I do have one OC that's been heavy on my mind lately (that's not a mermaid lol) My demon girl hehe. Lucy Payne! Her story takes place during the Salem Witch Trials while being raised by the preacher and his wife. The preacher found her after a bunch of witches were up to no good in the woods within an old, burnt-out church, calling upon dark forces and performing a ritual to summon a demon—and all that is conjured is an infant with black horns and legs like a goat below the knees. The witches are hanged by the judge, and the then young, not-yet-preacher man manages to swipe the baby before the mob finds her and takes her home to his wife.
Thus begins Lucy's journey of resisting temptation and fighting her destiny of becoming the Dark Destruction.
Naff I love your monster husbands so much and I can't wait to see more of them!!!
I do have some questions, if you feel like talking about them.
If MC asked, would Hawthorn take them on a flight or would he be too scared of MC getting hurt?
What does Grease's blushing look like? Is it one color or maybe multiple? Does it stay stationary on his face or does it kind of move in a similar oozing motion?
For Calmo, I know he isn't great with new technology but how would he react to an MC who also lacks skill with it? When you say optics are you talking about the screen itself or does he have a sort of display face? Also does he have any sensory input, like could MC tickle him or would that not really register?
I'm sorry if this is too many questions, I just find talking about ocs fun and I'm so intrigued by yours!!
AHHH THANK YOU! That makes me so happy, eee! <3
Hawthorn would get flustered if MC asked him such a thing, and he would gladly take MC on a little flight. He's well aware that he might bring danger by simply being in MC's presence, but he can't refuse such a sweet request and justifies it to himself. MC will be safe and sound in his arms, even hundreds of feet above the ground.
Grease's blushing is the same color of iridescence seen on oil but visibly brighter and focused on his cheeks. It can be missed, but once MC knows Grease better, MC can pick up when he's actually 'pink' in the face though it is rare. Grease is supposed to be the one making MC blush, not the other way around!
Calmo would find it strange that MC lacks skills with modern technology. MC has lived with such advances for a long time and should be well aware of their uses, but he would attribute such struggles to being human. (Said the kettle to the pot.) Calmo would grow even more determined to learn and adapt so he can be proficient and up to date and help MC for a better quality of life.
Calmo has actual optic eyes, glowing yellow, surrounded by white noise. He doesn't have a display face but a smooth, matt covering like the back of a monitor of a 90s computer. His mouth is much like a cassette tape deck but still functions as a mouth. He's not strictly a robot in the sense that he can't move his mouth or his brow. There's something more alive to him, something inexplicable.
Calmo has sensory input! He can also monitor MC's heart rate for... reasons. He still has some limitations but he can feel MC's touch anywhere on his body and would react accordingly. He can feel pain, warmth, coldness, pressure, and gentleness. He can feel MC's hand when he needs help fixing anything wrong within his chassis. As for him being ticklish, he's not—not due to his body limitations, but simply due to his character. It takes a lot more than tickling to draw out a strong reaction from Calmo that isn't cool and icy.
I have my mermaid OCs all right here! I just love mermaids, man. Reveka is on a quest for revenge, Teddy has no idea mermaids existed until one (Reveka) ripped a bucket of chum out of his hands, Elek is looking to steal souls with sneaky contracts (boy has a lot of issues and loves power), and Marshlyn just wants Reveka to not die. I'm querying my original book to literary agents and I'm very excited about the future!
