monster boy smooches 'r' us

Demon boyfriend - Part 7 - Are all of your gifts metaphors? (nsfw)

Sat, 24 Feb 2018 21:30:41 -0500

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 (nsfw) / Part 6 (nsfw)

[Welcome back! This part’s a bit long but it would be cruel to leave you on another cliff hanger :) This is NSFW, there it lots of gore and it’s a bit scary in parts. But there’s an orgasm in it! So there’s that to see you through.]

You’d spent a lot of time ruminating on the events of that Friday evening. The thing which you had found most disturbing, even more so than the sickening wet slap of Emma’s limp body hitting the floor, was the immediacy with which Friday’s manner towards you softened as soon as you’d felt your willingness to fight against or flee your haunting drain away. As you’d sobbed out hopeless tears against his coarse mane, the claws tangling in your knotted hair had almost been.. tender? What kind of relationship was that? You flashed angry and ashamed whenever you thought about it, purposefully trying to avoid remembering the overwhelming relief of abdication of responsibility and surrender you’d felt wash over you.

Of course, the touching scene had been interrupted when your monster had slunk away to methodically consume the corpse it had made of Emma, crouched on the floor on all six limbs swallowing down big chunks like a lizard. Somewhere between the beginning of the sickening splitting crunches and the slurping lapping at the pooled blood on the floor you’d no longer been able to contain your disgusted retching; but the fear that Friday would take offence to you running to the bathroom to throw up kept you rooted to the bed with tears still drying on your face.

The bunker had cooled rapidly and a draft permeated the space from where Emma had left the door open (presumably) in her haste to rescue you, and it was only due to that you were able to get some sense of the time. When you heard the chirping and chittering which heralded the beginning of the dawn chorus, Friday snapped his dark horned head up to look at you and you flinched.

Too quickly, he’d dragged his long lithe body over to you, crawling across the floor using all six limbs. You’d managed to smother the temptation to back away from him, even though you could feel a fresh fear rising in your throat as your breaths shallowed and quickened. He gripped your calf with long, thin fingers as he reached you and you’d yelped at the touch, causing his mane to bristle - though you weren’t sure if it was in amusement or annoyance.

“CONNECTION NEXT TIME. LUCKY THING.” He’d pressed his flat face to yours momentarily before splitting his face to lick across your cheek and eyes, leaving a smear of Emma’s blood across your face and making you retch again. By the time he’d finally disappeared for another week, you were trembling so much with fear that you were worried you were having a seizure.

The days following passed in a blur of nervous tension, news watching, and shoveling sweets into your mouth. The stomach turning guilt of having the loss of a life on your conscience precluded you from reaching out to (dooming) anyone else, and the sense of detachment from the world around you as you felt the clock ticking down to your next nightmare made your heart ache with loneliness.

On Tuesday, as you sat in front of the TV eating brownies (technically still ‘brownie’ as you’d never sliced them) directly from the baking tray with a spoon, half heartedly liking Brooklyn 99 gifs on Tumblr and doing your utmost to ignore the ever intensifying drum roll of dread building inside your skull, your mind started to wander. You wondered absently what the rest of your life was going to be like. Would you be able to have people in your life, you wondered. Would you get old? Or would the creature kill you before then. Would the weekly visits ever become routine? ‘How was your week, dear?’, TERRIBLE DAY AT THE OFFICE, you laughed despite yourself.

On Wednesday you were feeling in slightly better spirits and spent the day watching how to crochet tiny woolen vegetables on youtube. You had a go at a turnip but it didn’t really work out, and ended up looking more like a scooped out eyeball. By the mid afternoon you’d half convinced yourself that maybe you could deal with this kind of life… six days of leisure, one day of mind bending horror. Maybe.

Those hopes were quickly dashed when you woke at dawn on Thursday with a cloying film of sweat over your brow and your mouth and throat dry. Over the course of the day it became very apparent that your anxiety was making a resurgence: whenever your attention was even minutely diverted from whatever task was at hand, you slipped into a tense reverie from which it was increasingly difficult to shake yourself. When your full consciousness snapped back to the world of the living, you always found yourself drumming the same terse beat on whatever surface was at hand: tap-tap tap tap, tap-tap tap tap.

Refocusing your eyes after staring blankly at the wall for an unknown amount of time and realising you’d spilled your drink over your legs.

Tap-tap tap tap.

Pulling your hands out of the sink, belatedly realising you were scalding yourself on the too-hot washing up water.

Tap-tap tap tap.

Realising the tea you’d made yourself and were clutching protectively to your chest had long since gone cold, untouched. Your nails still drumming frantically against the ceramic:

Tap-tap tap tap.

You forced yourself to take a slow, deep breath and ragged though the intake was you held it. You tried to cajole and comfort yourself. Friday had mentioned visiting every week, that meant that whatever this process turned out to be.. you’d survive it. That was a start! Literally a start. When your lungs started to burn pleadingly you sighed out the breath you’d been holding and trouped towards the sitting room, running a hand through your hair.

You were sitting with your legs folded under you and your back pressed against the arm of the sofa, playing solitaire on the cushion in front of you. You’d cycled through the remaining deck a few times and finding no available moves were steeling yourself to cheat at a one player game, when the silence around you was shattered by the quiet squeal a floorboard underfoot. Your ears immediately pricked up. You stopped breathing and stayed frozen in place like a rabbit in a car’s headlights, not shifting your gaze from the cards in front of you. You felt sweat on your palm as you gripped the deck of cards more firmly as though for comfort.

Then, the house was quiet again.

You let out your held breath and snagged a few cards which were sequestered at the top of a pillar you’d been unable to shift, adding them to your deck. The additional ammunition restarted play, and you did your best to focus on the game in front of you rather than any noises the house might be making. But you couldn’t stop yourself hearing it; faintly at first, then more audible, quite obviously originating from the floor directly underneath the sofa on which you were sitting:

Tap-tap tap tap.

Your mouth went dry.

Tap-tap tap tap.

You felt the prickle of tears in your eyes and quickly blinked them away.

TAP-TAP TAP TAP.

TAP-TAP TAP TAP.

Had he been watching you all day? You were certain you could feel your heart thudding against the inside of your ribcage and you plunged into cold fear. You swallowed dryly and placed a card down nonchalantly even though it wasn’t a legal move, doing your best to sound unconcerned as you called out:

“Hey, spooky. Gonna come out and play?”

The tapping fell silent and you had a moment to furrow your eyebrows before the lithe, dark creature appeared from nowhere, crouched on the floor next to your seat on the sofa with its strange flat face only inches from yours and its bright lidless eyes staring a hole into you. You flinched violently and screamed in surprise, and in its foul mimicry of your voice it screamed back at you, then cackled shrilly. No matter how many times you saw the monster appear from nowhere, every time it filled you to the brim with the desperate urge to run and never look back. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to push down your knee jerk reaction of pure terror. Its mane was bristled in what you parsed as amusement.

After a few breaths of silently staring at each other, Friday slowly reached towards you and you blanched. With his eyes never leaving your face, he wrapped his long, thin fingers around your wrist and turned your unresisting hand over to present your palm face up. The touch was gentle and his hand was unexpectedly warm. You looked from your palm to his face and back again when he used another hand to place something warm and soft in your palm. When his second hand drew away, you saw feathers. He was still loosely gripping your wrist as you inspected what he’d given you: it was a small brown bird, dead. You grimaced.

“GIFT.”

He was staring at you with that inscrutably blank expression.

“Are you a cat?” You questioned frankly before noticing a small movement from the bundle of feathers in your palm. You brought your hand closer to your face to inspect it further and whilst Friday didn’t release his grip on your wrist, he did move his arm up with you so as not to impede the motion. It was breathing. You glanced to Friday’s grip on your wrist with resignation and then to his face. “Why isn’t it moving?”

This caused Friday’s whole flat face to split in half in his disturbing imitation of a grin, rows of bright white jagged teeth on display. “KNOWS WHAT’S GOOD FOR IT.”

You felt a ghost of annoyance twang at your belly as you looked from Friday to the bird and back.

“Are all of your gifts metaphors?”

He was staring at you as if frozen in time, fixed grin still splitting his face. You took the few moments of still quiet as an opportunity to regard him - his horns were shinier than the rest of his body but the rest of him from the mane to the flat face to the six limbs covered in thick hide was pretty.. matte. You shook your wrist in an attempt to dislodge him but he held onto you easily.

“KISS.” He prompted.

You eyed the creature in front of you dubiously, the thrum of annoyance still present within you and momentarily able to overwhelm your underlying fear. You hesitated.

“KISSSS.” He hissed inside your mind and on a snap impulse you threw the not-dead bird at his face. It bounced off him, landing on the floor with a funny little thump and the noise immediately snapped you out of blind anger and reminded you how dangerous the monster before you really was. Your heart fell through your stomach and your insides churned as a mental image of Emma’s body falling to the floor with a wet slap permeated your mind. Friday’s grin had faded from his face but otherwise he didn’t move. You swallowed. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“You’ve got a funny way of keeping friends.” You started, voice already hoarse but picking up volume. Your eyes were fierce with fear and indignation, but a distant part of you realised this rage might have more to do with the shame you felt about the relief of surrender from last week than anything else. “Half drowning me! Killing my friend!” Anger and terror were both white hot in your blood. “YOU BIT OFF A PIECE OF MY EAR, now you show up with a half dead bird-”

Friday stirred and you were immediately silenced. Still crouched next to you, he grabbed both of your ankles and wrapped an arm around your waist to drag you effortlessly towards him. Your eyes widened in terror and you struggled against the grasp, but he was impossibly strong. The claws wrapped around your right ankle pressed into your skin sharply and you heard the blup blup of bloodrops hitting the wooden floor, causing your breaths to become shallower and more rapid.

“YOU SHOULD BE HOPING.” He dragged you off the sofa into his lap and blood rushed to your face as you used your free hand to push uselessly against his chest. “THAT FRIDAY CAN BE CONVINCED” The arm wrapped around your waist dragged you closer to his chest, “NOT TO BITE OFF MORE PIECES.” Your whole body went stiff and immediately you felt faint with terror and regret, your free hand trembled visibly against the thick dark hide of Friday’s chest. The extreme closeness was new and deeply unpleasant.. you felt more vulnerable than you ever had. A few moments of heavy silence were interrupted by a couple of disturbed cards which had been teetering on the edge of the sofa cushion clattering to the floor. He was so warm. Your mind was buzzing with adrenaline and self preservation instincts. You moved your hand on his chest to touch where his mane melted into hide, watching your fingertips move through the coarse hair for a moment before flickering your gaze up to his face. You swallowed before questioning:

“Can you be?”

A low pleased growl rumbled in Friday’s chest, and you were so unused to hearing the monster outside of your mind that the noise made the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end.

“COMPLETE CONNECTION.” He instructed and pressed his warm flat face into yours, making you flinch. He nuzzled his face into yours with something you construed as affection and you closed your eyes reflexively. His manner had changed so quickly. He really was much less … overwhelmingly terrifying, when you did as you were told. You consciously sought out the relief of surrender you’d found the week before, doing your utmost to push down the urge to flee rising in your chest. You found your voice, weak though it was.

“Will it hurt?”

The answer was immediate. “VERY MUCH.” He was still rubbing his face into yours. You felt the blood drain from your cheeks and your arms and legs went stiff unbidden. Your useless shallow breaths left you feeling as though you were suffocating. You arched your back away from the creature to stop him rubbing his face against you and searched out his lidless eyes desperately.

“Will you, treat me nicely?” You recognised that you were nervously tap-tap tap tapping your fingers against his chest and to your surprise he mirrored the gesture on your lower back. You weren’t sure if it was comforting or unnerving. “Like you promised?”

“NEXT TIME.” The tears which had been welling in your eyes spilled over your cheeks for the first time and you gasped a few breaths in an attempt to stop feeling like you were about to faint. Well, that was that then. You wiped your tears away on the wrist of your only free arm and nodded.

“Okay.”

Your ankles and wrist were released and you watched with horrified fascination as Friday raised one of his thin fingers to his mouth and without warning or seemingly any hesitation, bit off half of it. You flinched. He swallowed the severed digit and pressed the bleeding remnants to your lips, which you kept in a tightly pinched line.

“DRINK.” He commanded, and with great reluctance you slowly parted your lips to allow the bleeding stump entrance to your mouth. He pushed the digit within and poked at your tongue seemingly without pain - his blood was flowing quickly; it was surprisingly thin and extremely sour. You grimaced as you tried to force yourself to swallow but your body struggled against you. After a couple of false starts you managed to force the ichor down your throat and were rewarded with a low purr emanating from the chest you were pressed against. What had you agreed to?

Suddenly, all you could hear was an incredibly loud and piercingly shrill noise: it was so loud that it was hurting you. You cried out in surprise and pain, raising your hands to your ears and screwing your eyes shut on reflex, writhing in agony. Covering your ears slightly muffled the noise, but it grew louder and louder and louder AND LOUDER AND LOUDER AND LOUDER until you couldn’t bear the pain. You screamed, but you realised with cold terror that you couldn’t even hear yourself over the screeching. You tried to open your eyes but found that you couldn’t. You felt growing pressure on your lids, until it felt like someone was pressing their thumbs as hard as they could into your eyeballs. You screamed and thrashed, frantically trying to both cover your ears and scratch away hands on your face which weren’t even there. Through your nightmare, you were dimly aware of being pushed down onto your back when a familiar voice permeated your mind.

“FOCUS.”

With tears streaming down your face, you tried to centre all of your attention on the voice and to your relief the noise and pressure on your eyes both started to ebb. The noise kept fading and fading until it was gone, but there was nothing left in its stead - were you deaf? You opened your eyes in panic and found that whilst your lids now opened, you still couldn’t see anything. You hammered your fist on the floor to see if you could hear the noise, but nothing permeated the quiet. You felt your lips part in horror, as everything except the weight on your chest was quiet and dark. You screamed and thrashed violently against the weight pressing against you until a warm hand took yours and guided it to familiar coarse hair. You were relieved to find that you weren’t alone, even if you couldn’t see or hear your company. You used both hands to paw at Friday’s face, chest and mane and the touches were surprisingly soothing to you. It was so peculiar to touch him that your attention was drawn to the action despite the circumstances. You found that he had long, tapered ears hidden within his hair and the concept that he’d need something as common as ears to perceive the world around him was almost funny.

Cold claws pressed against your throat and you writhed under the touch. Laboriously slowly, the pointed tips were pressed into the middle of your chest between your collar bones until they pierced the skin. You screamed in pain and grabbed the arm pressing down on you to try to push it away, but it was too strong. With fresh terror, you felt claws tear into the flesh of your chest, racking you with panic as stabs of rending pain shot out from your chest over the rest of your body. You couldn’t tell if you were crying or screaming or both. You felt your blood spill out over your sides onto the floor and thrashed violently against your attacker only to have your hands pinned roughly either side of your head. You felt the eerie ripping of your flesh being torn back from your bones and renewed your frantic attempts at escape, pure animal instinct kicking in as the worst pain you’d felt in your life buffeted you. You felt pressure pushing from the middle of your chest out to your side and felt a crunch which you realised with horror was your rib splintering. You struggled to breathe as one rib after another was cracked out of the way of your chest cavity. You felt like you were drowning, coughing up blood and bashing your head roughly against the floor in an attempt to at least not have to feel the pain any longer. You felt hair brush against your lips and then pressure inside your chest and suddenly despite the white hot pain firing all over your torso, you could breathe again. You felt even more painful tugging and rending within your chest and realised with dawning dismay that Friday was pushing his face inside you. Something heavy was ripped out from your left side and with coarse hair tickling at your face and the most torturous pain you’d ever experienced shuddering through your entire body, you finally understood what was happening: he was eating your heart.

The realisation pushed you to the edge of hysteria, but a question still managed to permeate the fog of panic in your mind: why weren’t you dead?

You were breathing easily despite the flat faced demon forcing his whole head inside your chest cavity in order to eat your heart. The pain was even starting to ebb away.

You shivered, dimly aware that something else was happening but extremely reluctant to find out what it was.

The skin on your cheeks and arms started to prickle pleasantly as the last of the suffering faded away. The rending and snapping sensations from within your chest were now strangely painless. You felt goosebumps start to emerge over your arms and legs as a feeling of new power, the likes of which you’d never before experienced and had no frame of reference for, bloomed from within your chest and started to spread out over your whole body. Your inner thighs started to tingle and warm and you felt your face get hot as you arched against the pressure on your chest. Delirium was settling over you, making it increasingly difficult for you to attempt to comprehend anything outside enjoyment of the new sensations overwhelming you. You felt giddy as you strained against the pressure restraining your arms and were pleased to find them released. There was a pleasing fluttering in your belly and hot pleasant prickles over your skin as a whole, which you reveled in. As the sensations intensified, you shuddered as a wave of tingling pleasure washed over you.

You tangled your fingers in Friday’s mane before reaching up to grab a smooth curved horn roughly, using the handhold as leverage to help you wrap your legs around him to press yourself entirely against his warm skin. With the increased surface contact, the shuddering stings of pleasure shooting over your chest, thighs and core intensified still further, causing your mouth to loll open. You were dimly aware that you were making noises of desperation, but without your hearing it was impossible to tell whether they were whimpers or screams. As far as you could tell, Friday was completely ignoring your begging for him, and you felt him rend another piece of flesh from your chest. Luckily, physical stimulus didn’t actually seem necessary for whatever this was. You gripped onto him hard and arched into him as you felt a release building inside you. When it finally broke, it was closer to a twisted religious experience than an orgasm. Your sense of self completely departed you, with the only thing occupying your mind being the crashing roar of pleasure battering and overwhelming your remaining senses. Before you knew it, you were violently seizing, thrashing against the floor with your jaw clenching and your eyes rolling back painfully in your skull.

The last things you remembered before being completely engulfed were claws in your hair and thin fingers gently caressing the back of your neck, cradling your head against warm hide.

artixla: F R I D A Y I got inspired by @monsterboysmooches‘s...

Sat, 24 Feb 2018 04:32:47 -0500

artixla:

F R I D A Y

I got inspired by @monsterboysmooches‘s art and decided to doodle a thing! I love your writing btw!! <3

Look at our spooky boy! I love this so much. New chapter should be tonight.

Alien boyfriend - Part 1 - Please stop taking my chickens

Fri, 23 Feb 2018 21:26:51 -0500

[As requested by a reader]

The appeal of the cabin had been twofold: nature was meant to be good for the soul, and with any luck the complete lack of any non-chickens-and-trees stimulus could bore a novel out of your thus far uncooperative brain. The parents had seemed happy enough to subsidise your stay in order to have you stop wandering their house in the wee hours of the morning - they’d been very supportive of your creative endeavours, fruitless though they had been so far. You were lucky enough to be staying for free (thanks, dad) and had even been sent along with enough tinned and pickled produce to last for weeks: you had no excuse to leave, but you were starting to sorely regret not bringing a book. There was a kind of nervous tension about you that you couldn’t seem to shake, and it was making it nigh impossible to focus on an idea. You had a creeping suspicion it might have something to do with the dark trees leering in at you at all hours of the day.

It had come to your attention that you weren’t really a Nature Person.

In desperation for anything resembling entertainment as your well of inspiration still ran dry, you’d taken to sitting in the rocking chair on the covered deck, watching Dipper. Satay and Curry peck happily around their makeshift outside enclosure late into the evenings. You were smoking more than usual, and before long the garish misshapen ashtray you distinctly remembered making for your dad in year 9 pottery had a heaping pile of butts in its centre. The girls were from home; you’d been surprisingly hard pressed to find a long term chicken-sitter and your parents hadn’t managed to keep a plant alive for more than 10 days in the last 30 years, so the chickens had made the trip with you in the back of the truck, not entirely happily. After a few days of new dirt to peck at, they were settling in.

You’d spent the daylight hours playing at forestcraft, chopping up bits of wood and piling the pieces haphazardly against the side of the cabin. Evening found you with your boot-clad feet up on the railing which surrounded the cabin’s deck, reclining in the rocking chair, smoking and looking out over the lake. With the harsh line of dense trees surrounding the cabin and the lake, and the complete lack of artificial lighting, nights drew in quickly and unusually solemnly here. You were starting to find it less unnerving, especially when you were conscious to take the time to watch the sky mottle from blue to orange to purple-with-faint-white-blobs to black with pinpricks of white. It was then, on the fourth day of your stay when the sun was melting below the horizon and the cooing bok boks of the dinners (uh, chickens) stretched out to become fewer and further between, you finally started to feel relaxation dawn on you. The constant background smell of damp leaves and woodsmoke was starting to lose its pungency, the evening was pleasantly warm, you were full of hotdogs and free of any immediate obligations: life was going okay. You felt your shoulders lower slightly from your ears and got up to put the kettle on.

Curry had long since led the troupe into the shed for the night when you noticed the star. Your eyes were drawn to it unbidden, its brightness and unusually vigorous twinkling drawing your gaze. You watched it for a little while, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders in defence against the slightly chilled night air. You sipped your tea. It must be an aeroplane, you decided - stars don’t flicker that much, and most of the others weren’t as bright. But… it didn’t seem to be moving. Maybe it was just high up so moving really slowly. You bored even yourself with this train of thought, and in a compromise with your own brain resolved to note its location and check in on it in a couple of hours. You sighed and closed your eyes, consciously trying to lose yourself in the silence and placidity of the surroundings but finding only meagre comfort there. Maybe it was time for bed, and you could take another crack at the plot outline in the morning. You took a long, final drag from your cigarette and stubbed it out, making your way back inside.

As you methodically cocooned yourself in four layers of blankets, you flinched but weren’t certain why. Was that a flash of light? No couldn’t be, what would it be from?

The next morning was colder and drizzly. You woke at what felt like first light and sat in bed with a cup of coffee, inspecting the half-mist-half-raindrops permeating the air and a heavy fog stretching out over the lake through the small bedroom window. Regrettably, your Princess chickens probably weren’t going to fancy scratching around in this grizzly weather, so you should probably take them out some nutritious dust. You sipped solemnly. You’d feed the chickens, then you’d start on the plot outline and you were going to sit at the desk until it was done, come hell or high water.

A plan.

With your hair still contained by the loose ponytail you’d slept in, you pulled a jumper on over your cloud pyjamas and topped it off with your thick woolen coat.

“High fashion at the cabin today.” You muttered to yourself as you zipped up your boots. Before long you were trudging over to the hen shed with wet mist sticking to your face and hair, slightly regretting your reluctance to change out of your pyjamas into your jeans. You let yourself into the mesh cobbled-together outdoor enclosure and closed the door behind you. Then, you crossed the quiet few paces to the garden-shed-turned-henhouse and lifted the latch to let yourself into there too. The room smelled of fresh hay (for now, you hadn’t brought much in the way of fresh bedding) and the alarmed boks of your charges filled the small space easily. You furrowed your eyebrows immediately. Curry: golden brown with white spots - check. Dipper - dark brown all over - check. Satay: absent. You peered around for a few moments but once you’d looked behind the lawnmower and under the big terracotta planting pot you’d quickly exhausted the possible Satay Hiding Spots. You absentmindedly shook out some pellets into the hay between the nest boxes and then let yourself back outside into the outer enclosure. You patrolled the perimeter carefully looking for signs of incursion, but found no gaps or tunnels or anything which looked like a fox entrance point. Plus, there was no blood. Confusion and tension settled in your belly. Weird. Weird weird weird.

You spent the day in a state of discombobulation. You regretted that Satay was gone, but the confusing state of the scene was what was really getting to you. After several hours staring alternatively at your notebook and the window, your plot notes for the day consisted of:

Horror?

Chicken thief / murderer.

It wasn’t the most comforting mental tangent.

It was with a churning belly that you trudged through the mud to visit the chickens the next morning, and you weren’t surprised to find it was now just… chicken, singular.

“Hey, Curry.”

“Bok.”

“What happened to your sisters?” You questioned lightly, shaking out some pellets for her.

“Bok, bok bok.” She unfurled from her nest box and started to engage with her breakfast.

“Ah right. Very enlightening, thank you.”

Still no blood, still no signs of entrance. You were really starting to convince yourself that there was some sicko living in the woods toying with you, and a deep dread was settling across your shoulders. Nothing else for it: time to see if you remembered how to load a shotgun.

It wasn’t like your dad to retire to a secluded area at the mercy of both passing strangers and the kind of nature which had teeth and claws without some kind of protection, and you were grateful for his paranoia as you retrieved the gun and box of ammo from underneath the loose sitting room floorboard. Standing in the middle of the room, you text your mom with a levity you didn’t feel:

“Hey ma! Chickens going missing :/ might be a fox, might be a murderer. Gonna shoot it either way later, good plot ammo. Ammo, lol. Anyway if I don’t check in tomoz AM come retrieve my body xoxoxoxoxoxox”

Her reply was almost instant:

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come out to give you a hand, bab?”

“Nah you’re ok for the 5 hour chicken investigation drive, I’ll txt in the morning.”

“Alright sweetness, let me know if you murder a fella.”

“Don’t tell da.”

You hummed monotonously to yourself as you considered your next steps, drumming your fingers in a frantic pattern against your leg in an attempt to dispel some of your nervous energy. Maybe you should leave a note? On the off chance the chicken thief was human somewhere between socially inept and murderer. You slipped into the desk chair and picked up a pen, but were immediately at a loss for what to say. Should you tell them you were armed? That might be good for intimidation but you’d lose the element of surprise if they decided to try to get into the cabin.. Plus it was definitely escalation. Hm. After a few scribbled out false starts, you settled on:

“Hey, spooky chicken thief! Please stop taking my chickens.”

You re read it and it seemed pretty wet, but it was the best you could come up with so you pressed it in between tape to keep the water off and ventured out to attach it to the outside door of the coop.

You spent most of the day working yourself up into an anxious frenzy, which turned out to be both deeply unpleasant and surprisingly draining. Between picturing some dark malevolent spectre stealing into your coop and imagining quick draws with deranged chicken murderers, you managed to smoke most of your remaining cigarettes. You were sitting in the rocking chair on the deck as dusk rose over the lake, the shotgun resting across your lap and a mug of tea in your hands. You looked up to the sky and noticed with vague interest that the weird-star probably-not-a-completely-stationary-aeroplane was still there. Maybe you could find its name, if you looked it up. Or, better yet, posted a picture to /r/whatstaristhis and had someone do the work for you.

You watched the coop intently for several hours, but a long day of anxious energy coupled with the complete darkness of the night doomed your endeavour to stay up As Long As It Took. After many hours of nothing at all happening, your head slowly lolled forward against your chest and your eyes slipped shut.

You woke up to warm morning light and angry bokking. You lifted your hands to rub your eyes but felt an unexpected resistance, causing your eyes to snap open with surprise and fear. You noticed with confusion that you had a piece of string tied around your right wrist. In a sleepy haze, you followed the tether with your eyes. .. It was tied to a chicken’s leg. A.. different chicken. Not one of yours. You blanched and stood up quickly, causing your gun to loudly clatter to the floor, looking around frantically for any clue as to who had done this. You could hear your pulse hammering in your ears and your breath came in short gasps, cold terror twisting in your chest.

Only after you were forced to admit to yourself that you couldn’t see any hint of who did this, did your eyes wander to the chicken coop. And it was then you noticed there was a second note fastened to the door.

Lil Friday doodle whilst plotting the next chapter

Fri, 23 Feb 2018 19:45:12 -0500

Lil Friday doodle whilst plotting the next chapter

Demon boyfriend - Part 6 - Uh oh (nsfw)

Sat, 10 Feb 2018 18:42:16 -0500

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 (nsfw)

[NSFW, graphic and gory. We’re picking up immediately after the last chapter Part 5 (nsfw)]

You sniffled and tried to blink away hot terrified tears welling in your eyes as you stared up at the dark lithe form looming over you. All four of its arms grasped at the sides of the futon you were laying on to allow it to lean over you entirely, its dark mane bristled in excitement around its thick rams horns and its lidless white eyes were staring blankly at your face.

It was eerily still as it appeared to wait for your answer, regarding you silently for several slow, tense seconds. With your gaze fixed on its strange flat face, a thought pushed its way through the fog of panic in your mind, asking you: if it needed something from you.. Why wasn’t it just taking it? Why was it waiting for you to agree?

Maybe.. it needed your consent?

Maybe that’s how the connection was completed?

As soon as the idea crystalised in your consciousness, Friday’s face slowly split in half in a grotesque grin, revealing all too many rows of sharp white teeth. “CLEVER THING.” Its voice cooed inside your mind. Your eyes widened impossibly further as the creature reacted to an unspoken thought in your mind, it could read your thoughts? “BUT THOUGHT FRIDAY COULD ONLY SPEAK, NOT LISTEN.” It laughed, shrill and cruel. Your useless gasping breaths still left your lungs feeling hot and desperate for air as waves of cold terror racked your entire body, leaving you trembling from head to toe. The hopelessness of any attempt at escape from a mind reading, teleporting creature of darkness which could home in on you from seemingly any distance started to settle on you. You were fucked. But you clung to the desperate shred of hope that maybe it needed you alive.

Your mouth had become so dry that you had to consciously unstick your tongue from the back of your teeth and swallow several times before you could even attempt to speak. When you found your voice, it was a trembling shell of its usual timbre. “What.. What is the connection?” You asked the entity above you, and it picked up your shaking hand with long, thin fingers. “TETHER TO KEEP FRIDAY HERE.” Its hand was cool and clammy, but you offered no resistance when it parted your fingers with its own to lace your hands together. You noticed with strange clarity that it needed to put two fingers in some gaps, as it had too many digits on its bizarre thin hand. “SO HE CAN GET UP TO ALL KINDS OF MISCHIEF.” Whilst its too-wide grin turned your stomach, the statement actually allowed you a glimmer of hope that the monster didn’t actually mean to kill you. You glanced at the door compulsively before returning your gaze to the creature’s face.

“So what do you,” you swallowed dryly again, your voice cracked and barely above a whisper, “what do you need from me?” It grabbed your ankle with a clawed hand and you flinched, looking down at the contact with a wild stare as it dragged you easily, almost mockingly slowly down the bed until your crotch bumped against it. It still had its fingers laced with yours and its face split to reveal its teeth in a foul imitation of a grin. “COMPLETE CONNECTION. BE ANCHOR. FRIDAY VISIT EVERY WEEK.” You blanched. “BRING GIFT. GIVE KISS.” It brought your joined hands up, leaning down to them to force you to watch in paralysed horror as it nipped at your wrist, causing you a sharp pain and staining several of its teeth with your blood. “WON’T EVEN BITE OFF HANDS, IF YOU STOP MAKING FRIDAY ANGRY.” You flinched at the mental image. Its eyes sought yours as it lapped almost casually at the trickle of blood escaping your torn skin with its strange long white pointed tongue, streaks of red staining the grotesque appendage. Your skin crawled under its touch on your arm and ankle, but you were long past struggling against the contact. You could feel cold sweat slicking your skin and lava rolling in your belly as your fear stiffened your muscles and quickened your thoughts. So, it needed you alive. That was a good start. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, seeing horns and mane and bright round eyes for a few hours a week if that meant that you wouldn’t get your extremities eaten. You tried to inhale slowly but only managed a ragged gasp as your self preservation instinct well and truly kicked in. The creature seemed unhurried for a response, distracted by the steady flow of blood from your arm onto its cold wet tongue, but you sensed its attention snap back to your face as you spoke.

“Alright.” You narrowed your eyes at it, and your voice took on an almost pleading note. “But you have to stop hurting me. Stop throwing me around. It really hurts and it frightens me and I hate it.”

The beast lapped almost thoughtfully at your bleeding arm, which started to tingle strangely under its touch. It was smiling. “ONE LAST BIG HURT.” It stated and your intake of breath caught in your throat, lightheadedness fluttering across your consciousness. “RUNNING AWAY MADE FRIDAY VVERRYY UPSET.” Through a scream of fear as you tried to wriggle and pull out of its grasp, you registered that the torn skin on your arm had knitted back together with the same ugly red mark as you’d been left with on your chest. Still grasping your wrist and ankle, it moved a third hand to cradle the back of your neck and a fourth to wrap around your waist, easily lifting you off the bed into a distorted embrace. You screamed and tried to writhe, kicking the thing with your free foot and frantically pushing against its chest with your free hand as fresh waves of panic shuddered through your whole body as the thing raised you languidly to its mouth. A noise like a chuckle assaulted your mind as it easily held you in place, leaning into you and tickling the side of your face and neck with its coarse mane as its teeth grazed against the bottom of your ear. You screwed your eyes shut and grimaced, and were almost relieved when the confusingly tender touch was replaced by sharp piercing pain as its teeth sunk into your flesh. You cried out in pain and terror as you felt blood rush down the side of your neck and horrible tearing pain shot from the bottom of your ear. You repeatedly thumped as hard as you could against the beast’s chest with your fist, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. As the waterfall of blood down your neck intensified, you felt terrified tears spill over your cheeks and your breath started to be let out only in gasping sobs.

As quickly as the ordeal had begun, the pain dulled and you felt Friday’s cold tongue all too gently caress your neck and then your stinging ear, causing the bloodflow to slow to a stop. It pulled its face away from you with its split face jaw hanging open and with dawning horror you realised it had bitten off the bottom part of your ear lobe, complete with earring. It was displaying the bloodied nugget of flesh in its mouth to you like a prize. Its eyes were fixed on yours, and as soon as it registered you’d seen the piece of you it had taken, it swallowed. Your eyes were wide with disgust and panic as it licked almost tenderly at your neck and the collar of your nightshirt, which was soaked with blood. “THERE, NOW WE CAN BOTH BE GOOD.”

You were still crying with terror, and you bowed your head forwards as a feeling of defeat settled on you. You rested your forehead against its strangely protruding collar bone and let it lap at you. Feeling no resistance, it gradually released its various holds on you to wrap more arms around your waist and across your shoulders, holding you limply against its chest with your feet dangling far above the ground. When your neck was (presumably) clean of spilled blood from it biting off part of your ear, it pulled its head back from you slightly to stare you in the face. You met its eyes, faint outline of grey irises once again visible there. It seemed to be waiting for something, and you felt the ghost of power flutter through your consciousness. “Don’t bite off any more parts of me.” You commanded in a flat, hollow voice.

“DON’T HIDE.” It returned.

Your fear momentarily snapped into annoyance. “I wouldn’t have hidden if you weren’t so scary and bitey.”

Without warning, it nuzzled its flat face against your nose and forehead, and you closed your eyes on reflex. “YOU’LL ADJUST.”

Despite yourself, you huffed out a ghost of a laugh, your face still pressed against the rough hide of your nightmare.

You pulled back and extricated your arms to wrap them around the creature’s neck, trying another tack to get what you wanted. Its faint irises were fixed on your face as you tilted your head coquettishly. “Put me down.” With only a moment’s sickened hesitation, you placed a soft kiss where the demon’s nose should have been. “You promised to treat me nicely.”

To your surprise, you were obeyed. Four arms placed you standing upright on top of the bed; with the additional height, you were nearly at eye level with the creature. There was no denying that with the imminent threat of death removed the high notes of your panic had been dulled, but then you heard a key hurriedly being placed in a lock upstairs. You turned towards the noise frantically before whipping back to Friday, whose eyes had returned to blank white as it stared towards the open staircase leading to the entrance. “I’ll get rid of her.” You promised hurriedly, desperately fearing what would happen next if you let the two meet, but before any answer was forthcoming Emma rounded the bottom of the staircase. Her eyes were wide with panic and she let out a yelp as she saw the demon in the flesh for the first time, but she was brandishing a cross and a vial of liquid like a sword and shield.

“Get out!” She commanded at the top of her lungs, fear barely shaking her voice.

“YOU.” Friday boomed into both of your minds, and physical hiss escaped him in the direction of your attempted saviour. He advanced on her, much more slowly than you knew he was capable of moving. “YOU TRIED TO SPOIL EVERYTHING.”

“Friday, leave her alone. It was my fault.” You attempted. “Can we go home now? I’d really like to go home. I promise I won’t try to hide again.”

He glanced at you, and you wondered momentarily when he had stopped being an ‘it’ in your mind. Emma cut through the glance with another command,

“Get out, demon! You are unwelcome here, you cannot take this girl.” He rounded on her and she splashed the contents of her vial against him like she was firing a gun.

A shrill, piercing cackle echoed inside your mind as Friday took another step towards Emma, who seemed very surprised that he was still standing. “UH OH. DIDN’T WORK.” With a ragged breath and a frantic glance in your direction, Emma took a step back, but he was already upon her, grasping at her with fingers and claws. Before you had so much as a moment to cry out, he was biting and tearing into her neck all whilst chanting, “MINE”.

Crimson arcs splashed against the floor and you started to scream, monotone and petrified, as your legs buckled under you and you fell to the bed. Friday was doubled over your saviour, who was limp in his many handed grasp, tearing chunks of her flesh as blood pumped ever more weakly from the wound on her neck. You were still screaming. You screamed and screamed until you were hoarse. You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t blink. When blood finally stopped pumping out of Emma and started simply.. pooling, the monster let her limp body fall roughly to the ground with a sickening wet slap. He looked towards you. Your mouth was still open in a silent scream. Friday looked back to the corpse he’d made of your friend, and in a morbid mimicry of sensitivity, picked up a blanket from the sofa to cover the body. He turned his black horned head back towards you, seemingly expecting you to no longer be petrified of him, but hot tears ran silently down your face and your jaw was locked open in a scream you had no voice for.

He walked towards you, grey irises deeper and easier to make out than they had ever been. You shuddered and tried to scramble backwards on the bed, but you were paralysed with shock and fear. It was all you could do to watch him advance, crying silently.

He crouched before the bed to be at eye level with you, and hooked his cold hands still wet with blood behind your knees to drag you to the edge of the mattress. A groan of terror escaped you as you looked around the room wildly as though for a new saviour or escape route, anything to avoid looking at that face. “NOT TO YOU.” His voice was different. Long thin fingers closed your jaw and brushed the hair stuck to the cold sweat on your face back. “GOOD OBEDIENT THING. FRIDAY TO GOBBLE UP BAD INFLUENCES, KEEP YOU SAFE.” Your voice returned to you as he pulled you against him in a surprisingly tender embrace. You pressed your face into his coarse mane, which was still wet with the blood of the only person who had tried to help you, and cried in big heaving exhausted sobs.

You felt claws tangle in your hair as you cried against him, and deep in his chest you heard a rumbling purr.

What supportive and delightful readers you are!

Wed, 07 Feb 2018 05:30:32 -0500

Thank you so much for all of your lovely messages about enjoying the stories, and checking in on me due to the radio silence. You’re all so caring and inspiring, it warms my cold withered heart. :) A message saying someone’s enjoying a story I wrote brightens my day, every time.

Updates will be starting up again shortly..!! Exciting. in the mean time, why not send me a message if you have a request for your next monster boyfriend

Demon boyfriend - Part 5 - Complete the connection (nsfw)

Tue, 23 Jan 2018 20:04:55 -0500

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

[NSFW, bit spooky, strong language]

When consciousness found you again, the blood on the kitchen floor had dried to brown crackled smears and dawn light was finally piercing your nightmare. Gasping a lung full of cool air, you sat bolt upright quickly as the memory of the night before returned to you with painful freshness, and in doing so you were immediately struck by a sharp pain in your lower back and dull ache which seemed to permeate your entire body and face. You blearily inspected your pained arms, and were horrified to find that they were speckled with deep gouges and bite marks, each anointment crusted over with dried blood. You felt your whole body started to tremble as you stared at your arms with wide terrified eyes, and hopeless panicked tears start to run silently down your cheeks.

Birds chirped happily outside the kitchen window and they seemed so incongruous with the horror you’d woken up to that you felt a shred of hope inside you break: you started to rack in big heaving sobs, holding your face in your ruined hands as you cried fat miserable tears between your fingers and groaned in fear and self pity. You were the most scared you’d been in your entire life, your whole body ached or stabbed with pain, and you knew that you only had a few days before you needed to live a fresh hell at the hands of that monster. You stayed there on the kitchen floor for a long time with each sob causing your back to thrum with fresh pain from where you’d been slammed onto the tiles, before your survival instincts slowly started to breach through to your consciousness.

You needed to find help.

You needed protection.

Quickly.

When you had a mountain of cash sitting pretty in your spare bedroom, it was surprisingly easy to find someone on the internet who professed to be able to protect you from a monster. Finding someone who you would actually trust with your life had proven to be considerably more difficult, and you’d vowed that if you got out of this horror alive, you’d create a comparison site for exorcists, demonologists, and other dabblers in the dark arts. You’d have never considered speaking to strangers so frankly about this experience for fear of being thought of as ridiculous or insane when this situation started to unfold… but it was funny what being covered in demon bites would do for resilience to being seen as Silly. Two days and several extremely sketchy home visits later, you’d found someone who actually seemed to believe they knew that they were doing. Whether they did know what they were doing was another matter entirely, but you considered her your best hope. Her name was Emma, and she’d introduced herself as a demonologist with a straight face.

You’d been removed from your home, citing the ‘simple fact’ that that was where Friday’s connection to you was strongest, and you were relocated to what you’d come to refer to as The Library Bunker. Every wall of the long windowless structure was covered with shelves rammed full with books and occult looking nick-nacks with individually wrapped hard boiled sweets and sheafs of crumpled paper forced into every available crevice. The place was very…. dense. There wasn’t a surface unadorned with a lit incense burner, making the air heavy and overly fragranced with artificial lavender, rose, and cloying smoke.Your hostess visited you briefly approximately every day, but she declared that she was spending most of her time searching for a way to banish the thing whence it came and left you under instruction that your tether to Friday would be weakened if you adhered to the following rules:

Don’t say its name, don’t even think its name
Avoid knowing what day it is, and what time of day it is
Eat a lot of sugar, fat and beige carbohydrates (whilst forcing toast into your hands, she had explained that really what she was trying to achieve was an uplift in your mood, but given your dire straits that was a big ask. The food provided an artificial boost).

When you’d first explained the situation to her in full, you’d mentally noted the points at which she’d winced to take stock of all the things you’d handled poorly. It seemed as though accepting gifts, giving a name, letting it taste your blood, conversing, inviting it into your home and initiating physical interaction were frowned upon in demon-avoiding circles. It was your first haunting, so you wagered you could be forgiven.. if you lived. When you’d told your tale of woe, Emma had laughed in a high, tense fashion and exclaimed, “at least you didn’t have sex with it”. You’d laughed along, but had instantly been filled with hot shame as you remembered the night it had healed your chest wounds by lapping at you with its long prehensile tongue. You may have glossed over the heat you’d felt in your thighs and belly in your retelling of that evening.

Alone again curled up in a dusty armchair with a book you struggled to understand, the quiet bunker wrapped around you like a security blanket. Emma had explained that if the alarm tripped she’d come running, but when you’d questioned what the alarm actually detected she’d become significantly more elusive.. explaining it with a hand wave as ‘like a proximity alert’. Even though that paled in comparison to the explanation you really wanted, the mere presence of an alarm was a greater comfort to you than you’d imagined it could be. You felt safe to close your eyes in the shower for the first time in a very long stretch. Without the constant itch of a phone to check, you’d found that you were slipping into sleep much easier than you had done in years, and when a yawn pressed against the inside of your mouth in pursuit of its freedom, you felt relief rather than the usual irritation. Planting your book on the end table, you rose from the armchair with a sore grunt; your bruises were in full bloom and every movement was fresh pain. Leaving all of the lamps on, you hobbled over to the futon which had been your bed for the last several long sleeps and slipped into the embrace of the covers with a satisfied sigh. You nuzzled your face into your pillows and relaxed your aching body and floating towards sleep.

When they found you, you experienced your dreams in sharp fragments:

Eating an ice cream on the steps of a ruined husk of a building.

Flying too fast through a pitch black forest, not sure if you were a bird or a pilot.

Running through the forest then, certain that something was chasing you.

Claws sinking painlessly into your flesh, and a long white tongue forcing its way through your tightly pursed lips and down your throat, making you wretch and choke at the same time.

Struggling against a suffocating embrace.

Lost in a dark, empty expanse. Two white dots the only feature in a blank night.

When you awoke, exhausted and unsure why your hands were trembling, you were so grateful for the room being basked in light that despite still being half asleep you choked out a relieved sob. After a period of readjustment, as you were settling back in, a single book slipped from its mooring on a shelf and fell to the floor with a loud THUD and you yelped in surprise, yanked back from the cusp of sleep. Under the blankets, you scratched at the itching scabs on your arm irritably. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give your phone a quick check, maybe text mom so she knew you were still alive, you could squint on the lock screen so you didn’t see the day. Having convinced yourself that it was safe to disobey direct instruction from your only guide through this turmoil, you were half way through getting up before your resolve returned to you and you imprisoned yourself back in the tight embrace of the blankets with a heavy sigh.

You touched your chest, and the memory of how the monster healed you with its thick tongue replayed in your mind as you drifted back towards sleep.

The longer you stayed in the bunker, the more erratic your sleep-wake cycle became and the more days blended into one. Your protector assured you that this was a good thing, but as you joylessly inhaled your fifth bag of smoky bacon crisps of the day (who knew you could get sick of crisps) you couldn’t help but suspect it was easier for her to keep you in a bunker forever rather than construct an elaborate ruse of ‘exorcising’ the nutcase who was paying her an exorbitant amount for safety.

When you took a shower later that day, you noticed that the seven gouges on your chest had changed from dark red to black and made a note to mention it to Emma when she next visited. You turned your face up towards the hot water, feeling it patter against your neck and the bruised skin of your back. Your bruises were starting to yellow and fade, and you were grateful for every movement no longer being accompanied with an ache or sharp pain. You wondered abstractly if Friday even knew what bruising was, and as soon as the thought crystalised in your mind several books rattled and plummeted from the shelves and a loud WHOOOOOOP blared from a speaker above you causing you to reactively scream in terror before it fell silent just as quickly as it had pierced your peace. So there was an alarm.

Shit, you’d set off the alarm.

Suddenly, your warm cosy bunker felt very isolated, and you felt a renewed sense of vulnerability. You shut off the shower. Maybe you should call Emma to make sure she knew the alarm had gone off. You could close your eyes whilst you unlocked the phone… No. No, she’d been very clear that you should stay away from anything which could tell you the day or time. You’d just have to wait it out.

Still damp from the shower, you crawled onto your futon and wrapped yourself in your blankets for whatever meagre comfort that could offer you. You forced yourself to take a deep, slow breath. It was going to be alright. It was going to be alright. It was going to be al-

“NOT SO OBEDIENT ANY MORE, FRIDAY WILL NEED TO BITE OFF SOME TOES AFTER ALL.” It felt as though the bottom had dropped out of your stomach as soon as you heard the familiar voice inside your mind and your breath immediately started coming only in short petrified gasps. You looked around wildly for any sign of the creature (very careful to avoid naming it, even in your mind) but as far as you could see you were alone. You sat there repeating yammering mantra after mantra just to try to keep your thoughts from focusing on the monster and drawing it to you, waiting for a fatal blow or a claw on your back, but it didn’t come. You hugged yourself tightly with blankets clinging to your damp skin and bubbles of light headedness accumulating in your skull with each gasped breath.

Hours passed in tense silence, and eventually the drain of being on high alert for so long drained you and you slumped reluctantly into sleep.

Your dream felt different. Like it was being.. steered. It was a difficult sensation to put into words.

You were laying on something very soft, with your legs pushed open by cold strong hands. You opened your eyes momentarily but after catching a glimpse of dark fur and horns between your legs you screwed them shut again, turning your head to hide your face in your pillow.

Then, you were suspended helplessly on nothingness, with tendrils of darkness pushing painfully against your closed eyelids and forcing their way down your nose and throat, stopping you breathing and making your lungs burn desperately for oxygen.

Then, you were on all fours on your bloody kitchen floor, with your face pressed roughly into the tile and sharp claws piercing your flesh painfully as something big and uncomfortable pushed into you.

Then, you were back on the soft surface with eyes still screwed shut as a long pointed tongue lapped at your folds before pressing into your entrance, stretching you and making you shudder with pleasure. You groaned and arched your aching back, instinctively lowering a hand to touch yourself and heighten the sensation, when you woke up.

Your eyes snapped open and you locked eyes with Friday, looming at the foot of your bed with face split in half to reveal its rows upon rows of sharp teeth and staring at you with bright lidless eyes. You tried to scream, but all that escaped you was a whimper. Its tall, dark, lithe, angular form was in sharp contrast to the soft lighting of the room around it. After a moment of being frozen in terror you managed a hoarse whisper.

“How.. how did you find me?”

“YOU CALLED FRIDAY.” It answered, its mane bristled almost to the height of its sharp dark horns. “YOU CALLED FRIDAY WITH MOANS AND A WET CUNT.”

You blanched with horror, feeling the blood drain from your face at the implications of that statement dawned on you. “No I didn’t, you did something.” You sat up in bed and scrambled backwards, “Leave me alone!” You cried out desperately, about to bolt for the door when Friday reached forward with a clawed hand and grabbed your still bruised ankle, dragging you back towards the foot of the bed despite your frantic writhing and struggling to get free.

“RUN,” It began, and you stopped your useless struggles for freedom to stare up at it in horror as you laid flat on your back, heart thumping frantically against the inside of your ribs. “AND FRIDAY WILL HURT YOU. FRIDAY WILL HURT YOU VERY BADLY.” Tears of panic prickled before beginning to stream from your eyes, spilling down your face onto your hair and the mattress below, the gasps of air you were managing to force into your lungs were quick and shallow and useless, you felt as though you were suffocating. It released your ankle as if in challenge. You didn’t move. Seemingly pleased with your obedience, it reached a hand with long thin fingers towards your face. “STAY, HAVE YOUR FANTASY.” It stroked your cheek with its thin fingers and you flinched away from the touch, your skin left cold in its wake. “COMPLETE THE CONNECTION AND FRIDAY WILL TREAT YOU

SSSSSSOOOOOO

NNNIIIICCCEEELLLLYYY.”

Your vision was blurred by tears and you were in the full grip of blind delirious panic.

“You’re lying,” you choked out, unable to tear your eyes away from its blank bright gaze, “you’re going to hurt me either way.”

You watched it stare down at you with its fixed split grin, and with a new cold wave of terror .. you thought you saw it shrug.

Me, already four posts deep into the Friday series: (suddenly drops doughnut) I should have posted...

Mon, 22 Jan 2018 09:04:42 -0500

Me, already four posts deep into the Friday series: (suddenly drops doughnut) I should have posted new chapters on Fridays

Demon boyfriend - Part 4 - Nothing yet

Sun, 21 Jan 2018 20:01:12 -0500

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

When consciousness tugged at you the next morning, you knew you were heavily bruised before you even opened your eyes. Your hip thrummed with pain where it had hit the floor and you had a headache which felt like it was caused by a literal crack in your skull. You groaned into your pillow in remembrance of your awful night, but when you reached a hand to touch your chest warm relief washed over you as you found it dry, no longer oozing blood from the week before’s puncture wounds. You’d take bruising over constant bleeding, so you were counting the night before as a win.

You grabbed your phone from the bedside table and immediately set about ordering yourself a stress breakfast (TWO sandwiches, it had been a rough night. And a milkshake. …And some fries.). As you made the finer decisions on your breakfast order (bread type was always a tough one), something occurred to you: after the ‘kiss’ the night before, Friday had spoken in sentences for the first time. You raised your gaze from your phone screen to stare unfocused at the wall, processing your realisation. What did that mean? Was it just figuring out language, or was it .. blood powered? You shuddered at the thought and lost yourself for a moment before returning your focus determinedly to your phone. THREE sandwiches.

After a couple of days rest when you could once again walk without wincing, you took up the challenge of trying to think about Friday as little as possible. You perused quiet bookshops in an extremely leisurely fashion, you sipped champagne cocktails and read magazines in train station bars, you purely-by-coincidence took a liking to a silver crucifix necklace, you ate four pizzas over the course of two days. By the time your deep purple bruises were fading to yellow, you’d achieved something like the contentment you’d always imagined being free from the need to work would bring you. On Thursday morning, you awoke with a new determination to overcome your dread and make good of the situation. How did people usually ingratiate themselves with malevolent entities haunting their home in an effort to convince said entity to stop throwing them around?

It was a big question, but the answer was clear to you: cake.

You noodled on what kind of cake to make for a moment or two before putting weight on the fact that the only thing you knew the creature consumed was blood. You spent a few tense minutes googling variations of the phrase ‘blood cake’ before finding an article about pig blood curd, and it seemed like a good fit, it looked a bit like a cake but it was made of 100% blood. Gross and perfect. With a project to achieve, your Thursday was about the least tense a Thursday had been for you since your first meeting with Friday. A short trip to the butcher later, you were carefully slicing cubes out of a congealing mass of strong smelling, surprisingly viscous pig blood.

However, once your distraction was safely stored in the fridge, you found that dread once again had room to take root in your heart and belly. You paced uneasily through the house, and (ridiculously, to your own disdain) found yourself tidying up as though you were expecting a guest.

10pm: nervously scrubbing counters, cold sweat clinging to your brow.

10.30pm: pacing slow circuits around the dining table, trying to keep your breathing regular and scripting questions to ask and admonishments to shout if needed

11pm: curled up into a ball on the sofa, staring blankly at the fabric and thinking of how your lungs has burned as it held you under the water

11.30pm: opening all of the doors in the house so you wouldn’t have to hear that awful banging

11.45pm: sitting cross legged on the sofa, alternatively clutching one hand then the other, breathing deeply

You held your phone with trembling hands to watch the seconds count down to 12am, Friday morning with panic prickling at the back of your neck. When nothing happened, you continued to watch the time slip onwards just as a focus to prevent you spiraling into terror. At 12:01:52, the silence in your home was abruptly broken by loud, slow knocking on the door. You flinched and reeled towards the noise with wide eyes, taken off guard. Your breath caught in your throat and you couldn’t force through it to get a lungful of air. You sat quietly, staring at the door unmovingly like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. The knocking stopped.

There were a few breaths of silence, then:

BANG.

You let out a yelp of terror. Something was hammering hard against the door, rattling it in its frame. You got up from your seat, limbs suddenly unwieldy, and rushed towards the door. “Coming!” You called out (as though it was the postman), and immediately felt at hot rush of embarrassment for doing so.

Hands trembling and despite your better judgement, you turned the plastic handle of the door and pulled it open. On the stoop was your nightmare, all teeth and horns and arms. Your motion detector light had come on, and in its glow Friday seemed…. different. More in focus? Its blank eyes were trained on you and its face was split completely in half to expose its bright sharp teeth, but it was completely still. In this new focus, you could make out that its mane extended all the way down to the centre of its chest, and that its horns were shinier than the rest of its body. It stared down at you and you could hear your own panicked pulse in your ears.

“….Hello.” You ventured lamely. It didn’t respond. You stood there in your pyjamas in front of your open door, completely at sea as to what to do next. “Um…” A cold draught blew against you. “I made you a gift, it’s in the fridge. I’m not sure if you’ll like it.” You stepped back to allow it entrance to the house as you searched its face, increasingly desperate for any sign of a reaction but it was statuesque. You stood there wordlessly for 20 or 30 seconds before frustration bubbled up in your chest. “Will you just come in?” Friday immediately ducked under the door frame and strode into the house and you had the gut wrenching feeling that you’d just done something very, very wrong. Taking quick, shallow breaths, you slammed the door closed and rushed away from the creature towards the kitchen. With the new swell of fear in your chest, you felt ridiculous having made the thing a present. You plucked the plate of soft brown-red gelatinous cubes from the fridge and your face was hot from fear and embarrassment. As you turned back towards the front door, you let out a brief scream as you found that Friday had silently followed you, and was crouching down so that it was at eye height, less than a foot away.

“WHAT IS FRIDAY’S GIFT” It questioned directly into your mind, mouth unmoving. Within your home, the monstrosity was in even clearer focus than it had been just moments before. You were starting to be able to make out the texture of rough skin, almost like dark tanned hide.

“Um..” You proffered the plate towards it with trembling hands. “I didn’t know if you ate anything other than blood. So I made a blood… thing.” You forced yourself to take a deep breath. “You don’t have to eat-” but its face had already split in half to allow its long white prehensile tongue to emerge and grasp at the contents of the plate. You watched with horrified fascination as it plucked individual pieces and deposited them soundly within the thing’s gaping maw. When the plate was empty, Friday’s face snapped closed and it regarded you again with those inscrutable white eyes. You felt your lip tremble, every instinct you had was telling you to run.

When no follow up comment came, you ploughed on with what you wanted to address. “I’d really appreciate it if you could not throw me around and hurt me any more.”

Friday stared at you blankly for a couple of seconds, and then you felt the bottom drop out of your stomach as its face slowly cracked in a wide toothy grin.

“YOU NAMED FRIDAY, NOW YOU THINK YOU HAVE CONTROL.”

Cold terror gripped you as you choked out a hoarse reply. “No.” Its expression was completely unreadable. “Not at all.” You were hit my a foreboding that it was about to prove to you how little control you had, so you scrabbled around desperately for a distraction. “Do you.. have you named me?”

“YES.” Came its reply, quicker than you’d expected. It still hadn’t moved.

Your fear was pricked with genuine curiosity as you questioned it, “What.. have you named me?”

The noise which it projected into your mind in reply was a mocking imitation of one of your own screams of terror. Then it laughed, cold and high and piercing. To your own surprise, a smile touched your lips at the name it had given you. Its sense of humour was cruel.

You placed the plate you’d been holding down on the counter to your side. “Friday, why are you here?” You asked flatly, with more bravery than you felt.

There was a pause of a few moments as it regarded you.

“HUNGRY.” Was its reply, and your blood immediately ran cold. You took a step backwards and it watched you go, then clarified. “FRIDAY WILL EAT YOU.” Your eyes widened and your chest felt tight as you took another step away from the creature, not sure where you were intending to go but desperate for some distance. “SOON.” Soon? Not now? A pathetic whimper of fear escaped you as your back touched the far wall, the furthest you could get away from the beast, who was still crouched at the far side of the kitchen with its bristling mane and sharp black horns.

“I don’t want to be eaten.” You croaked, feeling tears prickling in your eyes as you raised your arms to hug yourself, providing very meagre comfort. You couldn’t get a full breath, you couldn’t finish a full thought, all you had was mind-blanking terror.

“WE CAN DELAY FRIDAY EATING YOU.” The creature was watching you with a full face splitting grin. “IF YOU GIVE KISS.”

Your eyebrows furrowed momentarily as you watched the thing, leaning your back against the cool kitchen wall with your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself. It slowly raised an arm to make a come hither motion to you with one of its long thin index fingers. You balked. You could feel the blood draining from your face. Every fibre of your being was telling you that you must under no circumstances get any closer to the creature of darkness crouched in your kitchen. It was still bidding you forwards.

But what choice did you have? You swallowed dryly and with a gargantuan effort managed to take a step towards it. It laughed cruelly as it watched you. Feeling very much as though you were marching towards your own death, you nervously walked across the cool tile floor of the kitchen back towards the beast. Standing less than a foot away from it with its lidless eyes staring into your very soul, you reached a hand to touch its mane to steady yourself as you stood on tiptoe, finding it coarse and deeply unpleasant to the touch. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips as lightly as you could to the rough hide of its forehead, placing a kiss there before immediately retreating back two steps and shuddering in disgust and fear.

“GOOD.” It boomed with something like amusement. “NOW FRIDAY WILL ONLY EAT YOUR FEET.” You hadn’t even taken in a gasp of air to scream when it grabbed your ankles and yanked hard, pulling you completely off your feet and slamming your back and coccyx hard against the tile floor, causing you to cry out in agony and terror. It pulled your ankles towards its gaping mouth, easily sliding you across the kitchen floor. You tried to pull away, writhe and struggle, but its grasp was impossibly strong. You screamed as it plunged both of your feet into its mouth amongst its rows upon rows of sharp teeth. You screwed your eyes shut and turned your head away, desperate to not see the gore which was about to spill forth. You felt its teeth graze against your skin and its tongue lap against your toes, but the pain you experienced was much less bone crunching than expected. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes to look at it.. and found it making a big show of gnawing on your feet, but actually barely breaking the skin. Your brow furrowed in confusion. As soon as it saw you watching it, it released your ankles and erupted into loud piercing cackles in your mind. You half-crawled half-dragged yourself backwards across the floor away from it as quickly as you could, leaving wet smears of blood from your cut feet on the white tiles as you went. You retreated as much as possible into the corner at the far side of the kitchen, hugging your knees to your chest and watching the creature with desperate panic written all over your expression. When it had finished laughing at its own sick joke, it fixed you once again in its stare. You might have been hallucinating from lack of blood flow to the brain, but you thought you saw the shadow of a grey iris in its previously blank white eyes.

“WHY SO SCARED?” It questioned you, and the voice in your mind had changed.. it was clearer, you could make out more intonation. “WHAT HAS FRIDAY DONE? NOTHING YET.” Yet. You made a high pitched noise of pure terror, and it started to crawl towards you on all six limbs. “LITTLE PUSH. LITTLE KISS. BROUGHT GIFTS. YOU STAYED.” You were too scared to even scream as the white eyed monstrosity crawled across the blood stained floor towards you.

“What’s happening?” You stammered breathlessly “You’re different!”

Friday laughed as it reached you, grabbing your bloodied ankle to drag you across the floor towards it. You tried to grab onto something, but the surfaces around you were all too smooth to even give you a chance. “EASIER TO BE HERE NOW, CONNECTION STRONGER. FRIDAY BEDDING IN.” It dragged you underneath it and your vision went dark around the edges, your head felt light, cold panic was pumping through your veins and it was all you could do to fight losing consciousness.

“Bedding.. in?” You questioned wildly, anything to snatch a few more seconds of life before it surely bit off your head.

“GIFTS ACCEPTED, BLOOD TAKEN, ALLOWED ENTRY, KISS GIVEN. EASIER THAN FRIDAY THOUGHT.”

You writhed desperately against its grasp, tears spilling from your eyes and clouding your vision, you were making noises half way between gasps and screams as you turned your face away from it to avoid having to look at its face inches from your own.

“DON’T WORRY,” it sounded downright amused. “PLAYTHING IS GOOD AND OBEDIENT, DIDN’T RUN FROM FRIDAY WHEN SHE HAD THE CHANCE. THIS IS WHY SHE STILL HAS ALL OF HER TOES.” It cackled inside your mind as it licked the side of your face with its long tongue and it was more than you could take. You felt your body go limp and the world around you went dark as you lost your fight to stay conscious.

Orc boyfriend - 8/? - More? (nsfw)

Sat, 20 Jan 2018 20:01:33 -0500

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 (nsfw) / Part 7 (nsfw)

[*cracks knuckles* Hope you’re ready to fuck an orc. nsfw]

You woke at first light laying on your side cuddling Murag’s head to your chest. He had his face squarely between your breasts and seemed to be huffing your scent with sleeping satisfaction. You tucked your chin down to rest it on top of his head, stroking his braided hair tenderly and letting out a slow sigh, a smile touching your lips. You hadn’t expected to feel so at home upon waking up with an orc huffing your chest, but here you were.

Thinking of his first day as your apprentice in the forge the day before, you absentmindedly kneaded the knot of muscle in his right shoulder which always ached when you’d spent the day at the anvil, which caused him to immediately groan in pleasure and lean further into your chest to allow you easier access to the ache. You chuckled and kneaded the spot a little more firmly for him,

“Little sore this morning are you, love?”

He growled against your chest and you kissed the top of his head with as much sympathy as you could muster after only being awake for a few minutes. The growl had been unexpected though, and it was to your surprise that you felt heat touch your face and neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as you did so and he purred and nuzzled against you, evidently still half asleep. You lay there quietly for a few moments, caressing the side of his neck affectionately in the hopes he’d wake up fully. When he didn’t, you moved your hand up to gently stroke the side of his ear and traced your fingers against the ridges, you then quickly succumbed to the temptation to poke your finger shallowly into his ear canal and wiggle it. His eyes immediately snapped open and he looked up to you from your chest.

“You’re restless.” He stated flatly. You grinned.

“Could I be forgiven?” You asked sweetly. “I have an orc mewling in my bed.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Mewling.” He replied. His eyes were sparkling with amusement but there was a challenge in his tone.

“Like a kitten.” You clarified seriously, nodding in agreement with yourself.

“I think we need to show you what mewling really sounds like.”

Before you could reply to him, he slid a hand easily under your tunic and up against your belly before bringing his hand to rest on your breast, kneading it gently whilst rubbing his tongue against your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. You bucked against him involuntarily and gasped,, a smile spreading across your face as your eyes slipped shut and a soft hum of pleasure escaped you. The skin across your chest and temple tingled with the pleasure of his unexpected touch. You wrapped your leg around his waist in an an attempt to bring him closer.

He leaned his face up slightly to place a warm kiss to your throat, flexing his fingers against your breast as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arm around him and sighed happily as he trailed kisses and gentle nips down to your collarbone. You hummed again in pleasure and he took the cue to pull away, removing himself from you completely and and rolling leisurely onto his back. Your eyes opened and you fixed him at once with a betrayed expression, a high noise of exasperation leaving your lips. He smirked at you, pleased with himself.

“That’s mewling.” He stated triumphantly.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him and placed a hand lightly on his chest, glancing to it and then back to his face. “How could you do this? To your lovely wife?” You traced a small circle on his chest with your index finger and were pleased to see him twitch slightly. “To leave her aching for your touch.” You were looking to his face with your best doe eyes “…To make a point about a noise?”

The smirk on his face was the same, but there was a new glimmer in his eyes as he regarded you. He pinched the fabric of your tunic at the belly and tugged on it. “Take this off.” He commanded simply.

You didn’t need telling twice. Keen to obey, you sat up in bed and pulled the tunic over your head. Before you’d even had chance to discard it, you felt his warm hands caressing the sides of your waist to pull you back towards him. Discarding the shirt and finding him behind to you, you leaned back into his embrace and sighed happily as you felt his lips brush against the side of your neck and his hand trace a light line across your belly. Your stomach flipped over and you felt a trail of warmth on your skin in the wake of his touch. You raised a hand to touch his cheek and he took the opportunity to bite the side of your neck, eliciting a happy moan from you. “This is more like it.” You purred and he laughed. With an easy motion, he moved out from behind you, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed with an ‘ooft’, and before you knew it he was kneeling between your legs, pressing kisses to the inside of your thigh. You moaned softly and arched your back into the touch, your skin prickling with sensitivity and excitement. You stroked the underside of his jaw and gently pressed it up to indicate that you wanted him to move up towards your face. “How about a kiss?” You asked sweetly and he obliged you, his chest pressing on top of you as you leant up to him to meet his lips with your own, wrapping your arms around his neck. Laying in bed together trading soft kisses in the dawn light, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips. He stroked your cheek with his thumb and nuzzled your face over to one side in order to grant himself unhindered access to your neck. He trailed hot kisses there, finishing at your ear, where he gently bit down on the lobe and caused you to buck your hips with your breath catching in your throat. The satisfied groan to find you so receptive to his touch which rumbled from his chest caused a hot blush to spread across your face, and you felt tingling warmth pooling at your entrance. You turned your face to look at him with eyes lidded with lust and he met your gaze with satisfaction written all over his expression. You leaned up to kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering back closed as he invaded your senses. Your skin was tingling, your face was hot, and you were aching to be touched.

You broke the kiss and arched your back against him to feel your chest pressed flush against his, then leaned up slightly and grabbed the back of his head to pull him down so you could whisper into his ear, “I want you to feel what you’re doing to me.” He growled in excitement and murmured back, “Gladly.”

He rolled slightly to rest his weight on one hip, making room for him to trace a his fingers torturously slowly between your breasts, across your belly and over your hip. You spread your legs a little more and met his gaze, pressing a hand gently to his chest and looking to him with something like desperation. He brushed his fingers lightly against your pubic hair, which only intensified the ache in your clit without providing any relief. “Please.” You urged him, rolling your hips up to meet his hand. He leant down to kiss the side of your neck as he gently caressed your slit with his thumb. You moaned deeply in your throat and bucked your hips upwards, trying to speed up your relief and causing him to chuckle softly against your skin. He parted your lips with his thumb and moistened the digit in your juices before caressing your clit lightly. An urgent moan escaped you and you moved a hand to dig your nails into his shoulder with your eyes screwed shut. His hot breath and gentle kisses at your neck intensified to nips and sucking as he circled his thumb around your clit, causing you to arch into him and dig your nails ever deeper into his shoulder. You continued in that motion for a minute or more, him circling his thumb against you and you writhing against him with increasingly loud sighs and gasps as the tingling heat across your belly and deep in your core began to grow. You felt a pang of ache at your entrance. He trailed his kisses down to your breast and then teased your nipple with his tongue almost to the point of ticklishness. Feeling you writhe slightly beneath his touch, he took your nipple into his mouth and elicited a groan of pleasure from you. You parted your lips to breathe in short gasps as the shudders of your building orgasm started to wrap around your hips and stomach. The circles around your clit sped up a little as he rolled his hips at you to let you feel his erection against your thigh. The ache at your entrance intensified as you started to feel light headed, the orgasm building in your loins taking hold of you. You moaned his name softly and he thrusted against your thigh just as you tipped over the edge, body racked by waves of pleasure causing you to shudder against him. You were dimly aware of a popping sensation at your nails digging into his shoulder and you felt wetness there.

When the last tingling release of your orgasm had washed over you, you opened your eyes to look up to him, suddenly more aware of moisture at your fingertips where you’d been digging your nails into his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice, and was regarding you with lust and affection. “More?” He offered.

You reached down between you to gently touch his cock, finding it damp from precum after watching your display. You smiled up to him. “More.” You agreed happily.

He growled deep in his throat and leant back to kneel, grabbing your hips to drag you easily into his lap. He gripped the base of his cock to rub it gently against the length of your slit, parting your lips to rub the head of his cock against your already sensitive clit. A loud moan tore from your throat and gripped the bedsheets with both hands, wrapping a leg around his hip in an attempt to bring him closer. He moved his free hand up to your waist and watched your face keenly as he used his other hand to maneuver his cock to your aching entrance, pausing there as you throbbed in anticipation.

“Please.” You murmured to him, moving one hand up to caress your fingers against his stomach and meeting his eyes with desperation written across your face.

He leaned in to you torturously slowly, filling you up with his thick cock as he leant forward to lay on top of you, propping himself up on one hand and holding your waist with the other. He was definitely.. bigger than you were used to, but you’d been ready enough that there was no hint of pain. As you felt him move inside you, the ache in your entrance was finally sated and your whole body was filled with hot waves of pleasure. You moaned his name and wrapped both of your legs around his hips, arching your back against him to move his cock inside you, eliciting a low growl from him.

“Now, slowly..” You instructed and he obeyed you, rocking his hips to slowly pull out of you and then push back inside. You tightened your legs around his hips to hold him tightly against you and threw your head back in pleasure, so sensitive after your orgasm that even that movement was almost too good. He repeated the motion and you groaned, leaning up to kiss him as he got into a rhythm, As he rocked his hips, his pelvis rubbed against your clit and you couldn’t help but shudder at the sensation. You arched your back into him and alternatively loosened and tightened your grip around his hips with every thrust, moving with him and relishing every moan you elicited from him.

He pressed his forehead to the pillow next to you and hearing his grunts of pleasure so close to your ear was enough to send a fresh wave of heat and tingling sensitivity across your skin. You moved together for what felt like an age, breath coming in short gasps and shudders of hot pleasure hitting you every few seconds. He moved his hand down from your waist to your hip and gripped you there roughly, using the handle to pull you against his cock with each new thrust. You moaned directly into his ear and it caused him to buck his against you. Your hands touched his chest and gripped his arms desperately as the sensitivity grew inside you. It was becoming too much.

“Please cum for me.” You begged with a murmur into his ear. And he obeyed you almost immediately, gripping onto your hip and crying out as his orgasm took hold of him, bucking his hips against you and shuddering. He melted on top of you and rested his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and held him closely as you both caught your breath.

“You should accuse me of mewling again.” He murmured, nuzzling his nose against you ear and eliciting a laugh from you.

After laying together panting for a few moments, he kissed you warmly and rolled over to lay next to you on his back. He opened an arm for you to cuddle up against his chest, an invitation which you keenly accepted and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist with your cheek pressed against his chest. You sighed contentedly and he turned his head to kiss you softly on the forehead. Before you knew it, you’d gone back to sleep.

You awoke alone with a plate of sausages resting on the mattress a few inches from your face and laughed. You sat up, reflexively stuffing a sausage into your mouth (they were cold, he must have been awake for a while) and listening out for the location of your husband. You didn’t hear any movement in your home but thought you could make out the murmur of voices in the smithy and decided to investigate further. After dressing in a long work vest and some rough spun short trousers you usually wore when you were going to be in front of the hot forge all day, you took your plate with you and made your way to the front of house.

What you found there was an uncanny but extremely charming sight. Hulda, one of the old women whose husbands had long since been claimed by one battle or another, was gripping onto Murag’s arm over the counter and speaking to him earnestly as he stared back at her with the cold hollow eyes of a man who had no idea how to extricate himself from a dire situation.

“-but I’ve never thought anything of the kind. You and the rest of your troup are more than welcome as far as I’m concerned, dearest. I’m sure you’re going to breathe new life into this place-”

Murag glanced up at you and you locked eyes for a few moments, long enough for you to smirk at him. He realised almost immediately that his silent plea for help was going to go unanswered and looked back to Hulda.

“-and I can’t wait to see the sweet little young ones, just let me know if you ever need anyone to watch them.”

“Very kind.” He replied gruffly and from the tone of his voice you could tell he’d been standing there with her hand on his arm for a considerable amount of time. You ate another sausage.

“But I’ve taken up enough of your time, dearest. I’ll expect you around dinner time to fit the hinge, make sure you come hungry! This old woman knows how to keep a handyman around.” She patted his arm and released him, turning towards the door but seeing you as she pivoted and grinning widely, opening her arms and walking towards you with a happy ‘ah!’. You held your plate out to one side to accept her hug.

“Hulda! So nice to have you here,” you were staring at Murag over her shoulder, “did I hear we’re helping you out with a hinge?”

She pulled away from the embrace but gripped your arm to lock you into the conversation in much the same way she did to any fool who wandered too close. “You are indeed! I just came in for a replacement after my old door literally fell of its hinges - gave me the fright of my life mind you and that’s saying something. It was fitted when we moved into the place though so I can’t begrudge it, I suppose.” She didn’t seem to need to pause for air so you just plucked another sausage from your plate. “I was asking for a bit of advice about lifting the blasted thing up enough to refit it, you know what my back’s like, but your one offered to pay a home visit to fit it for me! What a charming husband you found in the woods, Idesia!” She fixed you with a gleeful stare. “You’ll be coming too of course? It’d be lovely to have the company.”

“Of course I will, it’s been a while.” She held your face in her cold hands and gazed at you with happiness in her eyes.

“I’m so happy for you, dear.” She released your face and gave you both a wave. “Anyway we’ll catch up later, thank you.”

When the door closed behind her, you stared at it for a few moments and chewed thoughtfully on a sausage. You looked over to Murag to find him already watching your face and you both shared a knowing look and a smile, regarding each other with twinkling eyes in silence for a second or two. As the moment passed, you started to walk over to him, bare feet going slightly numb on the cold smith floor. “Serving customers, are we?” You questioned lightly, putting down your plate and wrapping an arm around his waist, rubbing his side affectionately as you looked up to his face.

“Someone needs to.” He responded with a smirk, brushing a thick strand of hair out of your face.. “All the blacksmith seems to do is eat and sleep.”

You made an admonishing noise. “Eat, sleep, and compliment you.” You corrected him. “By the way, thank you for the lovely breakfast, you’re doing a wonderful job in the shop, and I had a very enjoyable morning.” As he chuckled, you gave his side a gentle pat and broke the embrace. “Shall we put an edge on that knife then?”

He was very easy company and it was a nice break to be able to watch someone else work rather than having to do it all yourself. With your occasional guidance he managed to sharpen the edge of his knife and fit it securely into an antler handle from your box of handles you’d carved when you really didn’t want to swing a hammer any more. By the time it was clamped to be left overnight, the afternoon had given way to evening and you needed to think about making a move to your dinner appointment. The day had passed so quickly in his company that you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, noting a strong feeling of being at home together was settling in your bones.

“Do you want to have a wedding ceremony?” You asked offhand, not meaning much by it. His face immediately brightened, seemingly pleased to have been asked, and you were glad the question had occurred to you.

“I’d be able to show you off, and there’s usually a feast involved, so it should please both of us.”

You laughed. “Alright,” you undid the leather apron he was wearing at the back. “let’s sell a few more hinges to pay for the whole thing and get planning.”

By the time you’d packed up the new hinges and a toolkit into a bag, dusk was drawing ever nearer. You pulled a woolen jumper Emmeline had made you for your last name day over your work clothes to protect your sweat-filmed skin from the cool evening air. Murag was watching you from the door waiting for you to be ready, and looking at his expectant face you were struck by a sudden thought, wondering how different your cultures really were.

“Do you celebrate your name day?” You questioned him. He almost imperceptibly tilted his head to one side.

“What’s that?”

You laughed, picking up your bag and finding it slightly heavier than expected. “I’ll take that as a no then.” You walked towards him and handed him the bag, which he took without comment, and you set out into the evening together. “Traditionally, on the anniversary of a child’s birth their mother is given gifts and cooked for grandly in remembrance of all her blood sweat and tears to bring them into the world.” With the door locked behind you, you took his arm, gripping gently onto him as you started the short walk through Hainau towards Hulda’s house near the barracks of the wall guard. “Then on the anniversary of the day the child was named, usually one or two nights hence, they receive gifts and sweets.” You mulled for a second or two, trying to answer the question of ‘why’ before it was asked. “It’s a way of making sure you take the time to appreciate those you love, I suppose.”

“I cook for you and appreciate you every day.” He answered breezily, looking to your face. You chuckled.

“No arguments on that, but on my name day you’ll have to get me a present as well.” You grinned widely up at him and he laughed.

“Can’t protest I wasn’t warned.. When is it?”

“Just after the turn of the new year, don’t worry I’ll give you plenty of reminders.” You squeezed his arm affectionately. “Do you know when you were born? I’d like to celebrate you.”

He seemed momentarily flustered, watching your face with an expression between surprise and deep affection. “Just after summer solstice.”

“Ah,” you replied knowingly. “You were born and the world immediately started being plunged into darkness. I hope your poor mother wasn’t worried she’d borne the apocalypse.”

“You’ll be carrying your own bag with comments like that.” He warned you darkly, but there was a grin on his face.

Before long, you’d arrived at Hulda’s house and regarded the heavy oak door leaning flatly against the door frame with pity - it must have been a real undertaking for her to get in and out, having to move the full weight of this thing. You released Murag from your grip and knocked against the door somewhat gingerly. A familiar voice responded warmly from within, “Come in, if you can.”

You grabbed the iron ring handle as it was the best option to get decent purchase, and pulled back. The heavy oak door did move, but it wasn’t an easy task - you had no idea how Hulda had managed this on her own. Pointedly not looking at the orc behind you, you had a sneaking suspicion that your husband would have jumped in to do this task on your behalf if you hadn’t been painting him as a harbinger of the apocalypse moments earlier. After a brief struggle, you pulled the door away from the frame and leant it instead against the wall, trying not to show just how out of breath the task had made you. It was with amusement that you heard Murag clapping behind you, and you turned to him to grace him with a wry smile before Hulda appeared in the door frame to hold your hands affectionately.

“I’m glad you’re here! Dinner’s on, loves. Do you want to eat first?” You looked up to the darkening sky doubtfully and replied.

“I think we’re best to get on with this first, whilst we still have a little light outside. Is that alright?”

“Of course dearest, that’s fine. I’ll light you up a lantern..” She released you and disappeared back into the house. You turned to the door and eyed it calculatingly, envisioning the best way to reaffix it to its frame and leaning over to take your tool bag from Murag.

“Can you hold the door next to the frame for me, love? I need to line it up.” You asked Murag and he nodded in assent.

“Happily.” It was with something between amusement and annoyance that you watched him easily move the door from its resting place against the wall with one hand.

You worked together very easily, mostly due to the fact that he obediently followed all of your commands and didn’t offer any advice or instruction of his own, and it wasn’t long before you had the old oak door securely fastened back in place. Without any weight for him to support, you released Murag from your employ whilst you greased the hinges and checked the lock still lined up correctly. After a few minutes of working alone you turned to find him and Hulda sitting together at her dining table, watching you and talking amongst themselves, both with smiles on their faces.

Dinner was a simple but tasty and extremely plentiful affair, and you found yourself very grateful for the vegetables on offer, realising then that since Murag had moved into your home your diet had become largely meat and cheese based. You chatted easily together, stuffing your mouths the whole time you sat there. When a lull in conversation finally arrived, Hulda pressed her cool hand to your arm.

“Let me get your money, dear.”

“Don’t worry about that.” You responded reflexively, imagining how tough life must be for a widow living on her husband’s meagre pension from the council and whatever coins she could make selling herbs. “It was only a couple of hinges and you’ve done too much for us already, we’re going to have trouble waddling home full of all this food.” Murag watched you silently.

Hulda seemed relieved, but there was still reluctance in her face, clearly not wanting to accept charity. “Well you’ll have to take something, dear. Or I wouldn’t sleep at night. I have some dried bride tea leaves if that’s any use to you?”

“Oh.” That was unexpected, especially as she’d been talking about looking after children only that morning. “Yes, thank you.” You glanced over to Murag’s face as Hulda bustled out of the room but it seemed that he hadn’t paid the conversation a second thought, and was drinking deeply from his tankard in preparation for heading home.

After saying your farewells and packing your tool bag back up, you were back out into the night together. You wanted to have the conversation, so after a few moments of walking together quietly, you answered a question which he had never asked.

“Bride tea is for preventing pregnancy.” You stated simply, trying to keep the tension you felt in your shoulders out of your voice. You knew that most men had a lot to say about when their brides got pregnant, so you were braced for a tough conversation.

He took the bag from your hands easily, offering you his arm. “So you can use my body without continuing my line?” He laughed and you felt relief touch your belly.

“Exactly.”

You were expecting a follow up comment but none came. You walked together through the dark and quiet town, the crunching of your boots against the gravel and dry earth the only noise around you. You peeked into warm windows as you passed houses on your way back towards the smith, catching glimpses of other residents going about their evenings. This line of discussion was making you very tense, and you wished he’d help you get it over with.

“Do you have any feelings… about that?”

From the look he gave you, you could tell that he was starting to understand that more was expected from him in this conversation. “It’s your belly, I’m not going to tell you what to put in it.” You laughed with relief and he continued. “I’m content to enjoy my nubile new bride.”

The relief you felt wash through your whole body as anxious visions of arguments and comments about a woman’s place filtered away into nothing was amazing. You cuddled his arm and rested your cheek against it as you walked. “I love you,” you sighed happily. He squeezed your arm against his body affectionately.

Demon boyfriend - Part 3 - Better now

Sat, 20 Jan 2018 16:36:10 -0500

Part 1 Part 2

Surprisingly, it was shaping up to be the best week of your life. Immediately after you’d completed the task of lugging Friday’s gift back from the hotel to your home (seven trips, with two suitcases), you’d curled up on the sofa and set about penning your resignation email with some gusto. After five drafts with an increasingly pithy and resentful tone and about an hour basking in the glow of your screen, you deleted everything you’d written and settled on:

“Apologies for the short notice, but due to dire family circumstances I must resign effective immediately. Reviewing my latest signed contract, I am not obliged to give a notice period, though I would have preferred to do so. Best of luck in the future.”

Emotive and vague, perfect. You wanted a shot at going back if all of the money vanished as soon as sunlight touched it, or something. As soon as you hit send, you felt a grin spread across your face. Yes, so much as thinking about the dark creature haunting your nights filled you with cold terror, you’d been mildly drowned, and your shirt was wet from blood oozing out of the wounds it had left on your chest, but you were a pragmatist at heart and had just been given, by a rough count, enough cash to never have to work again. Living in comfort and ease for the sake of a few hours hysterical terror every week was probably the best paid part time job going, and you found it impossible not to be pleased as you envisioned a lifetime of not having to do much of anything except make sure you were in the house on Fridays unfold before you.

You did wish the bleeding would stop, though.

Over the course of your life, you’d spent a lot of time daydreaming about what you’d do with limitless wealth and had come up with some pretty grand schemes, but in reality you just found yourself buying slightly bigger candles for the bathroom and top-shelf cook at home pre-made lasagnes rather than middle-shelf cook at home pre-made lasagnes. You bought a fancy bagged magazine without checking the price. Truly, this was how the other half lived.

Over the next several days, whilst you were either languishing in front of the tv or changing the dressing on your still oozing chest with the trusty aid of your industrial size box of gauze, you kept an eye on the news for anything about money going missing from a vault or millionaires showing up drowned, but nothing appeared. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not.

As Friday drew nearer, you started to feel the calm relief and acceptance which had pervaded your week so far ebb away and be replaced by a slow unease at the thought of another visit. By Wednesday, it could be called dread. On Thursday night, you were standing at the sink washing the plates from your day of stress eating, bare feet uncomfortably cold on the tile floor and dressing gown sleeves getting soggy from splash back, when you noticed with a strange detachment that you were silently crying. The memories of its cold white eyes staring indifferently down to you whilst you struggled against its strength to try to breathe were fresh in your minds eye. Remembering its whole face splitting in half was enough to make your breath catch, preventing you from getting a lung full of air. You did your utmost to suppress the panic rising in your belly, the feeling that the walls were closing in on you, that you were a sheep who had been convinced to stay put for the wolf’s convenience.

You had been rinsing the same plate for at least 10 minutes, lost down a rabbit hole of panic when the cool tile floor of the kitchen shifted and.. stroked you, gently caressing the arch of your right foot. You yelped and immediately withdrew from the touch as though burned, standing one one leg as you stared down at the floor with wide accusing eyes, but there was nothing there to see. You frantically checked the clock on the wall: still only 10pm. Was it.. checking in on you? Making sure you were home? With a trembling hand, you turned off the tap and then all but flew out of the kitchen with your feet barely touching the floor. You dove onto the sofa and wrapped yourself tightly in a blanket, making sure that every inch of your skin except your face were protected by a layer of wool and stared fixedly at the only doorway into the sitting room, dread settled heavily in your heart.

Hours passed in silence.

You’d decided against going to bed after the horror that was Friday’s last bedtime visit, but there was only so long you could be on red alert. You were scrolling tiredly through AskReddit when it happened: you heard the eerie creek of a heavy foot on the wooden floor of the dining room, just metres from where you were sitting. You gasped and dropped your phone to wrap your blanket more tightly around your shoulders, watching the open doorway separating the sitting and dining rooms with wide eyes, terror and dread twisting in your stomach. For a few seconds, you heard nothing but your own heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears.

Then, the sound of glass hitting the floor, making you flinch. You were trembling with fear as you cuddled the blanket against yourself and listened intently to the sound of something made of glass slowly rolling along the wooden floor towards the sitting room. You were hyperventilating. The noise went on and on.. gradually getting closer. Hot terrified tears were brimming in your eyes when it rounded the corner, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It was… a bottle? It continued its slow roll across the floor towards your perch on the sofa, and you watched it come. It was the same brand of beer you usually bought, but the bottle was open, caked in mud, and was sploshing remnants of murky brown water out onto the floor as it traversed the room. It looked like it had been taken from the bottom of a river. It rolled to a halt in front of you and you stared at it with a mixture of fear and perplexment.

“GIFT.”

The familiar voice echoed inside your mind and you flinched, then yelped as you looked up from the bottle and saw that you were no longer alone in the room. Friday stood before you, staring at you with its blank white eyes. Seeing it at a slight distance with the lights on, you had a moment to take it in through your haze of surprise and horror. Its four arms were longer than they should be, the lower set ending in claws and the top set in what seemed to be long, thin fingers. Its light absorption meant it was still almost impossible to make out details, but you could tell that its mane and horns were a different texture to its flat nearly featureless face.

“Thank you.” You replied as close to earnestly as you could, hurrying to pick up the bottle from the floor and absorb it into your blanket, holding the cold glass against your stomach. You did your best to smile at the creature. “It’s.. very thoughtful of you to remember what kind of bottle I like.”

It stared at you in silence, bright lidless eyes fixed on your face. It was completely motionless. Hot fear was bubbling in your stomach as you watched it watch you, and after a few moments you tried again, smiling fixedly.

“Thanks, ghost.”

Friday split its face in a grin and upon seeing its sharp teeth you swallowed nervously, which was a considerable improvement on the first time you saw them. The hand holding the bottle against your stomach started to feel warm and damp as the blood oozing from your chest finally permeated its dressing. The creature was still completely motionless, flat face split completely in half by its bright white teeth.

“Um..” You began, looking anywhere but its faintly glowing white eyes. You knew you had to do something about the wound sooner rather than later, and you really didn’t fancy a doctor’s chances at being able to fix it. But it was still… difficult. “…I have a question.”

It was staring at you, motionless, silent. Fixed grin still splitting its face.

“Um.. my chest .. is still bleeding. Where you touched me.”

You searched its face for any reaction, but found nothing. Somehow its complete stillness made the creature even more unnerving.

“How do I stop the bleeding?”

Friday straightened up at once and announced with something you could only parse as glee. “KISS.”

You felt the blood drain out of your face and you were half way through a petrified “What?” when it plunged a hand under your blanket to grab your ankle and easily dragged you off the sofa with one motion, banging first your hip then the back of your head heavily on the wooden floor and making you cry out in surprise and pain. You heard your bottle clonk to the floor. Before you had time to understand what was happening, you were laying on your back on the cold floor with Friday’s face inches from yours. The cackle you heard inside your mind was shrill and piercing and then it repeated. “KISS. KISS.” You let out a petrified squeal and pushed against its chest but it scooped your wrists together and held them out of the way with one clawed hand, its face completely unchanged. You heard your shirt rip and tears of fear started to fall quickly from your face. Then it split its face again and you saw its tongue: white and long and pointed at the end. It easily ripped the wet partially stuck gauze from your chest, revealing a raw bloody wounds beneath: seven puncture wounds in the shape of its claws slowly oozing fresh blood. Friday’s mane bristled.. it seemed excited.

You were so terrified that you couldn’t form coherent thoughts, you just watched it as it lapped up the blood on your chest and poked the tip of its long pointed tongue into each puncture wound in turn, streaks of red against the long white appendage. As you watched it clean your chest, your inner thighs started to feel hot. You writhed against the creature more as a show of displeasure than an honest attempt at escape. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the tongue vanished into Friday’s flat dark face and it grinned down at you. “BETTER NOW.”

Taking quick shallow breaths, you glanced down to your chest, where your torn skin had knitted back together leaving ugly red gouges and cold streaks of saliva where the open wounds had been. Then you looked back to Friday’s bright lidless eyes, staring inscrutably down at you. “Better now.” You agreed. “Thank you.”

It was still holding your wrists and ankle fast. You really wished it blinked. “You .. can let me go now.”

“CAN.” It agreed, but didn’t move.

Its mane was still bristled in excitement, and as you looked up at its bright eyes, something started to overtake your terror…. annoyance. You scowled. “Friday, you let go of me right this second, you’re scaring me.” You were surprised by the steel in your own voice. With your only free limb, you kicked it in the approximation of its belly, and it laughed. Cold and high, it laughed inside your mind and a new panic gripped you. But then, to your surprise, it released its grip on your wrists and ankle. You laid there beneath it, panting and covered in a cold sweat, frozen.

“YOU NAMED FRIDAY.” It stated with something like triumph, then tilted its head almost imperceptibly to one side. “WHAT SHOULD FRIDAY DO NOW?”

“..Go away?” You ventured with a faint glimmer of hope that this nightmare might be over at last. It laughed, wrapping two arms around your waist and rubbing its flat face into your exposed stomach, its mane tickling you as its pointed horns swayed dangerously close to your face.

“NO.”

Demon boyfriend - Part 2 - Thanks, ghost.

Thu, 18 Jan 2018 18:24:27 -0500

Part 1

You were frozen in horror as the huge dark creature emerged the wardrobe and turned its flat face towards you, piercing white eyes fixed on the glowing phone in your trembling hands.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” The operator called out to you, but you knew it was already too late for help.

The thing seemed to absorb any light which touched it, all you could make out in the darkened room was a silhouette and that was bad enough. It was tall and lithe, it had a mane around its head and shoulders, and curved horns like a ram. The only thing which pierced its darkness was its bright white blank eyes. It had six… limbs? And seemed to be standing on two of them. Its proportions were all wrong.

You stuttered uselessly, trembling and hyperventilating. It felt like your blood was on fire. Your mind was blank with sheer terror and you were transfixed on the blank white eyes of the monster.

“Hello? Do you have an emergency?”

Without seeming to move, the creature was beside you and you flinched, your vision blurred and your head felt light. It plucked your phone out of your trembling hands and you didn’t resist. You heard the phone crunch and shatter and pieces of glass and metal tinkle onto your lap, but your gaze was still fixed on the bright white eyes of the creature looming over you. It didn’t blink.

All at once the quiet was broken.

“NO.” It commanded, and its voice was at once rattling your windows and booming inside your mind. You tried to scream but the sound which escaped you was closer to a whimper. Your voice didn’t sound like your own. The creature pointed to itself with either a long thin finger or a sharp claw, raining down more jagged phone crumbs onto your lap and floor. “STAY.”

Its glowing white eyes were trained on yours, its flat otherwise featureless face was completely devoid of any tell of its intentions. Fighting through your terrified rigidity, you nodded mutely, praying to god this was just the most vivid nightmare you’d ever experienced. After a few moments of heavy silence, its dark mane bristled slightly, seemingly pleased by your obedience. When it spoke next, its voice had changed to a foul mimicry of your own from a Friday past. “THANKS, GHOST.” And when it grinned, its whole dark face split in half to reveal rows of sharp bright white teeth. It was more than you could take: your vision went dark around the edges and you felt yourself fall to one side before losing consciousness completely.

The following day was spent in almost total silence. You’d awoken still terrified and with your cheek and shoulder covered in small cuts from fainting on top of a thoroughly crumbled phone, but alone. You’d have been able to convince yourself that it was just an awful dream with coincidental phone explosion, if not for the fact that the wooden floor of your room was stained with black ichor in the shape of footprints from something with seven toes and long claws.

You inspected the back of the wardrobe and found it intact. When you pushed it out of the way of the door, you found the deadbolts still in place. Feeling lightheaded, you brushed the worst of the broken glass and pieces of metal off your bed and got back in.

You spent at least an hour sitting in bed alternately squeezing the sheets in one hand then another, staring fixedly into the distance trying to formulate a plan.

You took stock of the situation:

Locked doors and barricades were useless.

It had the ability to be invisible.

It didn’t want you to contact anyone.

It had a lot of sharp teeth.

Okay, good. Guess you’d just have to be eviscerated by a malevolent entity of pure darkness. Good death, as things go.

You’d checked yourself into a mid-range hotel that afternoon and had been living out of your hastily packed suitcase since. Your first impulse had been ‘I’m being haunted by an other worldly entity, I deserve feather pillows’ but the thought of your credit card literally being refused at the desk embarrassed you down a pricing level, even with your life on the line. Figured.

After a few nights of peace, room service, and hot baths at odd hours, you started to convince yourself that it had all been something between sleep paralysis, a hallucination, and a mental breakdown. You’d replaced your phone. You were reading a book. Normality had been restored.

It was Friday. You’d just applied several tiny bottles of conditioner to your hair and were letting it bake in, re-reading the same page of Schizophrenia For Dummies for at least the third time whilst Bohren For Beginners oozed smoothly out of your phone, which was perched on the top of the toilet away from the majority of the steam from the bath. You’d drawn the shower curtain around the bath in an attempt to keep some of the steam in, noting the lack of extractor fan in the bathroom and keenly aware that you were going to be paying for the phone for the next two years whether it worked or not. Maybe this was the sort of thought process your parents had meant when they’d warned you ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’.

With a sigh, you gave up on the page you’d read over and over again without absorbing anything, raising your eyes to stare blankly at the tiled wall opposite you. You couldn’t help notice small blooms of black mold at the corners of the tiles and wrinkled your nose slightly in disgust. Time to get out. You split your book over the side of the bath and closed your eyes, laying down dunk your head under the water. You ran your fingers repeatedly through your hair, shaking it until it didn’t feel slimy any more. Something tugged at your awareness urging you to snap your eyes open, and your blood ran cold as you saw that a few inches from your nose were the dark flat face and the bright white eyes from your nightmares. You took in a breath to scream but a heavy paw pushed your chest down before you had the chance, plunging your whole body and face under the water. Cold panic gripped you as you held your breath and looked up at the creature through the clear stinging liquid: it was gazing down to you with an inscrutable expression. You grabbed onto its arm with both of your hands and tried to shift it from your chest, but it was immovable. You were going to drown in a mid-range hotel for trying to scream at a hallucination.

“NO.” It boomed inside your mind. You nodded and blubbed a bubble helplessly up at it, pushing impotently at its arm to try to secure your freedom. Your lungs were starting to burn and you were struck with a fresh panic, writhing under its grasp and struggling to break the surface of the water. You felt your book plop into the bath. After a long moment of study, it removed its paw from your chest but didn’t move its face from hovering a few inches above the water. For a moment you seriously considered drowning a better option than being closer to it, but your survival instincts propelled you to the surface. You gasped cold lungfuls of air and stared wide eyed and unblinking at the dark flat face looming over you. Even under the fluorescent light, it was almost impossible to make out any details apart from its lithe silhouette, mane and horns. Every aspect of it exuded darkness except its lidless white eyes, which you felt boring into your soul. You took several short gasping breaths and tried your best to smother the urgent desire to scream. You were dimly aware that your chest was bleeding where it had touched you.

“STAY FOR FRIDAY.” It screamed painfully loudly inside your mind. It was bristling, you could tell it was angry at you for leaving.

Your mind raced, desperate for anything to help you stay alive. “I had to come here for work.” You lied, hoping beyond hope that the entity didn’t have enough experience of the mortal realm to know people didn’t generally need to move into a hotel 2 miles from their house for work. It stared blankly down at you. There were a few long moments of silence. “I need to work, to live at the house-” you corrected yourself “-our house.” It didn’t move, it wasn’t breathing, it didn’t blink, it just stared silently down at you with its face a few inches above yours. “If I don’t work, I can’t get money. If I don’t get money, I can never stay in our house ever again. They’ll take me away.”

It raised its face another inch or two above the water’s surface, breathing room you were incredibly grateful for. The voice inside your mind was less painful, more questioning. “WANT TO STAY.”

“Of course I want to stay!” You gushed quickly, momentarily relief washing over you. “But I need money to keep the living at our house. You just startled me. Please don’t push me under the water any more, it really frightens me.”

It stared down at you for what felt like minutes, assessing you. After the silence, it seemed to notice that you were bleeding for the first time.

“WAIT.” It commanded, and vanished before your eyes, leaving you alone in the bathroom once more. As soon as it was gone, you sat up and hugged yourself, sobbing in terrified heaves with waves of nausea and panic crashing over you. You rocked backwards and forwards, mind blank with fear and dreadful anticipation of its return.

You had the presence of mind to pull the plug out of the bath to allow the water to drain away, but were too scared of angering it further to get out of the tub. So you sat there covered in goosebumps, cold and alone in a dry bath, dutifully waiting for your demon.

Despite girding yourself, you still visibly flinched when the 7 foot tall monstrosity of darkness reappeared in the small bathroom. Its flat face split in half completely to grin, showing off its many rows of sharp, bright white teeth which had stolen your consciousness from you the week before. “COME LOOK.” Feeling nothing but dread and resignation in the pit of your stomach, you got out of the dry bath and skirted as wide a berth as you could around the creature to walk into the main room.

Your mouth literally fell open when you saw what it had prepared for you. On the bed, piled halfway to the ceiling were crisp bales of cash. You’d never seen anywhere near this much money in your life, it was completely dumbfounding. “..Wow.” You managed, and the being let out a shrill cackle before taking up its foul imitation of your voice once more to declare: “THANKS, GHOST.”.

Demon boyfriend - Part 1 - house haunted how tell

Wed, 17 Jan 2018 20:01:29 -0500

Moving cities and working nights had pretty much destroyed your social life. Every week, you spent your days off sitting around the house in your pyjamas eating copious amounts of beige snack food whilst watching hour after hour of elaborate cooking videos on YouTube. It wasn’t the life of glitz and glamour you’d imagined when you moved, but it was certainly comfortable. Plus, working nights was actually paying you well enough to live on your own, which was a luxury you relished in your every waking moment. You loved the peace of living by yourself; you loved putting something down and knowing exactly where to find it the next day, undisturbed, untidied, just waiting for you.

Solitude was your natural habitat.

The home you’d moved into was pleasant if a little dated. The area was far enough outside of the city centre to be quiet, but your commute was easy. The house itself was compact but more than big enough for just you, and had been sitting empty for long enough you’d snagged a really good deal on the rent. The move had been a bit strenuous on your own, but you had several years of sitting around doing not much of anything planned to recuperate.

Dawn on Friday morning found you in a hot bubble bath with the bathroom door locked, every candle you owned lit, and the blackout blinds closed. The small room was a sanctuary for you, and as you watched the shadow of rising steam flicker and writhe against the wall, you felt the tension of your night’s work start to loosen its grasp on your belly. Just the day before you’d unpacked the last of your things from the move, and the house was finally starting to feel as though you really belonged there. You’d even figured out how to put the heating on a timer so it was warm when you got home but didn’t cook you when you were trying to sleep: pure adulthood. You reached out towards the sink, grasping for the bottle of beer perched on the edge closest to the bath but not quite managing to reach it. You wondered absently how much it would cost to hire a plumber to move the sink four inches to the left when the bottle you were reaching for slipped from its perch into your waiting hand. The hairs on your arm stood on end as you sunk back into the bath, beer in hand.

“Thanks, ghost.” You stated to the room, sipping from the bottle and picking up the book you’d left split over the edge of the bath, determined to find out whodunnit by bedtime.

Your next week passed without incident. Working, sleeping, eating microwave meals whilst watching Nigella Lawson purr up feast for 20 best friends. You kept yourself awake most nights convinced there was someone vveerrrryyy slowly creeping their way up the stairs to your room, but the swift application of three deadbolts to your bedroom door was starting to allay that particular night time anxiety train.

It wasn’t until the next Friday night, when you were tucked up in bed and settling in for the traditional 2-3 hours of browsing on your phone before sleep, that you heard it. The door at the bottom of the stairs opened. Immediately your internal monologue switched from silence to ceaseless blood curdling screaming, but outwardly you were rigid and silent. You dialed 99 on your phone and waited, listening intently. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears and your breath came in short gasps.

You waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened.

The next morning, high on having only had a couple of hours of fitful sleep, you went downstairs with some trepidation and confirmed that the door at the bottom of the stairs was indeed open. You probably just didn’t close it properly. Nothing to worry about. No need to hyperventilate. No reason to continue to have the internal monologue screams. Nope. No problem. You just had more deadbolts to buy, that’s all. What murderer breaks into a house just to open a door then go home anyway? Made no sense. It was going to be fine.

You busied yourself with your days-off housework, sweeping here, mopping there, scraping the detritus of four days of microwave meals up off your kitchen counter, changing the bin bag, cleaning the rotten salad you’d bought in a moment of blind hope for your future health out of the fridge. The tasks relaxed you. You reasoned with yourself. You knew you had a proclivity for disproportionate anxiety, you knew there had been no one in the house, it was just air pressure or something.

You sank back into your normal routine.

All was quiet for another week.

You had your bookcase setup just how you liked it (organised by author, then by spine colour), your sock drawer was fastidiously sorted (by sock height, then by colour), and your fridge was full of vegetables you had no real intention of eating. You hadn’t spoken to another human in over 70 hours. Life was good.

Pausing the TV, you hoisted yourself out of the sofa groove you’d been tirelessly excavating for the last several hours and padded barefoot towards the kitchen in pursuit of a pack of biscuits. The tile floor was pleasantly cool to the touch as you rooted around the cupboards. Emerging victorious, you placed your prize down on the counter, deciding to preheat the oven to cook yourself a potato (probably a vegetable and therefore inherently healthy). You turned the dial and opened the oven door, leaning down to place your hand inside the oven to feel for warmth, making sure it was on. When you felt the movement of warm air against your hand, you closed the oven door and stood up, catching a glimpse of yourself in the shiny splashback behind the hob. You realised with a snap of cold terror that you weren’t alone in the reflection. It was only for an instant, but you saw something tall and dark standing behind you. You screamed, but it was already gone.

Your biscuits were like ash in your mouth. You’d immediately grabbed your keys, wallet, biscuits and coat and evacuated the scene. You were currently sitting in a café in your pyjamas, stress eating Outside Biscuits and being glared at by the barista from her position behind the counter. So you’d finally snapped. You plucked your phone from your pocket and googled:

Whilst you did immediately and viscerally relate to the spooked looking guy in the accompanying evidence (“illustration”), these people sounded nuts. That must mean that hauntings were nuts. It was nuts to believe in hauntings. Only nuts people called the police about being haunted. Ok, no haunted house. Just a spooked lady living alone for the first time high on hydrogenated fat and a weird sleep cycle. You let out a shaky breath and determinedly ate another biscuit.

By the time the next Friday rolled around, the door at the bottom of the stairs was laden with deadbolts. You’d taken to pushing your wardrobe in front of your bedroom door when you were trying to sleep which had the twin benefits of making you feel like no one could get in and also slightly muffling the sounds you could hear from the hallway, which stopped you whipping yourself up into an anxious frenzy quite as easily.

In your second or third hour of scrolling through the Tumblr / Twitter / Reddit trifecta of sleeplessness your ears pricked up. You thought you heard the door at the bottom of the stairs rattle. You sat bolt upright in bed and dialed 99 on your phone, waiting in rigid silence to see if anything else happened. You were trying your best not to hyperventilate. After a minute or two of straining your ears against the quiet night, you thought you heard the metal slide and rattle of a deadbolt being undone downstairs, but that was impossible.. they could only be undone from the inside.

Suddenly, you heard heavy footsteps sprinting up the stairs 3 at a time and you frantically fumbled with your phone to call 999, eyes fixed on the wardrobe in front of the bedroom door. Something huge and heavy and strong SLAMMED full force into your bedroom door, and then there was complete suffocating silence once more. Tears of terror were streaming down your face.

“Hello, 999, what’s the nature of your emergency?”

Quietly, slowly, the wardrobe door opened.

Orc boyfriend - 7/? - will you teach me how to do that? (nsfw)

Sun, 14 Jan 2018 19:23:06 -0500

[I’m back! With more cutesy smut for you. Spoilers - pretty immediately nsfw.]

You woke up cold. Your eyes snapped open in the darkness and you found that you were alone in your bed: you pawed at the mattress next to you, wondering sleepily where its usual occupant had gone to. It was only a moment before a low rumbling snore rattled your windows and you realised with a smile that whilst you were alone in the bed, you weren’t alone in the room. You wrapped your blanket around your shoulders as protection from the cold and got out of bed, skirting around the bookcase which separated your bed from the main room and finding yourself relieved to see a snoring mass of orc on the bed at the far side of the room. In the glow of the moonlight filtering through your windows, he cut an alluring figure. With a sheet pooled around his hips, his bare chest and arms were enough to make you pause for a moment to appreciate the view before scuttering the rest of the way across the cold floor.

As he was laying on his back, there was enough room for you to get into bed and rest your head on his chest without waking him. Having him near to you was a comfort, and not just because his warmth was staving off the chill from your legs and feet. After laying quietly next to him for a few moments gratefully absorbing his body heat, you let out a contented sigh, wriggling closer to his side. You regarded him thoughtfully, tracing your fingertips lightly across his wide chest, thick with coarse black hair, down to his belly where you absentmindedly stroked the slight definition between his muscles.

“Lower.” He grunted, and you flinched. You looked up to his face and found him smirking at you, eyes shining with amusement.

You laughed, the shock of finding he was awake filtering away and your knee jerk reaction of using jokes to get through tough circumstances kicking in. “Ah, I thought I’d be able to fondle you in your sleep, I’m less interested now.”

“I am asleep.” He replied simply, still looking to you with twinkling eyes. Well.. would it hurt to explore your new husband a little? You arched an eyebrow at him, moving your hand from his belly to lightly trace your fingers against the sheet covering his erection. “Lower? Around here?” You questioned sweetly. He purred in assent and placed his hand on top of yours, grinding into it. You dragged the sheet off him and brushed your fingers against his inner thigh. He sighed happily and arched his back up to meet your touch. This was the first time you’d had a good look at his weapon, and you found yourself relieved. Thicker than you had experience with, but manageable. “For me?” You lightly traced one finger up the length of his shaft, barely touching him. Your eyes flickered to his face and you found him staring at you hungrily.

“For you, siren.”

You shed your blanket and got to your knees, climbing over one of his thighs to kneel between his legs. He put one arm behind his head to prop himself up to watch you, eyes lidded with lust. You gently caressed his thighs and belly with your palm before leaning down to gently kiss the side of his shaft. He grunted with pleasure and moved his free hand to stroke your hair. You ran your fingers through his pubic hair and gently caressed his sack with the soft pad of your thumb, making him shudder under your touch. Using your free hand, you stroked and then softly gripped the skin just below the head of his cock, eliciting a low growl of pleasure from him followed by a short gasp. You found a smile on your face from how desperate he was for your touch, and you achingly slowly pulled his foreskin back from the head of his cock, finding thick globs of precum already waiting for you there. You licked your lips, and looked up to meet his hungry eyes. “Let’s see how you taste.” With your eyes meeting his, you gently pressed your flat tongue to the exposed head of his cock and then slowly took as much as you could into your mouth. He moaned loudly and you felt another spurt of precum hit the roof of your mouth. You moaned encouragingly against him and the vibration caused him to shudder, head to foot.

You sucked gently as you removed your mouth from him, “Delicious.” You sighed contentedly, using one hand to gently knead just under the head of his cock and the other to cup his sack as you slowly licked up the side of his cock, eyes on his face. He moaned and closed his eyes, rutting his hips up to meet your touch as more glistening fluid spilled forth from his head. Deciding to give him what he really wanted, you returned your mouth to the head of his cock, swirling your tongue there and relishing the breathless groan which tore from his throat, before starting to bob your head along with your hand, sucking him and pressing your tongue against him. His hand tangled in your hair as he groaned appreciatively, and you could tell he was doing his best not to thrust into the back of your throat. You started to bob faster, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could and moving your hands along what was left, moaning softly against his skin. After working that rhythm to the tune of his contented groans for a few minutes, you heard his breath catch in his throat. “C..close.” He grunted and you hummed happily in acknowledgement, pressing your tongue against him as you moved and waiting for the fruits of your labour. His thrusts up against you quickly became less controlled and you struggled not to gag as he hit the back of your throat. Then, with a moan bordering on a scream, you tasted him. Swallowing and bobbing your head slower, you let him ride out the waves of pleasure and waited until his moan had faded into soft gasps before pulling your head away from him. You used your hand to gently squeeze up the length of him to release the last gems of cum from the tip of his cock and licked him clean. He shuddered and sighed.

After watching him for a moment with a smile, you clambered back over his thigh to lay next to him, your head on his chest as he caught his breath. He wrapped an arm around you and held you close to him.

“Siren,” he murmured, looking to your face, “how can I repay you?” He moved his free hand to stroke your waist. You nuzzled his chest affectionately. “I’ll think about it,” you yawned, “you’re just on pillow duties for now.”

He chuckled softly and pulled your blanket back over you. Comfortable, loved and warm, you found sleep quickly.

You awoke the next morning alone and very confused not to be greeted by your usual patch of ceiling. You were lower than usual, too. You squinted at the room around you, trying to pierce through the fog of tiredness and slight headache to piece together the night before. You had been working on the tavern sign, then you abruptly became a married woman, you remembered that much all too clearly. You sucked your tongue thoughtfully to reach for the rest of the previous night, raising yourself up onto your elbows as a half-hearted attempt at getting out of bed. You’d eaten some warm cheese, remembering thinking that the gluey congealed consistency wasn’t something you wished to experience again. Then you drank some ale and told a really good joke you couldn’t quite remember, but you were struck with the unwavering belief that everyone found you hilarious. Seemed pretty par for the course so far. Then you nearly fell face first into a hedge on the way home and distinctly remembered being thrown over an orc shoulder… embarrassing.. then you woke up cold… oh. You felt heat creep across your face but furrowed your brow at the same time - surely, on this of all mornings, that boy should be making you breakfast?

You clambered up out of bed and pulled your tunic down as low as it would go to shield your legs from the chill morning air before poking your head out into the cold smithy, not entirely surprised to find it empty. Hmm. Maybe you’d found the secret to banishing orcs. You could lead a battalion of scantily clad soldiers to war and come back a hero. Oh well, time to start your new life as a widow. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, you made short work of starting a fire in the hearth and just as you were about to sit down to warm up your legs you heard a familiar grunt outside your window. Rats, he was still around. You scuttered over to the window and opened it up despite the cool draught which quickly found its way into your home. Murag seemed to have been driving stakes wrapped with string into the ground in a roughly rectangular shape behind your home. He looked over to the window as it opened.

“Planning some renovations?” You inquired sleepily out to him.

“That I am.” He grinned and put down his roll of string, walking over towards the open window. “That hovel isn’t going to be big enough once you start popping out pups-” Consumed by a sudden wave of blind panic, you immediately slammed the window back closed, not wishing to hear any more. After a moment he peered in through the closed window, laughing at the glare waiting for him within.

You’d just about gotten used to the idea of continuing to court the huge orc who’d taken up residence in your home whilst already wed to him in the eyes of the council, in no way were you ready to start thinking about childbirth. Feeling overwhelmed and out of your depth, you decided there was only one thing for it: you’d need to kill him.

By the time you’d gotten dressed he’d finished his work outside and made his way back around to the smith door, but it held fast as he tried to open it, bolted in three places. There was a moment of silent confusion beyond the door before you heard a gentle knock in request for entry. “Go away.” You shouted out to him. “I’m melting down the axe, hopefully that’ll banish you whence you came.”

He laughed, knocking again. You relented and slid the bolts back on the door, opening at a crack and glaring out at him.

He arched an eyebrow at you slightly, and then gave you a knowing smile. “Shall we get you fed, so I can avoid scarring?”

You hated to admit it, but after breakfast you were notably less inclined to homicide. You spent the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon working the forge, with your husband alternating between pottering around in the back yard and coming inside to watching you for long stretches of time with an expression of entrancement. Whilst it was a new phenomenon, you found that you didn’t much mind having an audience, especially one as clearly enraptured as this. Plus he’d occasionally pass you tools and seemed to be surrounding you with a small collection of cups of water, so he definitely had at least some use.

You couldn’t help but find the way he watched you very flattering: it was as though he was watching a dancer gracefully twirl and pivot in front of him, rather than you hitting something with a hammer a lot of times. Around mid afternoon you looked up to him and smiled, “Are you going to watch me all day, or are you going to come and learn the family business? I have a project in mind for you.” He practically leapt to his feet, ready to join you before the flames.

“Go easy on me, master.” He chuckled.

It wasn’t long before you had him swaddled in a leather apron of his own and you were pivoting and twirling through the smith together, you guiding his hand against the fire and instructing the swing of his hammer down to anvil. He took to your instruction quickly and whilst his work was .. apprentice level, he was a quick learner. Within a couple of hours he had the blade of a hunting knife shaped out nicely, and he was covered in a film of sweat and glowing with pride. You turned his work over in your hands and were amused by how he searched your face for signs of how well he’d done. “This is good work for a beginner.” You told him earnestly, and relief immediately washed over his face. “We can work on a handle and an edge tomorrow,” a wry smile touched your lips and you flickered your eyes up to meet his, “and we’ll have made a blacksmith out of you by the time I’m popping out pups.”

The evening had long since drawn in and your hair was still wet from the bath as you sat in your armchair, sipping a warm mug of wine with the soles of your feet pointed squarely at the fire. You were watching Murag peel an apple in one long thin strand with fascination.

“Will you show me how to do that?” You asked idly and he smiled at you, opening his arms to make room for you to slot between them.

“Take a seat.”

You laughed softly and shuffled over to him, picking up another apple on the way to perch in his lap. He immediately wrapped an arm around your waist and nuzzled his nose behind your ear, breathing in the smell of your hair and humming with satisfaction. You shuddered slightly at his warm touch but also took the opportunity to put one end of the long thin string of apple peel into your mouth. He laughed shortly. “Of course you’re more interested in peel.”

“Maybe it’ll lose its novelty and I’ll return my interest to your warm embrace once you teach me your skills.” You leaned your back against his belly with the back of your head resting on his shoulder, still slowly consuming the length of peel. You held your apple in your left hand as he’d held his, and wiggled the fingers of your right hand in silent command for him to give you his knife. He chuckled softly,

“I’ll have to hope.” He handed you the knife and then cupped his right hand around yours, guiding your fingers in the correct motion. It took a few false starts before you started to get the hang of it, gliding the knife around the sides of your apple slowly enough that the top was starting to go brown by the time you were half way finished. You’d finished his peel and were eyeing up your own.

“This is nice.” You stated simply and he made a noise of agreement. You gave up on peeling your apple and bit into it, leaning over slightly to put the knife down on the side table.

“So what pleases a siren wife, apple peeling lessons aside?” You smiled at the candidness of the question and swung your legs around to dangle over the arm of his chair, so you could look him in the face.

“Apart from the getting fat and worship and ecstasy?” You asked sweetly with a smile, and gently brushed a strand of hair which had escaped his braid back behind his ear. He reached up to hold your hand in his own, a smirk touching his lips.

“And silence before breakfast.”

“Hm,” you mulled it over for a moment. “Kindness I suppose. Patience. Affection even when I’m barring you from the house for reminding me that children exist in the world.” He laughed and stroked your hair tenderly. “What about apprentice blacksmith husbands?” You returned. “What does it take to keep them happy?”

“Aside from your soft mouth wrapped around my cock?” He offered thoughtfully.

“If you’re assuming that’s a given, what then?” You returned with a smirk.

“Acceptance then. Tenderness.. when I’m not locked out of the house.” You laughed and he eyed you hungrily, tugging pointedly at the hem of your tunic. “And you could wear less.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” You rested your head against his chest and he wrapped an arm around you to hold you against him, his free hand caressing your thigh absently. You sat there for a while in comfortable silence, watching the fire.

You awoke still sitting sideways across Murag’s lap with your head leaning against his chest and his arms wrapped around you. The fire had died back to embers and darkness permeated your home, you sat silently for a moment listening to the loud snoring coming from the orc beside with slight amusement before you started to reflect on your situation. You looked up to your sleeping husband’s face and took him in: strong features studded with gold jewellery and tusks, long dark hair. With his height and broad shoulders, heavy build and defined musculature, he certainly cut an imposing figure. However, he’d treated you with nothing but love and acceptance, and sitting in his warm lap with his arms wrapped around you, you’d never felt safer or more at home. You felt a knot of uncertainty you hadn’t even been aware was there start to unravel inside you. Your eyes softened as you watched his sleeping face, and you leant in to kiss him on the cheek.

You felt him wake beneath your touch and you raised a hand to gently caress the side of his neck as you peppered kisses along his jaw. He let out a sleepy groan of approval, leaning his head back to give you better access to kiss his throat. After a few more kisses, you nuzzled your nose into the side of his neck and relaxed there, letting out a contented sigh.

He stroked your waist sleepily and made a grunt which sounded vaguely questioning, head still lolling back against the chair.

“Just thinking about how beautiful you are and how much I love you.” You murmured against the side of his neck and he let out a surprised laugh. You nuzzled into his neck again, unembarrassed and content.

You felt a lurch in your stomach as he stood up from the chair and took you with him, one hand under your knees and the other supporting your back. He was looking to you with an expression half way between amusement and unbridled glee.

“Let’s get to bed and you can tell me more about how beautiful I am.”

And so you told him. You told him how striking he was, how his broad shoulders and strong arms made your stomach flutter, how his laugh made your heart sing and how you could hardly help but dribble down your front when you thought about his cooking. You told him how safe you felt with him and how you couldn’t wait to jealously watch him reel in more fish. You told how happy you were that he’d found you on his way into Hainau and how much you loved to sit in front of the fire together not doing much of anything. You told him again how much you loved him. By the time you were finished, he was curled up next to you with his head on your chest purring like a kitten.

It was the most open and honest you’d been with anyone, about anything let alone something as heartfelt and potentially embarrassing as this, but you felt safe to share your feelings in full and after you were finished you felt buoyed by the confession. After all, where was the shame in telling your husband you liked him?

Orc boyfriend - 6/? - worship (nsfw)

Wed, 27 Dec 2017 21:08:18 -0500

[NSFW! (finally)]

Before you knew it, it was morning. The entire left side of your face was slick with your own dribble and you let out a soft “ugh” as you wiped first your cheek then the orc chest serving as your pillow with the blanket. A low rumble of laughter rose from Murag, surprising you. “I’m having great success with this courtship.” He muttered to you with amusement. “Now I don’t even need to cook a meal for you to touch me.”

You laughed and stretched out your arms and legs, replying to him lightly. “Regrettably, you only had one chest touch in the bank.. so now I’m going to need to insist that you to stay at least a yard away from me until after breakfast.” You kissed his chest softly and looked to his face. “What are you making for breakfast, by the way?”

He met your gaze silently for a moment before breaking into a chuckle, gently stroking your hair in an absent minded affection that awoke your senses in a way you didn’t expect. Your skin prickled with excitement at the look in his eyes and the tenderness of his touch. A question tore forth from you before you had time to stop it.

“Do you really want to get married?” You asked earnestly.

He arched an eyebrow and rolled to face you, so that your head was resting on his bicep and your noses were nearly touching, feeling his warm breath on your face made the urge to kiss him almost overwhelming. “More than that,” you broke and kissed him softly, cupping his face in your hands. Instinctively, he wrapped his free arm around you to pull you against him. He returned the kiss for a few moments before murmuring against your lips, “I want to worship you. Have you grow fat on the meals I make you, hear you cry out my name in ecstasy, and wake every morning soaked in your drool.” His grin had taken on an almost predatory nature, and despite your embarrassment at being faced with such a statement, a laugh caught in your throat.

“Because I made you an axe?”

He half shrugged. “It’s a good axe. And I’m sure you have other redeeming qualities, even if you do eat bait and let anyone with a wheel of cheese into your bed.”

You laughed harder then, covering your face with your hands in an attempt to achieve some momentary respite from the intensity of the encounter. You’d been familiar with attraction to people, lusting after people, you’d been in several relationships.. but never had any of them made you feel this giddy with a kiss and a few words. He nuzzled his face through your hands and you kissed him again, causing heat to blossom in your belly, thighs and cheeks. Where was the harm in starting a relationship with someone who made you feel this way? You broke the kiss and met his gaze with some difficulty, croaking out an, “Alright.”

He grinned widely and took your hand in his, lacing your fingers. “‘Alright’ to crying out my name in ecstasy?”

You hummed teasingly. “I was more thinking about the worship and getting fat, but that too I suppose.” You smiled shyly at him, pleased with how your morning was going but not quite sure what to do next.

He leaned into you so that you could feel his warm breath against your neck and ear, and murmured with a smirk, “Then I’ll show you worship, siren.”

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears and found yourself very malleable under his touch. He wrapped your leg around his hip and rolled onto his back, taking you with him so you found yourself straddling his stomach. Instinctively, you reached your hands out to his chest to steady yourself. He leaned up to meet you with a kiss which you melted into, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning against him, which was enough to elicit a growl of approval from him. He pushed up your tunic enough to grab your hip and push you more firmly into his lap so he could grind his erection against your slit, leaning further up to you in order to maintain the kiss. The moan which tore from your throat was low and urgent and he smirked against your skin, slipping his other hand under your shirt to brush his fingers lightly against your nipple and the side of your breast, nipping lightly at your ear.

“Let’s get this off, shall we?” You groaned softly and bucked your hips against him, raising your arms to allow him to pull the tunic over your head and discard it. He took a moment to take you in with hungry eyes, murmuring an appreciative “I am humbled before such beauty.” Then he was upon you again, placing hot kisses and nips down the side of your neck, cupping a breast softly in his hand and drawing his tongue over your sensitive nipple, relishing every sigh and moan he elicited from you. His every move shot trembling pleasure through you and it was all you could do not to collapse into a moaning puddle. You ran your fingers through his dark hair and bucked your hips against him as he sucked gently on your nipple, grazing his teeth lightly against your skin. His hands were all at once at your waist, or grabbing your hips, or gently caressing your back, it was hard to keep track. You shuddered softly with pleasure and murmured quietly, “Murag..” He kissed your throat, smirk still at his lips.

“No good, we’ll have to do better than that. Come here.”

He laid flat on his back and grabbed your rear to coax you up over his chest. You were confused at first, but realisation quickly dawned and you felt a hot rush of embarrassment cut through your pleasure. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t I..?” You trailed off, allowing him to pull you up to straddle his face.

“Please accept my prayer at your altar.” He had a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he looked up to you, getting into position. His tusks rested not uncomfortably on your inner thighs as you felt his tongue slowly, lightly drag and pry up the length of your slit. You shuddered and groaned, reaching out to the wall in front of you for support as bolts of fizzling pleasure shot up from your clit over your belly and chest . From behind you his fingers slipped between your lips and rubbed softly against your entrance, being covered in your juices and causing you to moan and buck against them with your eyes screwed shut. You could tell that were the wettest you’d ever been and his teasingly light touches made your clit ache to be touched. Your thighs already wobbled, their ability to support you dubious. Humming softly with satisfaction, he nuzzled his face closer into you and pressed his tongue broadly and softly against your clit, pushing a finger into you at the same time.

“Ah!” you cried out as jolts of hot pleasure and relief tingled all over your body. You ground your hips roughly against his mouth and he moaned against you in approval. Graciously giving you what you wanted, he pressed his tongue more firmly against your clit and started to move it in lazy circles, sliding his finger in and out of you in a slow rhythm and causing you to feel a tight squeeze of pleasure around your middle. His free hand caressed your breast lightly and you could feel his gaze on your face without having to open your eyes. You moaned loudly, one hand on the wall for support and the other tangled in his hair as you thrusted roughly against his mouth. Surprising yourself, you already felt the hot tension of a burgeoning orgasm building and were almost upset that the hot shudders of pleasure coursing over your skin were going to be over soon. Tugging you from that thought, he pushed a second finger inside you along with the first, pumping them slowly as he pleasured you with his hot tongue. The feeling of fullness was nearly enough to tip you over the edge on its own and you panted heavily whilst moaning. “M-murag, please. Please, I’m close.” He groaned against you, the vibrations ending another jolt of pleasure through your clit into your core, and pushed a third finger inside you, pumping them faster. Feeling your leg shudder, he moved his free hand to support your thigh by the side of his head as it started to give out. You felt the white heat of pleasure build from his tongue moving ever more hungrily against your clit and start to rack your whole body. “Murag!” You cried out as you thrust roughly against his mouth one last time, your body starting to shake as your orgasm took hold, the shocks of pleasure crashing against you so much more intense than when you were alone. His hand held your thigh in place slightly more roughly as he slowed but didn’t stop his circles around your clit, letting you ride out the waves of pleasure with softer moans and gasping breaths. Only when you’d subsided into panting did he pull his face away from you slightly and slowly remove his fingers from inside you. He kissed your mound tenderly and rested his head back against the pillow with an incredibly satisfied grin on his face. Your whole body felt soft and out of your control. You cracked open your eyes to look down at him desperately, thighs feeling incredibly weak. There was a moment of silence as you looked at each other, smug grin to red faced plea for help.

“You can’t move, can you?” He enquired sweetly.

Your heavy sigh escaped through smiling lips. “Can you help me down? I don’t want to knee you in the face..” He laughed and took your weight, lifting you off him and rolling you back onto the bed next to him.

You cuddled up to him instantly, feeling distinctly blissful. “That was… “ you pressed your forehead to his chest, mind floating as you took in his scent with deep ragged breaths. Words failed you. “…wow.” You heard the rumble of his laugh deep in his chest as he stroked your back and pulled you in for a hug.

“I promised worship.” He answered simply. “And when your legs work,” you could hear the smirk in his voice “I’ll make you breakfast.” You groaned loudly and wrapped your arms tightly around him, not believing your luck.

“And then he just got up and cooked some bacon.” You finished triumphantly, slapping the wooden table for effect as you leaned back in your chair. Emmeline’s whole face was pink and her mouth was agape.

“What?!” She exclaimed. “You need to seal the deal, you’ve found the perfect man.” She paused for a couple of seconds and then smiled. “Well, approximation of a man.” You laughed. “And he could teach that husband of mine a thing or two about praying at altars.” She added with what sounded suspiciously like a huff.

“I might rent him out for husband lessons if things go quiet at the shop.” You mused. “Obviously, with steep discounts for people with wives desperately in need.” She nodded seriously at you. “So, considering he can cook, is demonstrably acceptable in bed, and wants to wed.. I thought I might visit the council today and ask about the process. For ah, sealing the deal.” You sipped your water, hoping Emmeline would be able to furnish you with the benefits of her experience..

“Oh, there’s nothing to it.” She replied quickly as though trying to trap you in the subject before you changed your mind, taking your hand across the table. “It’s just papers. Since we don’t have a temple it’s up to couples to arrange their own ceremony if they want one, but you can be married in the eyes of the council for the sake of 10 copper and an hour getting paperwork stamped.”

“Hm,” You mulled it over, aside from the snide and intensely tedious comments you’d be faced with if Aveniel was the councilman you spoke to, it sounded like a pretty painless process. But you’d need time to think over the… ramifications in full before signing anything.

“I can go and get the paperwork for you today if you like?” She offered brightly. “The sooner we’re both embittered wives with husbands out of town for weeks on end, the sooner we can start our torrid affair.” You cackled, still holding onto her hand.

“That would be much appreciated, thank you. I’ll have to actually buy some finery to dress in for you, at this rate.”

You spent your afternoon tending the forge, finishing a special request for the Ring and Raven before beginning work on another orc-scale axe to put in the window, as you had carelessly used the first to ensnare a husband. You were interrupted a few times by customers coming into the shop and faced a few complaints that you’d been keeping odd hours recently, but your patrons seemed to be of the consensus were to be forgiven on the basis of ‘young love’. Emmeline had been.. spreading the word, it seemed. With each new visitor who knew about the latest developments in your love life, your smile became more wry. That woman would never be able to keep up an affair. The dream was over.

When the ache in your back and arm became too piercing to work through, you took off your gloves and apron, peering out of the small smith window and were surprised to find that night had already drawn in. Ah. You’d promised to meet the orc band in the tavern for dinner, but the darkness outside and the newly noticed gnawing feeling in your belly hinted that you might be a little late. You quickly abandoned plans to change out of your work clothes before heading over, stuffed your finished commission for the tavern into a sack, and headed out into the night.

The bar floor was thrumming with conversation, fuller than you’d seen it in a long while. It seems like most of the town had turned out for a drink. Surrounded by women in pretty flowing dresses, you suddenly felt a little self conscious in your sleeveless sweat-stained work gear, but swallowed the feeling as you saw Emmeline behind the bar grinning at you.

“Well met, fair maiden.” She called to you across the bar room. “What have you there?”

You smiled in response and walked up to meet her, using both hands to hoist the sack onto the bar, where it jangled slightly. “It’s finally finished!”

Emmeline squealed with happiness and immediately set about removing the burlap from your creation. “I was worried you’d be too distracted with romance…” She trailed off and went silent as she pulled off the covering, to reveal a very large twisted iron ring, with a black iron bird perched within it. Two chains attached to the top of the ring would allow them to fasten the new sign in place of the weathered wooden board they currently had hanging outside.

“Luckily for you, I still need to eat.” You replied happily, searching her face for any sign of disapproval and feeling very relieved to find none. “Do you like it?”

“My sweet lady,” she was gazing at the ironwork with a look of great admiration, “this is the finest work of art I’ve ever had the pleasure to hold in my hands.” She replied breathlessly, then quickly planted the piece on the counter and leaned across the bar to cup your face in both hands and pepper your cheeks and nose with tickling kisses. You laughed and crinkled your nose, pulling back away from her in embarrassment.

It was then that you felt a hand gently placed at your lower back, heat radiating through the thin fabric of your work tunic. A familiar amused growl sounded behind you. “So this is where you’ve been, wooing a bride.”

You chuckled, “Very effectively, I may add.” You glanced up to him, feeling a residual rush of embarrassment as you remembered your morning together. You caressed his stomach briefly with the back of your hand. “Sorry I’m late, it was afternoon one moment and night the next.”

“And this is the fruit of your labour?” He pulled the iron ring around to look at it the right way up.

Emmeline was ecstatic. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It is.” He agreed, sounding awestruck. “Artist, blacksmith, siren..”

Emmeline picked up where he trailed off with a grin, “Breath haltingly beautiful, intelligent, wickedly funny.. Oh!” She produced an envelope from behind the bar and placed it atop the counter before Murag, tapping the wax seal of the council significantly with her finger. “And wife! You’re a lucky boy, treat her right or I’ll snap her up.”

“Wife?” Murag arched an eyebrow at Emmeline, plucking the envelope from the counter and opening it. You peered over at him as he did so and saw the marriage certificate he extricated from the papery fold, with both of your names written in neat script and the Hainau council stamp at the bottom.

“Yep, they were really keen.” Emmeline was speaking faster than usual and seemed a bit too happy, clearly worried she might be in trouble. “Idesia asked me to pick up the paperwork for you to look at today but seeings as neither of you have fathers here to ask for assent, they just approved the union. Congratulations!” She clapped a few times, looking between you quickly before adding. “Anyway I’ll go and get your money for the sign, wait here.” She all but ran from the bar, through the door to the back.

You were dumbstruck with eyes fixed on the paper in Murag’s hands. You’d agreed (under what some would call duress) to the idea of getting engaged that morning, and yet here you stood with a legally bound husband before turn of day. Your mouth had gone completely dry and the slow fire building in your lungs told you you hadn’t taken a breath as you stared unblinkingly at the paper.

“Are you going to faint?” He asked with amusement, eyeing you with a keen interest and tucking the certificate back into the envelope.

It was just what you needed to hear to break through the panic rising in your chest and neck and you laughed breathlessly. You squeezed his arm and leant forward to press your head against his chest, still laughing. He stroked your hair and held your head in place whilst you worked through your hysterical giggles.

“You’re going to faint.” He added certainly, which only added fuel to the fire of your laughter.

By the time you were done, tears were streaming down your face and your breath came only in gasps. You pulled away from Murag to wipe your eyes and saw Emmeline standing back behind the bar, watching you with obvious concern. As you met her eyes, she slid a leather pouch towards you across the bar: it was about a third bigger than you’d been expecting, perhaps her form of a wedding gift…. or apology.

“Here you are, love!” She chirped too happily. “Thanks again for your work.”

You felt Murag watching you intently, with the envelope he’d been handed now nowhere to be seen.

“I’d better buy a round then, I suppose. Where are we sitting?”

You were greeted with a cheer when you arrived at the table with arms full of brimming tankards, and you grinned widely, grateful for their boisterous happiness to drown out the shock you’d just had from the forefront of your mind. A chair was pulled out for you in front of a plate of cold cuts and cheese, which based on their slightly warm and wilted quality had probably been placed there several hours earlier. One of the pieces of ham had a bite taken out of it.

“Sorry I’m late, please accept my ale-based apology.” You tried to look suitably ashamed of yourself, but it was difficult whilst stuffing your mouth with cheese and slices of meat.

“Forgiven!!” Bellowed Turge loudly whilst taking a new tankard from the bouquet you’d arrived with. He flared his nostrils at you briefly before turning to regard Murag significantly with a grin on his face. “I knew I should have killed you for your spot at the blacksmith.”

Onog cackled. “She wouldn’t stink of orc, sweat and sex if you’d been the one gracing her floor, fool.”

You smirked and joined the fray, rolling your eyes at Turge, “You’d be blind, castrated and wandering the woods, wondering where it all went wrong…” Your barmates roared with laughter and slapped your back harder than you’d have liked. You went back to inhaling your supper as they drank and mocked each other, but you couldn’t help but feel comforted by their company: they were a very welcome break from the stuffy town folk you’d been spending most of your time with.

Nursing your drink with the clamour of other bar-goers around you, you started to feel the reality of your situation wash against the shores of your mind. What had really changed? If you wanted to oust the orc from your home you’d need to get the council to stamp a piece of paper. What more? Nothing, really. You took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to rid your muscles of the tension you felt in your whole body. No need to panic, everything was alright.

You felt a hand on your knee and placed your own hand on top if it, giving it a gentle squeeze but finding it strangely difficult to meet the eyes of your new husband.

Orc boyfriend - 5/? - noticing some wooing

Tue, 26 Dec 2017 20:01:23 -0500

You awoke the next morning to the smell of cooking sausages and grinned into your pillow. Stretching and groaning quietly with happiness as you felt the sleep-knotted muscles in your shoulders and lower back unravel.

“My mistress awakens at last.” Came the happy croon from the room beyond your bed and you laughed, the absurdity of having a massive orc cooking you breakfast and wooing you with jars of pickles hitting you in that moment.

“G’morning.” You greeted, and were surprised to see Murag’s face peek around the side of the bookcase at you.

“May I come in?”

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Was this what passed for romance? You tried to subtly check that your nightshirt was buttoned up before murmuring a distinctly uncertain reply, “Certainly.”

Before you had time to regret the invitation, your suitor was already beneath the bed sheets next to you, looking very pleased with himself. You looked to him with thinly veiled annoyance before he piped up, “I’ve brought breakfast for my lady.”

This immediately perked you up. “Really?” You sat up next to him and saw he was brandishing a plate of sausages and pickles at you. “Oo.” You plucked the plate from his grasp and placed it in your lap, sitting cross legged and turning so that your back was against the wall. He shuffled slightly closer to you so that your folded legs were touching his warm belly as you eagerly tucked in to your breakfast. He laid quietly, watching you eat with a self satisfied smile gracing his lips. When you seemed distracted by your meal, he reached out a hand and gently placed it on your calf, caressing gently with his thumb. You looked at his hand, then his face, but didn’t push him away. You were alarming yourself with what you’d allow for a cooked breakfast.

After making short work of your meal, you let out a happy sigh and looked down to him, actually taking him in for what felt like the first time that morning. “I could definitely get used to this treatment.” You chirped happily and grinned at him, and he took the plate from your lap, leaning back slightly to drop it to the floor.

“Your morning gets better still.” He opened his arms up to you, clearly meaning for you to melt into his embrace. You laughed softly and unfolded your legs in preparation for climbing over him and out of bed, but he took your movement as acceptance of his offer and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in to his chest. You made a squawk of disapproval as your head hit the pillow but, finding him just smiling lovingly at your face rather than rutting against your leg, your annoyance didn’t last long. And he was.. very warm. And you were still quite tired. Letting out a relaxed sigh, you unembarrasedly cuddled up to him and he rolled relentingly onto his back to allow you to rest your head on his chest with his arm wrapped around you. You squeezed an arm around his waist and yawned, closing your eyes again. You heard a low grumble of satisfaction in his chest as you slipped gently back towards sleep.

You awoke again before too long, finding your hair had been brushed carefully away from your face. And also that you’d left quite a substantial puddle of dribble on Murag’s chest. You buffed it away with the cuff of your night shirt whilst murmuring a quiet “oops” and heard the familiar rumble of his laugh. He caressed your lower back with the arm he had wrapped around you.

“I’m spending most of my life waiting for you to wake up.”

“And I’m spending most of my life waiting to be fed.” You muttered back to him, scratching an itch on your nose by rubbing your whole face against bare his chest, wrapping your arm back around his waist and relaxing back against him, ignoring how hot your cheeks and neck felt.

“Tell me, siren.” His tone was light and amused. “Has every one of your suitors left your embrace with broken bones? So I know what I’m letting myself in for.”

You raised your head to look him in the eyes, your faces a few inches apart. You arched an eyebrow at him. “They told you about that?”

His grin was infectious. “They wanted to make clear that you would easily hobble me if I acted disrespectfully towards you.”

Your expression twisted into a smirk as you replied teasingly. “I didn’t break the handsome ones.”

He looked mock heart broken and sighed heavily, looking up to the ceiling with a thousand yard stare. “Ah, there go my chances of escaping unscathed.”

You laughed. “I didn’t want to break it to you like this.”

“That’s alright,” he nuzzled his nose against yours and the closeness sent a jolt through your belly, “I had to learn of my fate some time.” He placed a warm kiss against your forehead and before your brain could fully engage you sighed happily. There was a momentary pause before he added with a smirk. “That blush tells me you might be noticing some wooing today.”

You chuckled. “It’s.. more noticeable today.”

“I can be blunter still.” He offered, the hand at your lower back pulling your night shirt up slightly; causing seemingly every drop of blood in your body to rush to your face, belly, and the skin directly underneath his touch. It was a level of reaction you were unfamiliar with, even after your previous relationships.

“Hm, no thank you.” You nuzzled your face into his chest to hide how bright red you must have gone. “We’re at a good level of bluntness.”

He laughed and smoothed your shirt back down before caressing your hair gently. “Are you free today?”

You looked up at him with a smile on your face, “Depends, are you cooking?”

Leading you out into the forest with his new (and you’d noticed, extremely well polished, much more so than when it left your hands) war axe strapped across his back, Murag seemed positively buoyant.

“Maybe we can stop by your bath on the way back?” He offered with a grin and a glance to you. “You’ve been sleeping in that blood stained tunic for a while.”

“Are you saying I smell?” You challenged him flatly, shifting the fishing gear you were carrying into a more comfortable position.

“I’m just a humble orc offering to help his lady clean herself.” He replied, placing a hand over his heart to emphasise how earnest he was being. “And I think you said something about being allowed to join you. A while ago.”

You laughed softly. “That’s very self sacrificing of you, interesting that you think you’ve done enough to ingratiate yourself to avoid being drowned.”

You didn’t need to spend a long time walking before you reached the river, primed to spend the afternoon fishing for your supper. Under Murag’s whispered instruction, you set up as quietly as possible on the bank. As it was your first time fishing, you were taken under the master’s wing: he showed you how to tie a hook on to your fishing line securely, and was very pleased when you could replicate what you’d learned the after you lost your first hook to an overzealous cast and subsequent wrangle with a tree. The enforced quiet was peaceful and you were grateful for it after all that had gone on in the last few days you’d spent together. You found that you enjoyed sitting in comfortable silence.

However, that calm started to fracture after watching him deftly flick and reel in a few fish and deposit them soundly into your bucket of river water. You couldn’t help but fix him in a steely glare, which you were surprised he didn’t feel burning against the side of his neck. You reeled in your line to check there was still bait attached, and finding it soggy but present, you flicked the line back out into the river with only a slight frown.

There was a long period of silent companionship before Murag glanced over to you and whispered with horror. “Are you eating the bait?”

You looked back to him with wide, innocent eyes. “You’re the one who packed hard boiled eggs. You’d have been safer with maggots.” He immediately erupted into cackles and you shushed him. “Don’t scare them off! I haven’t caught one yet and we’re mysteriously running out of bait.” He stifled his laughter with some difficulty then just gazed at you with eyes sparkling with amusement and adoration. For your part, you gently kicked him in the shin and returned your gaze to the river.

It was several more bait checks before the bobber on your line twitched. You were immediately yanked out of your reverie and struck as quickly as you could, with a cry of excitement escaping you as you felt resistance on the line. You had a fish! Hooked! Now what? You tried to reel it in but the resistance against you was too strong. With wide eyes, you glanced over to Murag for guidance and seeming to understand your situation completely he offered, “He’ll tire himself out. Reel when he’s not pulling.” You nodded seriously and followed his advice, feeling very watched for the whole experience. It wasn’t long before the water of the river directly before your feet was bubbling with movement, and then when you wrenched a fish from the water a moment of panic struck, but you worked through it, grabbing the net from the side of the bank and scooping your fish up as quickly as you could. It was a middling sized fish, but it was yours. Murag made a move to pluck him from the net for you, but with only a moment’s hesitation, you wrapped your hand around the fish’s slimy body, and with your other hand removed the hook from his mouth. You gently placed him into the bucket teeming with the 20 fish Murag had caught in the intervening time, but you were beaming with pride and excitement as though this was the only catch of the day. A wide grin was still plastered across your face even as you rinsed your slimy hands in the river.

“I caught a fish!” You stated happily.

“And the biggest one.” Murag agreed seriously.

You replied through bubbling laughter, “I don’t need your sweet lies.” And he grinned at you.

It was the most you’d spoken all evening. It was only then with the thrill of victory in your blood that you started to notice the prickle of cold against your skin. It was getting dark.

“Are we headed back?” He asked, rising from the bank for the first time since you’d arrived. “Now you have a tiny head to mount on your wall.”

You laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s go home, I’m looking forward to watching you scale, gut, fillet, debone and cook 20 fish.”

“Are you not helping?” There was a laugh on the edge of his voice.

“I’m more of a muse than an assistant.” You replied seriously, meeting his eyes. His laughter brought a smile to your face.

With you carrying all of the gear and him carrying a heavy barrel full of water and fish, you made slower progress back towards the village. By the time you reached the pool a short walk from the gate you were both ready to stop for a rest, and darkness was upon you fully.

You paused a moment to look up at the stars winking down at you, then glanced over to Murag, who took his cue to coyly mention:

“So, about that bath then.”

“You just want to get me naked.” You accused him, but there was a smile on your face.

“It’s night!” He protested. “What can I see?”

“Hm, it would be nice for you to smell less.. musky.”

“It’s settled then!” He laughed, putting down the barrel with a heavy slosh and, as far as you could tell from his silhouette, pulling his tunic over his head as he traipsed towards the pool.

With only a mild feeling of apprehension, you followed the path you knew along the side of the pool to the water’s edge, and were just slipping out of your dress when you heard a splash from the other side of the water, then the sound of Murag (you hoped) swimming towards you. Dress carefully hung on a low branch near the water’s edge so it didn’t get muddy, you kicked off your boots and slipped into the water. It was slightly cooler than in the daytime, but still very pleasant. You only had a moment to acclimatise before you felt Murag’s warm chest against your own, and his arm wrapping around your waist. “Finally,” he muttered quietly near your ear, “I get to join my siren.”

You felt a sudden surge in heat to your face and your belly, and tried to defuse the tension and embarrassment you were feeling with a joke. “It would have been sad if you’d slipped and broken your neck on your way to achieving your dream.”

“No worry there.” You could feel his grin without having to actually see it. “Orcs have great low light vision, which I have recently been made very grateful for.”

Both your cry of indignation and his belly laugh were cut short as he gently placed a hand on the side of your neck and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You immediately melted against him, eagerly returning the kiss and exploring his arms and chest with your hands. He grunted softly in satisfaction and coaxed you to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself flush against his warm body. You felt tingles of excitement over your skin and it was all you could do not to moan against him, pressed together like this under the starry sky. It was only a moment before you felt the graze of teeth against your ear and the warmth of soft kisses against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat.

“I’m noticing some wooing happening right now.” You murmured into his ear with a smile tugging at your lips.

“Good.” He ran a hand down your back and along the back of your thigh to wrap your leg around his waist, pressing your back against the cool mud bank at the side of the pool. “I was worried I was being too subtle.”

You stayed there for a while trading soft kisses before the chill of the water became too much and you were forced to dry off and re-dress. As the darkness enveloped you, you found yourself very grateful for Murag’s guiding hand on your lower back as you made your way back up the winding path.

By the time you got home you were truly exhausted, and dumped the fishing gear unceremoniously on the floor as soon as you entered the smith. You traipsed through to your home, yawning as you went. You were followed through by your suitor, who seemed buoyed by your evening’s activities.

When he saw you reach for your night shirt on your way towards your bed, he exclaimed. “Surely you’re not putting that bloody rag back on?”

You laughed. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your hard evening’s toil,” you looked him up and down briefly, “but yes, I was intending to wear it.”

He walked towards you and plucked the shirt from your hands. “What do you need this for, anyway?”

“Warmth?” You offered.

He brushed a lock of soggy hair behind your ear happily. “But you have me.”

“.. Modesty?”

He chuckled softly and pulled his tunic up over his head, handing it to you. “If you insist.”

Freshly clad in a tunic which smelled distinctly of soggy orc, you climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over yourself. You counted 9 seconds before Murag appeared, silhouetted against the windows. “May I join you, my lady?” He enquired innocently.

You looked over to him and answered with a tone of mock suspicion. “Depends, can I trust you to be a gentleman?”

He laughed. “Absolutely not, but I don’t want to get my hands broken.”

You grinned and shuffled back towards the wall to make room for him, opening up the blankets next to you. “Come on then, you do make a good pillow. Very absorbent.”

“I had always dreamed a beautiful woman would say that about me one day.” He answered back wryly.

It only took a few moments for you to be wrapped in his embrace with your cheek resting against his chest and your arm around his waist. You nuzzled into him softly and let out a contented sigh.

What lovely readers you are

Tue, 26 Dec 2017 17:16:49 -0500

Hi everyone, just a little note to say how grateful I am for the comments and asks you’ve been leaving about enjoying the story so far. Reading all of your delightful messages is great motivation to keep writing and gives me the warm fuzzles. Next installment shortly.

the orc story you’re writing is beautiful and it makes me smile so so so unbelievably much. i love it. the world you’ve built is just as fantastic and interesting as your characters. i can’t wait to see how you shape their relationship into romance as the story progresses ♥️♥️

Tue, 26 Dec 2017 17:11:27 -0500

Thank you so much! Really lovely of you to take the time to write me a message :) I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story. What great inspiration to keep writing

Orc boyfriend - 4/? - a steel dowry

Mon, 25 Dec 2017 20:01:25 -0500

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

You awoke with a bolt of fear striking your belly as a loud rumble pierced the darkness. You sat up straight, with eyes wide and mouth open, completely silent as you listened for the source of the noise. It was only a second before it reappeared, a loud low drone, halfway between a roar and a grunt. What was going on? An attack on the town? A monster from the forest?

Wait.

The memory of the night before trickled back through your sleep startled brain. There was someone else here.. Could they be making the noise?

As it shook the darkness once more, you recognised it for what it was: orc snoring. You collapsed back onto the bed with an annoyed groan and pulled your pillow over your head to mute the noise. It was going to be a long month.

When morning came, you came to your senses immediately aware that you were dribbling over your mattress. Laying on your belly, you raised your head slightly and registered the smell of roasting meat and rosemary permeating your home. It smelled delicious. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

“G’morning.” You half grunted, assuming your guest was up and about.

“The siren awakens at last!” Came the laughing reply.

You couldn’t help but smile as you got out of bed, shuffling barefooted around the bookcase into the full light of the room beyond. You found Murag sitting in an armchair peeling meat off a roast leg of deer onto a wooden plate. You picked up a cup and dunked it into a bucket of fresh water to fill it before sitting next to him.

“That smells great, how did you sleep?”

“As well as anyone can 10 paces from a siren.” He grinned at you, licking meat juices running down the wrist of the hand holding the deer leg and shaking the wooden plate he held in the other at you. “Will this do you?”

You glanced down at the small mountain of delicately peeled meat pieces. “Oh, yes. Thank you.” You gratefully accepted the plate from his outstretched hand and put it in your lap. “You must have been awake for hours?” It was half statement, half question.

As soon as both of his hands were free he started tearing meat directly off the bone with his teeth. “First light.” He grunted in agreement. “I was in charge of breakfast.” His grin, though wet with deer juice, was surprisingly endearing.

You took a piece of meat from the plate in your lap and put it into your mouth whole. The rosemary aroma filled your senses and the meat itself was moist and tender, melting into your tongue like warm butter. This was closer to a divine experience than any meat you’d ever managed to produce. “Oh my.” You exclaimed, more to your plate than your companion. You looked up to Murag with wide eyes and confided in him earnestly. “If you’re providing breakfasts like this, you can stay forever.”

He laughed loud and long. “Worth waking at first light!” You already had a mouth full of meat. “And if my lady will let me live forever at her side for the sake of half a roast leg, I wonder what she’d give me for a full meal?” His raised his eyebrows at you with a wide grin, and unable to properly retort with a mouth full of breakfast, it was all you could do to kick him.

Your guest left you early, explaining that he and the rest of the band were going on a hunting trip to allow them to start bringing in some gold, and may not be back for a day or two depending on their luck. Suited you fine, even if it did mean you were going to have to feed yourself.

Standing in the hot smithy in your apron and gloves, you turned a half finished axe head over in your hands, looking ponderous. Well, if orcs were going to start settling in Hainau, it wouldn’t hurt to start practicing making orc-scale weapons for your new patrons, would it? You picked up a scrap of paper and a pencil and started scratching up some ideas.

With a picture of what you wanted to make in mind, you wandered through to your home to see if Murag had left any weapons amongst his sparse luggage so you could get an idea of what the correct size would be. Thankfully, he had left a sword between the straw mattress and the wall. You picked it up with some difficulty but turning it through the air you immediately dismissed it as not only being very poorly balanced, but just generally of incredibly poor make. Maybe this is why orcs traded in meat instead of arms. You could do much better than this. Dragging it back through to the smithy with you, a smile spread across your face. A project.

The making-trance was meditative: holding you in its embrace for what felt like no time at all, until Emmeline appeared in your doorway and you noticed it was already night.

“Good evening, stranger!” She greeted you with a warm smile, closing the door behind her. “Figured I’d check you didn’t get murdered by that orc, as I’ve not seen you all day.”

“Oof, another day without seeing me in my finery, I’m sorry love.” You peeled off your gloves and drifted over to meet her, walking in to her open arms as acceptance of her embrace. She held you tightly for a moment and then released you, looking into your eyes with her hand upon your arm.

“Was it alright? Having him here?”

“He snores like a pig!” You laughed. “But he makes a good breakfast. So all considered I have no complaints.”

She pouted and looked at you admonishingly. “He’s been feeding you? Oh no. How will I keep my hold on your heart with this competition?” She placed her basket down upon an empty work surface and started rummaging through it. “Nonetheless, I have supplies.”

“You know you’ll always be my greatest love.” You replied earnestly. “We’d be wed already if that swine hadn’t swept you off your feet first.”

She giggled back at you, placing a gingham cloth swaddled package into your hands. “You’d say anything for pastries.”

You spent the rest of the evening hosting Emmeline, being fed pieces of cheese and sweet mead. She was the first and foremost amongst your friends here, and you were grateful to see more of her when her husband was out of town making his rounds between the tavern and the brewery.

The next morning you were right back to work with the single minded determination of a hunter with the whiff of prey on the air. You loved to have a project and you always struggled not to dedicate every waking moment to your latest creation. It wasn’t long before you’d moved from the anvil to the grinder, then from the grinder to the file. By the middle of the third day, your masterpiece was complete.

The double headed war axe was on the same scale as Murag’s sword, but the weight was perfect and it sliced through the air with grace and ease. The blades were sharp enough to split hairs. The soft wound leather of the grip was gracefully woven. You were very proud of your creation and couldn’t wait to have it at the front of the shop’s display, showing off your skill to your new found customers. Maybe you’d get Murag to test it out when he got back. It was only then, with the project focus blinkers removed, that you started to wonder when he’d be returning. It was the third day the party had been gone, and you’d always known these woods to be positively laden with fat and inattentive deer: it was surprising they’d yet to return with a kill. Your stomach growled, piercing through the silence of the forge, and you realised that you hadn’t eaten anything since Emmeline had left over a day ago. Trudging back into your home, you resolved that you definitely needed a wife to look after you as you clearly couldn’t be expected to take any care of yourself.

You awoke the next morning to the sound of someone trying to get into the locked door of the smithy. From the grey dawn light trickling in through the windows, you guessed it was too early to be a customer. When the slightly-too-hard knock at the door followed, you didn’t realise a grin spread across your face as you made sure your night shirt was buttoned up and made your way towards the smith door.

You unbolted the door and pulled it inward, smiling at your visitor and finding him laden with bags, thankfully none of which seemed to be dripping with blood. “Good morning! Welcome back. How was your trip?”

“Good morning, my lady.” He replied happily as he followed you into the smith. You took a couple of bags from him unthinkingly and he seemed surprised to have been given the help, but you didn’t register it any further than that as you led him through to your home behind the smiths. “A very good hunt!” He crooned after you, following you through. “Good price for deer meat in the city, and I’ve brought gifts.”

“Gifts!” You exclaimed as you placed the bags you were carrying carefully down on the floor and started kindling a fire in the hearth to relieve some of the chill against your bare legs. “I love to be given gifts, especially edible ones.”

“I was hoping that would be the case.”

Fire started, you sat down in your chair and looked up to Murag with bright and expectant eyes, drumming excitedly against your knees with your palms. “Go on, go on. What did you get?”

He seemed to be brimming with happiness and amusement at your reaction, and started to untie the knot on one of the bags he’d brought back with him. Producing in turn a rainbow of assorted fruit wines, an entire wheel of unknown cheese, jars of pickles, and some dried spiced meat. When each gift was revealed your oohs and ahhs of appreciation grew more impassioned, which only caused his face to split into a wider grin. “Happy?”

“These are wonderful gifts, thank you! And I’m doubly glad you’re back,” you paused a moment for effect, “because I’ve barely eaten in three days.” You regarded him gravely. You’d intended it as a joke based on his disregard for his breakfast duties, but he suddenly looked concerned.

“Why’s that?” His eyes suddenly flickered to the dried blood stain on the belly of your night shirt, before he realised it was from his gift of an deer leg the night he moved in and seemed to relax slightly.

“I’ve been busy!” You replied without thinking, surprising yourself with how flustered it made you to see him upset. “I’ve made you a gift as well.” Ah curses, there goes three days pay. Maybe he’d convince his friends to buy from you, at least.

“You did?” He immediately brightened. “I’m honoured by a gift from a siren? What did you make me?” He was visibly excited at the thought of receiving a present, and your immediate regret at offering it to him fizzled away slightly.

“Close your eyes, I’ll be right back.” You walked around him and scuttered barefoot through to the cold smithy, regretting your lack of socks. You quickly collected your orc-scale war axe from behind the counter and paused to give it a quick polish with the end of your night shirt before returning to your home. You regarded Murag with a smile as he stood there looking a picture of expectation with his eyes screwed shut.

“Hands out.” You commanded.

He dutifully produced both of his hands, and you gently laid the axe across them both. He opened his eyes immediately and regarded the weapon with awe. He looked from you to it and back again quickly. “For me?”

“I couldn’t have you waving that pig-steel bar you call a sword around any longer, it was making me sick.” You returned with an easy grin.

He moved the axe through the air experimentally, feeling its weight and testing the balance. Then he rubbed his thumb gently against the blade, seeming unperturbed when a rose of blood appeared on the pad. “This is a masterwork.” He rumbled seriously, placing the weapon head down on the floor and leaning the handle against the wall. You couldn’t help but blush slightly at the praise. “There’s only one thing for it.” He held out his hand do you, and you reached out to join hands with him without putting much thought into it. He knelt before you, holding your hand in his. “We’ll have to wed.”

The laughter which spilled out of you was immediate, you went to pull your hand away from him but he held it fast. “For an axe?” You giggled, surprising yourself. “And you mocked me for offering you a home for a breakfast.”

His expression was unchanged. “For an axe, for a beautiful siren who haunts my dreams to be mine. What will it take?”

As it started to dawn on you that he was serious, you glanced down to your joined hands, feeling your whole face and neck start to heat up. “Hm, you’d have to woo me, I suppose.” You’d intended it to sound a lot more like a joke than it ended up doing, and were finding it surprisingly difficult to meet his eyes.

He grinned up at you and placed his free hand on your calf as he knelt before you, the warm touch welcome against your cold skin. “Is that not what I have been doing?”

You grinned back at him and replied easily. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“In that case, it’s not going as well as I’d thought.”

“I mean, a jar of pickles is a good start.”

He laughed then as he stood before you, a hint of a challenge in his stance. “I can do better than that.”

Orc boyfriend - 3/? - a new house guest

Sun, 24 Dec 2017 16:40:30 -0500

Part 1

Part 2

Just as you had predicted that afternoon, it wasn’t long before councilman Aveniel Lee sought you out at the tavern. You heard him before you saw him, recognising the sound of him limping down the wooden stairs from the entrance to the bar floor immediately even with your back turned to his approach. Your stomach sank impossibly lower, but at least this time it was heavy with bacon.

“Afternoon, miss.” He croaked to you in greeting and you turned to him with a weary smile.

“Good afternoon councilman. Please, sit with me.”

He grunted in affirmation and took the stool opposite you. He was many years your senior, with a long grey beard and an enviable shining bald head. Swathed in robes of inky blue and clutching onto a yew staff, he looked every part the wizened old sorcerer, but he mostly just collected business taxes and scolded people for disobedience.

“Know why I’m here, I ‘spect?” he fixed you in a calculating stare.

“To tell me my attacker was apprehended as soon as he admitted his crime against me, I hope?”

He threw open his arms and gesticulated towards you with exasperation. “No way for a lady to behave, this. Crunching up hands and such. Ruined his sword hand for coupla month I ‘spect. No regret!”

“Forgive me, councilman, but the lesson you ought to be teaching here is ‘don’t attack the blacksmith’, not ‘the blacksmith should roll over for any man who glances her way and be grateful for it’.” You knew that impertinence would only make your situation worse, but you couldn’t help yourself.

From the bar, you heard Emmeline add a heartfelt, “Hear hear!”

Aveniel glared at Emmeline and then at you, and was silent for several long moments before his face split in a smile which made you feel incredibly uneasy.

“As it happens, the town is in need of someone so willing to… assert themselves. So I ‘spect we’ll be able to avoid banishing you into the woods for another month.”

Your eyebrows twitched upwards, bidding him to continue.

“We had a merry band of orcs join us in our chambers this morning, asking us to allow them to settle in Hainau. We’d like to be able to accept them but the townspeople are,” he coughed, “hesitant to trust their kind, given our past experiences of orcs within the walls past nightfall.”

“Right?” You were unable to see how this could possibly involve you.

“Emmeline won’t have them stay at the inn, beings as she’s here alone overnight, what could she do if they got out of hand? So we’re suggesting they stay with residents who can keep them… under control, if required. And if they prove trustworthy, we’ll allow them buy a parcel of land and settle.”

You didn’t much fancy the idea of four orcs sleeping on the floor of the smithy. “Oh.”

Avaneil was still smiling that unsettling smile. “We’ve room for two at the hunters lodge, one in the barracks of the wall guard, and I ‘spect you’d be able to take on the fourth, What with how happy you are to use your hammer in place of feminine wiles.”

“I see.” You sipped your drink thoughtfully. In fairness, despite your initial reaction, the orc party you met the previous day had been fine and you owed them a couple of drinks anyway. But, it didn’t hurt for the council to think you were under significant duress. “You ask a lot of me, councilman. How long would this be for?”

“Call it a month, or until you have to break his hands.” His smile was fixed.

Furrowing your brow, a snap of concern appeared in your expression. “If I’m to risk my safety and host this brute for you, I want your word that I’ll never again be admonished for defending myself from your citizens.”

“Alright, you have my word.” Victory was sparkling in his eyes.

You sighed as heavily as you could muster, doing your best to look defeated and under the thumb. “Alright then, I’ll do it.”

It had been mostly an issue of laziness which had caused you to set up the extra bed in your home rather than on the smithy floor: at least this way you could just leave it where it was rather than have to tidy it away every morning so your customers weren’t treading all over orc bed sheets and then put it back in place every evening. You’d removed the legs of your table and stacked it against the wall to make room for the straw mattress. Luckily you had extra bedding so it wasn’t too much of an undertaking to get the whole thing set up. However, with the practicalities of making room for your new guest out of the way, you started to have second thoughts about how easy it was going to be to have to be on guard every hour of day and night for a month. Still, nothing you could do about it for now.

It took long enough for your guest to arrive that by the time the knock at the door came, it found you swaddled in a blanket with the soles of your feet pointed squarely at the fire, with its orange glow being reflected brightly back by the darkened windows. Startled out of your reverie, you glared accusingly towards the door for a moment before setting down your mug and lurching to your feet, the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders.

After scuttering across the cold floor of the darkened smithy in your bare feet, you pulled open the front door and were slightly relieved to find a face you could match to a name.

“Murag!” You exclaimed, sounding much more joyful than you’d intended to. “Welcome!”

His face split into a grin at his welcome to your home and he followed you into the smith as you stepped back to allow him entrance, having to duck under the doorway to avoid bashing his head. “Good evening, siren. Did I wake you?”

You closed the door behind him to keep the cool night air at bay and shook your head. “I was waiting up.” Now that he was inside and bathed in slightly more light, you could see that not only was he holding what seemed to be a bleeding whole hind leg of a deer, but he had a fresh cut from his right shoulder almost all the way down to his belly button. “…Looks like you’ve had an eventful evening?” you ventured.

He proffered you the leg with pride. “I couldn’t arrive without a gift for my new landlady.”

With only a moment’s hesitation, you freed your arms from the blanket to accept the oozing stump with a smile. “Thank you… So rare nowadays that a gentleman gives a lady an entire limb.”

He laughed. “You’re a lucky lady, it’s true.” He looked down momentarily to the floor on which you both stood. “Am I to be here?” His tone was matter of fact.

Your eyebrows knitted together, confused that he’d think he’d be sleeping on cold bare stone. “What kind of host do you take me for? Come with me.”

Cradling the leg in your arms, you led him through the door to your home behind the blacksmith shop, which was bathed in warm orange light, with the calming sound of crackling from the fire filling the cosy space. Unsure exactly what you were meant to do with a whole leg you didn’t yet intend to cook, you placed it somewhat gingerly into an empty basket on the floor. Seemed like a problem for future you. You trudged inside towards the fire and as you placed an extra log from the pile onto the flames, you heard Murag close the door behind him and let out a happy sigh. You couldn’t help but smile along with him. Turning back towards him to find him looking at you expectantly, you gestured towards the bed where your table used to be. “That’s your bed. You’re in charge of breakfast.”

“I’ll do my best.” He grinned, placing his bag on top of the straw mattress before turning back towards you. In the full light of the fire, the cut across his chest glistened with blood, revealing how serious it really was.

“What happened to you?!” You exclaimed with horror, and he looked momentarily confused before putting his hand on his belly and grinning widely.

“This? Nothing to worry about, lady. There was just some competition for the best bedspots.”

Understanding dawned on you and you couldn’t help a wry smile from touching your lips. “Ah I see, I’m sorry you didn’t win so you could stay at the wall guards barracks.”

“It’s regrettable.” He laughed. “But Turge bested me for that honour… I’ll have to make do here.”

“I’ll warm up some water so you can wash that cut, make yourself comfortable.”

Blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, you occupied yourself in sloshing some water out of a bucket into an iron pot and hanging it carefully over the flames. You heard Murag grunt and glanced over your shoulder to find him holding what remained of his fur shirt, looking uncertain where to put it. You decided not to help, a hidden grin on your face as you fished out a smaller cooking pot from near the fire and used it to top up your own mug with the gently steaming contents, then fill another for your guest.

Holding both mugs, you returned to your comfy armchair and once again pointed the soles of your feet at the fire. You leant towards Murag, extending the mug to him. “Here you go.”

The shirtless orc joined you in the glow of the fire and gratefully accepted your offering, sitting in the chair beside yours. “Thanks, what’s this?” He took a draught from the mug before you had chance to answer.

“Warm blackberry wine. It’s my first attempt at brewing, so I apologise in advance for any sickness which might befall you.”

He chuckled easily, “It’s good.” He glanced over to you. “Blacksmith, nurse, brewer, siren. I’m surprised you don’t have a queue of suitors around the square.”

“Well I’ve lured most of them to their watery graves, of course.”

“Ah, yes. That’ll be why.”

You sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence, sipping at your drinks. Eventually you got up to check the water, and finding it warm you removed the pot from the fire and carried it over to Murag, depositing it next to him with a soft thud. After a moment more, you produced a cloth and a towel which he took from you with smile and a nod.

“I’m going to bed, so I’ll leave you to it.” As you walked around the back of his chair to go towards your bed, without thinking you placed your hand on his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze as a farewell. “Goodnight.”

When you glanced back to him, he was regarding you with surprise written across his face. It was a couple of seconds before he replied, “Sleep well.” and as you walked around the wide bookcase which separated your bed from the rest of the room, you felt your face and chest grow warmer, though you weren’t sure why.