hauntedhowlett-writes

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

monthly “i’m alive” post to signal that i have not abandoned writing, i just continue to move at a snail’s pace

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

GLADIATOR II (2024) dir. Ridley Scott for @katiecasey

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

I know I told you this privately already, but I want everyone to know what kind of monster you are (affectionate)

I'll never forgive you for making me want Tommy Miller or Leatherface.

I love you so much

AND ID DO IT AGAIN BITCH 🫵

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

“oh no, he’s hot” game — writers, reblog if you want readers to inbox you what character your writing unexpectedly/unintentionally/accidentally made them attracted to.

a confessional, if you will.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

REPRIEVE

PAIRING: emperor geta x empress!female reader

RATING: explicit | WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SUMMARY:

when angry, emperor geta seeks reprieve in his empress.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

i managed to write something for the first time in months and it’s for this absolute menace. anyway, big thanks to @pedgito and @kedsandtubesocks for letting me scream about him.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

single pov - emperor geta, no use of y/n, mild angst, established relationship, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dubcon - somnophilia (not discussed but well received), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, possessive behavior.

The stars shine brightly in the night sky by the time Emperor Geta dismisses his generals from his study with an angry shout, frustration coursing through his veins at their inability to come to an agreement for the next campaign. Despite the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, he does not return to his chambers. Instead, he turns down a dark, quiet hall. His footsteps echo on the stone in the silence and when he reaches the wooden doors flanked by guards at the end of the corridor, the men bow to him and allow him entry without question.

Your room is dark, the only light afforded to him being the faint glow of the stars through an uncovered aperture high on the far wall. The thin curtains have been drawn around your bed, shielding your sleeping form from his view. He takes a moment to remove his sandals and strip himself of his heavy robe before finding the gap in the gauzy fabric, pushing it aside to allow himself the chance to join you on the mattress.

Geta takes a moment to gaze upon your sleeping face, appreciating the serenity in your features. When the Senate had first recommended that he wed in order to present a softer image of himself to the people of Rome, he had been furious. An Emperor did not need to be soft or palatable -- he needed to be relentless, strong, and fearsome. Marriage was the last desire in his mind, especially when he had grown accustomed to the company of concubines and whores.

He does not openly admit to his growing fondness of you but he has found that in moments where his anger threatens to swallow him whole, you are the one he will seek out for reprieve, just as he does now. He leans in to kiss the sleep-warm skin of your shoulder, trailing his lips to your neck. You smell of cinnamon, spice with a hint of sweetness, a fitting dichotomy for you.

You stir beneath his attentions and he holds his breath, not wanting to wake you, not yet. When you've settled again, you rest more on your back. Geta drags the sheets from your prone form, exposing the rest of your body to him. Your nipples tighten with the rush of cold air and he takes the opportunity to run his thumb in slow circles over the sweet bud. You arch into his gentle touch, your body responding to his ministrations even while you remain under the spell of sleep.

Geta releases your breast, bringing his attention to where your shift has gathered at the tops of your thighs, exposing the course hair at their apex. He takes your nearest leg in hand and brings it toward him, your knee bending to accommodate the movement. Your cunt is already glistening for him and he bites back a groan at the sight.

His hand drifts down your belly to your center. He watches your face as he runs two of his fingers through your wetness, drawing it up over the spot that pulls moan after moan from you when he lavishes it with attention. In this instance, you gasp, hips twitching involuntarily toward his touch and he does it again, harder this time, reveling in the small whimper it drags from you.

Geta grows bold, dipping one finger inside of your tight heat. The intrusion finally breaks your slumber, your eyes fluttering open and body going momentarily stiff until you realize it is him above you and the tension melts away as fast as it came. He brings his lips to yours, his hunger for you met with an equal fervor.

"My emperor," you sigh when he breaks the kiss for a breath and to press a second finger inside of you. Your words tug at something deep in his chest, something that has blossomed despite his misgivings about the arrangement between the both of you.

"My empress," he replies, voice a deep growl as he curls his fingers and quickens his pace. "Mine."

Your eyes find his and he can't look away, lost to the way pleasure has made your eyes so dark with need. His thumb finds that sensitive nub once more, circling it in tandem with the thrust of his fingers until you're shaking with release and he swallows your moans with his greedy mouth. When your muscles relax, he pulls his hand from you and brings his fingers between your kiss, pressing the digits to your tongue and his in turn.

Geta wastes no time as you catch your breath, crawling between your spread legs and ridding himself of his tunic. His cock stands proud, the tip red and leaking as he positions himself at your entrance and slides forward into your tight heat. You gasp at the intrusion despite his earlier ministrations and wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his skin and making him hiss at the combination of pain and pleasure.

He sets a punishing pace, the wood of your bed creaking beneath his movements. You take him so well, your divine body meant for him and his cock and to carry his children--

His thoughts grow fuzzy at the notion. Your body round with his seed and your breasts full with milk and your arms cradling a small babe with golden hair and eyes that shine like yours. It's enough to make his hips falter in their rhythm, his balls growing tight with the need for release. He's panting into your neck and your hands dig into his hair, tugging at the strands as you cry out from the pleasure.

Geta does not last much longer, too overwhelmed by the feel of you squeezing his cock and the sound of you moaning his name and the thought of filling you bearing his child, the future of Rome and the legacy of his name. He presses deep, warmth coursing through him and into you as you moan his name. When he grows soft and slips free from your body, he collapses beside you, chest heaving with deep inhales of air.

"What brought you to me so late?" You ask. He turns his head and finds you already looking at him.

"Nothing for you to be concerned about," Geta replies. The high of his release wanes, leaving him feeling annoyed. Gone are the rosy images conjured by intimacy and in their place return the reminders of responsibility. He sits up, searching the sheets for his discarded tunic and pulling it on before addressing you again with a murmured, "Goodnight, wife."

"You are welcome to stay, husband."

He considers the offer, but decides against it. One moment of weakness is enough for this evening.

"Goodnight," he says again.

Thanks for reading! For more of my fics, check out my masterlist.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

REPRIEVE

PAIRING: emperor geta x empress!female reader

RATING: explicit | WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SUMMARY:

when angry, emperor geta seeks reprieve in his empress.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

i managed to write something for the first time in months and it’s for this absolute menace. anyway, big thanks to @pedgito and @kedsandtubesocks for letting me scream about him.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

single pov - emperor geta, no use of y/n, mild angst, established relationship, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dubcon - somnophilia (not discussed but well received), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, possessive behavior.

The stars shine brightly in the night sky by the time Emperor Geta dismisses his generals from his study with an angry shout, frustration coursing through his veins at their inability to come to an agreement for the next campaign. Despite the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, he does not return to his chambers. Instead, he turns down a dark, quiet hall. His footsteps echo on the stone in the silence and when he reaches the wooden doors flanked by guards at the end of the corridor, the men bow to him and allow him entry without question.

Your room is dark, the only light afforded to him being the faint glow of the stars through an uncovered aperture high on the far wall. The thin curtains have been drawn around your bed, shielding your sleeping form from his view. He takes a moment to remove his sandals and strip himself of his heavy robe before finding the gap in the gauzy fabric, pushing it aside to allow himself the chance to join you on the mattress.

Geta takes a moment to gaze upon your sleeping face, appreciating the serenity in your features. When the Senate had first recommended that he wed in order to present a softer image of himself to the people of Rome, he had been furious. An Emperor did not need to be soft or palatable -- he needed to be relentless, strong, and fearsome. Marriage was the last desire in his mind, especially when he had grown accustomed to the company of concubines and whores.

He does not openly admit to his growing fondness of you but he has found that in moments where his anger threatens to swallow him whole, you are the one he will seek out for reprieve, just as he does now. He leans in to kiss the sleep-warm skin of your shoulder, trailing his lips to your neck. You smell of cinnamon, spice with a hint of sweetness, a fitting dichotomy for you.

You stir beneath his attentions and he holds his breath, not wanting to wake you, not yet. When you've settled again, you rest more on your back. Geta drags the sheets from your prone form, exposing the rest of your body to him. Your nipples tighten with the rush of cold air and he takes the opportunity to run his thumb in slow circles over the sweet bud. You arch into his gentle touch, your body responding to his ministrations even while you remain under the spell of sleep.

Geta releases your breast, bringing his attention to where your shift has gathered at the tops of your thighs, exposing the course hair at their apex. He takes your nearest leg in hand and brings it toward him, your knee bending to accommodate the movement. Your cunt is already glistening for him and he bites back a groan at the sight.

His hand drifts down your belly to your center. He watches your face as he runs two of his fingers through your wetness, drawing it up over the spot that pulls moan after moan from you when he lavishes it with attention. In this instance, you gasp, hips twitching involuntarily toward his touch and he does it again, harder this time, reveling in the small whimper it drags from you.

Geta grows bold, dipping one finger inside of your tight heat. The intrusion finally breaks your slumber, your eyes fluttering open and body going momentarily stiff until you realize it is him above you and the tension melts away as fast as it came. He brings his lips to yours, his hunger for you met with an equal fervor.

"My emperor," you sigh when he breaks the kiss for a breath and to press a second finger inside of you. Your words tug at something deep in his chest, something that has blossomed despite his misgivings about the arrangement between the both of you.

"My empress," he replies, voice a deep growl as he curls his fingers and quickens his pace. "Mine."

Your eyes find his and he can't look away, lost to the way pleasure has made your eyes so dark with need. His thumb finds that sensitive nub once more, circling it in tandem with the thrust of his fingers until you're shaking with release and he swallows your moans with his greedy mouth. When your muscles relax, he pulls his hand from you and brings his fingers between your kiss, pressing the digits to your tongue and his in turn.

Geta wastes no time as you catch your breath, crawling between your spread legs and ridding himself of his tunic. His cock stands proud, the tip red and leaking as he positions himself at your entrance and slides forward into your tight heat. You gasp at the intrusion despite his earlier ministrations and wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his skin and making him hiss at the combination of pain and pleasure.

He sets a punishing pace, the wood of your bed creaking beneath his movements. You take him so well, your divine body meant for him and his cock and to carry his children--

His thoughts grow fuzzy at the notion. Your body round with his seed and your breasts full with milk and your arms cradling a small babe with golden hair and eyes that shine like yours. It's enough to make his hips falter in their rhythm, his balls growing tight with the need for release. He's panting into your neck and your hands dig into his hair, tugging at the strands as you cry out from the pleasure.

Geta does not last much longer, too overwhelmed by the feel of you squeezing his cock and the sound of you moaning his name and the thought of filling you bearing his child, the future of Rome and the legacy of his name. He presses deep, warmth coursing through him and into you as you moan his name. When he grows soft and slips free from your body, he collapses beside you, chest heaving with deep inhales of air.

"What brought you to me so late?" You ask. He turns his head and finds you already looking at him.

"Nothing for you to be concerned about," Geta replies. The high of his release wanes, leaving him feeling annoyed. Gone are the rosy images conjured by intimacy and in their place return the reminders of responsibility. He sits up, searching the sheets for his discarded tunic and pulling it on before addressing you again with a murmured, "Goodnight, wife."

"You are welcome to stay, husband."

He considers the offer, but decides against it. One moment of weakness is enough for this evening.

"Goodnight," he says again.

Thanks for reading! For more of my fics, check out my masterlist.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

heyyyyy long time no see

i’m currently fixated on emperor geta so here’s something i’ve finally been able to work on wherein emperor geta has been having recurring dreams about getting murdered and the reader is a witch that comes to warn him of his demise.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Thank you so much to @quinnnfabrgay-writes for carrying this adventure and letting me tag along for the joy. And thank you to everyone who wrote a new masterpiece for us to enjoy. I still have some reading to do!

The Masterlist

I wanted to thank each and every one of you for the outpouring of excitement for this challenge, and the abundance of absolute talent y'all have shared with @hauntedhowlett-writes and me. I am just blown away with how y'all have taken these characters and creatures and have created these incredible stories and worlds; I could just kiss every single one of your beautiful brains!

This list will be updated as the rest of the pieces are posted. Again, please do not feel bad if you haven't posted your story yet - I know more than anyone that sometimes the creative juices just ain't there. All I ask is that you tag us when you're ready so we can love up on you and show off your work!

Also if you have already posted your piece and it's not listed here, please let me know! My notifications have been spotty lately.

THE PRETTIEST - @almostfoxglove (ghost!Max Phillips x f!reader)

Sweet Sweet Girl - @whocaresstillthelouvre (incubus!Maxwell Lord x f!reader)

bite me nicely - @jolapeno (vampire!Javier Peña x f!reader)

Like A Man Without Skin - @thischarmingmandalorian (ghost!Jack Daniels x f!reader)

Sins of the Flesh - @ak-vintage (incubus!Pero Tovar x f!reader)

fire starter - @kedsandtubesocks (dragon!Dieter Bravo x f!reader)

A Certain Fae's Melancholy - @nerdieforpedro (fae!Jack Daniels x gn!reader)

Me and the Devil - @saradika (devil!Din Djarin) moodboard, playlist, and drabble

Foretold in the Scales - @crowandmousewritingco (dragon!Marcus Moreno x gn!reader)

Two for One - @max--phillips (alien!Frankie Morales x afab!reader)

Cosmic Kiss - @clawdeewritesfanfic (alien!Joel Miller x f!reader)

divider credit goes to @saradika-graphics

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

hiiiii just posting to let yall know that im still here, still thinking about those old men, just haven’t been writing much and life has gotten very busy

hope to finish something for you soon 💕 thank you for being here

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future.

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤️‍🩹

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

if you’re able to help Mohammad and his family, please visit his fundraiser page 💕

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

to anyone missing my writing please know i am also missing my writing

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

THE PRETTIEST

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH2024 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals!

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@ppascalrain @bbyanarchist @amanitacowboy @milla-frenchy @schnarfer

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

“at last we meet, cyar’ika” | when members of your coven are born, their souls are linked to a creature from hell. summoned in the final step of training, bound to them in exchange for power. but imagine your surprise - palm still stinging from your blade, red dripping down your wrist - when it’s no mere demon you summon. instead… you find yourself face-to-face with one of the fabled seven devils of mandalore. | playlist

(thank you so much for hosting the #monstersmash24 @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes! these graphics/drabble/playlist was so fun to make for devil!din! 💕)

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Foretold in the Scales

Pairing: dragon!Marcus Moreno x gn!reader

Words: 3.4 k

Rating: M (smut city. 18+ MDNI)

Summary: The dragon needs a new mate, and it's your turn.

Warnings: Fated mates, ceremonies, slight dub con (you didn't choose this, but later on you consent to it) breeding, ovipositing, mentions of pregnancy with an egg, dragon anatomy, oral (reader receiving)

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: This is my entry for the Monster (S)mash challenge hosted by the lovely @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes. I loved this challenge so much! It makes me wanna write more monsters smut hehe.

That goodman dragon scale. It of course landed on you cause that was the last thing you needed today. But as it spun around as if it seemed to be “pulled” towards you. At least that's what the priests said, but you didn’t buy it. Unfortunately though for you, once the scale decided there was no going back, because if He found out that the village was lying, then they could find someone else to protect them. 

The rest of the day was a blur. Oils and perfumes were sprayed on your body creating a cloud of scents that made your head spin. Your hair was decorated with different local flowers while someone painted the ceremonial glyphs on your pale skin. You remember being dressed in the ceremonial ashen gray linens that hardly hid what lay underneath. Soon you were the spitting image of the sacrifice you were meant to be. 

The precession was a blur as four of the strongest warriors carried you on the dias up the long mountain trail that led to your future. Hymns and songs were sung as you climbed higher and higher until the village where you had called home for most of your life was now just a dot in the valley.

Stones piled up beside the entrance of the caves were carved with reliefs but you knew what they depicted. When every king tried to take the city those long centuries ago, there was only one person…or rather one creature that saved them. The Pewter Protector they called him. A massive dragon with a mouth full of flesh tearing teeth flew down from the heavens and slayed the enemy. The village begged for the dragon’s protection, and the Protector obliged. 

But that protection came at a price. He came from a dying breed and so to continue his safeguard, he required a sacrifice. It wasn’t food or money. No it was human. He required a mate. A mate that would carry another one of his kind. Someone to keep him company through the long nights and keep him warm during the mating season. 

Which is why you were here now, as the priestess sang out the chants that praised the Protector and called him from his dark chambers. You knew the ceremonies. The men would set their dias down and the procession would quietly leave as the priestess would continue their songs until their voices were lost in the winds. 

The high mountain winds whipped around you as you stared at the dark expanse of the cave. The silence was unnerving. Goosebumps ran up your skin making you wrap your arms around your torso, hoping for an ounce of warmth. Not even a pebble dropped as you waited for your husband to present himself. Soft tears threatened to spill from your eyes as time passed. As much as you wanted to be strong you were terrified. You squeezed your eyes shut waiting for your fate. 

“I keep telling them that I don’t want all of this,” You heard a voice break your silence and you opened your eyes in confusion. A tall dragonborn stood in front of you. Dark gray scales covered most of his body and arched across his neck and cheek like a stroke of charcoal. His eyes were dark to match the midnight hair that sprouted across his head and jawline. 

“W-What?” You whispered as you took him in. 

He sighed and slowly approached you. “I’m really sorry for all of this trouble,” He apologized as he held out his clawed hand out to your body. 

You looked down to his hand and back up to his face, confusion etched deep into your expression. “You…what?” 

“I’m sorry again. I know this is strange and I’ve been trying to tell them forever that I really don’t need them to use the scale. I promise them that I can tell who my mate is for the season just by…” He pauses as the wind changes, drifting your scent into his sensitive nose. 

“By what?” You asked, rising to your bare feet. 

“You smell sweet,” The Protector complimented as he turned back to you. 

“Um, thank you?” You asked. 

“Oh goodness, where are my manners? Please follow me.” He gestured to his cave and you followed him down into his lair. 

Though as you walked you were surprised grew even more. “I-It’s warm in here.” You comment as the walls turn more and more decorated with reliefs and other such designs. 

“That would be the mountain’s core. I know most dragonkind need their heat and we aren’t any different.” The dragon answers as you enter the biggest area so far. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture except for a large fire pit and a giant collection of pelts and pillows in the surrounding area. 

“This is…actually quite cozy.” You look around the room and find yourself smiling at the surroundings. 

“Please make yourself at home,” The Protector getured to his area. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Yes I would like some um…I don’t think I got your name?” 

“Marcus,” He smiled with his gleaming white teeth. He took his tea kettle out and filled it with water from the barrel in the corner. Gently he took the full kettle and hung it above the fire. With a groan he sat himself next to the fire. Carefully you sat near him warming yourself on the flames. 

“So you aren’t as vicious as they say.” You said, turning to look at him. 

He looked back with almost a hurt expression. “I don’t like to hurt humans. I only do harm when there’s a threat to the village.” 

“Then why do they do this whole ceremony? Since apparently I’ve only known a lie.” You chuckled softly. 

Marcus sighed. “I think they think they owe my kind for something we did long ago. But we did it because they helped us first.” 

“What did they do?” You asked as the kettle began to whistle. 

The dragon turned his torso to grab the two cups and set them in front of him. Carefully he grabbed the kettle’s handle and poured the tea. The leaves swirled as the hot water saturated them, filling your nose with the herbal scents. 

“They saved my daughter from poachers,” He answered as he handed you the tea and you thanked him. The mug was warm against your hand and you shivered when you realized how cold you were. 

“Here,” He said quietly and stood up taking one of the pelts from the bed. With a gentleness you weren’t expecting from a dragon, he draped it over your shoulders. 

You gently caressed the fur smiling at how comforting it was. “What’s your daughter’s name?” 

“Missy. She was out training one day and they surrounded her. Luckily some soldiers saw the situation and saved her. The Steel Clan is forever indebted to them,” He smiled softly drifting to his mug. “She’s got her own mountain to defend. Hatchlings always grow up too fast.” 

“Seems to be a trait no matter the species,” You smiled before taking a sip of the tea. The herbal aroma hit your tongue and you sighed. The scent drew you back to winter nights in your house, and a sense of both nostalgia and homesickness knotted in your stomach.

Marcus sensed your subtle body language frowned.  “You know you can leave. I don’t want to keep you here.” Marcus told you, taking you in with his charcoal eyes. 

You chuckled. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked with concern in his voice. 

“No no just,” Your thumb traces the rim of your cup. “You’re a lot different than I thought. I don’t mind staying. And you’re unlike what they tell us in the village.” 

“What do they tell you?” He asked with concern in his voice. 

“It’s a lot more authoritative and demanding,” You sighed, staring at the dark liquid in your cup. 

“That’s really what they say about me?” Marcus frowned, hurt laced in his dark eyes. 

“Something must have gotten lost in translation…because you really are sweet.” 

You swear you could see a scales flush. “You are too kind.” Marcus replied, taking a sip to hid his face. 

“I should thank you for not eating me,” You chuckled, but your mirth was quickly replaced by a yawn. 

“Here you should rest. Take my nest for tonight, I’ll sleep by the fire.” Before you could protest, he held his palm out. “I insist.” 

And honestly you didn’t have the energy to resist. Wrapping the pelt around your shoulders, you gave him a quick “Thank you,” before rising to your feet. Marcus watched you as you stumbled to the nest of blankets and settled yourself amongst the pile. 

Marcus kept an eye out until he heard your breathing even out, but stayed for longer just to make sure. As quietly as he could with his bulky form, he wandered to the entrance. A low grumble flowed from his mouth, as he stretched his hidden wings. Large veiny membranes spread out taking up most of the space. The wind furled against them and Marcus sighed at the feeling. It was a moment before he spoke to himself. “I must provide for my mate.” With a swoosh of his wings, he soared into the dark sky looking for prey to feed his beloved. 

The days passed without much excitement. Marcus cared for you which was more than kind of him. He insisted that you didn’t lift a finger, but you would sneakily tidy the area when he was out. You had to admit you didn’t hate the routine of it. Past you would hate staying in one place for too long. But the more time you spent in Marcus’s company, the more you found yourself being drawn to him unexpectedly. 

Your body began to warm whenever you were in his presence even if it was outside in the cold winds. Maybe it was just that he was the best company in a long time, or maybe it was something else but you loved staying near him. Until one day where everything clicked into place. 

The smell of cooking meats woke you from your slumber. A deep inhale filled your lungs with the aromatic scent and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment. It smelt like the smoked meats from the village, earthly and savory all at the same time. Pushing yourself up from your cozy bed, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. 

Marcus stood with his back behind you, his wings now visible to you though constricted because of the small space. Rising to your feet, you slowly walked over to the fire. Curiously your fingers tough ridges. The skin was bumpy against your skin and you found the touch bringing you comfort. 

The dragon drew in a sharp inhale as you slowly caressed his wings. “Y-you shouldn’t do that.” 

You quickly retracted your hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean well I hadn’t seen your wings,” You rambled. “Just thought they were pretty is all.” 

Marcus turned around and you were taken aback by how much he was panting. “Marcus?” 

“The problem isn’t you. The problem is that if you keep doing that, I won’t be able to control myself,” He purred, stepping closer to your form. Until now you never realized just how much he towered over you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s a reason the ceremony happens when it does. Mating season came quicker for me, and that’s because you entered my life. You’re my mate.” He answered. Your scent permeated his nostrils making him crave you more. “But I can’t mate you without your full consent. If you want to walk away and live a normal life I will not blame you.” 

“Your mate, how do you know?” You asked confused yet curious at the same time. 

“How do humans say? It’s like butterflies in your stomach, but we feel a physical tugging at our souls,” He answered gently, caressing his stomach. 

Something pulled you to do the same and your fingers slid under your thin covering. A pulse of electricity sparked in your eyes and you gasped. “W-What was…?” You began, but as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, there was something different about Marcus. The light from the fire lit him up like you’ve never noticed before. It was as if a bolt of magic filled the room and focused itself on Marcus. 

“Mate?” You whispered and you slowly reached up to cup his cheek in your hand. The rough scales sending comfort throughout your body as you caressed them with your thumb.  Marcus’s chest rumbled as he purred against your palm, nuzzling like a cat. You couldn’t help but giggle at this tall creature acting just like a household pet. 

“Yes my mate,” He purred and he leaned his head down just close enough to brush his lips against yours a silent ask for your consent. 

You quickly filled the space and kissed him passionately. His lips were both soft and rough at the same time. The scales brushed against your chin, and you found yourself falling in love with the feeling. Some part of you wanted to know how those felt in between your legs. 

A soft moan escaped your lips and Marcus paused gently, setting his hands on your hips as if they were made of the finest porcelain. “Are you sure about this?” He asked as his fingers gingerly caressed your hips. Claws carefully poking at your skin and you bit your lip. Suddenly the heat inside you was so much. You wanted…no…you craved Marcus. 

“I’m sure,” You leaned up and whispered in his ear. “Put an egg in me Marcus.” 

Marcus groaned at the sight of you round with his egg. “Bed. Now.” He moaned as he backed you into the nest. You smirked as you kissed him slowly pulling him on top of you. Hungrily he kissed you with his hands up and down your sides. His claws delicately teasing your chest making you gasp. 

“M-Marcus,” You moaned, tilting your head back against the furs. 

He chuckled and nibbled at your neck. “Such a handsome sight.” He kept one of his clawed hands on your chest and with one of his claws ripped the material away as gently rubbed your slit. “Mmmm already achingly needy for me darling. Getting you all ready to take my cock.” He growled and kissed his way down your body. Each one sending tingles to your hands and feet. 

He only stopped right between your legs. “Now let's see how you taste. I bet it’ll tell me how fertile you are.” He licked a long lap from your hole to your most sensitive area. You moaned loudly grabbing on his dark locks as you tried to ride his face. 

With a strong hand he kept your hips in place and gazed up at you licking his lip. “Be good for me baby. If you are, I’ll put a baby in you, and by the looks of it it won’t be too hard.” 

You moaned at his words as his tongue dipped inside you once more lapping up your arousal soaking his face. The taste was like nothing he had ever experienced and he would be damned if he ever stopped. Eternity wouldn’t be enough time to memorize your taste. 

“Fuck just the most divine taste,” He purred and nibbled your sensitive thigh. “You’re a perfect mate.” 

“Marcus,” You whined but you loved every second. Every lick and touch sent your bond pulsing. 

“Shhh baby let me take care of you,” He kissed the bite mark before pushing his tongue inside your hole once again. His movements were precise making sure you were opened up for him. He loved being a dragon, but the claws were something he couldn’t control. That just meant he became so prolific with his tongue. 

And the practice was evident on the way you writhed under his touch. Every lick and suck sent so much pleasure your way. The pressure in your stomach grew and grew as your legs began to shake. 

“Marcus!” You screamed in ecstasy as you came hard from his tongue. Stars danced in your eyes as you curled your legs around your mates back, pulling him into you more. Toes curling and legs shaking left you feeling high from your orgasm.

The dragon purred in contentment as his tongue slowed as your high slowed to stop leaving you breathless. “Such a handsome mate I have,” He grinned and kissed up your body, taking his time to explore and memorize every dip and curve of your body. “I’m never gonna get use to this canvas.” 

You whimpered under the praise and you pulled him against your chest. His cool scales soothing your heated skin as you kissed him deeply. Gently you nuzzled your face into his shoulder taking him in with every sense. 

Marcus leaned his mouth nibbling your earlobe gently. “I’m gonna put a egg in you,” He moaned as his hips rocked against your thigh. His hardening cock rubbing against the soft skin. Curiously you peaked down and blushed at the size. It was big. Nothing compared to the size of the men in the village. 

“Fuck,” You cursed as you reached down to take it in your hand. It pulsed under your touch as you stroked it tentatively. The bumps and ridges felt foreign to you, but gods did your thoughts wonder at the idea of that deep inside of you as he pumped you full of his cum. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be gentle,” Marcus whispered, nuzzling his nose into your neck. 

You were quiet for a moment, making Marcus lift his head in concern. You made eye contact with him. “I don’t think I want you to be,” You admitted. 

Marcus’s eyes darkened and he pressed his forehead into yours. You felt his cock bounce in your hand. “Are you sure? I won’t be able to hold back.” 

“Please mate,” You whispered. 

Marcus growled as he guided his cock away from your hand and pushed into you in one fluid motion. The penetration was sudden, but it sent such intense pleasure through you that you thought you could finish with just that. 

But the noises Marcus made were hymns to your ears. He panted and growled as he felt you around his cock. “I-I can’t wait any longer.” 

“Fuck me Marcus.” 

And that was all he needed. His hips pulled back and snapped forward back into your hole. Everything felt divine. The bumps, the length, everything made your head spin. “Fuck!” You moaned as Marcus set a fast pace. 

With every thrust, Marcus became more and more desperate. Desperate to fill you with his seed and desperate to plant an egg inside of you. The image of you round with his egg spurred him on. You squeezed around him like your soul depended on it. 

Whether it was your newly discovered bond, or the immaculate feeling of Marcus inside you, but you felt the heat rise in your stomach once again. The dragon thrusted faster as he felt you tighten around you. “Cum for your mate,” He moaned. 

Your pleasure snapped and you squeezed around him as you reached your high once again. This was enough for Marcus. 

“I’m gonna,” He grunted as his cock twitched, your tight hole making it hard to last. 

“Cum mate,” You moaned, and your words sent him over the edge. With a growl that filled the chamber, he came buried inside of you. You moaned with every quiver of his cock as his cum filled your hole. But it wasn’t quite normal. With each spurt, it felt bumpy, and it took you a moment to realize that it was eggs filling you up. And you moaned as each one filled you fuller and fuller. Marcus’s hand gently caressed the small bump in your stomach, please with the sight. 

Just as you thought Marcus would pull out, he gently lifted your hips, setting a pillow underneath your back. Confused, you looked back up at him. He smirked. “Not gonna let anything drip out of you. I want to make sure the eggs stay inside of you.” 

You moaned and bit your lips. Marcus smiled and carefully leaned over to kiss your forehead. “My sweet mate will be well taken care of. But for now rest. You need all the energy to incubate our eggs.” Sleepiness filled your head and your eyes slowly began to dip close. The hum of Marcus’s purring sending you into a very satisfied sleep.

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[hauntedhowlett-writes]

fire starter

Dragon!Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

summary: there’s a creature lurking behind your family’s lake cabin, but what will you do when it decides to start following you around?

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes #MONSTERSMASH24 challenge

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, human/monster relationship, magic transformation & magic elements, mention of drug consumption, one brief scare of possible animal attack, smutty thoughts, monster!smut, voyeurism/consensual voyeurism , masturbation (f), scent kink, oral (f receiving), mentions of mating, light size kink, monster!dick humping, no use of y/n, sweet & chaotic!Dieter

word count: 4.5k

a/n: so yeah I can’t believe I wrote this & I’M SO SORRY for posting it on the very last day of the challenge (pls forgive me) but here are are lol omg biggest thank you to @hauntedhowlett & @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream about this, and to you, if you decide to read this, thank you so much ♡

The cozy cabin would be your home for the next few weeks during your break away from school before the new semester starts. You needed to get away, clear your head. It’s why your mom suggested taking a nice trip away to the family cabin your grandparents owned. Now the solitude, the comfort of the lake and the forest, all of it sounds healing.

Your luggage still sits inside and the place needs to be cleaned up a bit… but you happily stand on the patio looking out to glimmering water. The lake’s reflective dance and the stretching forest off to the side cloaking the cabin in a rustic dream make you exhale comforted.

Until sudden rustling comes off to the side among the bushes. Your eyes flicker, rapidly scanning the area.

“Beware of bears!” Your grandpa had joked on the phone, but he’s right. The wilderness held dangerous creatures.

You just never assumed a mythical beast would be one of them.

A dragon slowly lifts its head up from behind a shrub, and you wonder if you’re imagining things. A piece of you even thinks this is maybe a bad internet trend or prank video you’re caught in.

The dragon is beautiful with sleek horns. The scales shimmer a unique rustic ash color. But now with the hints of sunlight leaking through the trees the color on the scales become almost reflective of a duo chrome peacock green. The unflinching sharp eyes blinking at you are a deep tiger's eye gem brown.

“Don’t scream.” A voice suddenly says and you realize -

It’s the dragon talking.

“Is this a prank?” You blurt out worried about possibly being on a bad TikTok.

“If it is, it would be a really fucking good prank now that I think about it.” The dragon’s mouth barely moves, but you know it’s him speaking.

His voice is clearly human, smooth and aware.

“That’s a good animatronic then.” You nervously comment.

“I’m not an animatronic!” The dragon huffs even flaring his eyes upset. “I’m a real man! Or… dragon fuck. This is confusing.”

Slowly, you walk cautiously and backwards back to the cabin door.

“No wait!” The dragon rushes out of the bushes and the rest of his body follows revealing an intimidating creature, including a tail flickering nervously.

It seems real, doesn’t seem like a puppet, and you think something that moves this fluid can’t possibly be some robot left in the woods.

“I’m Dieter fucking Bravo. You gotta help me!” His voice becomes panicked, louder, scaring you.

You scramble back into the cabin, slam the door and try settling down. Because there possibly might be a real dragon outside your door.

After that you stay locked inside the cabin, almost afraid to move.

You swear soft whines come from outside the window, but you refuse to check and possibly find monster eyes gleaming out from the woods.

Once you’re calmed, you remember what the creature said.

The dragon yelled that he was Dieter Bravo. And the name sounds vaguely familiar.

So grabbing your phone, you start googling.

The news rushes in, bombarding you.

Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo Still Missing

You click the first article.

“Dieter Bravo is an eccentric man to say the least. But after two months with no communication to even his agents, people are now starting to get worried…”

No fucking way.

The more you deep dive, the more you become entangled in this web of the missing actor.

There’s even conspiracy theories arguing he was abducted by aliens.

“No guys he’s just filming that new marvel movie remember” someone comments on the YouTube video you watch.

That creature said he was Dieter Bravo. You can’t wrap your mind around the possibility the beast is the same man.

So the next morning, when the sun barely peeks through the clouds, you step outside. You glance around finding no sign of the dragon.

Even getting braver you walk off the patio and check around the cabin.

“Can I have some of whatever you cooked yesterday cause it smelled fucking amazing.”

You almost scream hearing the sudden inquisitive and smooth voice. The dragon’s snout peeks out from behind a thicket of trees, and sharp inquisitive eyes intently stare you down.

“You said you’re Dieter Bravo.” You demand surprisingly firm.

“It’s ‘cause I am!” He urges franticly, now whipping his full head up to stare at you. It’s a mind melt having a full on discussion with a dragon.

“What if you just ate him?” You narrow your eyes, still not convinced.

The dragon shrieks insulted and raises its head up more.

“I didn’t! Unless you count the times I bite my lip and swallow the dead skin or whatever!”

Soon the dragon starts listing off facts like Dieter’s birthday, the secret tattoo he has on his ass, he even says who his agent’s name is. It’s all rather convincing.

“Look,” he sighs, annoyed and lowers his head. “I was staying at one of the luxury cabins way the fuck past the hiking trails and wandered away… then I found some magic looking mushrooms by a tree and-”

“You ate unknown mushrooms from the forest?!” You interject sharp.

“They looked really good!” He whines. “And how was I to know they were actually real fucking magic mushrooms that would turn me into this?!” The dragon whips its scaled tail around to emphasize his point.

You almost get knocked off your feet.

So this dragon really is actor Dieter Bravo.

“How have you stayed hidden this long?” You ask stunned.

“Cause I’m a pro champion winner of hide and seek, duh.” He scoffs proud. “Plus there’s an abandoned bear cave I’ve started renting, and nobody has been out here for weeks.”

“That is until you showed up.” The dragon nudges towards you.

“So can you help me!? Please?” He quickly whimpers, staring up at you like a cat trying to plead for treats.

“How am I supposed to help you?!” You fire back confused.

“I don’t fucking know! But you’re the first person I’ve actually talked to in two months, and I just can’t think straight anymore!” He sobs dramatically, flinging his body onto the dirt forest floor now almost mimicking a toddler throwing a small tantrum.

“Listen, I almost had to eat a fucking possum you gotta help me!” Dieter continues to wail, and you shush him from drawing attention.

“Fine! I’ll try to help!” You agree hastily.

Before you can say anything, the dragon, no - Dieter, rushes forward and you almost scream.

He’s around the size of a large truck. Seeing such a large creature, a deadly one at that, rushing towards you activates a primordial fear.

Until his large face presses against your stomach.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” He cries excessively.

“I’ll give you whatever you want! Take you to Oscar parties! Do you wanna meet like, fucking Hugh Jackman or someone else I think I can make that happen?!” His joy and relief are tangible in his rambling.

You laugh nervously, but feel more at ease.

And so a dragon follows you home.

He waits outside the cabin because he is too big to fully fit inside. But Dieter stays surprisingly close, even presses his nose against the window as if he’s a sad stray wanting to be let in.

Now you enjoy meals outside with him most days.

“So what brings a hottie like yourself to a creepy cabin in the woods?” He asks when you sit outside with him and almost choke on an inhale.

However, you do explain how this place is your grandparents and you’re simply staying here on a small break.

“Ah, a mini mental health retreat,” he says sagely, nodding his dragon head. “I dig it.”

That makes you grin.

A sort of ridiculousness bubbles in you whenever you google and search up websites about breaking spells or curses. But you have to believe a remedy, or something like it, exists especially when tangible magic now sits curled right beside you. Dieter’s head rests against your thigh while he breathes in and out with a steady rumble. The soft sunlight allows the delicate shimmer of his scales to dance beautifully.

You glance down to the dragon sleeping peacefully.

Dieter grew close to you instantly. You also hate to admit how fast you’ve bonded to him. He’s wildly easy to talk to and pretty funny. When you take walks by the lake he trots right besides you, not even bothered about being seen.

“If I wasn’t so worried about the government or aliens shooting me down or carrying me off to some sketchy ass lab, I’d take us flying.” Dieter comments one evening when you decide to simply enjoy the cool evening and shimmering stars above.

To prove a point, the dragon spreads open his wings to stretch them. They’re glorious, bat-like in their structure and towering over you in a mythical shade. You feel so small compared to him, but in a way that comforts you, almost like standing against the grandeur of many redwood trees.

“Honestly I don’t think you’d be that good a pilot anyway even as a dragon.” You tease.

He scoffs horrified. “Excuse me! I played a pilot in a Grey’s Anatomy episode. So I know how flying fucking works!”

You burst out laughing, buoyant.

You begin wondering if maybe Dieter imprinted on you, but realization creeps in that you’ve maybe done the same to him.

On warmer days when you want to enjoy the lake, you wait until the dragon wakes so you both can enjoy the water.

You jokingly tell him he looks like the lochness monster as he swims.

“Nessie’s got nothing on me.” Dieter huffs.

Then, he playfully swishes his tail in the water, creating a large wave that hits you with a cold splash. Immediately you childishly kick splash back at him.

The dragon snickers so human, and your heart jumps.

It’s getting harder to ignore the blooming affection growing more for him.

Dieter sleeps besides the cabin now, specifically your bedroom window. Because of that you try keeping sounds low due to his incredible hearing.

Mainly because you’ve been looking up videos of him, anything from his interviews, to compilations of his movie roles.

One scene of him in a ‘so bad it’s good’ 2000’s rom com has been replaying in your head for days. The way Dieter greedily grasps his love interest's cheeks, how he kisses deeply possessive and consuming like a raging storm -

You wonder if he always kisses like that.

He’s ridiculously handsome. Both as a human and… even as a dragon.

But you stomp those thoughts away. Dragon or not, he’s a celebrity, an actual actor who has been linked to other famous people.

He possibly wouldn’t even look your way.

“Hey,” Dieter perks up and moves to rest his large head across your tummy while you lounge in the hammock by the lake.

You halfway lie saying you’re just tired. Then a sudden fanged sense of curiosity possesses your fingers, and they move before you can stop. You trace along his sharp bone like horns then down to the scales of his face. They’re cool and sturdy to the touch.

Dieter closes his eyes, relaxing more against you.

He’s settled down more, mellowing out into a zen peaceful version of himself that isn’t pestering you about ideas on how to break the magic placed on him. You even feel more relaxed, especially with him here.

When you first decided on this small break, you were slightly worried about being alone for this long. Instead, like something out of a strange fairy tale, you now can't imagine being here without this strange creature.

Slowly, then all at once, Dieter becomes clingy.

Rapid in his curious questions, he’s annoying and ridiculous at times but still incredibly endearing to talk to. As twilight approaches in soft glory, the dragon shifts to curl around you, a scaled mythical barricade that refuses to let you leave.

“No…don’t go back in. Stay here with me.” He purrs. “It’ll be like a fun camping trip.”

You snicker, even though your heart races at his plea.

“Maybe next time.” You suggest, and Dieter pouts huffing out a puff of smoke in protest.

In the shower your mind wanders to some cheesy romance books your best friend once showed you.

One was about a witch who fell in love with an enemy dragon cursed to destroy her. That story had you in a chokehold. Especially the scene where the witch got affected by a spell that backfired. It made her aroused and the only way to dispel the effects was through sex. And of course her dragon enemy was the only one present who could help the witch.

An image flickers in your mind repeatedly of Dieter with his shimmering gemstone eyes and you clutching onto his horns as he -

Soon enough your back hits the shower wall and your fingers drift down as your eyes flutter shut, allowing yourself to sink into that fantasy.

You try to keep your whimpers quiet, but a part of you… wants Dieter hear.

Your fingers curl and move, drawing out your arousal.

But then you hear it - a rumbled groan.

An embarrassed heat knocks into you.

That’s when you remember you left the window to the bathroom open. You’re about to apologize until Dieter speaks first.

He growls out your name, a whimper over the rush of the shower water.

“Oh, I can smell you.” His words slice through you and unleash a damn.

Your heart races, and your mind shuts down.

“More, gimme more please.” Dieter urges and your fingers pick up a frantic pace.

“Dieter.” You croak out his name.

“Fuck yeah.” The dragon pants, and you swear the walls shake a bit as if he’s trying to press past them, maybe even burst through to you.

“Shit baby, wanna eat you up so fucking bad.” Dieter slurs and knocks your climax out of your chest. You come fast.

“Fuck.” He now whines impatiently. “Want you more. Wish I could do more.”

You exhale trying to steady your breathing and also feel a tug of sympathy for him. You stay quiet, don’t know what else to do.

But after slipping into your pajamas, you notice Dieter has gone dangerously quiet.

So gathering up a bunch of blankets and pillows, you head outside deciding maybe to actually camp out with him.

Yet, in the stretching darkness, Dieter is nowhere to be found. Your heart breaks a bit.

The next morning Dieter is still missing.

You head to the small grocery supply store to grab a few items. The television talks about a storm approaching and you wonder if that’s why he left.

You spot a reasonably priced extra large tent, almost a canopy, that you maybe could use to keep Dieter safe and dry besides the cabin.

You hope he returns soon. As you struggle to try putting the tent together, the thunder rumbles in the distance.

Twigs snap and footsteps approach the path around the cabin. Slightly panicked, you start glancing out into the woods.

A part of you now hopes it's a dragon.

Unfortunately a mountain lion instead stares at you from among the tree line.

Your heart drops.

The large hunter stays still and so do you.

With your heart racing you slowly back away hoping to head back into the cabin.

But the large cat prowls forward out of the trees, a slow stalk.

Terror crawls all over your body.

A sinister rumble floats out into the air, and you think it’s the thunder getting worse.

That rumbling you mistook as thunder instead clearly floats into a terrifying growl.

You have to think it’s the mountain lion about to pounce any second.

Suddenly Dieter flies out of the trees. His maw is open wide, filled with shark sized sharp teeth. The beast lands before the prowler, a monster from a hellish nightmare.

The mountain lion bares its fangs, hissing loud and tries to swat its paw at Dieter. But the dragon remains unbothered and instead snapping his jaw shut towards the cougar almost trying to chomp at it.

It’s enough to frighten the large mountain cat, and it retreats away fast.

Dieter continues growling. His eyes are dangerous slits, a crystalized predator. You can’t move, too stunned to even think. But then your dragon blinks, coming back to his senses and rushes towards you.

He says your name worried as his face rubs all over you.

“Tell me you’re alright?! That stupid cat almost tried to attack you! I was so fucking close to biting his head off or shit charbroiling it-”

You reassure Dieter you’re alright, even wrap your arms around him best as you can.

You’ve never held him like this. His warmth in your embrace reminds you of a burning heartbeat, the thump of a flame too powerful to extinguish.

“Where were you? Where have you been?” You ask weakly.

“Didn’t wanna hurt you last night.” Dieter admits. “My mind…this dang freaky monster mind of mine kept telling me to do… things.”

You cautiously ask what.

He buries his large snout against you.

“Like fucking mate you.” He mutters, and your legs almost give out.

“Oh.” Dieter says and inhales deep. “Oh, damn… you like that huh?”

He can smell you, caught your wave of arousal already making you wet.

Soon enough he moves down, and you try to shoo him away until he presses his nostrils straight between your legs and inhales. You slap your hand over your mouth to stop the whimper that almost leaves you.

“I’m drooling.” Dieter slurs and even allows his mouth to stay open panting, a monster in heat. “God, you smell even better than last night.”

“Dieter.” You whisper.

“Please baby, please.” He pleads now gently nipping at your clothes with his sharp teeth.

“Don’t… I don’t want you doing this just because of your dragon brain taking over.” You fidget hearing your true feelings bubble out.

“No, I’m not! Promise.” Dieter says truthfully.

He even shifts his draconian face to place kisses against your thighs. “Would want you even as a man. Fuck it even got me messed up thinking how frustrated I was I couldn’t do shit with you as a man…”

“But now...” he drags his scaled nose up your legs, and your eyes close. “Kinda wanna enjoy being a dragon with you.”

“Wait…With me?” You asks a bit hesitant.

“Uh yeah.” He snorts. “Only you…Cause I trust you baby.”

Opening your eyes, your gaze meets Dieter’s peering up at you. A monster of devastating destruction and terror you just saw now at your knees so large, powerful, and beautiful.

Your hand caresses his face, and he closes his gem eyes.

You lie down within the half made tent. However, it creates a wonderful cave-like cover for you to slide into.

“What the crap is this?” Dieter nudges into the tarp as he wiggles as much as he can into the covering.

“Rain is coming, wanted to get something to keep you dry, you dick.” You playfully reply.

Dieter’s dragon eyes soften, pupils expanding like a cat’s, and he moves to nuzzle your neck. You lean back against him and exhale against his cool scales.

Then he descends, a beast ready to consume.

You think of the monster books your best friend lent you.

Now you can say it doesn’t do the truth justice.

After you slide off your shorts and underwear Dieter’s tongue, thin and slippery, long and precise with its movements, licks across your bare thighs. It traces against your skin leaving you wiggling wanting more.

Then he dives into you. His tongue slithers around your clit then wiggles into you, and your body snaps up galvanized by this unbelievable pleasure.

“Damn baby, this is incredible.” Dieter slurs drunk. “You’re incredible.”

You get it. It feels like your body is going to melt off your bones. Then his sharp dragon teeth very gently nip at your thigh, and your mind blanks.

When your climax hits he greedily slurps it up. You whine a bit overstimulate when he continues lapping at you.

“Mate,” he mutters. “Wanna mate you so bad.”

You softly coo at him, running your hand against his horn.

This idea has been infesting your mind for weeks. Now it’s here.

“Turn on your back for me.” You softly tell Dieter who effortlessly moves, doing as he’s told. Now he’s the one lying down covered by the half canopy.

On his back you’re smitten by the sight of his soft colored underbelly.

Then his monstrous large cock makes your mouth water and body shiver. You knew it would. But now you realize there’s no way his very rigged and large cock could fit inside you.

“Don’t even know if I can fit.” Dieter whimpers. Pre-cum starts pebbling, leaking, at the head of his cock and you already ache to taste.

“Shh…” you comfort him again, kissing the scales along his belly.

“I have an idea.” You whisper low.

Even with your weak and slightly shaky legs you manage to climb on top of him.

Then you settle down, resting on him. Both you and Dieter instantly moan.

“Fuck, already feel you. You’re so warm.” he sobs.

“You too.” You hiccup. His cock is heated, throbbing against you.

Then you grind your hips, dragging your pussy down against him, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Dieter’s growls shatters the air, and you try to soothe him, settle his noises. But it’s hard, even for you. The more you grind and hump against him, you can’t even silence yourself. His rigged cock feels divine rubbing against you. Soon enough it’s simply you and him melting into each other.

You grind and grin, speeding up your hips. You’re lost in the pleasure, lost in the molten fire scorching your skin that before you know it, you come and pleasure crashes into you a consuming wave. Dieter moans, a half mixed noise so human yet monstrous.

“I’m… I’m gonna-” He growls, unable to even speak.

“Give it to me, please.” You beg.

When he comes it’s hot, sticky and there’s so much. But you feel beautifully dizzy and drunk, especially as his cum pools against your thighs sticking to your skin. It’s dirty, raw, but incredible.

Especially as Dieter shifts to now have you lying below him and his wings open up to create their own canopy against you, shielding you from the world.

After cleaning him and yourself up with your discarded shorts, your dragon curls against you

“Holy shit balls,” Dieter exhales with his warm breath that tickles. “That was the hottest kinkiest sex I’ve ever had. Didn’t think you’d have it in you. When can we do it again?”

You playfully swat at him.

“Hey, it’s all a compliment! I’m saying it was hot as fuck!” He argues and you snicker, but now in Dieter’s warmth exhaustion creeps in cozy and effortless.

The thunder rumbling becomes a soft lullaby mixing in with the content purr thundering from your dragon.

You turn and rest your face against the side of Dieter’s massive muzzle. Placing a soft kiss against his scales, you let your eyes close.

You rest safe with your dragon’s keep.

Soft raindrops falling against your legs waking you up wearily. You’re thankful at least half the tent keeps you covered as the rain pours down.

But you now notice you’re missing one dragon.

Instead the most handsome man you’ve ever seen sleeps besides you, curled against your shoulder while he snores.

Dieter’s utterly gorgeous. Peacefully resting, mouth slightly open, you ache to trace his sharp nose. His fluffy hair looks like an adorable bird's nest. You’re so in awe of this unreal man it takes you a moment to realize he’s a dragon no more.

You yelp surprised and bolt up from him.

“Wha? Whazzit?” Dieter wearily asks waking up.

“Dieter, Dieter wake up.” You urge, and he yawns as he stretches.

“Ready to go for another round huh, honey cakes?” He smirks sleepy but coy at you.

Then his eyes go wide as he realizes it too.

He shrieks, scrambling to sit up.

His hands press against his body and even glances down between his legs.

“Phew! Had to check my dick just to make sure, but we’re good.”

You roll your eyes until his wide beautiful earthen ones turn to you.

“I’m a real boy again!” He cries then gathers you into his arms squeezing you tight.

“Sex broke the spell!” Dieter declares, and you excitedly laugh rubbing his gorgeous back.

“You broke my spell.” He softer says, rubbing his nose into the top of your head.

“I don't know if it was me…but glad I could help.” You hug him back.

“Okay, as fuckin’ cool as it was being a dragon, and yes I’m already messing my dragon dick, I didn’t realize how much I missed being human. Like… I’ve just been wanting to hold you.”

His words are ridiculous, perfectly Dieter all while being endearing. You snort, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Rain pours down harder, slipping into the collapsing tent. Laughing and getting soaked in the downpour, you finally let Dieter inside the cabin. He of course happily follows you eagerly.

A knock at the door wakes you the next morning, breaking your soft spell among the blanket’s warmth and Dieter arms.

A park ranger and police officer stand on the other side of the door.

“Sorry to bother you this morning,” the park ranger sounds sincere and apologetic. Then he gives a look to the officer.

“But uh… have you… seen any weird suspicious activity around these parts?”

You’re a bit confused, and the officers must see that in your face.

The cop sighs. “A man came in yesterday screaming that he saw a dragon fly over while he was on the hiking trail nearby.”

A bark of a laugh escapes you, and you apologize for the outburst.

“No, it’s alright. It is kinda ridiculous to think about.” The park ranger warmly reassures you.

“No officers I’m sorry I haven’t seen anything of the sorts.” You relay to them.

“The only bad dragon around these parts is me.”

You sigh already tempted to shove Dieter away. In your soft robe he slinks his arms across your shoulder with a sleepy yawn.

The police officer and park ranger now stare like gaping open mouth fishes seeing the missing actor.

“You’re…you’re…-”

“Yeah, yeah I know who I am.” Dieter interjects, waving his hand casually. “And I’m not missing. Nor did the aliens take me as much as I hoped they would.”

He moves to curl against you more. “Just been here with my hot new girlfriend that’s all.”

The title sets your heart on fire. The officers wish you a good day. The park ranger even asks for an autograph from Dieter, which he of course gives.

“Now, if you excuse me, I gotta show my baby the real dragon here in the woods.” Dieter says without shame even winks and you shriek embarrassed, apologizing profusely.

You chide Dieter smacking his chest as he snickers proud.

“Come on,” he urges, nibbling at your cheeks. “Let me show my mate how badly I need her.”

You can’t argue with that.

Later that night falling asleep again in his arms you notice the same dragon rumble still deep in Dieter’s chest, a blissful rumbling purr.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

A Certain Fae's Melancholy

Jack Daniels (Fae) x GN reader

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: You were lulled into a world you never asked for and the reason that Jack Daniels wanders.

Warnings: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Shifting perspectives, Drinking, Alcohol. References to Depression, Scheming, Stalking, Lonely souls, Mild Sexual Content, Aging, Sorrow, Character Death

Word Count: less than 3k

Notes: This is for the Monster (S)mash challenge hosted by @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes. This wasn't this fic I intended to write, but it's the fic that I wrote. I certainly smashed something with this, just not what I expected.

Not Beta-read, back on my "shoot it out there and hope for the best" mantra. This is the first thing I've written in a few weeks so...could be why maybe? 😅

Main Masterlist/ Jack Daniels-Agent Whiskey Masterlist/ Challenges Masterlist/ AO3 Link

The low rumble of laughter rouses you from your slumber. You don’t remember falling asleep. Only that you’d come to these woods while it was daylight. The sun is setting, it must have been at least a few hours but you suspect longer. Looking down at your arm, your wristwatch is gone. No use trying to tell time now.

Taking a deep breath, someone is watching you, likely the same person whose laughter woke you. He’s tall wearing a tan stenson, tipping it toward you like a greeting with a grin as he steps toward you from underneath the shadow of one of the towering trees. It’s then that you realize two things: the first is that the trees look different from the gray-brown wood that are near your home; the second is that you know this man. Your conversations have been increasing in number and you found yourself coming to appreciate his appearances at your local bar. They weren’t too often, meaning he wasn’t there every time you went, but enough that he seemed to be a regular.

“Now that’s sweet of you sugar. You got that little rabbit’s foot I let you borrow for your interview. How did that go?” The observation and question don’t match the situation. You find that despite the unease you feel, you take his large hand as he guides you to your feet and steadies you. The grin softens into a smile and he pats your head, pushing questions that your should be asking him aside, you utter two words that bind you closer to him without realizing: 

“Thank you.” His hand glides from your lower back to the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking your exposed skin and it is warm at the friction, but cool to the touch. “Your hands are cold Jack. That old saying might be true, ‘cold hands make for a warm heart’ and all that.” It’s your turn to join him in making birds vacate the trees at the boom of your combined glee. 

Looking up into Jack’s eyes and they flash a bright shade of green and it catches your attention, to both the color and the direction that you both are heading. You don’t remember walking with him or him stating a direction. He takes one of your hands in his and interlocks your fingers. “Now, now, gorgeous. Don’t be scared. You’ve already given me so much, a little bit more won’t hurt.” Slowly making your way up the steps of an all white house. It appears almost brand new, everything is painted, the door is a crimson red with emerald ivy having overgrown and covers up part of the front of the porch. It’s a stark contrast, given that the shutters are a sienna brown as is the roof. Jack says your name and points down, your name appears after his on the doormat welcoming any would-be visitors to what you presume to be your shared home now. Once inside, Jack eases you down on the couch and pats your thigh. “Now. I’ll give you time to adjust, I see the wheels turning in the noggin of yours.” His rough palm cups your cheek and you place your hand on his, to remove you had thought but then you remember some of the conversations you’ve had with Jack at the bar. 

The first time you met Jack, you made a cowboy joke. He expected it given the form he decided to take on. He finds that many men and women are attached to the allure of a rugged cowboy and possibly being the one to tame them. Daniels had gotten this same sense and considered just having some fun romps in your bed and not thinking twice about it. Unlike many of the humans he’d encountered, he found you funny. Jack normally laughed when he’d perceived that it was socially acceptable to do so. Thankfully, being alive for five or six centuries, he’d gotten the hang of figuring out when to do so. The years blend together and so do the various humans, you stuck out to him. He genuinely laughed while the two of you drank that night. He was able to have the first two pieces of getting his next fix of companionship: deciding on you as his partner and your name. 

The second time Jack saw you at the bar, he was upfront and told you what he was, a fae. A creature that has seen empires and civilizations come and go, explored a myriad of cultures and experienced maybe that many lovers. Not many companions though. Powerful beings are typically lonely after all. You followed that up stating that you had Scottie beam you down and were going to give the humans in area fifty-one to talk about. You could make some of those probes happen with a tentacle or two and would ask to borrow some of Daniels’ fairy dust to sprinkle on a few of your friends to give them some good luck. Also to get a few of them laid, they whined about that a bit. While Jack did get a kick of what your plan was if you were an alien, he assured you that indeed he was a fae and not a fairy. “That’s some Disney horse shit sugar.” 

Subsequent nights were spent with you sharing different details of your life with Jack and him telling you different stories of his adventures. He knew you weren’t taking him seriously, likely believing him to be full of tall tales and bluster, but it was the night that you told him of your interview for a higher position at your job that his eyebrows raised. He’d been trying to think of something to give you that wouldn’t seem too out of the blue, something that you would accept with limited questions. He just needs it to be something of his, that way he can draw you further into his world. Most people would have blown off someone seemingly talking out of the side of the neck or giving so many false (to you) accounts of different events, but Jack knew that glint in your eye. He’d gotten you excited to hear what outrageous tale he would tell you next. “Next time I see ya, I’ll have a little somethin’.” You’d mentioned that your interview was next month, so Jack would take a week, maybe a week and half off. Distance creates longing and it would be less suspicious when he saw you the next time. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t still see you of course, you just wouldn’t know. That was how he discovered you’d spoken to someone about him. Actually that same friend group you wanted to use his so-called ‘fairy dust’ on. Daniels does appreciate that you speak of him in a positive light, it’s nice to hear, but the fact that you mentioned him at all is the third piece of his plan. One he hadn’t been counting on and he considers a happy accident. Encounters with fae are not to be spoken of, not that you wouldn’t have known. It’s part of the game and Jack is more than half of the way there. 

Feeling you embrace him in a side hug with a hand clasped on his shoulder, Jack Daniels can be honest with himself that he’s begun to care about you and that it may not be just a companion he wants - he may want a relationship. One of those give and take sorts that he hasn’t experienced since the Industrial Revolution, after a shot or three of whiskey is when he gives you a good luck charm - the rabbit’s foot. The very same that you hold in your hand as you sit on the couch. He’d wished you good luck on your interview then. 

Jack has taken to the kitchen and is making black tea with honey. Normally it would have milk, but as he mentions when he gives you your cup, he despises the taste of milk. “Only good in cereal, baked or cooked in something. Don’t want none unless it’s one of those three.” 

“So, am I just going to be here now, with you? I also didn’t get the job. Guess the charm didn’t work.” You look down at the tea, unable to meet his eyes. Your anger at the situation is starting to seep in at how you’ve been lulled into coming to a secluded house with this man and he’s clearly targeted you, but he’s being polite about it. “All of this is disconcerting Jack.” Your lips nearly touch the mug before he speaks.

“I was upfront with everything darlin’ and told you I’m a fae. We ain’t like them fairies in the story books or movies. We like entertainment and mischief. Think like that twiggy guy who’s always fightin’ with his brother but less daddy issues and no delusions of grandour.” Slurping his tea, he runs his tongue along his upper lip and smirks as you watch. “You can act like you don’t wanna be here, but I didn’t ask you to keep talking to me, give me your name, or to even come to these woods. You were trying to get promoted because your job is always putting the cart way before the horse and making you deal with it for less pay. You’re lonely just like I am and tired of it. Now if you wanna stay, you drink that tea and I can stay by your side until the end of your days. I’m a man of my word.”

“Is something in this tea?” You stare at it and it smells and looks ordinary. His words sting, you’d told him too much about how you feel about your life right now. His ochre brown eyes are fixed on you, matching them you see it. The emptiness that looks back at you when you ready yourself in the morning and when prepping for bed at night. “The void. It truly is the same for you isn’t it? But won’t be painful for you when I’m gone? My life has got to be a few blips in your lifetime. Wouldn’t I be getting more out of this?”

“One might see it that way, but I’m different from most fae. They’re fine being on their own for the most part, but allows those in who I feel I may be able to build a life with, even if it isn’t that long. If there’s one enviable thing about you humans, you match one another in time where I also seem to have too much of it.” Jack removes his stenson and lays it on the coffee table, sipping more of his tea with his eyes still on you. “Tea’s getting cold sugar. What’s it gonna be?”

Maybe you were swayed by his words, maybe it was your own feelings of someone who understood what it feels to know the pangs of heartache were, maybe it was the chance to escape everything and start anew on a curious journey that very few have had the privilege of. Gulping down the tea gave you your first view of a surprised Jack Daniels. His mug clattered on the table next to his hat and he grabs you by the shoulders. “Hot damn baby! Looks like you’re ridin’ with me for the long haul!” 

Slowly, food you had been used to eating lost its taste. Jack explained that because you were now eating food he prepared, you were becoming more acclimated to the fae world. About a month in, Jack showed you where he gathered the food he prepared. It turns out, it’s actually odd little berries that he uses magic to make them appear and taste like foods you’re more familiar with. Picking the fruits is a fun outing and leads to the two of you getting caught in the rain, where you had your first kiss with Jack. The only reason it took this long is because he was indeed a fae true to his word and wasn’t going to force you to do anything you weren’t ready for. He also explained after you kiss, that he may have had to initiate soon because his kiss or other intimate contact would protect you from the Fae Queen. It sounded like one of his many jokes, but by this point, all of them as they relate to fae have proven not to be jokes. 

Things progressed quickly after that, it seems having less of an appetite for substance led to other needs strengthening. At first you thought it was just Jack’s libido that was high as he normally sought you out around the house, but when you pushed him on his back flat on the dining room table and you riding him like one of the bucking broncos he normally joked about, it was clear that sex had replaced food for you too. 

Over the next few decades, Jack took you across the seas, continents, deserts, plains and more. In the span of ten years, you’d nearly crossed off all the places on a bucket list you’d compiled. You aged slower due to your consumption of the fae fruit, but time still marched on and Jack looked the same as the day you’d met him. Mustache still dark and bushy, all his hair atop his head and a beautiful shade of umber. His excitement and joy at watching you marvel at what he could show you kept him going. Jack knew he could do it as long as he had you with him, holding his hand and laughing like in that forest all those years ago. 

Daniels had also taken you to explore the fae world, it was on a different plane than the human one, almost overlapping at different points but also had fixed pockets of space. He told a few of the fae about your old joke about fairy dust and they did give you some. It was disappointing though, only made your hands itchy. The fae would come visit you both at your home as they found you quite interesting. Apparently, you’re the longest lasting human Jack has been with, usually they’re dead by now according to them. Jack hushes them but you wonder how many have been before you, it can’t have been that many but it does cross your mind sometimes, even when Jack it rutting into you or if you’re looking up at him as you help relax with your throat after spending another afternoon watching the sun set again in Aruba. 

With your advancing age, you and Jack travel less and he’s more careful with you. Almost like you’re made of glass which you assure him you’re not. Neither of your parents were glassmakers. Still with that humor that Daniels loves. He’s thankful that you’ve made it to your twilight years, well past your eightieth year. Daniels still sees that funny soul that keeps his heart feeling light with every touch and verbal exchange. A rather odd couple that draws many an eye when you’re out and about, such an older partner for this hearty cowboy, if only they knew the truth. It is not for them to know.

Just as it is not for anyone to know what Jack Daniels sounds like when he assumes you were asleep when he arrived home from gathering more fruit for the two of you. Your body, always so pleasantly heated when he’d rest his head in your lap or on your shoulder. Even the touch of your hand was a tepid treat against his cool skin, but today it matches his. Jack wants to toss the idea away and just carry you inside to warm you up by the fire but he knows it will do nothing. Your skin will remain cold as that humorous soul he loved is no longer there.

Jack Daniels finds that your death is the hardest he’s experienced thus far. He was able to have you with him for decades. His home is now barren and the fruit he has gathered doesn’t matter. The solitude he had eliminated with your presence has returned with such an abrupt embrace. Daniels fights it as he picks your body up and carries it to the backyard, though he did not stop there.

No one, fae or human has seen Jack Daniels since. It could be he has assumed a new form and identity, but most believe that he’s still wandering somewhere with the remains of the one he loved the most in both worlds: You.

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