kyoko-neko

[kyoko-neko]

Might as well give it a go

[kyoko-neko]

I would buy this tee in a heartbeat

[kyoko-neko]

[kyoko-neko]

I've always thought this. Instead of demanding one worrying to write what it like, find one who does. I'm grateful to all the sensing writers I've met on here!

sorry to be negative on the dash but..... y'all need to be nicer to fanfic writers. we all know interactions are decreasing, and even during the nine months i've been on here, i've noticed a decrease.

tell writers you like their works. comment on their works, reblog their works.

some of you act so entitled, and idk if you've noticed but you're literally making writers miserable. it makes me so sad to see my mutuals deactivate because the joy of writing has been taken away from them by ungrateful readers who are constantly demanding more, more, more, to the point where people are experiencing burnout and anxiety because they can't keep up with the constant unrealistic demands.

reminder that even though it takes you five minutes to read 1k words it might've taken the writer hours to get the words down, proofread, edit, and make the perfect fic layout.

some of you complain that there are no "good" fics anymore, yet you do nothing for the fandom, do nothing to support writers and just hide behind anon and blank blogs, complaining about every little thing till you've driven all writers off this site.

it's so tiring. please be kinder. we're all trying our best here.

[kyoko-neko]

why don't most vampires just find ppl who are into getting pinned down and bitten and drained. this shit is easyyyy

[kyoko-neko]

🥴

Alright so think about…….men who look very innocent at first, wide doe eyes FULL of admiration. They look so happy and are goofy. Literal sunshines and fluff clouds. Always making sure you’re comfortable, being the best boyfriends. Looking out for you, following the sidewalk rule and all that. They kiss you so eagerly (you’re their first kiss.)

But then in the privacy of your closed doors, they turn into rough doms. Filling you up to the brim, constantly hitting that one spot inside you. Your gummy walls snug around them, trying to just—

“Breathe, love come on.” They’re still so tender with their words. Kissing your forehead, while thrusting you into a pace that is making you see stars. Then as if all that wasn’t enough, the press down on your stomach, making you feel them even more deeply.

“You feel me right here yeah, pretty girl? Tell me –hah– how you feel f’me? C’mon pretty speak.” They ask with a smirk. And just as you’re even trying to answer, they increase their pace. Not even allowing you to speak, as if you forming coherent thought after all this is a personal insult to them. Even after you reach your climax, they’re still going on. “One more f’me please? You can do that right?” They ask breathlessly as you nod, overstimulating both you and themselves.

But after you’re done, they’re the kings of aftercare, kissing your forehead, running a bath, spooning you as you both sleep.

──────────────────

Yuta Okkotsu, Choso Kamo, Xavier (L&DS), Stiles Stilinski, Yuji Itadori + your favs!

a/n: i have a thing for the nickname ‘pretty girl’ ^_^

[kyoko-neko]

This was a docent kind of read for me and yet, I need more. If you live suspenseful, mysterious and well thought out reading. Look no further! @theoxenfree impeccable writing!

IMPOSTER

possessed scholar!husband x reader |3.9k| 18+

In an unforeseen act of self-preservation, your family marries you off into an exorbitantly wealthy family, to a reclusive and reticent scholar who provides you little affection. He is suddenly called away for the handling of his late uncle's final will wishes and estate. He returns to you not himself, and with unquenchable lust.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; extreme dubon, explicit sexual content, mentions of (not explored, not described): orgies, heatplay, robbing a mortuary & drug use, masturbation w/ metal dildo, mirror sex & masturbation, hypnotism, power imbalance, murder, body horror, gruesome imagery, classism, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a concept piece, possibly preluding a full story! if you have any interest in having me build a larger piece out of this concept, PLEASE reblog + interact and let me know! I'm only going to go forward with it if folks express interest!

read to the end for author's notes!

In the airless dark of your bedroom at night, you knew the man lying next to you under covers was not your husband. Once he had been, but now he no longer was.

The revelation had come to you before noticing the stillness of his broad frame in bed, certain stiffness which seemed more alike to rigor in a days old corpse rather than a man wrapped in the comforting spell of deep sleep.

His breaths were silent, if he even breathed at all, reminding you of childhood where the floorboards wouldn't creak so loudly if you sucked all the air out from your lungs into your throat, snagging it, holding it firm. Suddenly, you'd be lighter; effervescent; floating across the wooden slabs towards the kitchen past midnight, or out the front door during the years where testing your parent’s patience and fraying the head maid’s nerves was your favorite thing to do.

You’d learned later on, after the loveless vows and complicated legality behind joining your two families, that your husband had a knack for slipping away at night as well. Only, he wasn't at all the sort for flirtatious gallivanting and loquacious rendezvous with secret lovers in dim rooms, smells of mildew masked by a numbingly sweet, perfumey fog.

He was reclusive and reticent; one of those outstandingly brilliant scholars who believed the rest of the world was below him because he hadn't found an equal in conversation or thought. Social obligations—no matter the occasion or person—pained him to where he intentionally brought you as a buffer between himself and whomever was trying to speak to him.

Some of the talk was so astronomically beyond you that parroting the long-winded answers he spoke softly into your ear back to his audience made you burn under the collar from embarrassment and his proximity to you. His peers could not understand why he simply wouldn't talk for himself; meanwhile, they also wondered why someone without their level of formal education had even accompanied him.

At night, he became one with darkness and retreated to the depths of his study across the massive house you shared together. It was part of one of his family’s various estates dotted across the country and his favorite, due to its location near the university where he worked (at his leisure), and its closeness to his only relative he actually cared about.

“My uncle—he has passed. Of complications caused from tuberculosis, I've been told. I was the only family member placed in his will, therefore it falls to me to settle all remaining affairs he may have overlooked,” he said, letting you help him into his heavy, wool coat he left on a hook near the front door. At his side was a hulking suitcase; one he often used for trips that were days—weeks away from home, from you. “He was a far more private man than I, so there's no telling what I'll come across while I'm there. I cannot tell you how long I'll be away. I'm sorry.”

You expected nothing less from him. This man who had only ever touched you once, on your wedding day. He did everything that he was supposed to: tonelessly regurgitate scripted vows he committed to memory, hold your hands, and kiss you at the altar for more than two seconds but less than five, and then gently lead you away once both families were pleased with the performance.

Right after, now as newlyweds, he poured bourbon into exquisite crosshatch crystalware and examined the glistening amber under wan lamplight. He apologized for kissing you, that he wouldn't have had at all if it hadn't been so important for your families.

At the time, it made you feel very ugly and undeserving of the silk and ornate lacework decorating your body. The gold band fitted around your finger was a lofty symbol of acquired wealth, heavy and unforgiving.

“Write to me every once and a while,” was all you could think to say at present, managing your composure well enough as he gripped the handle of his suitcase and leaned into its heftiness on that side. “It'd just be nice to know how you're doing. If you find anything interesting. When you'll be coming home. It gives me something to look forward to.”

“I'll try to,” he said, but looked through you, pierced you, as though trying to see something else. You saw this look most often at events or parties where he'd fixate on a specific point (usually you) and seem to recede inside himself, into his thoughts, perhaps trying to dissect them or make them congeal into something linear.

“Uncle was an eccentric man. There's no telling what he's left behind for me to find. I must go. Be well, my dear.”

Once again, he left you behind without remorse.

Four months passed with agonizing, gripping slowness from the crisp mornings of late autumn into the icy vise of winter and a shimmering white-blue landscape outside your windows.

In those days, you occupied yourself as best you could with guests and alcoholic merriment, whisked yourself away to parties and dinners after wringing out the invitations from friends, and spent many sleepless nights sprawled across the floor beside the fireplace coveting self-pleasure.

You imagined it was your husband there with you, immediately a renewed man after his return and finding you boundlessly desirable, fucking you with his cock rather than the freezing metal dildo you thrust inside yourself.

Even once you were finished, fucked out by your own hand and the object gaping you wide, you kept masturbating until you lost sensation, the motions and metal numbing you inside—until the intimacy and thrill of self-discovery had lost meaning to you.

Sometimes, you were found the next morning by a maid like that: thoroughly debauched with the phallus having rolled away nearby or still shallowly pressed inside. You only needed to threaten her livelihood once for her to never speak of it, pretend each time she hadn't witnessed a regrettable case of personal depravity.

It'd eventually become a frequent enough sight to her that she knew better than to look directly at you when she entered the room. Rather, now, she carried a laundered pair of trousers in with her. They were draped neatly over a bent arm, along with a warm and soapy rag in her hand, which she used to lightly clean you of dried fluids. Afterward, she helped you into the new garment.

“You have received a letter from the Master,” she said unexpectedly one morning, after fastening your pants and tucking your blouse inside them. “It's strange, though, because it doesn't feel like a letter. Not enough… substance. Shall I open it for you?”

“No! No, that's alright.” You took the long, pale envelope from her once she revealed it to you, realizing that she was right. There was nothing to it. Light as a feather, but completely sealed on the back with his personal emblem hastily stamped, or more appropriately, smeared, with red wax dribbling away from center towards the bottom of the envelope as if sudden jerkiness had unsteadied his focused pour.

You flipped the thing front to back several times, testing the way the opposite ends fluttered from nothingness within, and glanced aside to your maid.

She looked to be just as thrown.

“You're sure this is from him?” you asked, bemused. “Who delivered this?”

“Why, a courier on horseback, of course!” she said with conviction, so you knew she wasn't lying to you at that moment. It wasn't her habit to weave tales to get a rise out of her employers, anyway. “I even spoke to the courier for a while because I made a comment about it being so light. He wasn't sure about it, either, but the description of the man who hired him matched the Master almost exactly.”

You had found a letter opener on the desk nearby and made a quick cut under the wax to break the seal without ripping the envelope itself.

“Almost? What does that mean here?” you raised the intact flap with the messy seal attached, freeing all of the residual tracks of wax from the paper so that they fell to the hardwood below like pebbles shaken out of a shoe after a stroll through the yard. “The man was either my husband or he wasn't.”

The maid tried to subdue her intrigue of the envelope, turned, and moved onto bunching up the soiled sheet you'd spread out on the floor last night. “Please don't misunderstand. It was him. But, the courier described him as ‘a very interesting and friendly fellow to converse with’.”

“What?”

You were responding to two things simultaneously right then: what your maid had just told you, and the fact that the only content inside the envelope was a single shred of paper torn from an unlined journal.

The maid fluttered back over to your side as you plucked out the slither of paper, letting the envelope fall freely from your hand to the floor. Leaning into your proximity, she read aloud the same three words that your eyes skimmed:

“Father Marius DuMonde.”

Just as you had done before with the envelope, you flipped the scrap back and forth as though trying to magically flip something into existence. Your husband's handwriting was recognizable in the lettering, but it was impatient; scrawled across a page in one journal in his vast collection like he hurriedly walked past, and then ripped it out.

Nothing else was revealed to you in the seconds after, nor in your long, contemplative stare.

“Who is that?” you asked the maid to alleviate a fast yawning gap of uneasiness beginning to make you fidget and fluster. “A priest?”

The maid beamed in awe of your fast deductive skills and nodded eagerly. “It would seem that way! The city has more places of worship than it does homes for the hungry and sick. Although, I suppose a church offers some of those services.” However, the lightness sank out of her face when you didn't reciprocate that enthusiasm whatsoever. “You’re unhappy? What's wrong?”

“My husband is a scholar. A rigid man of science,” you said, bending over to pick up the discarded envelope to closer examine the disastrous wax seal. “He denounces faith in all forms. Why did he write a priest's name to me?”

That maddening thought followed you for days afterward, sufficiently distracting you from all the regular vices you'd come to rely on to fill the void of your husband's absence. Fulfill the needs he'd never tried to meet even while he was around.

You spent your days brooding in the window seats in whichever room was warmest, molding against their domed shape while leaning a cheek flush to frigid glass, eyes bloodshot and watering against the sun’s searing neon reflecting off of a lawn of undiluted, glittering white.

Seldomly, a finch or small vermin would come into your view—hopping or lunging through the snow, making tracks, digging holes, disturbing your beautiful wonderland and almost arousing you into unreasonable outbursts which then inevitably became the servants responsibility to contend with, should any be nearby to provoke you.

It was the early evening during one of your normal watches, just after dinner and a glass of red wine, when a great clamor carried swiftly to you from the foyer of the main entrance. The servants’ voices were a feverish amalgam of nonsensical babbling, high-pitched, and accommodating in a way that made you think of groveling dogs with flattened ears, wagging and tucked tails, bellies upturned to their masters.

“Come! Come quickly!” called your maid from the sitting room door, her shrill, excitable voice a violent jostling in your head, scrambling your thoughts and anger with it. “Master has returned! He's asking for you.”

You delayed the reunion, waiting several minutes after she had gone before standing. You realized that the anticipation you felt swelling in your chest, rising like growth—a malignant tumor into your throat, thickening your tongue and fouling your taste and smell, was because you were uneasy, haunted by the cryptic message he had presumably sent you weeks ago.

A while later, you entered the foyer to see most of the staff had already dispersed and the ones left behind were your husband’s most loyal. There among them, speaking so unremarkably, so casually in a way you'd never witnessed, was your husband. His good spirits and animated gestures as he handed off all his things to many hands were an odd sight, staggeringly unlike his typical dour.

So, the rumor was true. There was something discomforting in that.

Whatever topic he'd been engaged in fell wayside once he took sight of you: standing, waiting, subtly shifting your weight, picking your overgrown cuticles to remedy how nervous you truly felt in that moment. You'd always been a little uncertain of how to deal with him as he was hardly affable, but this—

“Oh my… there you are, my sweet!” his voice was exactly the same, but his way of speaking was too jarring, almost lilting. Unnatural. No one else seemed to notice. “I was worried you may have been cross with me for being away for so long. As it turned out, uncle had far more beneath the surface to find than I once thought. But, all is well! The old man has been laid to rest forever. The estate is in the right hands. I've come back to you.”

Could this man really be your husband?

He came to you in brisk strides with a certain clumsiness to the way he moved, somewhat off. You thought about seasoned drunkards who could walk along a path, but never on a straight line without gently swaying on and off of it. Mostly in control, but never so well to appear normal.

But, you didn't detect that stiff, hot, fermented reek of alcohol on his breath nor any subtle odor sticking to his clothes as he gripped you tight in an embrace. The only one he'd ever given you. Where you should have been over the moon in joy at his profound change in heart, the little sweetness was like an anchor—arms of a sinewy willow pinning you to an even stronger trunk.

“God, you're breathtaking.” He even sounded winded as he spoke, lifting your face up with both hands to see his dark, dark gleaming eyes. You startled from his cold touch, fingertips pinpricks of pure frost and ice as they pushed into your skin, but you felt trying to reach much deeper than that. “Come with me, my love. Let me show you just how much I've missed you.”

As if fantasy had become real, he fucked you relentlessly that night next to the fireplace, consuming you so completely that every orgasm made your insides churn in agony.

He laved at you with his entire mouth, tongue and teeth hardest at work while his hands bruised and fondled you, fingers thrusting up into your tight hole oozing his saliva and your arousal. It was shameful to think that it took this sort of handling from another person to get you off, squeal like a sow.

He fucked you however he could, wherever he could. Rutting you from behind and against furniture, pressing your bare chest flush to frosted over window panes to make your nipples erect and ache from the cold biting them.

Then, you were settled on his lap in front of a mirror hanging adjacent across the bedroom, his thighs spreading you wide open before your own reflection where you watched his cock plunge deep, filling you to the base of his shaft, balls slapping your sticky skin.

“Touch yourself, darling.” His throat rumbled, turning over stones and shards of glass, overall sounding very husky. There was something of wheeze that trailed the end of his every word, like he’d been patched for a long time. “Touch yourself. Watch yourself while you do it. Fuck yourself like the whore you are.”

Although the things he said were horribly uncouth, unbefitting of a man of his status and who you'd known him to be, there was great allure in hearing him, obeying his wants. You'd only had one glass of wine that evening, but your head and body warmed and buzzed like you'd had several.

His voice was a raspy whisper in your ears, seeping deep into your mind; spreading; fitting the grooves of your brain like the slow sprawl of sap through the gaps in bark. You were hardly yourself those minutes, those hours onward where you witnessed your reflection stroking throbbing parts, moaning, weeping, cumming until it hurt, and then doing it all over again.

The person in the mirror seemed to be someone completely different, whether simply disassociation from yourself or some hallucination evoked by exhaustion and ecstacy. Your husband had faded into the background, his voice creating sounds and noises, holding the cadence of language while seeming entirely unprobable, unknowable to you.

You couldn't understand him, yet you could, and the things he said were vile and disgusting and moralless. He told you of every way he'd like to fuck you, watch you be fucked; but, mostly, he wanted you to fuck yourself with the bulbous bedposts, the metal phallus held under lashing flames to be inserted next to his own cock.

He suggested orgies where the servants could take turns with you. He had almost convinced you to call for your maid so he could watch you suck on her breasts and lick her clit, while he rammed you from the back. He suggested drugs and whores, robbing the mortuaries, and worse and worse and worse and worse…

The next morning, you were stiff and immobile, bedridden unless two servants came into your room to help you squat on the commode. Your abdomen was tender and your genitals were untouchable, forcing you to lie in bed without undergarments to alleviate the raw chafing that could happen with fabric.

“I'm sorry, my darling. I—I lost control of myself. I got carried away,” your husband confessed later on, his sallow complexion keeping a weird, waxy sheen to it. A mask that fits, but not quite perfectly. Some of his former somber nature had returned to him as he sat on the edge of your bed, caressing the side of your face. He was still ridiculously cold. “Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't realize just how desperate I was to see you again until you were in my arms. And then—and then, it was like it was all a dream.”

You thought the very same. You could believe he forgot himself in an uncharacteristic blaze of lust, as men were never taught to be any other way, and most men couldn't fathom the level of restraint he’d had until last night.

Everything else, you'd wanted to believe, was simply imagined after drinking more than you once thought and getting inside your own head full of sinful indulgences.

Still, one thing bothered you: Father Marius DuMonde.

“I need you to go to the city and find him. And show him this paper. Explain to him everything that you know, you hear?” You'd handed your maid the old envelope and scrap of paper, and handed her a generous bag of coins from your own safe.

She looked at you, everything else, in bewilderment. “Don't ask questions. If you're able, bring him back here. Beg him if you must. If it's all nothing, he will simply be an honored guest we feed well, house, and send off gracefully the next day. Should it be something…”

“Are you afraid of him? The Master?” asked the maid, perhaps out of faithfulness to him. Perhaps out of devotion to you the most. “What do you think happened at his uncle's estate?”

It would all be speculation and unjustified gossip without proof, of which you had none. So, you told her that you couldn't be sure of anything right now. “Wait until sundown. Take the old pony in the stables, the one that usually lags behind all the rest. Be silent. Be careful.”

The maid did as you asked and left right before the final light was extinguished by indigo nightfall. You were able to move to one of the windows, seating yourself gingerly, watching her lead the sluggish old pony into cover of tree tops and then nothing else.

But, five days later, the maid hadn't returned from her mission, nor had you received any correspondence from her, nor the priest that she was supposed to retrieve.

A week after that, it was revealed to you that neither she or the old pony had made it out of the woods. The details of the old pony were so gruesome you couldn't bear to remember them.

But, the maid was found nearly decapitated, head twisted around to face backwards, her pale skin hideously purple and black and swelled where it had been stretched like a strap of wrung leather. It was mentioned she had been disemboweled as well, but you promptly burst into tears and ran from the room before the visiting coroner could finish speaking, leaving him to discuss the rest with just your husband.

That night, you lay next to your husband in bed. The deep silence of night filled your ears with static and crunching cotton, whereas a hum resonated inside your head, your chest, seeping into your bones like a cold blanket of rainfall.

The black air took on weird shapes: imagined appendages curling, reaching across the ceiling towards the bed, towards you. Your eyes couldn't focus enough to ward them off, nor the depth of dark your husband's silhouette had at your side.

He was faced the other way, his clothes back to you, completely unmoving. You ventured closer to listen for the thin breathing of sleep, the automatic rise and fall of his body, and yet he could've been mistaken as one of the dead. As dead and gnarled as your maid.

“Who are you?” you asked him. Asked the swirling nothingness in the room. “Where is my husband?”

“You've nothing to worry about, my sweet,” he said readily, so clearly anticipating to have your voice ring out at some point in the night. “He is here with me. Such a selfish, unlovable man. I am the one worthy of this vessel and you. Not he.”

Then, he rolled on top of you and kissed you deeply. Your bedclothes were shucked from your bodies and he pushed your thighs apart to seat himself inside of you. He took you with greedy thrusts, face fitted against the arch of your neck where his breath left a moist film across your skin, but the rest of him was freezing.

Your whimpers of pains were dwarfed by his hot moans into your flesh, teeth suddenly sharper and sinking deep when he bit into your neck. You were trapped staring at the ceiling, wrapped in agony and pleasure, feeling his body under your fingertips beginning to distort and change into something far more monstrous.

a/n; this is heavily inspired from me reading the exorcist, recently. the section with the maid's head swiveled around was a nod to the scene with director having "fallen" from a height and dying similarly. a lot of my most recent reads have been extremely graphic, so my writing has been reflecting that and it's been interesting!

quick q&a!

is father marius dumonde the same father marius from your vampire priest fic? yup! if I go forward with writing the longer story, father marius will be a central character later on, and father shaw will make a reappearance as well.

what would the main differences be in a full story vs just this piece?

a) the husband would be given a more solid identity, appearance, and name. he'd have more depth to build an emotional rapport with his character.

b) existing scenes would be expanded, smut scenes grittier and more graphic, more development between mc and the husband, the maid would have a more important part and given an identity. essentially, most elements from this price would be fleshed out and expanded.

c) I intend to add a "mystery" element to this where mc tries to unveil what happened during the husband's stay at his uncle's estate.

d) I would open up multiple polls to help influence different aspects of the story such as the husband's name, appearance, overall disposition, whether the majority would vote for a happy ending with the husband vs the ending with the demon.

if you're interested in seeing a full story, make sure to reblog and share your thoughts with me!! I'd love to hear feedback on this to know what you'd like to see in the future!

[kyoko-neko]

O-of course babe... 😅 *hides my tumblr page*

Boyfriend: So you’re really okay with me being a werewolf?

Me *visibly sweating and gripping tf out of the chair*: Y-Yeah. I will always love and accept you baby.

[kyoko-neko]

Yandere Monster Husband

Yandere monster husband that kidnapped you and turned you into his little housewife. He saw you in the forest and just knew you had to be his.

He wasted no time bringing you to his home and fucking you dumb. He breeds you every day and it’s not long before you are growing with his child, only making him more obsessed with you.

He lets you out of the house but only with him. He can’t risk anyone taking away his precious love.

He takes care of everything else to provide for you and your growing family. As soon as you give him one kid, he is filling you relentlessly to give you another.

Each time you have another kid he builds a new addition onto your house. What was once a cozy cottage is quickly on its way to becoming a mansion with how many children he puts in you.

The kids also start to pick up on his behavior towards you. Always doting on you and wanting your love and affection. They glare at anyone that looks at you when you take the occasional family trips into town.

They sit in the kitchen with you while you cook, refusing to play in another room when they could simply play in your presence and keep you in their sights. And if you sit down you better believe they will pile on you to try and cuddle as close as possible.

The only time they leave your side is to sleep because your husband demands you all for himself in the night hours. He loves all of his children but he will never give you up completely after all you were his first

He spends every night filling you and holding you close. He whispers sweet words in your ears as he fucks your pussy brutally, filling your womb to the brim each night whether you are already pregnant or soon to be.

You are so busy between your husband and children demanding your love and attention that you can’t even remember what life was like before your monster took you, just the way your husband wants it.

[kyoko-neko]

I think this is a great way to start the day lol

Obsessed Werewolf who marks their mate before their mate can go anywhere. Like outside. Biting, creampies and scratching....

Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW!

You've tried everything: from pleading, to scolding, to attempting an undetected escape. All of it - obviously - without success. Your werewolf boyfriend refuses to compromise, and for a good reason! How would people otherwise know you belong to him?

Normally, he is at your service. This is one matter where he won’t budge. You need to be marked. It’s either this, or him following you around and growling at any potential threat.

Consequently, you have to pick your poison with a certain amount of calculation and strategic planning. Deep scratches and bite marks are not the best look before a swimming lesson or a summer day out with friends, for example.

Which brings you back to now, as you’re violently pounded, sprawled over the kitchen countertop. The porcelain dishes rattle with each thrust of his member, relentlessly stretching your insides. You swear you can see your stomach bulging with each renewed swing of his monstrous hips. Finally, he lets go, and you squeeze your legs together in an attempt to control the sudden, hot assault threatening to drip its way out.

“No seconds!” you shout, slapping his drooling snout away from your bare skin. “I have to leave in ten minutes.”

You stand up, readjust your garments, and prepare your exit. If you are to be entirely honest, it’s not a bad deal by any means. There’s something rather cheeky about greeting your friends or coworkers while being stuffed with your boyfriend’s cum.

[kyoko-neko]

What i want for Christmas this year

Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Werewolf?

Pairing: Werewolf Boyfriend x Human!Reader Warnings: idk werewolf? shitty description of shifting into a werewolf. A/N: Now I know I said I'll make an OC, but I'm too indecisive to pick a name. Please send me name ideas for my OC.

You heard the door open and checked the time '11 pm'. You sigh feeling helpless. Your boyfriend has started coming home late, or sometimes staying cooped up in his room refusing to come out. This has been going on for a month, since the camping trip you went to with him and your friends.

Truth be told, at first when he started coming late you felt as if he was doing something behind your back. But his behaviour and mood keeps fluctuating. Sure he becomes aggressive. Very aggressive. But not towards you, god no, he could never be aggressive towards you. Either he's very clingy and needy, or just pulls away from you.

Not only that but he's gotten warmer. His voice has turned more.....deep. And he has a bit of a growl in his voice. He's gotten a bit taller, muscular. His teeth feel like they're sharper. In all honesty, he has started to feel like one of the creatures in a monster fucking blog. But you try to tell yourself that you must be imagining things. Sure you're delusional, but not that delusional.

Today was one of those days where he was feeling clingy towards you. You were lying on the couch, with your boyfriend partially on top of you, his head resting on your chest. When suddenly he looked up at you.

"Hey....love?" he started to speak. "Hmm?"

"I have a question....Would you still love me if i was a w-"

"Worm?" you cut him off with amusement in your eyes.

"Huh? a worm?" He blinked.

"Yeah, weren't you going to ask me if I'd still love you if you were a worm."

"No. What kind of stupid question is that? Wait nevermind. Let me rephrase....what do you think about werewolves?"

You stared at him, your thoughts going haywire ⎯ 'Why did he ask me that? Did he find out about my monster fucking blog? Did he go through my tumblr? Wait is that why he's getting distant.' ⎯ amidst the chaos in your head you managed to croak out "I uh...like to believe they're real. If it's about that werewolf blog I run, it's just fiction...right? Like you know, werewolves don't exist. It's like writing for a fictional character. If it bothers you I'll stop. I should have-" you get cut off by him kissing you.

"I um....well it might sound crazy. So let me show you instead of telling you." He stands up and then closes his eyes. You look at him in anticipation and feel the energy shift in the room, you notice him opening his eyes that have darkened. His bones start to break and stick out in directions they're not meant to stick out. His height grows and he starts snarling. After what feels like an eternity, you're face to face werewolf that is around 7 feet. Well not exactly face to face since he towers over you.

He then shifts back and now you're looking at your very human boyfriend again. You're too awestruck to do or say anything. And then, you squeal. In delight. This catches your boyfriend off-guard and he just tilts his head in confusion. You hug him, full force.

"Does this mean you're fine with me being a werewolf?" he asks tentatively.

"I love you for who you are, not for your appearance. And your werewolf side is still you. I'll always love you." you say with a grin.

"I'm glad I have you. And what was that about writing for werewolves? I'd love to hear about your fantasies love." he says with a teasing grin, but you know he was serious about knowing your fantasies. You're in for a long night.

[kyoko-neko]

This is something i need to practice even more! Just stop inviting negative energy.

Don’t look at things you know will make you angry. Don’t read the comment sections. Don’t look at the blogs of people who add dumb comments to posts to confirm that they’re dumb all the time. Don’t read old conversations you had with people you don’t talk to anymore. Go look at pictures of kittens or something instead. Protect yourself from negativity in every way you can.

[kyoko-neko]

Someone get @slightly-knot-insane a got damn book deal cause hunny...I am shooketh 🥵.

Loving your writing and saw that you’re accepting asks!

I have this thought about monster boyfriend of some sort who is desperate to have sex but you’re hesitant/nervous because he’s so big/will knot you. He reassures you and says that he’ll put in just the tip to ease you into it and then you’re both going crazy for it and he goes feral and thrusts the whole thing in/pops his knot in you

I'm so happy to hear this! Especially since English is not my first language (if that isn't painfully obvious lol). Thank you for this incredibly excellent ask!

[m!monster x fem!reader]

You could hear him in the basement. It was that time of the year - he goes into rut and he simply... needs his alone time. He always kisses you, lingering just a tad bit longer than usual, and retreats downstairs.

You stand outside the door. He is trying to stay as quiet as he can, muffling his groans and heavy breathing, but he's too loud. Too pent up.

You want to help him. He is almost frenzied when in rut and sometimes hurts himself or the others. He recognizes you, of course, but there is something in his behavior that scares you. Although - you bite your lip - not in a necessarily bad way.

You notice the basement is too quiet. Is he okay? You try the door handle - surprisingly, he didn't lock himself in. Perhaps he forgot? You go downstairs, as quietly as possible. It is almost too dark to see, but you can't turn on the light - you shouldn't be here after all.

He is kneeling on the floor, his huge pulsating cock in one hand as he is trying to get off. It is out of the sheath, a big bulbous knot at the base, and leaking glans on the top. His other hand is holding your panties. He is sniffing and biting them while jacking off. The fabric is completely damp.

Your face burns from embarrassment. Somehow you feel you shouldn't have seen this. Maybe you could sneak outside without him noticing? But... do you want to? You've never seen him like this, barely human, his limbs different and longer and stronger, his neck wider, his tail more flexible. It was him, but not completely. Also his cock... it changed in a rather interesting way.

He finally senses you and his eyes snap open, his pupil dangerously dilating.

"I'm sorry!" You panic and try running upstairs. You barely climb two steps before he grabs you from behind and lifts you. You yelp in surprise. He carries you downstairs and, without letting you go, kisses you. Everything about him is different, even his embraces. They are so intense, more consuming, needy. More feral. His hands quickly remove all your clothes and his fingers find your breasts.

"Wait," you gasp. "You are so big. I can't..."

He nibbles your neck, his large hands cupping your ass cheeks. "I need you. I will be careful, I promise. Let me have you a little bit or I'll go mad." His voice mutated into more dominant, animalistic one. You whimper as his finger finds your pussy and pushes against your entrance. "Not wet enough."

In one easy move, he lifts you up in front of his face and places your knees over his shoulders. Once your pussy is perfectly leveled with his large mouth, he proceeds to eat you out like a starving animal.

"Aaaah... aaah..." You wiggle and pant, sensations too overwhelming. But he firmly holds you in place. His tongue reaches places no toy or his human form ever reached. It circles around your clit and pumps into your entrance, swelling and pulsating. Your boyfriend pleasures you until you're soaking wet and trembling, and then lowers you just above his massive cock. "Please!" you scream, intimidated by the knot. "I can't do it..."

"I will put just the tip in," he reassures you. "I would never hurt you."

He sounds like your old wonderful boyfriend and you slightly relax in his arms. The way he kisses you by biting your lips, licking your face and sliding his long tongue deep into your throat is truly something special. Distracting you with his mouth, he slowly forces his glans into your pussy. It glides easily, and you both moan.

"You are so..." he whispers under his breath. "So tight. So amazing."

He barely enters and immediately lifts you up again. He is breathing heavily and sweating, his muscles trembling. You know it's not because he can't hold you like this - he is barely controlling himself, trying not to impale you on his massive cock.

"More..." You whine, his monster phallus rubbing against your wet walls. "Give me more."

He grunts happily and let's you slide down. He fills you completely, holding you safely with his arms. "Fuck... Can I go faster?"

"Yes please." Your blood is already boiling, nerves vibrating from incoming orgasm.

He starts bouncing you up and down, only pushing the half of his length inside. It doesn't feel uncomfortable. He is stretching you bit by bit, and immediately pulling out. His grunts and panting, and your moaning surround your sweating bodies. "Fuck... Fuck..." you both pant into each other's ear.

"Harder," you moan and his hips start jerking upwards when his arms lower you down. The impact is so much stronger, more intense, more ecstatic. After just a few thrusts, you climax and scream into your hands. You are so loud, it's embarrassing.

"No, let me hear you. Scream more for me. "

He speeds up, your pussy contracting around his cock and you can only moan and whimper from your overwhelming prolonged orgasm. He presses you against his chest, growling like a beast, and jerks his hips upwards. There is some sudden pain, but pleasure too, and you cry out.

His low moans become louder as he pounds you. Your entire body feels his body, all around you and inside you. Finally, with a hard thrust, he grunts into your hair and forces you even harder against his body. Hot liquid enters deeply into your womb. It feels amazing.

With panting and drooling all over you, your boyfriend lets your torsos separate. But nothing else.

"I knotted in you. I can't pull out." He sounds both happy and worried. You look down and see a big bulge from your swollen pussy all the way to your navel. And finally you realize his whole monster cock entered you including the knot. "I'm sorry," he says.

It doesn't hurt too much. It's a bit sore, sure. With little practice, you are sure you could do this every day. The thought makes your pussy throb. He feels that and looks at you curiously.

With a sly smile, you rub the tip of his cock through your skin and it twitches. "Sorry? I'm upset we haven't tried this sooner. No need to hide in the basement from me ever again." Realizing what you said, he happily purrs and embraces you.

[kyoko-neko]

Say the word and I'll quit today!

Yandere coworker who hates you.

Well... it's not that he doesn't like you, he just doesn't like that you act like you can take care of yourself. Yandere coworker spends practically every day by your side, watching as you struggle to meet deadlines and burnout again and again. His sharp eyes land on your tired form, and he frowns.

Yandere coworker is praised by the supervisors, makes the most sales of anyone in your department, and overall is just better than you at everything. While you look haggard on a constant basis, just one bad day from breaking down, he looks put together and confident. While he is charismatic and schmoozes those higher up on the corporate ladder with ease, you flounder in even the most basic conversations.

You shouldn't be here. He doesn't understand how you still have a job. He's harsh on you, sure, but it's not like he's not constantly saving you from yourself.

He is the one who puts in a good word for you so you don't get fired. He's the one who stays in the office well after he should've left to watch you work overtime. He deserves all the success. He deserves you.

Yandere coworker hates you for how stupid you are. If you would just stop being so stubborn and just turn to him for help, he'll make it so you never have to work again. Maybe he can play a little dirty if it means he can get you to stop acting like you can do anything without him.

[kyoko-neko]

😅😂 there are worst things

We really are out here unapologetically being monster fuckers

[kyoko-neko]

I'm coming my love

He is waiting for you. Patiently. Hiding in the dark, away from other humans. They could hurt him and he could hurt them. They don't understand him like you do. He misses you so much it burns his blood. It hurts to even think about you. He could rip someone's throat just because the pain won't go away and he doesn't know how to deal with it. Where are you? Why are you late? He needs to hold you, embrace you, taste you, have you, own you. How much longer until you are in his arms again, sheltered, safe? He needs you and you need him.

[kyoko-neko]

When you just find perfection...

"Where have you been? I needed you. I needed you so badly." So much pain and desperation was in his voice that you almost forgot he was fucking you senseless. "I was losing my mind without you."

"I know, I'm so sorry." You could barely speak while his knot slammed against your dripping pussy. "I missed you too. B-but we can talk later. Please... Please, fuck me harder."

He growled next to your ear, curling around you, grabbing your soft hips. He started slamming your behind mercilessly against his groin. "Anything you want. Anything you want, my love. Just let me fill you with my seed. Carry my little werewolf children for me."

Your cunt was twitching from delight imagining being bred for days by your huge mate. Giving him what he desires. What you desire just as much. "Yes... Oh, yes... Please don't stop... Give me everything, every drop..."

His hoarse moans mixed with yours as you reached your climax, shaking and pulsating all around him. Slick from your juices he pushed his knot inside you easily, and gave you another orgasm before finishing himself. He howled your name, intertwined with you, and spilled his thick seed into your needy womb.

He laid on top of you and pulled your head backwards. He kissed you with brutal passion, pushing his tongue inside your mouth. You gasped, breathless and dizzy.

"Never leave me again", he said before kissing you over and over again. "Never leave my side. Never torment my body and soul with your absence. Promise me, my love."

All you could do was gladly obey.