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thiswasinevitableid · 4 days ago

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You Better Watch Out (Vincent/Apollo)

An early christmas gift for @bellafarallones, based on a discussion we had on discord. This fill is NSFW.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” Apollo rolls over in his bed to look at where Indrid is staring up at the ceiling from his own, “and I hope Santa burns all your gifts in the fireplace.”

At age eight, this is the most heart-rending threat he can think of, but Indrid turns his head to look at him, “You said he wasn’t real.”

“And he’s not. But father is.”

Indrid does not argue this point, so Apollo considers it won. They��ve been at each other's throats all week, for reasons they will not be able to articulate for several more years (eight for Indrid, twelve for Apollo). Tonight, Apollo kicked Indrid under the table at Christmas Eve dinner because he was talking too loud and father was starting to notice, and Indrid kicked back, so Apollo jabbed him in his ribs with his spoon and Indrid had startled and knocked his water all over the table.

His twin was sent to bed, and Apollo thought he had won, that his father could see how good he was, and then he had to go and try to investigate the few presents under the tree and, in the process, sent several glass ornaments to the floor to shatter.

So here they lay, no dessert and only the gross, bland ham and potatoes to tide them over until morning. The party was over hours ago, and Apollo has more than once thought of sneaking down to the refrigerator. But father might catch him. Somehow. Maybe he can convince Indrid to do it.

“Indrid-”

“No” his brother hurls a pillow at him, “no, whatever it is, I will not do it.”

“You are such a baby.”

“I’m one minute younger! And you, you are a, a jerk.” Indrid rolls onto his side, back to Apollo, “I hate you, I hate this whole holiday, I hate it, hate it, hate it.”

“I hate it more.”

The windows blow open and both boys startle upright.

“There’s snow.” Apollo watches the flurry of white stick to his hand.

“It doesn’t snow here.” Indrid is doing the same thing while peering nervously out the window, “we should turn on the light. And close the windows.”

Apollo hops up to find the light switch. It stays dark no matter how many times he flips it.

“Stupid storm must have messed up the power.” He turns, “Bring me the flashlight from under my bed.”

“Get it your…your..” Indrid’s eyes go huge and he whispers, “Apollo, don’t move.”

Apollo turns to look in the doorway. There’s a massive, hooded shape, staring down at him with yellow eyes.

“Indrid and Apollo Cold” the monster rasps.

Apollo is not a baby, he should pick up the heaviest toy he can find and hit this thing with it.

He bolts to Indrid’s bed, his twin throwing the covers over them both.

“What is that?”

“I do not know, maybe it will go away if we stay quiet.” Indrid whispers.

Slow, heavy hoof-falls cross the floor. A tiny bit of moonlight makes its way in the window, enough for them to see the outline of the monster standing by the bed.

“I…am…Krampus. I visit…the bad…children. You have been…cruel…to each other. Ungrateful. Selfish.”

They both wince, and Indrid puts his arms around him.

“I am sorry, I do not really hate you, and I hope father gives the good Legos to you this year instead of me.”

Apollo cannot speak, simply nods to show he agrees, clinging to Indrid’s pajamas.

“This…is…a warning.” The creature murmurs, so close it must be under the covers with them.

Then they’re laying awake on Christmas Morning, the room exactly as it was.

From then on, no matter how bad things get between them, come December they enter into an unspoken truce. No insults, no fighting. It’s like when they were little.

After all, it’s better safe than sorry.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The year Apollo turned 33, he took the wheel of his life in hand for the first, real time, and promptly steered the whole thing into the nearest rock.

He left his fathers company, cut contact as best he could, and found himself without a job, place to live, or purpose.

He got a job at the mall, at Tiffanys. Found an apartment. Turned his simmering, patricidal instincts into more time at the gym and Sunday mornings in the woods looking for birds and the occasional engineering project (“you have to have a hobby” Indrid had said, “you will be amazed at how much energy you have when you are not dealing with him”).

Then, last year, a week before Thanksgiving, he met Vincent.

“Excuse me, I was hoping you could give me some advice on a gift.”

Apollo turns to find an unremarkable man in a grey suit, lavender tie adding a tasteful pop of color. He’s a few inches shorter than him, appears to make decent money, and is going grey in a way that looks dashing instead of depressing.

He puts on his salesman smile, “I would be glad to. What are you looking for?”

“Earrings, ideally ones with some length. Elegant but understated.”

Apollo does not roll his eyes; has a man ever come in here wanting something subtle? Or flashy? No, they all want the same thing.

“Right this way. Are these for a wife, a daughter-”

“My sister” the man smiles, “she’s been promoted to C.O.O and I wanted to get her something to mark the occasion. Are there styles that are considered classic? She tends to favor ‘timeless pieces.’”

Apollo helps him choose a simple pair of simple drop earrings with pearls. The longer they talk, the more he swears he recognizes him, but he doesn’t know from where. Apollo hates not knowing things.

“This is an odd question, but do you work at the mall as well? I think we have met before.”

“My day job is in security. But on the weekends, you might have seen me there.” He tips his head toward where a poor facsimile of the North Pole is sitting at the center of the mall, “my father did it before me. I like keeping up the tradition.”

“I see.” Apollo cannot believe he spent the last twenty minutes helping a mall Santa.

“But let's just keep that between you and me.” Vincent winks as he takes his gift bag, and Apollo is forced to confront the fact that a mall Santa has very nice eyes.

Indeed, Vincent forced Apollo to confront a lot of things. Like his sexuality, which up until then he decided he could live with as long as he never acted on it (he took a match to that promise the first time Vincent kissed him and never looked back).

It’s been an exercise in the mortifying ordeal of being known. Yet Apollo does not resent it, the way he has in the past. He wants to know Vincent, and be known in turn, and he’s fairly certain that means he’s in love.

The December wind knocks the last leaves from the bushes as he hurries into Vincent’s apartment. Dulcinea, Vincent’s spaniel-adjacent dog, skitters down the hallway to greet him, and he picks her up.

“Hello, I know, it is only me. Vincent is working late. Yes, I hate whoever has caused that too, but we must persevere.”

He feeds her and takes her for a spin around the block, then considers the fridge and decides that once he has an E.T.A he will order something in for the both of them.

Vincent’s place has in-unit laundry, so Apollo busies himself with emptying the dryer and putting things away. Technically, they still live apart, but a whole drawer of the dresser is his to use, as is half the closet.

They really need to buy more hangers. He doesn’t have enough to get everything into place.

He pushes Vincent’s clothing carefully to the side, moving close to the back edge of the closet. Here’s his favorite goldenrod shirt, here’s the suit he wore this July when Apollo got promoted to store manage, here’s a massive, leather coat-

Apollo pauses, pulls the coat out into the room with him. It’s far, far too big for Vincent, the leather weather-beaten and lined with sumptuous, silver fur. He peers back into the closet, spies matching bag hidden in a corner.

“What on earth is this for, Dulce?”

The dog raises her head from the bed, tail wagging at her name.

“I am certain I can work it out. Maybe a costume? No, it is still too big for that. Did someone else leave it here? One of my predecessors?”

“Not quite, little bird.”

Apollo yelps, dropping the coat on the bed.

Vincent stands in the doorway, brows drawn in concern, “I’m a little glad you found it. There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been waiting for the right time. Things are…serious enough between us that I hope you’ll stick around awhile. Which is why you need to know the truth.”

“Is something wrong?”

“You’ll have to tell me once you know. It may be a little startling so please try to stay calm. And, um” he blushes, “I’ll have to undress to show you so I don’t ruin my clothes.”

“Alright. Anything that starts with you undressing can't be all bad.” Apollo says with all the calm he can muster.

Vincent moves out the doorway to stand by the other side of the bed. He’s giving Apollo an escape if he needs it.

A wave of affection hits him, even as nerves well up intensely enough that he gathers Dulce in his arms for support.

Vincent pauses unbuckling his belt, “You may want to put her down.”

Apollo kisses the top of her head and sets her down, “Is something going to happen to her, too?”

“Yes, but nothing dangerous.” Vincent steps out of his underwear and takes a deep breath.

Then he’s gone, and in his place is a goatman, towering over Apollo. His fur is shaggy grey, his feet end in craggy hooves, curved horns sprout from its head, and he watches Apollo with glowing, yellow eyes.

He’s seen this before.

“You’re Krampus.” He’s eight again, hiding under the covers, he can feel himself shaking and has a horrible urge to hide his eyes.

“Yes, Apollo, I am.” It’s still Vincent’s voice, just deeper and with more of a growl to it, “Well, I’m a Krampus.”

“But you are still you?”

Vincent stays firmly on the other side of the bed and gives a slow nod, “Still me. My mind doesn’t really change. Not much, anyway. And no, I don’t actually kidnap children.”

A dozen thoughts flood his mind. The one that comes out is, “good, I don’t want kids.”

A soft laugh makes him relax; that’s Vincent's laugh, no question about it. Then he’s laughing too as a large, wet nose presses into his cheek. Dulce is huge and fluffy, with burning eyes and sharp teeth, and wagging her tail so hard it whams into the wall.

“Be careful, she still thinks she’s a lapdog.” Vincent rubs her flank, “she’s trapped me more than once.”

“She does that when she is small, too, because you are a pushover.”

“Very true. Though I’m not the one who made her a bespoke squirrel toy wind-up toy to chase around.” Vincent pats her again, “go to your mat, girl.”

The dog trots off, barely fitting through the door, and Apollo smiles at the thought of her trying to nap on her normal mat by the heater.

“You really aren’t scared?” Vincent cautiously steps forward.

“I…I am. A little. When Indrid and I were younger, something like you came on Christmas Eve. It was not the scariest moment of my childhood, but it made an impression.”

Vincent offers a hand and Apollo takes it. It’s rougher than usual, nails more like claws.

“You were never in any danger then; the worst we do to children is scare them. They’re young, they’re still learning. Adults may earn actual punishment, though a good scare works on most of them as well. More importantly” he brings their joined hands to his chest, “you’ll never be in any danger from me, in this form or any other.”

“I know.” And he does. A lifetime of proof against it, yet Vincent makes him believe he deserves to be safe. He spreads his fingers across a furred chest, “you are very soft like this.”

“You can touch me all you like. I can also change back if that would be better.”

“You do not need to. I, ah, I would like to get to know you in this form. After all, you have seen me at my most formidable and not flinched away.”

“You do have a knack for chasing off rude customers.” Vincent ushers them down onto the bed, letting Apollo rest comfortably on his chest. He chuckles, “it feels so strange. I’m never taller than you.”

“You are perfect no matter your height. But I do enjoy having to look up at you for once.”

“You’re sweet, little bird” Vincent kisses the top of his head, “good thing too, if you were bad I’d have to punish you.”

He’s joking, and it’s the fact that Apollo can be certain of that which makes him press closer, “How would you punish me?"

“Well, since you’re my darling boy, it wouldn’t be anything too bad. Maybe taking you over my knee for a minute or two.”

“Mmm, that does not sound unbearable.” He runs his fingers more deeply through the fur and Vincent groans happily.

“Have I doomed myself to spend every night like this so you can cuddle up and play with my fur?”

“Perhaps” Apollo grins and pets him more deliberately. Then he pauses, temporal math clicking into place in his head, “wait, if you are some kind of ancient winter spirit, does that mean your driver's license is fake?”

“I did take and pass my test. But if you mean the age on it, then yes. I’m considerably older than 45. Does that bother you?”

Apollo means to shake his head and simply say no. His accursed blood vessels give him away and Vincent spots the blush.

“Do you enjoy having a much older man wrapped around your finger?”

He nods, hiding his face in Vincent’s fur. Feels rough palms guide his right hand up so Vincent can kiss it.

“Good, because I enjoy being there. My Apollo.”

They lay there for awhile, Apollo idly playing with his fur while Vincent strokes his back and tells him about his day, then about how when he’s in this form, he feels more of an instinct toward justice, more of an impulse to deal out consequences for the misdeeds he views when brushing against people.

Were it anyone else talking about punishment so close to him in the darkness, where it was just him and them, especially someone so much bigger, he’d panic, lash out. But this is Vincent. Who doesn’t mock him for putting up his birdfeeders, who didn’t sneer when Apollo wore nail polish for the first time, who does so many things just to make him happy.

“You know” a pointed nail curves teasingly up his back, “Krampus can do rewards, too. It’s the season for them.” His hand skates over Apollo’s ass, then between his thighs, “and you seem to have one in mind.”

“In my defense, you are very attractive regardless of your form. And I feel…I feel so young like this. It’s exhilarating. Is that bad?”

“I don’t think so. Though I think my motives might be a tad selfish.” He gives Apollo’s ass a fond squeeze, “what do you want, darling boy?”

“I want…I want you to rent us a cabin somewhere. And I am there all alone and it is–wait, does Krampus have a holiday all his own?”

“Krampusnacht.”

“It’s Krampusnacht, and I am lonely and young and naive. And handsome, obviously.”

Vincent laughs, “Perhaps you've been so good that I can't help but take pity on a poor young man in his cold home?”

“Yes, yesyes, especially an innocent young man who clearly needs a lesson in the pleasures of the flesh.”

His boyfriend tips his face up to kiss him, “I’ll book us a cabin first thing tomorrow.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Conveniently, being in charge of his Tiffanys’ branch means Apollo does not have to beg or plead for a weekend off. He can simply pack his nicest lounging around clothing and let Vincent whisk him away.

The cabin is an elegant A-Frame, the interior catering to those on Valentine's Day getaways and second honeymoons. Apollo spent most of his day sprawled on the couch by the fireplace, reading, his head in Vincent’s lap. After a brisk walk around the nearby pond, they settled right back into the cozy bedroom to watch a movie.

Now it’s dark, a storm is kicking up, and he hasn’t seen his boyfriend in over half an hour. That’s all according to plan. Now he just has to get as close to sleep as he can with this much excitement thudding in his chest.

Apollo curls up under the blankets, grateful that the sheets are a pleasant flannel instead of an awful one. He’s in his underwear, but the bedding is so nice he barely feels the chill.

The warmth makes him doze. He’s nearly asleep when the lights all go out at once, leaving only the firelight to make sense of the shadows in the corners of the room.

He has a moment of genuine alarm when the bedroom door creaks open and a shadow blocks any remaining light from the living room. The room grows colder, the fire dims, and Apollo hides further under the covers just on instinct.

Purposeful hoofsteps cross the wooden floor, and then the covers are drawn back from his head.

Vincent stares down at him. Only his eyes are visible beneath the hood, and filled with an animal gleam, “Mmm, I was so hoping this house would have a lovely surprise waiting for me.”

“Please don’t hurt me, I promise I have been good.” Apollo’s voice sounds pathetically childish, even as he leans toward Vincent instead of away.

“I'm not here to do you any harm. My colleagues are not the only ones who can give gifts to the deserving” he lifts his head enough that Apollo can see the predatory grin beneath the cloak, “ you seem like you could use someone to help you keep warm on this long, cold night.”

He bites his lip, aiming for an innocence he has never possessed, “I have been cold… are you going to give me a magical blanket, or a hot water bottle or something?”

“Or something, yes. It's a very long night for me. I deserve a reward as well.”

Apollo squeaks when Vincent pulls back the covers to get into bed with him, but his boyfriend pins him in place with a gaze.

“Oh yes, now there's a sight for sore eyes.”

“Really?”

“Really. I like pretty things.” Vincent shrugs out of his robe, “you are very pretty. Now, are you going to be a good boy for me?”

He nods.

“Take these off” Vincent draws a finger along the front of his boxer briefs, “let me see my gift.”

Apollo does his best to wiggle alluringly as he tugs the fabric free. Vincent is naked, must have worn nothing under the cloak, and all the clever roleplay lines Apollo rehearsed in his head about how virginal and inexperienced he is die on his tongue. There’s no denying the creature staring down at him is strange. But it is undeniably Vincent, and so he brings his hands up to pet soft-furred cheeks.

“Something you want to say, little bird?”

“I have never done this before.” It’s not a lie; in all the times they’ve had sex, Vincent’s never been in this form.

“Lucky me, then, to get to introduce you to it.” Vincent scoots back down the bed and dips his head, and Apollo flops gracelessly back as he takes his cock into his mouth. He’d been expecting to be pinned, for Vincent to take him right away, so all he can do is weakly buck his hips as Vincent swallows him to the root.

“Ah! What, what a large mouth you have.” God he could slap himself for how he sounds sometimes.

Vincent raises his head and smiles, “All the better to tease you with” before licking a stripe up the shaft, “tell me, sweet boy, do you ever touch yourself?”

“N-no. I am good, I would never do such a thing.”

A low, rich chuckle, “No? You never lay in bed and imagine someone kissing you here” he sucks the tip of Apollo’s cock, “or touching you here?” The pad of his thumb presses against Apollo’s ass.

He whines, shaking his head.

“A pity. There’s no harm in it, and a pretty thing like you deserves to enjoy himself.” Vincent intersperses his words with more kisses to Apollo’s cock, “do you like your present?”

“Very much.” Giddiness bubbles up in his chest and he giggles, “you ought to have, have gift-wrapped yourself, or perhaps put bows on your horns.” He reaches down and takes a horn in either hand. They’re smoother than he expected, and he holds them tight as Vincent lovingly sucks his cock with a satisfied hum.

“I suppose I could have.” Vincent sits back on his heels, “the next time I visit, I’ll come all wrapped in ribbon for my good boy. But now” he gently rolls Apollo onto his stomach, then guides him onto his knees, “I have a new toy I’d very much like to use.”

Apollo moans as the blunt head of Vincent’s cock pushes into him, digs his fingers into the sheet beneath him, “It’s so big.”

A flattered laugh, “It’s just proportional, sweetheart.”

“Do not argue with me, old goat, I am trying to flatter youAH” he yelps into the pillows, “I am familiar with what your dick feels like and this is, is, ohgod.”

Vincent laughs as the game falls away a moment, “A lot? Yes, darling, I know. Imagine how it feels from my end. My perfect Apollo, tight and hot around my cock and so good he’ll let me do whatever I please.”

Then his voice is a growl in Apollo’s ear, “including carry him off in my sack and keep him with me forever. Would you like that, sweet boy?”

When he had been younger, it was all he wanted some days. To be taken away from everything, no matter where. “S-someone might notice.”

“And if they did? No one would come to take you from me. They understand you’re mine, my beautiful new toy, my Apollo” his nails dig into Apollo’s hips, “I’ll keep you wrapped in furs, warm and well-fed, safe no matter how dark and cold it gets, and you’ll be so good for me in return, won’t you?”

“Yes”

“Good boy” his movements are wilder than Apollo’s ever felt, and he lets himself be carried away by the sensation of Vincent draped over him, dwarfing him as his cock hits his prostate over and over again.

He cums with a whimper and Vincent kisses the shell of his ear, “That’s it, sweetheart, enjoy yourself, I’ll see to it that my gift to myself never wants for anything again” a bite instead of a kiss, “as long as he remembers who he belongs to.”

Apollo whines his name and arches into him as his boyfriend cums with a long, gratified groan.

“Are you alright?” Vincent murmurs, gingerly pulling out and letting Apollo collapse into his arms.

“Incredible.” He nestles closer, fumbles the blanket up to cover them.

“I wasn’t too intimidating? You know I’d never keep you prisoner.”

“I do” Apollo shifts upward so they’re face to face, “I never...I never felt like I could experience wonder. Or fear. In a way that was safe. You let me do both, and so much more, and I could thank you everyday and it would still never be enough. I…I love you.”

“I love you too, little bird.” Vincent cards his fingers into Apollo’s hair, “knowing you feel the same is the best gift you could give me.”

#vincent/apollo #vinlo #human/monster romance

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fierysoul-world · 7 days ago

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A New Chapter 💀

I just uploaded a new chapter to my pirate fan fiction:Ship Of Bones. If you are a fan of the genre I suggest you to check it out.😎🏴‍☠️

Description of the plot:

You are a one-of-a-kind human being, and you can't let anyone capture you.

Everything was fine until you encountered these skeletons while sailing the seas undisturbed.

And they seem to be a little too interested in you now. They won't let you go that easily.

#sans #papyrus #undertale #archive of our own #fan fic writing #fan fiction #underfell #underswap #fellswap sans #fellswap papyrus #horrortale #pirates #fantasy #polyamory #human/monster romance #enemies to friends to lovers

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gorillageek27 · 7 months ago

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#monsterverse #kong #skull island #gijinka #human/monster romance #fanart

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midwesternmonsterhunt · 3 months ago

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It is FINALLY live!

Some of you may remember that literal years ago I asked for folks who were open to being interviewed about their interest in human/monster sex and a romance. I pitched the piece multiple times, to many places, and Juicy Pink Box was the one who picked it up.

#terato #teratophillia #human/monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster girlfriend

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kiliinstinct · 10 months ago

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The Forbidden Woods

A Genshin Impact Au Pairing: Aether/Xiao Urban Fantasy and Supernatural Romance Find on A03: [Here] Special Thanks to @genavere: My beta. Chapter 1: / Chapter 3:

---

Chapter 2: Golden Gaze

Someone was watching him.

The gaze was a subtle one that Aether hadn’t noticed at first. The kind of stare that builds over time until the pressure on the back of your neck became too distracting.

And this certainly distracted him.

The first few days in his family home were full of coughing and sneezing as he struggled to clear a space enough to consider his temporary bedroom. The rest of the home looked like an abandoned, haunted house that beckoned him to every shadow with promises of exploration and horrors. Dusty sheets covered old furniture, the remains of mice and other excrement could be found in every corner, and a musky, staleness filled the air.

In any other circumstance, this place could be seen as a bio weapon, unfit for the living, but he made do. Opening every window he could to air out the first floor, he struggled with the upstairs rooms to do the same. (Many locks had rusted over, making his hands itch and sore with the attempt to open them.) But once the layer of dust was out of the way, sunlight streamed inside, illuminating every room with a calming, natural light.

Amusingly, it brought to light just how his parents had left all those years ago. Ratty books, moth-eaten and dusty, still sat on the shelves and toys he had thought lost, were left on the floor as a frozen memory to their former games. Plaques and pictures still hung on the walls, reflecting those memories with the forever smiling faces of his family.

Just what had happened to make them leave in such a rush? Aether couldn’t recall, temple pounding as he struggled to remember anything beyond the car ride full of excited laughter as they crossed the border.

When he called his sister, Lumine, the first night to tell her of his jitters, she laughed and told him to not watch any horror movies while alone. Considering the lack of wifi, cable, and satellite access, it should have been an easy enough suggestion to follow.

But no one ever claimed he was wise. Well, he did, often enough, too. Who better to be his hype man than himself?

The data on his phone was more than enough to bring up a couple true crime videos in the dead of night while he lay in bed. (Which was more a glorified pallet of his own sleeping back and linens he’d brought with him.) Lumine’s early morning text calling him an idiot made him cackle through an exhausted yawn. It had come before he’d decided to admit his poor choice in entertainment, and the call out was enough to make the house feel just a little bit lighter. Unfortunately, the laughter turned to a string of sneezes from the dusty air.

That was then.

Three days of toil later, Aether questioned his life choices. Was it even worth cleaning the place up—the only interest in the land was a company hoping to use the acres for its warehouse. Gone would be the house, the untilled land waiting to be used again. And gone would be the memories he held dearly in the treasure trove of his mind, examining them with fond nostalgia when he had the time. The old fence, shed and forest boundary aligning the edges of the land would be replaced with industrial metal and merchandise, shipping in and out of the area.

He ignored the way this reality clutched at his heart and settled in his gut like a sickness.

The logical voice in his head claimed ‘no,’ but a louder part of him refused to acknowledge it.

Even before he’d agreed to pay the house one last visit, making Lumine wait to sign the papers, Aether had felt the urge to return. Whether it be the old, nostalgic dreams and memories that plagued his sleep or just a feeling in his heart he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t ignore it. And so, he put himself to work, cleaning every room with his hair tied back in a messy braid and a mask fitted over his face. (It didn’t work. He still coughed each time he unearthed a new pile of dust bunnies under the old, moth-eaten furniture.)

It was the evening of that third day when he first began to consider the feeling of being watched as something other than his ridiculous love of horror and true crime documentaries. Anytime he passed by a window, the entry doors, or just laid on his makeshift pallet to rest, his skin crawled. Ignoring the way goosebumps settled along his arms, Aether would shut the blinds to every window he crossed in a fit of paranoia and irritation.

The difference it made was zero. As if the presence could see through the old fabrics with relative ease. He had considered buying new ones before shoving the thought aside. He was just being ridiculous, he knew that.

When Lumine’s daily check in was answered with his worries, she held no sympathy for her twin, texting back her thoughts with humorous teasing.

‘Is it bigfoot? He saw your pretty hair and is planning to take you away, ooooh~’

‘This isn’t helping, Lumine.’

‘You’ll wake up in the midst of night, being carried off like a princess, curled up in the arms of the hairiest beast alive!’

Aether would not let her know just how easily she pulled a bark of laughter from him, replying petulantly, ‘I’m ignoring you, now.’

It would be minutes later, when he was already busying himself with more cleaning, that his phone dinged with her final remark:

‘Can’t wait to see your new boyfriend. :P Take lots of pictures for me!’

Instead, he took a shot of her stolen bunny slippers currently resting on his feet, and laughed when her ensuing outrage caused a cacophony of notifications to ring from his cell. Lumine: 0. Aether: 1.

Unfortunately, the feeling persisted.

The fourth day came and went. As did the fifth. When a full week had passed, the sensation became a companion to Aether’s every movement; one he was constantly aware of.

Lumine’s sense of humor persisted, ‘It’s the calm before Bigfoot comes for you.’

‘You’re seriously not funny…’

‘Maybe he’ll leave you a gift?’

‘I’m burning your slippers.’

‘NO!’

Aether: 2

Whatever was watching him seemed only interested in doing just that: watching. And with no visual proof of anyone on the grounds, Aether accepted it might be in his head.

Another thought came to mind, one whispering of the old tales enshrouding the perimeter of his backyard.

“These woods are the home of ancient spirits and demons,” he remembered hearing as a child. “They guard the land possessively, scaring away all visitors that mean it and its denizens harm. Those who don’t belong will find themselves lost in the accursed fog they create. Never cross the boundary, child, for those who do will never return.’

A silly tale, all things considered. He recalled the tale, written in a children’s book, but repeated by teachers and his parents alike. It was something aimed to keep children from wandering and getting lost in the woods, but he couldn’t get the story out of his mind.

In Aether and Lumine’s youth, they were fascinated by the stories and tested the limits by making their play location right along the boundary lines. He had the feeling they had even passed the lines once or twice, but the memories were too foggy to confirm. Like a dream that refused to fade away. Either way, there were no actual records of people disappearing, not in his lifetime, and he scoffed every time the thought crossed his mind. Considering his and his sister's penchant for exploration, he doubted the stories worked for any child with a healthy curiosity.

No, he had to accept the fact that maybe, just maybe, all those late night podcasts, being alone in the middle of nowhere, and an active imagination were helping the tales take form into something darker in the back of his mind. His paranoia grew a life of its own without anyone else around to help keep him grounded.

Not for the first time, he wished Lumine (or even his little sister, Paimon) had come with him. While the three had lived without their parents for the last two years, he had never, truly been alone. Not like this and it was fraying the edges of his sanity if he stood still long enough.

If Lumine knew he was regretting his want for being ‘independant’ and ‘capable,’ he’d never hear the end of it. So he urged his siblings to trust he was more than okay, and continued to bite down on the rising need to check over his shoulder every moment. He even considered taking Draff up on his offer for a night or two, just to get fresh air, but no…Stubborn pride kept him there. Soon enough, after the house looked, for the most part, liveable, if a bit dated.

When he finally took his attention to the exterior, dressed in a pair of overalls he’d pulled from storage (he wanted to look the part!) that were covered in dirt and grass strains coupled with one of his low-cut shirts and handkerchief for his hair, he noticed the state of the yard. Draff had done a good job in the upkeep throughout the years, visiting often enough to keep the weeds and overgrowth at bay.

From an outside perspective, one would almost think the yard and untilled farmland was still occupied, like a summer or winter home. That didn’t mean the yard didn't need work, however… Old pathstones were barely visible beneath the overgrown lawn and what was once a blossoming garden held no resemblance of the love their mom had poured into it. Gardening tools that had been forgotten in the moment sat against the wooden gate, rusted over, and brought a feeling of sorrow to Aether.

A part of him wanted to grasp the tools in hand and see what could be done with the old garden, to restore it to the vibrancy he remembered. But he wasn’t here for that, and stomped down those feelings. He’d clear away the old and leave it open for the new— whatever form that would be. And if possible, he’d just borrow some of Draff’s tools instead. The current ones looked close to falling apart if disturbed.

These were issues he could tend to later. With another two months left of his visit, Aether already knew what he wanted to do that day, and spending more time cleaning wasn’t one of them. At least, not when it came to the old house and its fields. He had a more childish aim. The old stone shrine near the edge of the woods: his and Lumine’s childhood haven.

The yard was large, covering a few acres and needing a riding mower to keep the grass at bay, but Aether enjoyed the walk. He kicked at sticks and pebbles that littered the old, almost non-existent pathways and enjoyed the treeline at the end of the path. It still held an air of mysticism for him; one born from the childhood fantasies he tailored in his youth. The trees had grown enough for their branches to bend over and out, stretching forth over the yard.

Between them, as the limbs swayed in the wind, a flash of familiar teal caught his attention. He squinted his eyes, breath catching in his throat as he caught sight of a bird, slightly larger than the one he remembered, but matching in colors. It kept watch on the branches, head tilted as it observed from above.

Recognition brought a burn to his eyes and a lump formed in his throat. “Did my old friend have kids?” he asked out loud, grinning wistfully. The fowl in question, ruffled its feathers and jumped to another branch, ignoring his query. Laughter bubbled up in Aether’s chest.

“Must have. You have the same temperament!”

Somehow, that thought brought him more joy than he’d felt in the last week. Relieved laughter bubbled in his chest as his shoulders shook with a rising happiness. Was this the source of his paranoia all along? Feeling this swell of emotion, he withdrew his phone to take a picture. Lumine would love an update on their old birdwatcher, he was sure of it!

But before his fingers could pull up the app, the bird had warbled an annoyed cry and took off towards the woods, careening Aether’s excitement down to the bits of his stomach, “Aww, you couldn’t stay for just two more seconds?”

He felt his shoulders drop, maybe he’d have another chance later. Instead of a picture, he sent a quick, ‘I think our bird friend had babies!’ to his sister and pocketed his phone once more. He’d check later for a reply.

Later would come much later, Aether realized. When he came upon the stone altar, he saw the state it was left in and gawked. Far messier than the rest of the yard. Draff hadn’t been asked to clean so close to the boundary fence due to his aversion to the woods and it showed.

“The Mistwatcher would prefer his boundaries respected,” Aether recalled over hearing the man say over the phone months after their departure. Despite the inconvenience, his parents didn’t fight over the local superstition and the altar paid for it.

Debris from storms and over growth littered the small clearing and the old stone seats he and Lumine had carefully dragged into the area were covered in moss and fungi poked out from the shadows. Old, dead leaves littered the ground, while dried vines and other plant life had reclaimed the area.

Aether had come to see it for the sake of nostalgia with no intention of making it what it once was, but the urge to fix what was lost swelled in his chest and he moved to clear off the altar without a second thought. They didn’t need seats, or the old blankets and streamers that had been left behind long ago. Even the old rope, tied to the nearest tree for swinging, could stay broken and festering on the ground, but the table itself…he couldn’t leave it as it was. That wasn’t right.

He thought, for one insane moment, that his old, childhood friend, unseen by anyone but himself, would be sad at the state of things. This had been his home, after all, made up in the minds of two kids who wanted to believe the world was more magic than not. And while he no longer believed in imaginary friends, he was determined to return things to the state they were before. It was an illogical, desperate pull at his fingers and mind that refused to loosen its hold on him.

He HAD to clean it off.

Pulling thick, leather gloves from his back pocket, he pulled them on and went to work, brushing off every bramble he could.

It was almost meditative. Each task a pattern. Tear off a vine here, brush dirt away there, move the debris off to the side. He fell into a rhythm, humming as he worked. It would take more time than he had in the day to complete, but he continued with a smile.

He began to zone out, body moving on autopilot while his mind drifted into the skies and all the thoughts in between. He wondered when Lumine would text him back, when she would have the next meeting with their prospective buyers, and just how much was being offered for the land. As much as he understood that the land was wasting away while they struggled to pay off the debts left to them in their parents' wake, Aether couldn't help but think no amount of money could truly equal the amount his childhood home was worth.

After all, it had been the most constant place in his life until they were spirited away to Sumeru City.

The thought made him laugh, snorting at himself as he refocused his attention. The top of the altar was clear now, but the decades of grime and moss would need something more. A hose, perhaps? I could bring one out from the shed, he thought. While rusted over, he recalled the tools left behind. All he would need was more time to unearth the old relics.

Perhaps they could be sold, too? He began to consider the logistics of a garage sale or donating to the local flea market. It was as good a train of thought as anything else and he considered the particulars as he worked. As the minutes passed, a pile of debris began to grow by the old oak tree while his mind continued to wander. The pile pulled a frown at his lips and displeasure began to color his mood. Did he really want to sell these items?

His train of thought was interrupted by a large gust of wind, picking up a torn vine as it blew back into the woods with a flurry of leaves. He watched it cross over the gate, but froze when he returned his attention back to the altar, eyes widening in surprise.

The bird was back. It bounced on tiny talons across the flat surface, picking bits and pieces of leftover twigs with its beak. Was it the season for building nests, Aether wondered, reaching for his phone for a quick search on bird behavior. But the question was moot as he watched the bird drop the twigs to the side, clearing the space as it went.

Aether blinked. Then blinked again. Its agile movements belied its apparent thick size, feathers ruffling any time it failed to fit something in its mouth. Any failure was quickly dealt with, however, as it renewed its hunt for what Aether left behind with vigor.

“...is,” Aether muttered breathlessly, voice so low he could barely hear himself in fear of chasing the fowl off, “is he helping me?”

The ball of feathers continued its task and Aether marveled at the intelligence behind its tiny eyes. Too afraid to ruin the moment, he stayed in place to watch silently while his fingers itched to record it on his phone. 'Lumine would find this so cute-'

His hand was already moving before he could reconsider it. With slow, mechanical movements, he readjusted his phone and smoothly swiped his thumb along the screen to his camera, eyes trained on the bird the entire time. He didn't glance at the screen, too afraid to break the magic.

So when he pressed what he hoped was the record button, the sudden flash that occurred not only surprised him but sent a jolt of panic through his veins. “No, no, no-!”

He fumbled the phone, quickly trying to change it, but dropped it to the leaves at his feet instead. Dazed by his own mess up, he noted in confusion a sudden pain on his head as he dove to retrieve it, but the pain persisted. It stabbed him again and again and again until he processed all events and recognized the sound of angry squawking just overhead.

When he stood back up, phone firmly in hand, his now angered bird friend stopped its constant attack to Aether's skull and dive bombed his fingers instead. Talons grasped his thumbs as the point of its sharp beak pecked away rapidly.

Aether couldn't help it when the phone fell again as he jerked his hand up to shake the bird off, shouting, “I'm sorry! Ow!“ He tried to grab the phone again, but the bird persisted, landing on the screen to peck at not just him but the phone itself. ”Hey, stop! I need that!��

A quick tussle followed as Aether cursed to the skies above and finally had to admit defeat. He couldn't count the amount of times he'd dropped his phone as the crazed bird continued its attack, far braver now than it had appeared an hour ago. After the umpteenth time of the device flying to the ground, Aether changed tactics and used the side of his foot to slide it across the yard instead—

Which ended in his shoes being attacked just as viciously. Any onlookers would find it a comical sight. (It relieved Aether to know that wouldn't be possible this far from the nearest town.) By the time he made it to the back door, he was feeling less apologetic, focusing on swiping the bird away in a last ditch effort to protect his phone.

”Shoo! Go Away!“ He said, once more sliding the phone further from the bird's manic grasp. The rush to save the device made him miss the change in terrain as the grass became scarce the closer to the porch they came. Giving the phone less friction to fight again, it grinded across loose dirt as his final push sent it sliding straight under the back porch.

Mouth agape, Aether wanted to scream in frustration. That was his only connection to the outside world. The thought of not calling Lumine, or hearing Paimon’s voice as they checked in on each other filled him with a boiling, desperate rage, but the Bird's relentless attack had switched targets. Landing on the bannister, it watched him with angry eyes, boxing itself up again with the fluffiest of feathers (a view Aether would have found adorable in any other circumstance). When he stepped forward, the bird trilled an angry warning and bounced on its feet back and forth, preparing another dive bomb.

Nope. He was done with this. “Augh, fine!” If he couldn't brave the dangers under his porch for his phone or enter through the backdoor then he'd simply retreat and come back when the risk was safer.

“Don't you have a nest to make? Or a female to attract?” He threw his arms up, tangling his fingers in his hair. “I...I can't believe a bird is this evil!”

Grumbling the entire way to his front door, Aether thought he felt the bird following him, or a faint laughter. The sound and sensation disappeared as soon as it had begun, and in retaliation he slammed the door behind him without a second thought. He'd be back for his phone, the world and that demonic bird be damned!

Though, after a quick examination of the shallow bites left by a surprisingly sharp beak that littered his arms and possibly his head, he sighed. He'd run back into the demon’s realm for his phone after he cleaned himself, he amended.

Thankfully, the adventure to retrieve his phone wasn't nearly so harrowing an experience as it had been to lose it. After disinfecting the tiny marks on his arm and checking his scalp (surprisingly undamaged, he noted.) a hot shower, and lunch to mollify his angry stomach, Aether decided it was time to try again. If anything, he needed to attempt before the sun went down and the need for dinner distracted him.

And he hoped—no, prayed to the very stars that the tiny menace had long lost interest and went off to do whatever birds did. Another thing he considered searching for out of inane curiosity, but how could he with his phone MIA?

As luck would have it, his once tentative friend now turned enemy was nowhere in sight. He almost let out a sigh of relief, but if the bird's nest was nearby, he couldn't sit on his laurels just yet. He'd have to be quick. And that's exactly what he did with arms wrapped in ace bandages and covered in a long sleeved sweater for extra protection. It was hot being bundled up like that in the afternoon heat. Ridiculously so, but he'd rather have some form of armor than nothing.

Aether was lucky that most things didn’t disturb or creep him out. When he finally crawled under the wooden deck with what little light his small keychain flashlight could manage. Cobwebs left and right and other bugs did not disgust him, and what little spiders that lived there, scurried off as he disturbed them. A second shower would be needed to get rid of the itchy feeling caused by their presence and the cobwebs above. Gritting his teeth, he moved quickly, determined to find his phone.

Surprisingly, it was not too far away, just enough for him to crawl his entire body inside to reach. It glinted in the light from his flashlight, a faint blue hue outlining its surface to notify him of missed messages. He'd check that later in the safety of the house. Swiping from the dirt, he shoved it into his pocket and quickly inched back out. A shiver of disgust ran through him as he stood and tried to dust himself off and rid himself of the crawling sensations.

A quick glance around for his enemy brought not a single chirp or a flash of teal. Perfect. He dashed through the back door without a second thought and slid to the floor in a heap.

“Hah,” he breathed sharply, ��take that you little demon.” Smiling triumphantly, he withdrew his phone to look it over, turning on the screen to check his messages.

His jaw dropped.

The screen was broken in many places, punctured by a tiny beak. The screen still worked, but the lock screen was discolored and he had to squint to read most of the notifications.

He was the kind of person who'd consider himself an animal guy. He loved all kinds and wanted to adopt any critter he came across, but at that moment: Aether wanted to go hunting and have fowl for dinner.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #xiaother #XiaoxAether #xiao genshin impact #aether #genshin traveler #Urban Fantasy #Supernatural Romance #human/monster romance

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geekybombshell · 2 months ago

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JPB let me write about monster-themed sex toys and the folks who make them!

#terato #human/monster romance #monster lover #monster fucker #teratophillia

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wet-toast-slime · 4 months ago

Link

Fandom: Original Work

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships:

Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character Characters: Original Characters, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Human/Monster Romance, Blood and Violence, Slice of Life, Historical Fantasy, sorta more fantasy than historical, has 1800s vibes, Disabled Character, no beta we just perish

Summary:

Centuries ago, a contagion broke out mutating humans into beasts-- monsters by all definitions. Surviving humans isolated themselves behind walled bastions, while monsters seized territory outside. Those immune to the disease is shunned. Seen as the traitors who caused the outbreak to begin with, those immune are given the choice to either hunt the beasts or be killed.

Fesa, whose bloodline is immune to the contagion seeks, risks her life to live outside the walled city. She seeks the freedom to live without the heavy burden of hiding away in society.

Octaius, a monster of shadows, stalks the forest outside one of the last human civilizations. When he smells a human trespass into his territory, he seeks to chase them out.

#writers on tumblr #original work #original fiction #human/monster romance #kurpo writes #historical fantasy #fictional works #original characters #original character

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ill-written-god · 1 year ago

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T | 1625 | m/m Steddie human/wingfolk | fantasy | winged!Eddie, wing grooming

The business was slow at first, but as the word spread, more clients were coming, including those that paid a lot for full treatment, from cleaning to waxing, and sometimes even dyeing. In a year, the salon became the best known in the region, with some arguing it was the best one. Maybe it wasn’t the biggest achievement considering the services provided were still hard to come by, but it was an achievement nevertheless.

Robin saw wingfolks from many species and all walks of life, but the man that walked through the door one Thursday afternoon was a sight to behold.

He was dressed in all black, the alternative type that didn’t mind cutting a hole through a shirt to accommodate his wings. The clothing matched his feathers, dark like coal and opalescent when the sun hit them just right. Black wings were rare in general, and their owners also kept to their circles. Steve could count on the fingers of one hand the times he worked on them in the past year of running his business.

“Welcome to Robin’s grooming service, how can I help you today?”

Instead of a greeting, the man looked around, studying the salon walls and the man who greeted him.

“I’ve heard you take in all the customers?”

Steve straightened his spine. It was a question he’s heard before, in many intonations.

“Yes, we care about the wings, not who they belong to or what color they are.”

He’s heard about salons that refused to treat black wings, running on a prejudice that black wings belonged to demons or, as some called them, corrupted angels. Thus why they kept to themselves.

The man relaxed a bit, finally approaching the counter.

“Are you free today?” he asked, fingers drumming nervously on the wood.

“Yeah, I have noone scheduled. What would you like to get done?” he smiled, hoping to come off as reassuring as possible. His client didn’t look very convinced though. He fidgeted with the feathers of his right wing, curled slightly towards himself.

“Just the basics. I don’t have much money and,” he hesitated before admitting. “I’ve never been to a groomer before, usually my uncle did it, but his arthritis got worse, and, you know…” he shrugged sheepishly, realizing he's sharing more than necessary. “Long story short my band leaves for our first tour this weekend and I wanna look good on stage.” He smiled, finally, and Steve could read the pride and excitement behind it, despite how small it was. He offered his own, wide grin back.

“Congrats on the tour, man. It sounds like a special occasion.”

“Thanks, it kinda is, isn't it?” The man scratched his cheek, the sheepish grin back.

"My name's Steve, I'll be working on you. What's yours?"

"Eddie."

The man notes the appointment down in his calendar, then closes it.

“Well, let’s get you stage ready then. Would you like some tea? I have a great yasmine blend. Do you prefer to lie down or sit?”

“Sit, I think. Tea would be great.”

“Gotcha. Get comfortable, you can change the music, adjust the chair however you like. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The man sauntered to one of two stations in the salon, the one with the chair, tracing the leather before he turned to the radio and a stack of cassettes beside it. The wide selection of genres proved that the owner cared about his clients’ comfort more than imposing his taste on music on everyone. He shuffled through them, finally settling on an Aerosmith tape to pop it in. He settled on the chair, watching the man lineup needed supplies. A steaming mug of fragrant tea was settled down next to him.

“Thank you,” he said, following him with his gaze and then listening intently as he ran him through the process and the tools he’ll be using. First, came the brushing, to get rid of anything his feathers don’t need. It took him a moment to loosen up to the fact that a stranger was touching his wings, but when they finished the first one, he was relaxed enough to engage in some small talk.

“What’s the name of your band?”

“Corroded Coffin. We play metal, mostly covers, a few originals.”

The man hummed.

“Sounds fitting. Are all your bandmates winged folks?”

Sometimes this line of questioning would rub him the wrong way, but the groomer’s intentions seemed genuine. Besides, he got raving reviews from people Eddie trusted.

“Our drummer is fully human, but other than that, yes. Only mine are black, though.”

“They are beautiful,” the man said, and he blushed under the compliment, glad to be turned away from him. “Pity I don’t get to work on black wings often.”

“Well, if you do a good job today, who knows,” he offered. “Maybe I’ll need some grooming when I come back from the tour. Someone’s gotta brush away the leftover coke.”

Steve snorted.

“Oh, it’s this kind of tour? Sex, drugs and rock’n’roll? I’m fine with coke, but cleaning up sperm will cost you extra.”

Eddie choked on his spit, head snapping back to see the man’s cocky smirk. He could feel his cheeks heat up, imagining scenarios in which cum could get up there.

“Thanks, I think I'll manage,” he choked out, turning back away.

“I mean, it takes two, at least, and a good partner should help with it.”

“I guess so,” he mused, red faced against his arms, and the topic simmered out.

“Were you in a forest recently?” the groomer asked instead.

“Uh, yeah, why? Oh no, is there a tick?!”

“No, no, don’t worry,” the man chuckled. “Just some pine needles. And twigs. Found a small pinecone too,” he said, showing him the findings in his palm.

If he gets any redder he might faint.

“Uh, that’s not cool, I’m usually more careful, I swear I’m not a slob-”

Steve stopped him, patting the bare skin between his wings soothingly.

“My friend has wings too, I know how easy it is to get stuff stuck in them after just a short walk through the woods. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about."

Eddie grumbled into his arms, melting further into them as if he wanted to disappear. The rest of the brushing was uneventful, with Steve mostly talking about his winged friend. Her name was Robin, the namesake of the salon, and she was a co-owner of the place. It seemed like they were close, but not once did Eddie get the idea the feelings between them were romantic.

“Now I'm gonna clean them for any remaining dirt, then just conditioning and we’ll be done.”

Eddie nodded, watching him swap the supplies for the next task.

Five minutes in proved him wrong for thinking brushing was his favorite part of grooming. Steve was way more attentive than his uncle, gently rubbing the suds into feathers. Under his touch, and with a faint smell of jasmine, he started dozing off. After the third time he jolted himself awake, Steve gently said:

“It’s okay, you can nap. You wouldn’t be the first one. I’ll wake you up to pick the oil when I’m done.”

Eddie nods once, and settles his head on his arms, letting himself drift off.

He’s woken up by a warm hand soothing the knobs of his spine. He purrs at the touch, still in a sleepy daze, before catching himself. The man chuckles, but doesn’t comment. He offers him a slim brown bottle.

“I have others to choose from, but I think this one would work for you.”

Eddie screws it open and takes a sniff.

“It smells…” he searches his brain for the right word. “Foresty.”

“Yeah, Do you like it?” The man is grinning again, so Eddie rolls his eyes before admitting that yes, he does. Steve takes the bottle back. “You can go back to sleep, or I can make you some more tea or coffee if you’d rather wake up before leaving.”

As appealing as another nap sounded, Eddie didn’t want to embarrass himself further in front of the man.

“Coffee sounds great.”

“Gotcha. Be right back.”

He returned bearing coffee and immediately went to work. He rubbed the oil on his palms before applying it to the feathers with the same motion he’d been cleaning them with, slow and attentive.

Maybe not going to sleep was a bad choice, but Eddie determinedly sipped on his coffee, just letting himself enjoy the treatment.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” the man spoke up, surprising Eddie. He made a hum of encouragement. “For a favor, actually. I’d give you a full treatment for free as payment, of course.”

Eddie turned back to look at him, now curious. The man was focused on his wings.

“Just spill it, man.”

He breathed out, finally looking up to meet his gaze.

“I’d like to add your wings to my portfolio,” he motioned vaguely to the walls of the salon, decorated with photos of wingfolk. The main focus were their wings, some of their faces weren’t even shown, though some had make up and hair done - a secondary specialization for the salon. “Most of those are of my friends, but none of them have black wings. I’d love to have yours displayed.”

Eddie frowned.

“You want my wings on your wall?”

“Greatly.”

“Wouldn’t that scare off customers?” he reminded.

The man only huffed.

“Good, I don’t need people like that around me.”

Eddie was stunned into silence. He turned back to settle against the chair, considering the photos on the walls.

“Okay. I’ll contact you after the tour?”

“I’d love that. Thank you,” the man said with a smile in his voice and went back to work.

#monsterlovetober2023 #monster romance #monster lover #human/monster romance #fantasy romance #spooktober #steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #wingfolk eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fantasy au

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princesssarisa · 1 year ago

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And out of curiosity... There are also some love stories about demons/monsters and humans?

👹❤👱‍♀️

Well, of course, there's the most famous one of all, Beauty and the Beast.

There's also Shrek: the first movie, that is, not the sequels where Fiona is an ogre too.

There's the movie The Shape of Water... and the animated series Gargoyles, where the gargoyle Goliath and the policewoman Elisa fall in love...

There's the Scandinavian fairy tale Prince Lindworm... and the Chinese legend of the White Snake and her husband Xu Xian.

If vampires count as monsters, then there's Twilight too.

There are many different fantasy novels with human/monster or human/demon love stories too, but I barely know them. One I especially liked, though, is Serpentine by Cindy Pon, which was partly inspired by the above-mentioned Legend of the White Snake.

#stories #romance #human/monster romance #human/demon romance #fiction

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 months ago

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Back to Me (Sternclay)

A tied yeehawgust prompt winner was "Rocky Mountain High." This fill is NSFW

The Rockies are not impassable. But to get through them requires skill, knowledge, and luck.

When Joseph was seven, he was on a wagon train in which none of those were present. A guide who’d never done the route, a map by someone who’d never even seen the Rockies, and it was one disaster after another. Their wagon and another were caught in a rock slide; Joseph was the only survivor.

He’d crawled into the fading sunlight and waited for the rest of the party to come look for him. When the moon came up and he was still alone, even his young brain understood he’d been left for dead.

That’s where the Bigfoots found him. Curled up and crying in torn clothes, scratched and bumped in a hundred places. He hadn’t been scared when he saw them; he thought he was imagining them. Then he assumed they were just very big, extremely hairy humans. After a short conversation, one of them scooped him into her arms and cooed, “there, there, you’ll come home with us.”

Fourteen years later, he watches the same Bigfoot cross her arms and make a concerned noise in her throat as he sits at her side in the meeting hall.

“It’s okay, mom.”

“No, it isn’t.” His cousin, Clarence, eyes the visiting group from another Bigfoot settlement in the southern part of the range, “How are we supposed to be confident going through with the marriage if it means sending Joseph off with those who cannot keep one of their own from going feral.”

“That was not our doing. Nor is the fact he remains that way.” The leader of the visiting delegates growls, exhausted, “we have tried everything to bring him back to himself.”

“That’s true.” Joseph glances between his family and the visitors, “yesterday I helped them go through all the written records and consulted with every elder we could find between here and the foothills. Nothing helps. I think it just needs time to wear off.”

Nods from both sides of the hall.

“Three days.” His cousin holds up their hand in a movement that’s half promise, half-placation, “You must understand, as head of our settlement, I cannot risk harm coming to one of ours from one of yours, no matter the cause.”

The visitors agree, and the meeting comes to a close. It’s late enough that most of the attendees head for the homes or guest houses scattered through the village, but a few invite willing visitors to join them for drinks in the brewing caves (a much homier and better lit place than it sounds).

Joseph considers following to try and make a good impression on his future kinsfolk, but worry gnaws at him too much. He wouldn’t be any fun, not when he can’t stop wondering if he’ll get Barclay back.

When Bigfoots reach a marriageable age they, their family, and the heads of their settlements decide on which other settlement to extend an invitation. Once invited, that settlement may send any interested residents to woo the bigfoot in question. In Joseph’s case, they’d had to choose not only for which other settlement they wanted to strengthen ties with, but who they thought might be open to one of their own marrying a human in the first place. In theory, Joseph would be an easy sell; Bigfoot and human marriages aren’t unheard of, and those happen with humans who haven’t grown up in Bigfoot families.

Still, he made his case as convincingly as he could. He’s smart, hard working, and while he’s not good-looking by Bigfoot standards, he’s at least tall. Bigfoots don’t have the same concept of men and women that humans do, a fact that had been a relief to him when he realized he was the fore and not the latter. It did mean his aunt has been brewing him a tea that helps put and keep hair on his chest, but it’s not remotely close to what the average Bigfoot has.

The Southern Meadow settlement agreed to bring any interested suitors his way as soon as Joseph decided on his challenge. When choosing a partner, each Bigfoot is allowed to set a competition or trial to test traits they want in a mate.

Joseph chose chess. His father had taught him to play, picking it up from the humans at the trading post where he worked. He’d only marry someone who could beat him at it.

Three Bigfoot from the visiting settlement expressed interest, and he beat two of them easily. Then Barclay had shown up. Auburn fur neatly groomed, clothes suggesting he’d spent some time around humans. Smile sweet and voice deep as the rivers that run at the edge of town.

He holds up a basket; biscuits studded with huckleberries, “Thought I better bring you something to eat in case this goes long.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” Joseph finishes setting the board. God, Barclay even smells good. Like mint soap. He adds a playful edge to his tone, “and optimistic.”

Barclay sits down, “Careful, I’m more competitive than I look.” He smiles, showing his sharp teeth, “Especially with the, uh, right motivation.”

The game lasts close to two hours. When Barclay knocks down Joseph’s king, he does so with a teasing growl.

“Checkmate, blue eyes.”

“Nicely done.”

Barclay catches his hand, pressing it first to his forehead, and then to his lips, “You really okay with that result?”

Joseph feels the tingle that’s been present in his chest since Barclay sat down, enhanced by his laugh, by his conversation, by how at ease Joseph feels near him (a rare state for him).

“Incredibly.”

Barclay had wanted time to go back to his childhood village and retrieve the wedding crowns his mothers wore. When he’d met Joseph at his home to tell him this, he’d promised to be back within a week. That he was excited to start their life together.

He’d been so sweet and earnest that when he lifted Joseph off the floor and kissed him against the wall, Joseph’s legs wrapped around his waist as he yelped in surprise. Barclay purred and growled about how he couldn’t wait to come back to him, and Joseph realized that while he might not be to most Bigfoot’s tastes, Barclay was ready to eat him up.

When the other group didn’t arrive a week later, Joseph tried not to worry. Weather could be unpredictable this high in the mountains. When they came back a week late with a feral Barclay and news of an ambush by a human hunting party, he expended two weeks worth of worry in about ten minutes. The anxiety hasn’t gone down since, and he’s exhausted.

In a last ditch effort to bring him back to himself, they put Barclay in Joseph’s small cabin, in hopes that being surrounded by Joseph’s scent might calm him (and since the bachelor cabins are meant for turnover, they’re easier to repair if he damages them). Even though he hadn’t recognized Joseph when he saw him again. At this point, he isn’t recognizing anyone. The longer this goes on, the greater the risk that he’ll stay feral forever.

Joseph is rooming with another cousin until it’s safe to go home. He lets himself into the cabin and starts prepping his sleeping pallet. Thinks of Barclay, alone across town; every Bigfoot who’s ever been feral and come back describes it as terrifying.

He has an idea. A terrible one. But Barclay is worth it.

Five minutes later, he’s in his own sitting room. The small cabins are made of that, a bedroom, and a small stove for cooking and keeping warm. They’d locked Barclay in the bedroom, just for an added barrier between him and the rest of the settlement.

Joseph lights the lantern, turning in a circle. No sign that Barclay has been able to get out. The hinges of the bedroom door are a little loose, but when he steps close enough to study them he can see they haven’t cracked or torn free. He listens at the door; low, gruff panting comes from the other side, punctuated by a howl that makes him jump a foot backwards. Barclay is upset, but he doesn’t sound injured or in pain, which is all Joseph can really ask for right now.

He should go.

Then again, the house is a mess; he’d left in a hurry when the visitors came back to town with their bad news.

Just a few minutes. Then he’ll lock the door behind him and leave Barclay in the closest he can come to peace.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s angry. He’s banged his hands and torn his claws into the walls enough to know he’s not getting free. He doesn’t want to be here. There are others of his kind nearby, he can hear them, smell them, but they left him, which maybe is good, because maybe they’re not friends, maybe they’re here to hurt him.

Barclay runs his hands over his face with a frustrated grunt. Why did they put him here? It smells like humans. Humans are not good, they shoot at you and hurt you and hurt your friends.

Now one is here. He can hear it through the door. It’s been here a while, walking softly, not speaking. It smells like the house. Familiar. Is this place familiar?

He stands at the door, sniffing the air. Still here. He peers through the crack at the side, but can’t see the intruder. He doesn’t like that. If he can’t see it, it’s hiding, and if it’s hiding, it’s hunting him, and if a human is hunting him he will rip its arms off. He can smell it, not see it, and that’s not good, not safe, no, he can’t be here, he’s trapped, trapped, no.

Barclay puts his full weight on the door and gives it a panicked, violent shove.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The crack brings three things into focus at once.

One: Joseph fell asleep on the padded bench instead of just resting his feet a second.

Two: The corner of the bedroom door is laying in view.

Three: There is a massive shape at the end of the bench, eyes reflecting the dying lamplight, growl steady and menacing.

The Bigfoots are his family, his people. He’s not afraid of them. But he also knows exactly how little strength he has compared to any one of them. How small he is. Barclay could snap his neck with one hand.

Joseph holds up his hands and hoots once, dropping from high to low in tone, to indicate that he’s a friend.

The growl stops, but now Barclay is moving closer, is at the side of the bench peering at him and sniffing the air.

Joseph repeats the hoot, then adds, “Joseph.”

Speaking seems to remind Barclay that he’s human and he snaps his jaws and thumps his chest twice. The sign to leave.

Joseph would, except there’s a feral Bigfoot between him and the door, and even standing too quickly could be misread as a threat.

A Bigfoot who was in their right mind would probably repeat the order, or at least pause to explain exactly what they’ll do if Joseph doesn’t move. But Barclay, impatient, is already reaching for his throat.

“Mate!” Joseph shrinks back against the cushions. Barclay freezes, so he points between them, nodding, “mates.”

Barclay cocks his head this way and that, looks around the sitting room like he’s never been in one before. Then he crouches, huffing through his teeth as he leans in and sniffs at Joseph’s face, neck, and hair. Joseph focuses on breathing, on keeping calm. Slowly, the investigation turns to affection, Barclay nuzzling the hair above his ear, then nosing down his neck and inhaling deeply.

“Mate.” It’s barely a word. It’s also the first time he’s spoken in weeks.

Joseph is equal parts elated and relieved, right up to the point at which Barclay scoops him into his arms and stands, at which point everything gives way to alarm.

“Barclay, wait, what are-”

“Mate.” The answer is both a noun and a command.

“Oh.” Joseph’s whole body goes warm as he’s lowered onto the sleeping mat, “yes, absolutely.”

It's not the reunion he had planned, but seeing Barclay again, seeing some chance he might remember him, makes it hard to care.

Barclay sits back on his heels looking at him like he’s trying to make up his mind about something, and Joseph realizes that the bigfoot is completely naked.

He’s also sporting the biggest cock Joseph’s ever seen.

Bigfoots aren’t shy about nudity, so Joseph has ample points of comparison. Up until now, he was confident he could handle all parts of being Barclay’s husband, but that part in particular might take some practice.

He’s so distracted by the logistics of what’s coming that he barely notices Barclay trying to undo his clothing until there’s a rrrrrrip and it all flies into a corner of the room.

“In the way.” Barclay grunts, pushing Joseph’s knees apart to sit between them.

Joseph risks some flirtation, “I know, but I need them. I don’t have gorgeous fur to keep me warm.”

Barclay crawls over him, places one of Joseph’s hands into the auburn fur of his chest as he blankets him, “warm.”

“Very.” He pets absentmindedly up and down as he watches Barclay bring a hand between them to stroke himself. This is not making his cock any less intimidating, but Joseph is so wet from watching, from the way Barclay is growling and pawing at him, that he no longer cares.

Barclay tracks his attention and for a moment he looks almost shy, “Good?”

“Yes. I just, um, I’ve never done this before so please be gentle.”

“Gentle.” Barclay repeats, leaning down to nuzzle his face. Then he adjusts, grabbing Joseph’s right knee and (gently) pushing it up, forcing his legs wide enough to accommodate him as he presses the head of his cock into him.

“Shit” Joseph whimpers, wills himself to relax as Barclay nudges it deeper. His lover is going slow, is clearly heeding his request, but nothing can make up for the sheer difference in size, how his body has to stretch as he pushes deeper.

When it hits the point where it can’t do deeper, Joseph gasps, digging his fingers into the blanket beneath him. Barclay thrusts again, making him cry out, then frowns at the third of his cock still outside Joseph’s body.

“Th-that’s as much of it as I can take, big guy. I, ooohhhfuck” he grabs at the fur of Barclay’s chest as he leans over him, bracing on his forearms as he starts fucking him in earnest, “I’d take the whole thing if I could, I promise.”

The answer seems to satisfy the bigfoot, a purr rumbling from him as he pets Joseph's hair and nuzzles his face as he slowly, deliberately, fucks him. Joseph imagined his first time often and he never thought it could be this tender, that he could feel so wanted, so safe even as his body ached from the stretch of taking his partner and his legs kicked weakly, as if trying to push him away from the intrusion.

The wet, obscene sounds of Barclay claiming him take on a faster tempo, Barclay now resting his head against the pillow as he grunts and growls rather than trying to nip and kiss as much of Joseph as possible. It makes sense, now that Joseph thinks about it; if being feral returns you to your basic urges, then there’s really only one point of mating. It’s not a point that can currently be met, thanks to his aunts tea, but Barclay doesn’t know that. And so there’s nothing for Joseph to do but hold on and moan as the thrusts grow more and more insistent and Barclay’s growls of “mine” give way to wordless, possessive snarls that make Joseph want to stay here, open and vulnerable, while his mate takes anything and everything he wants from him.

Barclay’s hips jerk as he cums with a howlgrowlpurr. He’s still cumming when he starts raising up and off of Joseph, and from the shaking of his limbs he realizes the Bigfoot was restraining himself, not continuing to thrust or chase the last remnants of orgasm because it might have hurt Joseph to do so.

“Good?” Barclay kisses his forehead, warm palm petting his cheek.

Joseph reaches up, cupping his cheeks and guiding him into a kiss, feels the purr buzzing between them as Barclay slips his tongue between his lips.

“Good.” He murmurs, then lays back and lets his husband-to-be kiss him to sleep.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

He likes having his mate in his arms. Even more than he likes mating with him. There’s no need under his skin, nothing itching at him until it’s satisfied, and so he can just lay here, happy and warm, feeling his mate breathing. Safe. Barclay is keeping him safe, and that is a good feeling.

His mate is human. He can’t remember why. Every now and then the answer circles in his mind, but it’s shrouded in fog. Maybe there is no reason other than what he’s feeling now, that this body belongs in his arms, that the voice and face of this human soothes him and pleases him.

He’d fallen asleep, he thinks, after they’d separated and he’d drawn the human against, back to his chest. He thought his mate had, too, but now he’s shifting, breath coming in bitten-back gasps.

Barclay lets out an apologetic whine and slides his hand over Joseph’s waist, along his forearm to the point where he’s touching himself with frantic, sharp movements.

“Sorry.” Barclay nudges the hand aside and sets his own in its place, rubbing against the wet skin.

“It’s, it’s alright, you had other things on your mind and you’ve been so restless I didn’t want to wake you-”

“Not a hardship, babe.” He murmurs, dimly aware of the fact he didn’t know those last two words a moment ago.

“You called me-AH, ohgod.” Joseph twists in his arms, hips bucking forward as Barclay’s fingers dip lower and press into him. The human valiantly tries to finish his sentence two more times before giving up turning his head to moan into Barclay’s shoulder.

He laughs and kisses at his head, behind his ear, along his neck; it’s fun, making Joseph lose himself like this. He can’t wait to do it more.

His fingers press deeper and he realizes some of the slick coating them isn’t from Joseph, but from him. His dick, already hardening from the way Joseph is grinding back against it, twitches at the proof of how much of him Joseph took. Aches to take him again, so much that it’s starting to hurt, and he growls in the human’s ear as Joseph fucks himself on his fingers, the movement delicious but not enough.

“Fuck it.” He holds Joseph close and flips onto his back, bringing the human on top of him. Joseph is so light, it’s easy to lift and shift him onto his dick, even at this odd angle. He’s facing away from him, so Barclay doesn’t see the moment he registers what’s happening. But it floods his other senses; the human cries out, clawing at his thighs, muscles of his legs noticeably tensing and kicking as Barclay holds him steady and fucks up into him

He moves one hand down, rubbing Joseph’s dick until he cums with a long, helpless moan. The sound is still going when Barclay grabs his hips and begins bouncing him in his lap, enjoying how limp he goes as he fucks his cum back into him. When he floods him this time, it’s with a growled-out “mine” and a refusal to let the human up until his dick has finally stopped pulsing.

“Yours.” Joseph looks over his shoulder with a smile, then promptly collapses against his chest.

Barclay rumbles comfortingly, petting up and down his back and nosing his hair. He should really get up and get a cloth, get Joseph some new clothes. When they’re back in Barclay’s settlement, he wants to buy him something nice and warm to wear in moments exactly like this, when he’s fucked-out and sleepy in Barclays arms. Something blue maybe, to match the color Barclay painted the bedroom last year.

He loves planning their future like this. Why hasn’t he been the last few days? What was he thinking about instead?

“Oh fuck.”

Joseph bolts awake, looking up at him, “What’s wrong?”

“How long was I feral?”

Relief as sweet and simple as sugar fills Joseph’s face, “You’re back. I thought I’d lost you for good.”

“That’s not filling me with hope about only having been out a day or so.”

Joseph strokes his cheek, “It’s been close to two weeks. Apparently your group was attacked, it sounds like in an attempt to kidnap some of you. You went feral during the fight.”

“Fuck. Fuck” he looks down at the human with horror, “I made you have sex while I was feral! I’m so sorry, fuck, did I hurt you?”

“You were, um, insistent, but that was as intense as it got.” Joseph shifts upwards so they’re face to face, “I wanted to be with you. Even that version of you. And…well, some part of me knew you wouldn’t hurt me, no matter what.”

“You still want to marry me?” He tries not to sound as afraid as he feels; if Joseph doesn’t want him after this, he won’t argue. But that won’t save his heart.

“Big guy, I cannot stress how tonight has shown me just how much I looked forward to being your husband.” Joseph kisses him and Barclay sighs happily and melts into the bed, Joseph comforting and warm above him.

They’re both exhausted, but neither of them feels the need for sleep. Instead, they stay up, talking about all the good things to come, until the sun rises over the Rockies.

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #trans agent stern #yeehawgust 2024 #terato #human/monster romance #monster boyfriend

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smittenroses · 2 years ago

Text

— Frosted Feathers

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Fandom — ORIGINAL Pairing — (Oc) Javob Jones / (Oc) "Carrie" (Human/Fae (canary)) Summary — When winter mornings are cold and bitter, pain in song melts harden hearts. Content Warnings — detail about bear trap injuries, broken legs, gore Word Count — 2.5k Author's note — an original piece written from class, it's something I worked REALLY hard on and frankly I wanted to share because it's also from a project I've been working on myself. Javob and Carrie are a part of a much larger project but frankly, I've fallen in love with them <3 I'd love to hear if you guys would like more about these characters because I certainly have story.

A hunter was always lonely, even if he had a village to look after.

It had been many winters since he had first begun his job as a hunter, many winters since he had found himself in the service of his village, but yet Javob could not find the strength to think of leaving the village when the fae were still watching. Vicious, cruel, the fae had been the reason why many of the people in their home had gone missing or had been eaten alive. Javob’s memories were full of vicious teeth and sharp claws, ones that haunted his sleep at night every time he closed his eyes.

That is why he chose to never leave the village. The people may hate him for having been a cruel child in his youth, but it was him that helped keep the fae away and meat on their plates, especially as the winter storms lashed away at their homes. Winter was upon the village, Javob using the early morning sun as a guide as he walked through the outskirts of the village, the forest’s trees looming overhead as he checked each trap.

While the fae that spread their wings, covered in feathers, had left for the season, their presence indicated by the flapping of wings the month prior, the fae of the ground were still active, still waiting, their teeth bared and their claws sharp. Those fae would be waiting for their next meal, waiting for their next bite, to be vigilant was an understatement; they always had to be prepared.

If they weren’t prepared, they may as well have been sitting ducks. Many of their people had already been taken during the night before by the fae, never to be seen again unless they were in discarded pieces. You’d be lucky to even find more than a head at times, even luckier to find something that was mauled beyond human comprehension.

Footprints, unlike a human, littered the outskirts in the snow, Javob’s nostril’s flaring as he parked his sled, kneeling down next to a trap, noting how the footprints stopped shy of it; they were beginning to grow smarter with the way the bait was gone, beginning to know where he placed the traps, he’d need to move these ones the next time he had a chance. Muttering under his breath as he pulled deer meat from his sled, he began to rearm the traps with the bait, green eyes shining brightly against the snow.

‘Strange…’ he couldn’t help but think, these marks were not one of the fae he had seen in the woods. While many of the fae that wandered the ground had footprints closer to that of wolves and bears and foxes, these ones were long and skinny, each foot print holding three toes… like a bird. But there could be no bird fae in these woods, they had all already left.

A bear trap’s snap always carried far in the woods. Shaking the snow and earth, cracking like lightning in the air.

Looking up from where he knelt in the snow, Javob’s eyes came to the tree line, listening as the sound of something screaming out followed soon after. It wasn’t like any animal he had heard of, any animal’s cry the moment they stepped foot into a trap.

The cold winters were always cruel, animals and humans who had not prepared during the previous months usually becoming desperate mid-season — setting out traps for those foolish animals and fae is why he kept setting them up, arming them, preparing them for the moment someone wasn’t looking, paying attention to the teeth in the snow.

If it were human, it most certainly wasn’t one from the village. Javob grunted as he pulled himself to his feet. It wouldn’t be the first time a stranger had wandered into their neck of the woods after all.

Piling his things onto his sled was easy enough given he had little to take with him anyway, but yet his lack of a snow dog or horse meant that he had to take the reins, hoisting the rope over his shoulder as the clear sky warmed his skin. The biting wind kept it forever cold on his exposed cheeks as he began to trudge through the forest.

“Do not go into the woods alone,” the village people would speak to their children at night, making sure they were tucked underneath their furs nice and warm, “or the fae will surely get you”. It was both a warning and a way to keep their children in line, making them fear the fae with every fibre in their body, making sure that they feared for what may come. The fae iron that stayed secure around the necks of the villagers told another story. Tried and true, iron burned the skin of the fae, kept them from their flesh. The necklace of iron hung around his own neck, keeping him secure as he trudged through the forest.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t defend on his own either, his axe hanging faithfully at his side.

As the trees grew denser, the forest becoming darker, Javob struggled to see against the never-ending woods of pine, yet each tree was different enough to help guide his way. He knew the woods by the back of his hand, the earth under the snow having developed tracks from where he would pull his cart. The lake would be frozen over by now, the fathers of the village using it as a chance to fish in the middle where all the fish slept, but yet as he pushed through the thicket, he allowed his eyes to squint against the sunlight.

The first thing he saw once he broke the dark forest’s hold was the lake, vast and grand, not another soul in sight. There were no holes in the lake, no people setting up, the snow hadn’t been disturbed yet. If it were spring, autumn or summer, he was sure the banks would be populated by wild life, from bears to squirrels to fawn, but yet as he let his eyes scan the forest edge, something as yellow as the sun caught his eye.

Feathers ruffled and fluffed, soft sobs coming from the pile, he struggled against the sunlight as he watched the creature roll about right where a trap would be buried under the snow. It was truly nothing he had ever seen, nothing he had witnessed in his life, yet as he knelt down onto the snow to observed the creature, a stick snapped under his knee.

The cold, blackened eyes of fae stared in his direction, forcing him to hold his breath. With the creature’s body turned to him, the face of a human woman distorted in pain, he was able to catch a glimpse at the trap and seeing the mangled bird-like leg held within. Bird fae usually didn’t occupy the forests when the first bite of frost graced the tree, choosing to migrate south to keep warm, but yet she shivered and sobbed, her wings doing little to cover her nude body.

She would surely die out here, even if he set her free.

Her bright yellow and orange-tinged feathers stood stark against the snow for a bit before she slumped, watching as she fluttered her wings, her hands coming to grasp at the bear trap, trying to pry the teeth open. Like the hollow bones of her body, her strength was not much, Javob’s heart bleeding with pity as he watched her try again, and again. He could see from here that her fingers had begun to turn pink, that her cheeks were bitten from the cold.

Yet his heart couldn’t help but bleed out more as he watched her slump helplessly into the snow, the awful sound of bone crunching on bone being heard, the chain from where the trap was nailed into the ground rattling with her movement.

She looked so small, so hungry, he could see her ribs poking from underneath her feathers. Had she been left behind by her flock to starve? From his time watching the fae, he had never seen one be on their own, but yet as the fae’s wings fluttered again, he took note about how they spread, shivering as they came to wrap around her frail body. It made him grateful for the furs that lined his own body, the woollen inside brushing against the bottom of his beard as he watched patiently, watching as the fae’s head moved around.

‘She looks like… a Carrie…’

Shaking his head, Javob couldn’t believe his own thoughts; naming a fae? What madness had he fallen into to think he could name a fae like her? Yet as his eyes focused back onto her, onto Carrie, he couldn’t help but sigh. Bird fae usually were the most fearful of humans, they didn’t really approach, but yet as he heard a noise, he couldn’t help but open his ears and heart.

She had begun to sing. Soft and slow, the chirps and bird song of the fae woman lying in the snow filled the clearing, a soft lullaby being sung in his ears as he listened. Soft and weak, her voice carried across the clearing, carried towards the man hiding in the thicket. ‘Is she calling out for help?’ Javob couldn’t help but wonder in his own mind, the inhuman noises filling his ears. How long had she been hoping for help, hoping for saving?

It was then he finally noticed the bald patch on her left wing, noting how the feathers made a notable gap. No wonder she had been left behind to brave the winter alone; she couldn’t fly. If you couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t fly, then you may as well have been dead weight.

Just like him when he had been young. Young, scrappy, skinny. He remembered stealing food from the people when he could, doing little to provide anything in return after his family had been murdered in cold blood by those creatures with the blackened eyes. The people’s hatred brewed from every little action, still brewing even today, even as he worked for them. The fae called Carrie’s struggles, the way her eyes welled with tears, all of it reminded him of his younger self.

Even if he hated the fae, hated them for what they had done to his family, this one was innocent, scared, alone. She was like him; she was in help. Grabbing the sled and stepping into the clearing, he watched as the fae’s eyes focused on him as soon as he stepped out of the thicket, watching him with every movement as he slowly approached, the fae moving back with each step, smearing blood onto the fresh white snow.

She backed away until she could no more, the chain of the trap jangling with each tug, but yet as he dug into the bait, the fae’s head turned slightly, her black eyes keeping track of him with each movement he made.

Only to watch her retch as he pulled out deer meat.

“You don’t like this?” He asked, not expecting an answer. He watched her, watched as her brows knitted together, her blackened eyes narrowing at the meat — though he could not tell if she was actually looking — before shaking her head. His breath caught in his throat at her reaction, his skin prickling with goosebumps.

She had understood him. Even if he couldn’t understand her bird song and chirps, she had understood his own gravelly voice.

Dropping the meat back into its back, Javob’s own brow knitted as he dug around his rickety sled, going through his few items, hearing the bear trap slowly part snow. Looking over his shoulder, the fae stopped her movements, moving back again as his stare kept on her longer.

Seemed she was just as afraid of him as he was of her, his hands shaking as he came across some blueberries he had secured just before the bushes had died for the winter, holding them in his hand as he stared at the few that were left in the bag. ten little blue balls looked up at him, his own mouth watering at the idea of popping one into his mouth, but yet as he turned around and held a blueberry up to the fae — no, she was defiantly Carrie — and watched as her eyes widened. “You like blueberries, don’t you?”

As soon as he had spoken, his hands were empty, the fae holding the bag in her talon tipped hands as she devoured the berries inside, her pleased chirps filling the air as she finally had something in her stomach. Now, the trap. Getting down onto his knees, he slowly went around her, seeing the trap come into view from where she sat on the snow, the blood from her wounds having begun to crust against the trap. Though as he reached out, the iron around his neck grew warm, the fae squawking as she moved away, eyeing at the necklace around his neck.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” Javob sighed, ripping the charm from his neck. As he tossed it to the snow, the fae finally allowed him to approach the trap, her eyes constantly watching him as he gently poked around the trap, assessing the damage. “Going to need to splint this when I get you somewhere warm.” The fae chirped from her spot, her face trying to get into the bag that had formally been filled with blueberries, but yet as he braced his fingers against the trap, he wretched it open with practiced motions.

As Carrie flew from the trap, it snapped shut again once his fingers were free from its sharp, iron teeth. She didn’t fly very far, just enough that she was clear from getting anywhere near the trap. Iron burned fae upon touch, the trap’s teeth having cauterised her wound after each time she had opened it again, but yet her leg was still limply hanging from her body, her toes not moving an inch.

“Yeah, that feels good to be out, doesn’t it?”

Up close, he was able to spot more gradients of yellow and orange on her feathers, see the way her lips were naturally curved downwards into a frown, painted with red from the blueberries that she had devoured without a care. He could see her lack of ears, lack of brows, but yet as he reached a hand out, her face naturally went to his palm, feeling the oddly human hair of Carrie as she nuzzled into his warmth. She was so cold, almost like ice against his finger tips, not even taking a second to think as he removed his coat, wrapping it around her shivering body.

She did not attack, she did not try to run. Yet, as she settled into the woollen liners of the coat, her face all but disappearing into it beside her eyes, remaining just above the collar, he couldn’t help but smile. Small chirps and coos echoed between the layers of wool, Carrie’s noises muffled between the fabric, she didn’t reject his touch, his care, as he loaded her up onto the sled, watching as she settled herself onto the furs.

The hunter wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.

#original characters #original content #human/monster romance #human/fae romance #romance #one shot #short fiction #original fiction #writeblr #creative writing

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