weministertomonsters

[weministertomonsters]

Begging For It

Your werewolf boyfriend completely loses his mind at the peak of his rut. He needs to be restrained to keep from hurting his soft human mate. That means he's on his back on the bed in his shifted form, with his hands bound and pressed underneath him. Moaning your name because you're a tease and you just can't help it. You love hearing all the things he says when he's desperate, telling you how much he loves you and will never leave you and will you please let him cum inside you?

Squirming and whining as his cock throbs and leaks all over his stomach. Whimpering when you finally straddle him and guide his cock to your pussy. If he thrusts too hard and gets too mean then you pull away and let his cock slide out, much to his frustration. You hover there and let him do all the work. Without his hands, he can't even guide himself back into you and he has to settle for pathetically humping his cock against your thighs until you decide to humor him.

Seeing him like this turns you on even more and the scent of your sweet arousal drives him crazy, making him buck with frustration. It's torment to smell how wet you are, for you to be right there and yet just out of reach. He knows not to snap at you, though. His sharp teeth grind down on each other instead, locking the growl in his throat.

When in a rut he can't cum unless he knots you, and only you get to decide if and when he has deserved it. You sit on his face and let him lick you. He's sloppy and uncoordinated, using only half his brain, but his desperation makes up for it. You've learned from experience that he'll lick your pussy for hours if that's what it takes. He bites the inside of your thigh and you scold him with a little swat. He growls dangerously at you. There's only so much he can take after all.

Finally, you scoot back down and take him inside you. You still can't get over how much precum there is. It gets everywhere and makes taking him so much easier, dripping out as your walls clamp around his cock. Still, he's almost too thick. The force of his thrusts nearly knocks you off balance and you have put your focus on staying on top of him. Both of you are taken by surprise when one of the handcuffs breaks. That's never happened before. Those things are made to contain werewolves. You look at your boyfriend, and his eyes are growing wild and dark.

"Shit. Wait—"

But there's not a chance he's listening. You've had your fun, making him so hard he can barely stand it. Now he's going to use you. It's easy for him to rip the other cuff away and fall on you like you're the last piece of meat in a desolate world. He'd like to make you beg for him the same way, but he can barely string two thoughts together. All he knows is that you're not leaving this bed till the sun comes up.

[weministertomonsters]

its christmas eve and look whos on tumblr

all of us

[weministertomonsters]

me, the motherfucker with over 50 abandoned works in progress: i have an idea

[weministertomonsters]

The Alien Emissary

Or, It's Hard To Be An Emissary When Everything In Space Hates You

➤ Wordcount - 1.9k (ignore the double spacing, the format always gets fucked when I write on my phone. I'll fix it later!)

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Sweat drips down your temple as you yank the decelerator on the shiny new spacecraft you just stole from a bunch of angry aliens. When your superior broke protocol to squeeze every last drop of advantage out of the deal, the alien race you were negotiating with decided to solve the problem by lighting his ass on fire. Bye, Frank. The show of aggression made everyone trigger-happy, and within seconds, bullets were flying on what had once been neutral ground.

You’re not built for warfare. Your expertise lies in intergalactic extraterrestrial correspondence, preferably from the safety of a comfy spaceship. So you hauled ass and ran for shelter, which just so happened to be the Vathri shuttle; a smallish, compact transportation vehicle nowhere near as flashy as one of their motherships. You had no trouble finding the cockpit and silently thanked the stars for your former career in piloting as you got the shuttle off the ground.

Before the Vathri could notice what was happening, you had sealed the entrance ports to keep them out. There was plenty of spear-waving and shard-snapping, but none of them want to attack their own spacecraft, so you took off without a hitch. By the time they realized you’d taken their only mode of transportation, it was too late. You can only hope they have another way to call their mothership for a ride. You're not too worried because the tech-savvy Vathri are probably already tracking you, thirsting for blood.

You wipe the sweat from your brow and drop into the pilot’s seat, scanning the unfamiliar controls for a tracking system to make sure they can't locate you too easily. Despite your piloting experience, the Vathri controls are difficult to decipher, like trying to use a keyboard made for a foreign language. Every dial and button looks like a potential disaster. Two buttons in particular catch your attention—a blinking red one, ominous and foreboding, placed next to a glowy green button. Some real Matrix-level bullshit. After a moment’s hesitation, you reach for the green button.

A fuzzy sound echoes over the intercom, followed by a glitchy, deep voice: “Inadvisable.”

Well, shit.

“Who’s this? Are you the system?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder just in case. The voice came through the speakers, and there’s no one behind you.

The response takes a moment, but the voice comes again. "No."

"Who are you? Are you one of them?"

"Partially."

"What does that mean?"

"I am Vathri, but I am not with this contingent."

"Um, how's that?" You manage to find the hover feature and turn it on, multitasking figuring the shuttle out and talking to the voice.

"I am a prisoner of the Vathri State."

"Wait, so you're on this shuttle?" Your eyes widen in alarm.

"How else would we be in conversation? I am chained in the hold."

"Great, then stay there. The last thing I want to add to my list of crimes is assisting in a jailbreak," you mutter.

Now that you're hovering, the last thing you want is something sneaking up on you. There are much worse things than the Vathri out here. The Vathri you're talking to takes so long to speak again that you almost forget about it as you search the compartments on the dashboard for a manual. Unlikely, but you're not one to go without checking these kinds of things. Everything is scrupulously clean. There are even any bits and bobs in the compartments. The small square screen in front of you looks like it's for scoping, so you turn that on. Bingo. Your surroundings blink on the screen, which is nice and empty.

"A platoon of Vathri is headed your way," the intercom buzzes. "And they make haste."

"No!" You look at the screen and the prisoner is right.

An indicator has just shown up on the radar and it's coming up fast. The system beeps politely to let you know. You grab the controls and kick the little spacecraft into gear. You might not know A from B, but you do know how to fly things in general. The shuttle shoots forward smooth as butter sliding across a hot plate, and you grapple with the steering, which suddenly seems to have a mind of its own.

"Careful," you mutter, leaning back in the seat and reminding yourself to breathe.

You haven't got a helmet on to enhance your vision, so you have to rely on your human eyesight and just pray you don't fly straight into asteroid spray. There's probably a mode for that on the scoping system but it's beyond your understanding. You can't just mash buttons and hope something goes well. You're sweating again.

"I can assist you."

"I'm handling it," you snap, jolting in your seat. Your almost forgotten about them. "We're fine."

"You have little knowledge of the controls and have effectively made this spacecraft a potential coffin."

"How are you seeing what I'm doing anyway?" You demand, taking a hard right.

The shuttle wheels around so sharply that it does a neat little flip over your pursuers. There's a thump in the hold, and you wince.

"I guess you're not strapped in. Sorry," you mutter. You can't help but gasp when you see the behemoth of a ship that's after you. It's black and the gloss on the exterior makes it look slippery. It's clearly meant for stealth and packed with heavy artillery. The spiked flare on top resembles a shark's fin, and you nearly shear the hull of the shuttle open on it. That's how close the ship is.

"Shit!" You scream. "What the fuck is that?"

"A Deathglider," the imprisoned Vathri says. Their voice sounds far away. "Calm yourself, human. You will lose control."

"That thing is massive! Oh my god, I'm so fucked," you moan, pushing the acceleration as high as it can go.

The Deathglider is too big for quick turns, but it has triple the thrusters and once it curves around, it's quickly gaining on you again.

"I can pilot the craft."

"Not a chance!" You snap. "I'm managing!"

Indeed, you are. If you can turn the correct scoping mode on, you might be able to lose them in an asteroid field. If your sense of direction is still holding true, then you know from the briefing earlier today that there's one nearby. You're confident you can pull it off up until the Deathglider starts shooting at you. The first shot misses by a good twenty feet—or maybe that was a warning—and your mouth falls open as you see the metal shaft of the bullet burning past the cockpit window.

"I'm human, you assholes!" You holler into the air. "I made a mistake, but I'm not that big of a threat! Stop with the missiles!"

"I do not believe they are much interested in you."

"Oh yeah? Then why in the blazes..."

"That was for me."

You gasp and steer to the left as the Deathglider takes a second shot. Another near miss; and now the system is giving you a warning of the engine overheating. Your ride isn't meant to accelerate this fast and for so long.

"What the hell did you even do, kill the Queen?" You demand. "Why do you have a army after you?"

"I fucked the Princess."

"Come again?"

"Is that not the word you use? To fuck—"

"I heard you the first time! I thought you were joking!" You screech.

"They are almost upon us. Let me help you."

This entire time, the Vathri's voice has remained at the same eerily unaffected pitch. If they're scared of dying in an exploding ball of shrapnel, they don't sound like it. You give up trying to do this alone when the next shot takes out one of the thrusters. Luckily, it clips clean off instead of going up in a fiery blaze, but unless there's a miracle, the shuttle will soon be dead in the black water of space.

"Tell me what to do," you say.

"Press the third button to the left of the scoping system. It will mask us. Then turn and fly underneath the Deathglider. It will buy us a few minutes. Long enough to unlock my—"

"Okay, third button, got it." You're panting as the system starts making a blaring sound to warn you of the incoming projectile which is a huge ship hurtling towards you.

You press the button, flip the shuttle over, and dip under the Deathglider with what feels like moments to spare. You book it in the other direction, so concentrated on getting away that it takes you a while to notice that everything is invisible. Including yourself. The visual of space stretching above and beneath you, sparkling with stars, is impossibly beautiful. At the same time, not being able to see your body creates a disconnect with your brain, and your vision starts to go all funny.

"Press the red button!" Finally, there's some haste in that voice. You feel a warm ping of smugness.

"Huh... What button?" You mumble as your ears pop from the pressure. "What?"

"The red-" What comes after that is a jumble of Vathri that grates in your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

It's just enough to prevent you from falling asleep and remind you that you're in some kind of danger. The Vathri told you to do something... Your body moves like it's in a pool of syrup. You know your hands are there somewhere, but you can't see them and everything feels numb. You pat the invisible dashboard, poking at things. You press something and the shuttle powers down and starts to float, tipping belly-up like a bloated fish. With what feels like the last of your energy, you smack your hand down in the spot where you remember the red button to be.

Nothing happens, or so you think. Your eyes start to close. You're strapped into the seat, but it feels like the seatbelt came loose at some point and you're slipping. Your head seems to be drifting away from your body. Suddenly, blinding lights sting your eyes, which snap open and stream with prickling pain. You're coughing and gasping for air as the pressure lifts off of you and you're able to breathe again. The interior has returned, and the scenery of space is whizzing by outside the window as the shuttle flies. You unclip your seatbelt and stand, bumping into something.

It takes a moment for your vision to connect to your brain, which fires up with an enthusiastic thought: that's an absolute unit of an alien. The imprisoned Vathri is now standing right in front of you, leaning over the controls. You did it, you set him free. Your movements still feel a little wobbly, so when you lean in to see what he's doing, you sort of tip off balance against his side. He's warm and it's nice. He glances at you.

"Did you do it? Are we safe?" You ask.

"We have bought ourselves a few hours." He straightens and turns to you. "I apologize for the oversight with the cloaking. I did not realize it would affect you so."

"It's nothing a few minutes won't fix," you reply woozily.

Famous last words, because you end up passing out.

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I'm aliveee! Passing out is the easiest way to close a scene but I think I use it too often. Oops? Also, are the spaceship shenanigans accurate to scifi? Don't know, don't care. I had lots of fun writing it and I intend to write more. I have another story somewhere that is very similar to this one. They're kind of the same idea that I just keep sort of rewriting until I'm happy with it? I think I'm happy with it now.

[weministertomonsters]

[weministertomonsters]

There was a loud splash as his body broke the surface, the cloud of foam and bubbles dissipating into the darkness.

To any creature evolved to see, crimson pin pricks of light flickered and weaved, warnings of an otherworldly spacecraft traveling through the waves of the void.

[weministertomonsters]

IMAGINE having a werecat boyfriend who adores your squishy body and makes biscuits on your stomach while you cuddle. He just can't keep his hands off you because you're so soft and so good for squishing like a stress ball.

[weministertomonsters]

reblog this to remind the person you reblogged it from that theyre loved

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Preach I guess

[weministertomonsters]

The Näcken

This story is dedicated to House_Sparrow on Wattpad, who gave the suggestion. <3

➤ Wordcount - 1.8k

Nøkken/Nykkjen/Näcken is a sinister male freshwater spirit from Norwegian and Swedish folklore, his first mention dating all the way back to the Viking age. He is said to dwell in dark ponds, lakes, or rivers. Nøkken is a shapeshifter but is most known to take the shape of a handsome man with long hair (Swedish), a monster of twigs and seaweed with glowing eyes (Norwegian), or a white horse.

Nøkken plays a fiddle, or in some stories a harp, and he is said to be the best musician in the world. In many stories, Nøkken uses his beautiful violin music to put people in a trance to lure them into the water and drown them. In other stories, Nøkken may play a more active role in pulling them into the depths.

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"Papa is back!" Your six-year-old niece, Eloise, announces as she comes barging into the tavern with a big smile.

She's been playing outside and has a smudge on her button nose and two dirty spots on her skirt from where she's been kneeling in the dirt, digging for worms. She pauses to pet the ginger cat asleep in the corner and skips up to you, proceeding to slingshot her body against your leg, nearly knocking you off balance. Her chin digs into your thigh as she looks up at you adoringly.

"What are we having for dinner?" She asks.

"Vegetable soup, and the bread I baked fresh this morning," you reply, giving the counter one last pass with your dishcloth to make sure it's all clean for the busy night.

"And fried skipper?" Her eyes grow wide.

"Why don't you go see if your Papa caught some?" You suggest.

You can't help but smile as she goes charging outside to give her father the same tackle-treatment. Usually, he laughs and grabs her and spins her around, but you don't hear any laughter today. You hang the dishcloth out to dry and walk outside to find them.

Eloise is gaping up at her father and although you can't see her face, you know she's never this quiet unless something is wrong. Your barrel-chested brother is soaking wet, standing with his head low and hair plastered to his face, clutching an empty net in one hand. There's no fish. Even the worst fishing days still turn out a small catch.

"Eloise, how about you go inside and clean up for supper?" You tell her.

Surprisingly she goes the first time you ask, wide-eyed as she scampers inside.

"What happened?" You ask, and then you spot what he's holding in his other hand. "Is that... A fiddle?"

"Yeah." He drops the net and rolls his shoulders.

"You didn't buy that with your fish, did you?" You ask suspiciously.

"I wouldn't do that," he huffs and starts into the little cottage beside the tavern that you share.

"It wasn't long ago now that you spent your entire day's worth of fishing on beer," you remind him, but your tone is gentle.

You both know why he drank so much. When his wife died he'd shut down, and it took the power of god and one very determined little girl to dig him out of the dark hole he'd retreated into.

"I didn't buy this," he says, setting it on the kitchen table with a thump.

"Be careful of that, will you? It looks well made," you murmur, eyeing it. "Will you tell me what happened then? And tell me why you've got a fiddle."

"I was out fishing by the river when I heard music," he begins, peeling off his vest and hanging it by the fire to dry. "It was coming from the middle of the river, where that big willow grows. I was curious, so I got my boat closer."

"Change first, you can continue after you're dry," you tell him, beginning to warm up the vegetable soup and slice the bread.

He heads upstairs to change and comes down a few minutes later with Eloise. She clambers into a chair, thanking you when you give her a bowl of soup and a generous slice of bread. She's a real trooper and doesn't complain about the lack of her favorite fried fish.

"I thought they were things of legend, but there it sat," your brother picks up the story from where he left off. "A Näcken. Would've thought it was just some man off his rocker but he had this air to him. And he was naked as a baby and pale as a river stone. Hard to unsee that."

"Ahem." You raise your eyebrows and gesture to his daughter, who is so engrossed in the story that her bread is going soggy in the soup.

"Did it have big teeth, Papa?" She asks. "Did it try to eat you?"

"I wouldn't know, Pumpkin. I got pulled in the water 'fore I could get a good look," he stares at his bowl, frowning. "I'm a good swimmer, but there I was, about to drown in just a couple feet of water."

"Then what?" Eloise pipes up. "Did you scare it away?"

"Shouted at him to stop playing the bloody thing but he just kept at it. So I grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as I could. Bam! I got him right across the face." He smacks his hand against the table and the dishes rattle.

Eloise laughs in delight and looks adoringly at her father, the "monster slayer" but you're far from impressed.

"So you thought taking his fiddle would fix it, did you?" Your voice is cool as your eyes narrow.

"Well, it means he can't play," he shrugs. "Serves him right for trying to drown a good man, I say. Let's see him try his tricks now."

For Eloise's sake, you drop the matter, but your gaze keeps turning to the fiddle leaning against the wall, dripping water to the floor. Once dinner is over and Eloise is tucked into bed, you confront him.

"Brother, that creature is going to be very unhappy that you took something of his. What do you think will happen the next time you go out to the river?"

"Let him try. I'm taking my hunting knife with me tomorrow," he says, his huge body lit by the dancing flames from the fireplace.

Your brother is a sturdy man and can take care of himself. But the look in his eyes... It's been a long time since you've seen him look like this.

"But—"

"Relax, sister. I'll give the damn thing back eventually," he rumbles. "You know, I... I thought I wasn't going to make it back today. All I could think of was you and Eloise ending up on your own."

You squeeze his shoulder and settle down to knit for a few minutes before it's time to open up the tavern. You're making a new coat for Eloise to wear on cold days. As you knit, you keep glancing at the fiddle, its gleaming surface reflecting the flames from the fireplace. You have some doubts, but you trust your brother when he says he'll give the instrument back, so you let it be.

A few days go by, and you were correct in your assumption that the näcken would be displeased. Your brother doesn't catch a single fish and comes home each day, seething. One afternoon, you decide you've had enough.

"I'm sending it back," you announce as you hang the last of the laundry. "I can't contend with your sulking."

Your brother is sitting on the porch, drinking his third tankard of beer.

"I used to be one of the best fishermen, sister. Now look at me. Reduced to a lout who can't catch a fish to save his life," he groans.

"You can't hope to battle against the supernatural and win," you reply. "I say you're lucky he hasn't drowned you yet."

"I've seen him a few more times. Just sits on the rocks and laughs at me. I ought to—"

"You stay put." You grab the fiddle from the shelf where you had placed it to keep it safe.

"I can give it myself, you know," your brother says, but he doesn't move from his spot.

"Ha, I doubt you can walk in a straight line, insufferable fool." You ruffle his hair like you're kids again. "I'll be back."

"Be careful, sister," he calls after you. "If he tries to lure him in, hit him with a rock. It worked for me."

You roll your eyes and start for the river. It doesn't take long to reach, even on foot. The water is framed by grassy banks and spotted with lily pads that float on the surface, brightening the scene with their pink flowers. You can see the willow growing on the small island in the center of the river, but there's no water spirit in sight. You stand at the bank of the river and look around.

"I brought your fiddle back," you call out. "My brother was wrong to take it."

The quiet hum of nature answers you. Birds chirping in the trees and the soft sound of running water. You lift your skirt and wade as far into the water as you dare, clutching the fiddle tightly. The water comes up to your shins and you pause.

"I'll just leave it here for you. Please let my brother fish in your river. My family needs the extra income."

You wait another beat, but you don't see or hear anything out of the ordinary, so you place the fiddle in the water and give it a little push, so it floats away from you. As you turn to trudge out of the river, something rises out of the water right next to you. Your shoe slides on the slimy rocks and you tumble into the water with a little scream. For a moment you don't know up from down—the water is suddenly so deep—but then you're pulled up by a firm grasp on your elbow.

"Thank you," you gasp at how cold the water is, your teeth already beginning to chatter.

The Näcken stands before you, tall and thin, with stringy green hair so long and plentiful that it covers his nakedness. His eyes are the color of bracken water, a murky blue. You can see your surprised face reflected in them.

"Thank you," he says simply. "For bringing back my fiddle."

"It's no trouble. My brother should have never taken it," you reply a little breathlessly.

After all, it's not every day you speak with a supernatural being. He backs away from you and you hastily reach for his forearm. His skin is slippery-smooth and your hand just slides off. He looks at his arm and then at you, his hair falling in his face.

"Can my brother fish again?" You ask timidly.

"I'll think about it," the Näcken replies, tucking his hair behind one pointed ear.

"Well, all he did was take your fiddle, and I have returned it in one piece," you say slowly.

"He threw rocks at me," the Näcken says. "I do not abide any harm attempted on my face."

"I'll tell him to apologize," you say desperately. "Please?"

"Hmmm. You should go now," he says, sinking halfway into the water. "I am about to play."

You know not to press your luck, so you turn to leave. You're already out of the water when the Näcken calls out to you.

"Come back tomorrow, and I will give you my answer," he says.

You turn to look at him, but he's disappeared. You can hear the beginnings of a tune, and it's an alluring sound. But the effect is dampened because he keeps stopping to twang at the strings and tune them. You leave before he can begin to properly play.

[weministertomonsters]

The SRG (Interactive Story)

With your old life behind you, you find yourself at the bottom of the ladder, designated to a motley team and tasked with handling the supernatural crime cases no one wants. This is your chance to reinvent yourself… If you can stay alive long enough.

You play a character with a dark past who finds themselves working for a company called The Supernatural Relations Guard, or The SRG for short) who protect human society from the dangers of the supernatural. As a newbie, you're at the bottom of the food chain and have to contend with your superiors ordering you around. Luckily, you get a team to help you, and together you solve mysteries, stop vampire blood runs gone wrong, and chase a deranged cult leader halfway across the country.

Play the demo here (1.7k) Play the old original version here (7.2k)

[weministertomonsters]

Latest free post on Patreon!

Vile and Vulgar

A Vampire Lord is captured by a mad scientist and tortured in his dungeon for years before he eventually escapes. Now he wants his revenge. Too bad the old man isn't around anymore and he's got to pick the next best target, the mad scientist's granddaughter. But before he can set his plan into motion, she shows up on his doorstep. However, he's long past such things as forgiveness...

➤ Wordcount - 1.9k ➤ Content - physical abuse, torture, violence, dubcon

Find it here

(I'm trying to get my shit together but I'm coming back to Tumblr with new posts soon! ❤️)

[weministertomonsters]

Hallowed be thy Ween or something

[weministertomonsters]

[weministertomonsters]

Reporting ads as "see this too often" when I actually mean "these are fucking ugly"

[weministertomonsters]

"Dad!" You gasp and rush over. "What the hell are you doing to him?"

The casino employee frowns at you, clutching a clunky piece of equipment that looks like a vacuum cleaner.

"He lost his soul, but it won't come out. It's really stuck in there."

"Because I bound it," you reply.

Your dad mumbles into the gag, shaking his head. You almost wish you could take that information back, but he would have figured it out sooner than later, since he keeps coming back to this place. The employee raises his eyebrows and stares hard at you. You know exactly what he's seeing. A human woman in her twenties with messy hair, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt (with a suspicious white crust on it) and wearing damp slippers.

"Who are you?" He frowns. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I know. Just release my dad and we'll be on our way," you reply.

"He bet his entire soul."

"Shit."

"And lost it. In the first round."

You rub your forehead and try to think fast. Maybe you can trade something for it. How much will his soul be worth? The employee lets out a sigh and hefts up his Soul Sucker 3000.

This reminds me of that skill stealing machine from The Sims 2 and I think it's hilarious.

This snippet is from a story I'm writing called Casino of Souls. It's on my patreon (it's free) and I don't know if I want to post it here because updates will probably be slow and that's kind of embarrassing as a writer.

[weministertomonsters]

Art by Boris Groh