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mxnsterbabe · 1 month

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Male Drider/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,430 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You're invited to a masquerade ball, hosted by the mysterious Lord Iskinder. A mysterious drider catches your eye, and it turns out that these two may have more in common than you think.

You stood at the edge of the ballroom hosted by the mysterious Lord Iskinder, the grandeur of the space unfolding before you like a scene from a storybook. Opulent chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their light cascading over the guests and illuminating the room with a warm, golden glow. The walls, adorned with golden tapestries and gilded mirrors, echoed the laughter and music that filled the air.

Around you, the guests danced, the epitome of elegance and grace, their masks glinting in the light from the tall windows. Feathers, jewels, and intricate patterns disguised familiar faces, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to the evening.

Your own mask, a delicate creation of lace and pearls, felt like a second skin, its design both concealing and revealing. It was a perfect blend of mystery and allure, designed to intrigue yet allow you to blend seamlessly into the crowd.

Iskinder lingered in your mind as you navigated through the throngs of dancing couples and clusters of chatting nobles. The ball was a rare occasion where the norms of society could be bent, where one could indulge in the freedom of anonymity.

Amidst the swirl of gowns and the soft rustle of silk, your attention was caught by a figure unlike any other. The mystery man was a drider of remarkable presence, standing on the fringes of the dance floor. His upper body was that of a man, his skin a rich, dusky hue that complemented his flowing black hair; but from the waist down, he was a creature of legend, his eight, elegant legs belonging to that of a pinktoe tarantula.

His mask, a masterful creation of silver and obsidian, framed piercing eyes that seemed to see through the frivolous facade of the ball.

The sight of him, so regal and otherworldly, sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. The ballroom, with its gilded opulence and the sea of masked faces, suddenly seemed to fade into the background. The air around you thickened with anticipation, the moment poised on the edge of something transformative.

The concept of a drider, those beings of legend and whispers, had always seemed like a fanciful tale to you, stories meant to entertain and intrigue. Yet, there he stood, living proof of their existence.

His presence in the heart of high society was as breathtaking as it was unprecedented, drawing curious glances and hushed tones from the surrounding guests. Despite their stares, none dared voice their wonder or disdain aloud; the drider's demeanor, poised and unyielding, commanded respect and held a challenge in its stead, as if daring anyone to question his right to be among them.

As your gaze met his from across the room, the world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. His eyes, bright as molten gold, burned with an intensity that pierced through the sea of masks and whispered conversations. In that brief exchange, something sparked to life, fleeting yet undeniable.

A flush of warmth crept up your cheeks, and you found yourself looking away, overwhelmed by the sudden depth of emotion that single glance had evoked. Your heart fluttered like a caged bird. It was an unfamiliar sensation, this desire to know more.

When you dared to glance back, hoping for another glimpse of the drider who had so captivated your thoughts, you found only the swirling mass of guests. He had vanished, blending into the crowd with a grace and speed you hadn’t expected.

Seeking respite from the press of the crowd, you drifted towards the refreshments table, the drider man still rattling about in your mind. The clink of glass and the murmur of conversation was a welcome distraction.

As you reached for a glass, the animated voices of two women nearby caught your attention, their topic of discussion sending a shiver of curiosity down your spine.

"... and they say Lord Iskinder, the host of tonight's ball, hasn't been seen by anyone this evening. It's all so mysterious," one woman whispered, her voice pitched with curiosity. "In fact, few have ever seen him at all. Those who have are sworn to such secrecy that no one knows what he truly looks like."

The other woman leaned in closer, her interest piqued. "A reclusive lord hosting a grand masquerade? It's the perfect setting for him to wander amongst us unnoticed. The anonymity of the masks, the mingling of guests... it's all by design, surely."

Your curiosity, already kindled by the encounter with the strange drider, flared into a blaze. With a polite interjection, you joined their conversation. "Excuse me, did I hear you correctly? Lord Iskinder has orchestrated this evening's affair yet remains unseen? How peculiar for a host."

The first woman nodded, her eyes alight with the thrill of gossip. "Indeed, it's the talk of the evening. A lord who is more shadow than substance, his presence felt but not seen. This masquerade could very well be his way of hiding in plain sight, observing his guests from behind the veil of anonymity."

The second woman added with a conspiratorial smile, "Some even speculate that the masquerade is a test of sorts, a way for Lord Iskinder to seek out those with a keen eye or perhaps a kindred spirit, without the constraints of societal expectations."

The idea that the elusive lord might be among the guests, shrouded by the anonymity of his own masquerade, sent a thrill through you. The possibility that the ball was not just a social event but a personal quest for the host, a search for connection amidst the pageantry, gave the night an air of unpredictability.

It was all so romantic, wasn’t it?

With a glass of champagne in hand, you retreated to a quieter corner of the ballroom, the golden liquid sparkling under the chandelier's light as you gently swirled the glass. The conversation with the two women lingered in your mind. The idea that Lord Iskinder might have been mingling among his guests incognito, perhaps even observing you at this very moment, lent an exhilarating edge to the night.

Your mind wandered back to the drider, whose presence had so captivated you earlier. If the women's musings held any truth, and Lord Iskinder was indeed among his guests incognito, then the appearance of such a rare and remarkable creature at the ball was no mere coincidence. Perhaps the drider was one of the lord's exclusive guests, a confidant or even a friend, invited to the ball for reasons known only to them.

With each sip of champagne, the possibilities seemed to expand, the boundaries of the ordinary stretching to encompass the magical and the unknown.

Your contemplation was abruptly shattered by a voice, soft like silk and honey. The unexpectedness of it sent a flutter through your heart, a sensation akin to the gentle touch of a butterfly's wing against your skin.

Lifting your gaze, you found yourself once again locked in the captivating stare of the drider from before. His molten gold eyes, gleaming with an inner warmth beneath the intricate mask, held yours in a gaze that was somehow both soft and so intense, it made your toes curl. The mask, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, could not conceal the expressiveness of his eyes, nor the gentle curve of his lips that hinted at a smile.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked, his voice weaving through the din of the ballroom to reach you, clear and resonant.

The invitation, unexpected yet undeniably thrilling, sparked a mixture of excitement and apprehension within you. The thought of dancing with someone so fundamentally different, whose very form defied the conventions of the dances you knew, had your heart quickening in intrigue.

"I would be delighted," you replied, the words slipping out almost of their own accord, driven by the allure of the unknown. "Though, I must admit, I'm not entirely sure how to dance with... someone as unique as yourself."

His chuckle, a rich sound that seemed to resonate from deep within, was both reassuring and infectious. "Fear not," he assured you, a playful glint in his eyes. "When one possesses eight legs, one learns to make quite a few adjustments. I shall lead, and all you need to do is follow."

With swift grace, he offered you his hand, his movements as fluid and assured as they were gentle. As you placed your hand in his, the contrast between his strength and the careful tenderness of his touch was striking.

Together, you moved towards the dance floor, the thrum of anticipation building with each step. The crowd seemed to part for us, their curiosity mingled with an unspoken respect for the majesty of his presence.

As you reached the center of the dance floor, the music swelled, a lilting melody that seemed to wrap around you, inviting you to lose yourself in the rhythm. With a grace that took your breath away, he began to move, leading you into the dance with an ease that made your earlier apprehensions seem distant memories.

The world around you faded, the grandeur of the ballroom, the whispering guests, even the constraints of your own body seemed to dissolve in the magic of the moment. Iskinder's movements were a marvel, lithe legs strangely delicate. He was beautiful.

As the dance reached its crescendo, he executed a twirl, his movements orchestrating yours with such skill that you found yourself spinning, the room whirling around you in a blur of lights and colours. In that moment, suspended in the dance, you felt a joyous abandon that had your heart in your throat.

As the momentum of the twirl gently subsided, you found yourself momentarily unsteady, the world still spinning slightly around you. In an instant, one of the drider’ss slender spider legs moved to steady you against his chest. The unexpectedness of the gesture, the feel of his leg against you, might have startled you under different circumstances, but in that moment, it was nothing short of a saving grace.

"I do apologise," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that resonated through the close space between you. "I sometimes forget how... unconventional my form can be."

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips, your heart still racing from the dance and the near fall. "No, I should be thanking you. Without your quick reflexes, I'd have been the evening's spectacle, tumbling across the dance floor."

The thought alone was enough to bring a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks, the imagined titters and whispers of the assembled guests a mortifying prospect. Yet, his next gesture swept away any lingering discomfort.

With a tenderness that took you by surprise, he reached up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The contact, brief though it was, sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

"You are quite a spectacle, though for entirely different reasons," he said, his voice low, imbued with a sincerity that made you lift your gaze to meet his. In the gold of his eyes, you saw a warmth, an admiration that held you captive, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you.

The air between you charged. There was a pull as undeniable as it was unexpected. You found yourself leaning in, drawn by a force you couldn't quite name, the distance between you diminishing with each passing second. The possibility of a kiss, the mingling of breath and the meeting of lips, hovered in the space between you, tantalizing and terrifying in equal measure.

As the reality of the moment, of the public setting and the eyes that might very well be upon you, crashed back in, you took a step back, breaking the spell. The loss of proximity felt like a cold draft, a reminder of the boundaries that society, and your own caution, imposed.

Sensing the shift, Iskinder's expression softened, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "Perhaps you need some fresh air," he suggested, his gaze searching yours for signs of distress.

You shook your head, the rapid beat of your heart beginning to steady once more. "No, truly, I'm fine," you insisted, though the lingering warmth of his touch and the nearness of what might have been left you feeling anything but settled.

Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, he proposed once more, his voice gentle yet insistent. "Perhaps a moment of fresh air would do you good," he suggested, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made it difficult to look away. "And, should you wish for company, I could join you outside in a few moments. It might afford us the opportunity to converse away from the crowd."

The idea of retreating to the relative solitude of the gardens, especially in the company of such an intriguing figure, sparked a flicker of excitement within you. Yet, the impropriety of the suggestion, the departure from the strictures of decorum that such a meeting would entail, gave you pause.

Sensing your reluctance, he added, "At events such as these, draped in masks and shadows, propriety often takes a back seat to intrigue. We are all here to escape the mundane, if only for a night."

His words, spoken with a confidence that bordered on persuasion, tipped the scales. The allure of stolen moments under the cover of night, away from the prying eyes and whispered judgments of the ballroom, proved too tempting to resist.

Resolved to take a chance on the unexpected, you agreed to meet him outside. Yet, before you could part ways, a sudden thought struck you. "I realise I don't even know your name," you said, a blush colouring your cheeks at the oversight.

With a smile that was both enigmatic and disarmingly genuine, he replied, "My name is Lord Iskinder." The revelation, delivered with a flash of sharp, predatory teeth that glinted in the ballroom's light, sent a jolt of surprise through you.

Lord Iskinder. The enigmatic host of the ball, the subject of whispered speculation and rumour, stood before you, not just a figure of myth but a living, breathing presence.

As the significance of the revelation settled over you, Iskinder offered a nod of acknowledgment, as if he understood the weight of what he had just disclosed. Then, turning delicately, he turned and vanished into the crowd.

As you stepped out into the crisp embrace of the evening air a minute later, the gardens unfolded before you like a scene from a dream. The lawns were bordered by beds of fragrant flowers, their sweet scent mingling with the earthy aroma of the night. Lanterns hung from the boughs of ancient trees, casting a soft, dappled light that danced on the pathways, guiding your steps and painting the scene with an ethereal glow.

Ahead, a gazebo, draped in climbing ivy and delicate blooms, stood as a focal point within the garden's design. It was there, under its latticed roof, that you noticed two orcish women, their forms silhouetted by the lanterns' gentle luminescence. They were locked in an embrace, sharing a kiss as the shorter woman titled her head back.

The sight, tender and unabashed, stirred a curious longing within you, a whisper of wonder about the sensation of Iskinder's kiss, the press of his lips.

Lost in thought, you scarcely noticed the approach of a presence until it was nearly upon you. The air seemed to shift, charged with an anticipation that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Turning, you found yourself once again in the company of Iskinder, his smile ravishing.

Under the moonlight, he appeared transformed. The soft silver light lent an ethereal quality to his features, highlighting the angularity of his face and the deep pools of his molten gold eyes. His hair, a cascading waterfall of black, shimmered with a lustrous sheen. The spider half of his form, though shadowed, moved with a silent grace that was utterly mesmerising.

His voice, when he spoke, was a soft murmur that seemed to caress the night air, a contrast to the visual ferocity of his form. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," he said, his words tinged with warmth.

The sight of him, so formidable yet so gentle, made you squirm. The flash of sharp teeth as he spoke, far from deterring you, only served to heighten the allure. Gods, you wanted to kiss him.

As if attuned to your thoughts, Iskinder leaned in, his proximity erasing the remnants of the evening's chill. The scent of roses, a natural, earthy fragrance that seemed to emanate from his very being, mingled with notes of champagne. His hair brushed against your skin, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine.

The air between you was charged with anticipation, every breath you took laced with the promise of what might come. His eyes, glowing softly in the moonlit garden, held yours with an intensity that seemed to pierce through to your very soul. You found yourself caught in the gravity of the moment, the world around you narrowing to the space where you and Iskinder stood, teetering on the brink of a kiss.

Yet, just as the distance between you dwindled to nothing, as you braced for the contact you both sought and feared, Iskinder pulled back. The sudden absence of his warmth left you momentarily adrift, a silent plea on your lips. He didn't move far; instead, his hand found yours, his grip firm and reassuring as he led you deeper into the garden.

The path wound through the garden, each step taking you further from the ballroom's echoes and closer to a solitude you hadn't realized you craved. When you arrived at a secluded flower garden, embraced by latticed walls that seemed to hold the night at bay, Iskinder stopped. Here, surrounded by the gentle fragrance of blooms and the soft rustle of leaves, he turned to face you once more.

This time, there was no hesitation. Iskinder pulled you into his embrace, his arms encircling you with a strength that was both protective and inviting.

Then, he kissed you.

The kiss was everything and nothing like you'd imagined. His lips were softer than you'd expected, their touch igniting a fire that raced through your veins, leaving you breathless and wanting. The taste of him, masculine and sharp, was tempered by the sweetness of champagne on his tongue.

As Iskinder deepened the kiss, the world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on yours, the gentle yet insistent press of his lips, and the intermingling of your breaths. The sharpness of his teeth grazed your lip in a fleeting caress, a thrill of danger that made you sigh almost wistfully.

Finally, necessity compelled you to break the kiss, the need for air pulling you back to the present. You were left breathless, your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue - you knew by how hot you felt, burning up.

Iskinder, ever attentive, placed a lingering kiss at the corner of your lips. His arm remained securely around your waist, sharp nails just grazing your hips.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, the words a tender echo in the secluded garden. The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell.

In a moment of boldness, fueled by the magic of the night and the undeniable bond you felt, you replied, "So are you, Lord Iskinder. Beautiful."

For a moment, Iskinder seemed taken aback, a bashful light touching his eyes. "People rarely call me beautiful," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "Yet, coming from you, I believe it."

You reached up to flutter a hand across his cheek, where the cool mask met his skin.

As the night air began to cool, Iskinder pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Shall we go back? I find myself eager to dance with you again, under the watchful eyes of my guests."

The prospect of rejoining the throng of guests, of stepping back into the public eye where the magic of your secluded encounter might fade, filled you with a quiet disappointment.

“Can’t we just stay out here forever?”

Sensing your reluctance, Iskinder offered a compromise, his voice low and inviting. "If you would grant me the honor of your company tomorrow evening, you could return to my home. There, away from prying eyes, we could spend the night… just the two of us."

The invitation sparked a flame of anticipation within you. The promise of more time with Iskinder was an offer too compelling to refuse.

With a grin, you nodded - and stood on your toes to pull him in for one last, lingering kiss.

#monster fucker #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x reader #exophilia fiction #exophilia #tag: drider #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: sfw

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boyybites · 1 month

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I have no self control so have another minotaur

#art tag #exophilia #monster #oc art #oc #nudity #his design is totally gonna change when im able to get a proper ref sheet for him i can feel it #something is missing but idk what #so he's gonna stew in the crock pot of my brain for a bit

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ash-rigby · 5 months

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you say, "weird monster cock/pussy". I say, "speculative genitalia".

i'm an intellectual

#text #spicy #terato #exophilia #i say the first thing too but that’s besides the point #i was thinking about a potential tag for the concept and that cartwheeled into my mind #i’ll be using it

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yanderemommabean · 1 month

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Hey! I recently started reading some of your yandere alien bug stuff and it’s really interesting! Are you planning on writing any more? And do you think you could maybe make a kinda run down list of each of the types and what they’re like as a group and with their darling? Or even just what the planet it like and how it works/they work in it?

No problem if not!

Thanks for writing and being awesome!

Oh man you must be NEW new

I have some tags that can explore the other aliens bugs I've mentioned, such as yandere scorpions, yandere murder hornets, and I believe yandere moths, yandere butterflies, yandere exophilia, and yandere wasps! Some posts explore their planets while others are just exploring their personality types and so on!

I've been writing about the alien bugs for a few years now so I think a few stories might be lost and buried but yee I've written for the bugs and many types of them before!

-Mommabean

#I hope the tag system works #I can't sift through that much bug smut #I dont have the heart #Anon asks #anon confessions are amazing #mommabean #yandere exophilia

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twitterpated-passion · 6 months

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China Cabinet | Monster Boyfriend

The cabinet in the corner of your dining room was definitely haunted. You didn’t need to be a medium or believe in the paranormal to know that. It was empty, lacking the china that the previous owners took with them, and considering that you rarely had people other than the occasional friend or your parents over, you never cared enough to get any to fill it, so there it sat, bolted to the wall and empty.

At night though, if you were settled in your living room working, you usually felt something watching you, and if you took the chance and glanced up, it wasn’t rare to see something moving. Though usually, you just pushed it as your eyes fucking with you, or your brain trying to creep you out, so you distracted yourself by popping in your headphones, turning on music or a movie in the background and continue working. The distraction usually helped. Not all the time though.

|___________|

You sat on your couch, a Halloween movie from the nineties on the tv and your hand residing in a half full popcorn bag. After graduating, going out for Halloween never seemed as fun anymore, especially as your friends moved on with their lives, getting married, some even having a kid or two. So there you were, binging movies like no one’s business. That is, until a loud slam echoed in your house.

You stood up, wiping your hand off as it left the popcorn bag when it got set on the table, ignoring everything every horror movie taught you. You walked to the dining room, leaning against the doorframe before reaching over and flicking the light on, seeing nothing there. You heaved out a sigh, assuming the wind must’ve hit your shutters or something, and going back to the couch.

Another noise happened after that, but you promptly ignored it, watching movies until you passed out on your couch, a blanket thrown over your body haphazardly.

|___________|

You woke up as your body started to get cold, eyes blinking open to move the blanket over you fully before you spotted a figure looming above you, screaming and throwing a pillow at them. You yanked your body back, heart racing and deafening your ears as you clambered to the couch and sprinted to the kitchen, getting faster when you heard the person’s footsteps.

Yanking out a knife, you held it out threateningly to the person, only for them to hold their hands up, surrendering to you. “Hey- hey, I’m not gonna hurt you. Promise.”

“What are you doing in my house?!” You all but yelled at them.

He let out a breath, shoulders slumping before he pushed his shoulder neck length hair back, stepping up to you, stopping when you wield the knife further, but slowly and cautiously tugging the knife from your hand. “You’re going to hurt yourself before you hurt me with this thing.”

You were rigid, eyes wide at the audacity of the stranger, not that you were able to move given the fear of someone breaking into your house.

He put the knife to the side, far from the both of you, only to take a step back, his hands moving back up again and he offered you an apologetic smile. You stopped him before he could speak though, repeating your question, “What are you doing in my house?”

You took a step to the side, closer to the front door, but he followed you, hands dropping to his sides. “I’d hate to break it to you, but this is technically my house.”

With a beat, you froze. “No…this is my house. It’s in my name.”

“Yet you’re not the one attached to a cabinet and dead, now are you?” He asked you, raising an eyebrow. “If anything, you’re just someone who happened to get stuck being my roommate.”

It took you a moment, but only a moment as your mind pieced together the puzzle, the reason why you felt something there…the reason why you were feeling like you were being watched. “That was you…”

“What was me?”

“All of the times that I felt like I was being watched. That was you? Wasn’t it?” You saw him visibly tense and he offered an apologetic look.

“Guilty. But it was only while you were down here. I rarely go upstairs unless you’re gone,” he said, though it does little to reassure you about anything in this situation. He seemed to have realized this and readjusted his suspenders, then the sleeves of his button up before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Right…so- I’m Axar…”

You took a moment, wondering if you should respond with your own name, but then took the chance to, introducing yourself. He nodded when you said your name, looking about as awkward as you were panicked, letting silence take over before speaking up after a few seconds, “I wasn’t trying to hurt you back there…when you woke up. Your blanket wasn’t on fully so I just thought…”

“You just thought?” You questioned.

“I just thought It’d fix it,” he finished, sighing. “It’s getting colder and this house doesn’t have the best insulation, I didn’t think you needed to get hypothermia.”

You were quiet for a bit, but you nodded. “Yea…thanks, I guess. You just made me colder though…you’re a ghost right?”

He nodded again. “That’s me…ghost, spirit…whatever it’s called.”

“And how long have you been in this house?”

“A while…kinda lost count after fifty years. I came with the cabinet…I’m kinda…attached to it per-se. I never lived in this place until I died and the cabinet was bought for the house. I’ve been here since.” Axar shrugged. “I won’t bother you if you don’t want me, but I wouldn’t expect or hope that I’ll just up and leave…you’re pretty much stuck with me unless you move away like the last owners.”

“They saw you?”

“I didn’t think they’d get home so early. Moved out as soon as they were able to.” He sighed and moved to lean against the doorframe of the dining room. “Now I just kinda stick to nights…”

“Which is why you were out tonight?” He nodded. “Thought you were out completely, so I didn’t think I’d be caught.”

“You were colder than not having the blanket on fully,” you said. “Thought I had to move it myself.”

You shouldn’t be this casual. He’s dead. A ghost. What was wrong with you?

A sorry smile appeared on his face. “Sorry, I can't exactly help the lack of heat. I’m sure it’s good in the summer though.”

You breathed out a little laugh, nodding along. “It probably is. But uh…you said you were attached to the cabinet, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “I don’t know why, but it might have something to do with me being the one that built it.”

“And when’d you build it?” Arax paused, grimacing before looking at the cabinet, then back at you.

“Like a hundred twenty years ago? Give or take.” Your eyebrows raised, eyes widening with them.

“So you’re saying you’re over a hundred twenty?”

“I died when I was twenty-eight so yea…pretty much,” he shrugged again. “Time’s kinda lost when you’re dead, you can never keep track of it and the days sorta just fuse together.”

You almost felt bad for him, having to go for so long without anyone to talk to and just having to sit and watch in the background, attached to something he just happened to build. “Is there any way to get you out?”

“Afraid not, the last owners tried pretty much everything. I’m stuck here. Not exactly the best predicament, but it beats having to haunt a cemetery like a cliche ghost.”

“Oh, like haunting a house isn’t more cliche than haunting a cemetery,” you jested. “At least in a cemetery you’re where you belong.”

He chuckled, shaking his head at you. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Yea, but thinking I was gonna die really wakes a person up,” you answered, but a yawn snuck up on you.

“Not too awake to stop the yawn though,” Arax commented. “I’ll stay down here if you go upstairs, promise.”

“You’re gonna assume I’m gonna trust the promise of a ghost I just met who was looming over me?” You asked, but snickered and walked past him to clean up your snacks and turn off the tv.

You heard him follow you, but he just stood off to the side and out of your way. “Considering you don’t seem too worried about me, I’m gonna assume and say that I’m alright.”

“That’s the thing with assumptions; you don’t know what the actual answer is.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I’m tired so I’m gonna have to for tonight, but if I die thanks to you and start haunting the place, you’re gonna have to deal with me for all of eternity,” you said, putting the dishes in the sink and throwing the trash away, heading towards the stairs after you finish up. “Don’t be too loud.”

“No promises,” he responded. A little smile appeared on your face and you shook your head, heading up the steps.

|___________|

After half a year, you can confidently say that living with Arax isn’t bad. Sure it was a little weird at first, having a ghost roommate that randomly appears, but he wasn’t as bad as your old living roommates so he was already one of the good ones.

Though, there was that tricky thing called feelings. You would have suspected living with the guy has convoluted what your heart considered a normal friendship, but again, you had roommates in the past. So were you in love with him? You might be. Might.

With a sigh, you sat with your laptop in your lap, staring at the email one of your clients sent you, looking through all of the demands that they’re fortunately paying for thanks to you charging per hour rather than just a fixed price with extras.

Arax sat beside you, tilting his head, but not asking what was wrong. In your time of living with him, he hasn’t once asked about the technology you had, though he definitely sounded his age talking about how he did everything by hand. You assume that with his time being a ghost, he’s kept with the times with each owner, not that there were many.

You glanced over at him, then back at the computer before shutting it and taking the notion that you’d do it later. “Work,” you said simply.

“Ah,” he said, humming before turning further to face you. “What about work?”

“Just work. Don’t feel like doing anything today but if I wanna live here and eat…I kinda have to.” Arax nodded, but moved closer to you and all that did was make you suspicious. “What do you want?”

“Who says I want something?”

“You’re getting closer to me.”

“That doesn’t mean I want something,” he said, mock offended. “But, now that you’re asking, would you mind if you turned on something? I don’t know how to work your remote.”

“Dude, it has four buttons now,” you said, but you relented, turning the tv on and then turning on a show the two of you started a few weeks ago. He grinned at the tv, moving to get closer to it. You didn’t say anything about it, just watched him plop on the floor and watch the tv like an excited kid. Which, if you had to grow up in a time that didn’t have tv and you ended up in a time that did, you’d be excited too.

You relaxed on the couch, stretching out and letting out a small groan when your joints popped. He glanced back at you when they did, shooting you a concerned look, something he did everytime your joints popped. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, there’s no way your joints never popped back then.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” he responded. “Don’t try to kill me again, beau.”

You sighed, watching him look back at the tv as your cheeks flushed red. Beau; that stupid word that made your stomach twist and your heart tug every single time he said it. You loved hearing it, but it was one of the reasons you were so confused with your feelings.

You had asked him once about if he was courting someone before he died, to get a feel about if he had anyone he was wanting to see in the afterlife, but it didn’t come back happily. He had explained that while he tried, he wasn’t really the type most people wanted. You didn’t really understand it, but he explained that he was into anyone and everyone, not exactly caring about how they looked or who they were under their clothes. And once that secret came out to his attempted lovers, it wasn’t exactly good for him. Though, you were able to reassure him pretty easily that it wasn’t his fault or that something was wrong with him. It was actually kind of sweet watching his first reaction to a picture of a pride parade, seeing him see people that were like him.

“You’re not watching,” Arax said, snapping you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping over to him. “You were zoned out. You ok?”

You nodded. “Yea, I’m fine, just thinking.”

“About?” You parted your lips to say an excuse, but then you got the best idea in the world, hands down. That was just your opinion though.

“Nunna,” you said, watching his brows furrow with a little grin on your face.

“...Nunna?” Arax asked, adorably confused with the word, probably wondering if it was another word he had to learn.

“Nunna business,” you responded almost instantly, your grin widening watching as his confused expression fell and he leaned over to hit your leg.

“Not funny.”

“I thought it was.” You giggled out, nudging his arm. “You’re just old so you don’t think it’s funny.”

His eyes narrowed at you, but he pressed his lips together. Tilting your head, you waited for him to say something snarky in response, but he doesn’t, his features eventually smoothing as he stares at you.

“Do you know your eyes glitter in the sun?” he asked suddenly. You paused and you felt your cheeks get warmer.

“I guess? I wouldn’t say they glitter though.” He stood, sitting beside you before a cold hand grazed your cheek, then grabbed your jaw.

“I would,” Arax said, his face leaning closer. “Your skin is so red…are you warm?”

“Just my cheeks,” you said, but immediately regretted it when he touched your cheeks with his hand, very close now.

“That better?” You nodded and your breathing hitched when you saw his eyes drop down to your lips before going back to your eyes. He pulled his hands away, glancing back to the tv, looking slightly embarrassed, but you decided to take the chance. You only live once, you supposed.

Your warm lips touched his freezing ones and he went rigid at the touch, eyes back on you. Your hands found his head and you moved his head back to face you again, pushing further when his hands found your wrists, returning the action, albeit inexperienced with the movements.

Your heart skipped multiple beats, but you didn’ care, simply smiling against his lips as you pulled back to breathe, biting at your lip as you looked at him again, chest heaving only a little.

With the way that he looked awestruck, you would’ve assumed that if he had a bloodflow, he would be as red as you were. “Wow…”

You laughed, nodding. “Yea…wow.”

He waited a couple seconds, staring at your lips all the while before looking back into your eyes. “Can we do that again? Please?”

Your smile widened and you nodded again, letting him lean forward this time, your back hitting the back of the couch of his hands found your waist as he kissed you. You kissed back, hands moving down to his shoulders as he got even closer to you.

There was no might. You were definitely in love with him.

Now how do you start a relationship with a ghost…?

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Part Two

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stargirlfics · 10 months

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werewolf bf and never being able to hide when you’re turned on because he can smell it on you 😵‍💫

NO CAUSE I LOVE THIS KINK SO MUCH PLS

Trying to behave but your mind keeps wandering to thoughts of your body being clutched so tightly in your giant werwolf’s claws while he fucks you and you lost long before you started because he’s in front of you now sniffing at your neck expertly and you know that he knows

Ugh yes please 🥵 and then being asked if there’s something you wanna tell him, something you need from him, hands already reaching for him, knowing he’ll make that fantasy of yours come true

Yeah I need it carnally lolll

#werewolf bf #werewolf x human smut #werewolf x human #exophilia tag #asks

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monstrouslyobsessed · 2 months

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love’s lethal bouquet

concept: in which the floral shop boss is in love with you—and isn’t a human. —momster

—a/n: well i havent posted in ages because of how bad my writers block was :( and i’m vvvvv iffy about this one. this is much more subtle and tamer than my usual too, but at least its something for the valentine’s day?

anyway, ima try and tackle a commission i owe next so please take care yall<3

—tw / tags: gn reader, implied drugging intention, implied teratophilia, implied exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw.

—featured character(s): the floral shop boss / plant monster (implied)

Valentine's Day proves to be one of the busiest days at the floral shop where you work. Breathing in the heady floral scents that permeate the store, you find yourself in continuous motion, assembling bouquets of pink roses, carnations, violets, and every red flower known to man into the van. With your back straining from the constant lifting, you absently listen to the gentle voice of your boss reassuring an irritated customer about their belated delivery—

and you wince.

Although you should be in a rush taking care of the deliveries, you tiptoe inside the back of the shop to avoid interrupting your boss—

But he merely hangs up the phone upon seeing your flustered face.

“S, sorry—” You begin.

He shakes his head with a gentle smile playing on his thinly bearded lips and says, “Don’t worry about it, love.”

The way he addresses you as ‘love’ used to bother you. It always seemed so…formal, old-fashioned, but coming from him—your boss—he somehow makes it work without needing to force the romantic undertone. Perhaps it is because he is on the older side and being a foreigner in this little town of yours.

The town lies deep within the trench of an endless forest, and you wonder how your boss had found his way here.

His arrival several years ago stirred many gossips about him, with him keeping his lips sealed about his past, but everyone slowly warmed up to him. His succulent blooms, never seen before even in the gardening magazines, certainly helped. Now, your boss is a familiar face among the townspeople, with very few not knowing who he is. And, of course, his handsome and charming demeanor won the hearts of many too.

“But I would’ve made the deliveries on time if I didn’t eat brea—” you try.

His piercing green eyes soften as you nervously fixing your rolled sleeves. You halt when he suddenly leans in.

“Boss—?” You rasp at the new weights on your shoulders, trying to pay no mind to the strange dark strains on his thick fingers.

The way he held you was almost…fond—

And he pushes you outside to the doorway. “Go finish the deliveries, won’t you?”

“Really?” You huff, trying to ignore the red tinge to your cheeks and the heavy thumping of your heart.

Your boss smiles that damnable handsome smile of his and pats you on your head, saying, “Get to it. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can give you your little Valentine’s Day bonuses for working so hard.”

While giving his employees gifts during holidays and special events is not new to your boss, you still perk up in eagerness and reward him with the biggest smile you can muster. As you dart away with a confident promise to complete the deliveries, he watches you scurry to the van, inhaling sharply,

“Soon.”

Your boss murmurs, rubbing his knuckle with his other hand—as if to hide the sudden green spot on it. Tiny vines emerge briefly, before he rubs them away and pivots back to his cash register where his impatient customers have started to queue. Flashing them with a dazzling smile to reassure frustrated customers with a wordless apology, your boss absently peers over to his office.

There, on his desk, is the special bouquet he prepared for you and only you.

Imagining you burying your face into the fragrant cluster of your favorite flowers, oblivious to the true intention of its purpose, the toxic drugging qualities meant to lure you into his arms—into his ivies and his binds of vines and creepers—had him biting back a shudder. Restraining himself before the antsy crowd, your boss rings up a customer with an invisible countdown ticking in his head.

A countdown to have you.

The blooms nearby writhe and shudder, with most dismissing it as mere breezes from the air conditioner.

It was not.

—end…?

#my writing #monster's writing. 👹#yandere #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #tetrophilia #exophilia #reader insert #long post #unedited #sfw #concept #gn reader #implied drugging intention #plant monster #floral shop boss #[[idk what to tag him lol]]#short #valentine's day

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otherworldly-tresses · 2 months

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An unfathomable monster that occupies a building, and you can see no head or limbs, only swaths of flesh, veins, and sinew splayed across the walls and draped from wall to wall

But as you enter the building, sinewy tendrils follow you hungrily, and soon you are being picked up by dozens of tendrils and examined from every angle by thousands of eyes on the walls

#monsterfucker #monsterfucking #exophilia #monster fucking #monster kink #monster fucker #monster lover #terato #nsft #idk what monster to tag this as

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thezerada · 8 months

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BG3 SPOILERS

Yeah I know a lot of people are talking about the sex scene between Tav and the Emperor.

But... Why is no one talking about the most important part?

Literially makes me so happy that you have no clue how much this makes me smile and giggle.

#stuff i say #baldur's gate 3 #the emperor #bg3 the emperor #mind flayer #terato #exophilia #monsterfucker #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #idk what else to tag lmao

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vesprynna · 6 months

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🌿Gargoyle • Monstera🌿

Day 4-6 of my Drawtober project, Reverie in Green🌿 💖 A loving tribute to all things monster romance and plant-like haha!

This one features a sweet gargoyle perched in waiting. Waiting for the rain to stop, hoping his special someone will come to his cathedral to see him again. I imagined he only animates at dusk and remains animated until sunrise. His favorite thing is to watch the sun come up, bathing him and his perching spot in warmth as he goes back to slumber again... 💛

I've never drawn a gargoyle before, but it was so much fun and I love how his toothy lil face turned out 🥰

#reverie in green🌿#monsterboyfriend #gargoyle boyfriend #gargoyle #fantasy art #monster romance #monster lover #monster husband #exophilia #terato tag #terato art #vesprynna art #drawtober #monstober

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mxnsterbabe · 2 months

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Male Troll/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,343 Tags & Warnings: plus size monster Part One (here) | Part Two (coming soon!) Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You’re an escort, but the last thing you expected was to fall for your favourite client.

You pause outside the sleek facade of the restaurant, the cool evening air caressing your skin. Glancing at your phone one last time, you scroll through Sorrel's profile, absorbing every detail. Sorrel, an unusual name for an even more unusual client.

Trolls rarely make their way into the heart of the city, preferring the solitude of their natural dwellings. Yet here you are, about to meet one for dinner in one of the most upscale places in town.

Your job often demands a chameleon-like ability to adapt, to mould yourself into whatever your clients desire. A laugh here, a sympathetic nod there, all performed with the ease of a well-rehearsed play.

Sorrel's request is refreshingly simple: just company, and above all, authenticity. It's both refreshing and daunting. How long has it been since you were asked to simply be yourself?

Taking a deep breath, you tuck your phone away. Your reflection in the restaurant's glass doors gives you a moment's pause—a young woman, elegantly dressed, poised on the edge of an unfamiliar encounter.

With a final steadying breath, you push the door open and step into the warm, amber-lit interior.

A pretty waitress, with a smile as polished as the cutlery, guides you through the restaurant when you enter. The beauty of the place unfolds around you; all soft lighting and hushed tones. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over tables draped in pristine white linen, each adorned with delicate glassware and silver.

The murmur of conversation blends with the gentle clinking of dishes, and soft, classical music plays. It doesn’t strike you as the kind of place a troll would like; they’re known for their love of natural living, not fine-dining.

As you take in the opulence, a flutter of self-consciousness washes over you. The elegance of your surroundings makes you feel suddenly underdressed, and you can't help but wonder about Sorrel. The cost of dining here must be astronomical; does he intend to make a statement, perhaps to showcase you as a trophy of his affluence?

As you approach the booth, you see him. Sorrel is a striking figure, a hulking presence that commands the space around him. His mossy green hair, a wild, natural crown, complements the dense fur that covers his body. His eyes, sharp and discerning, fix on you, and there's an intelligence in his gaze that belies the brutish stereotype of his kind. Despite the tailored suit that strains slightly against his muscular frame, there's no disguising the power in his broad shoulders, the soft curve of his belly. The suit, while elegant, seems almost a concession to human norms, doing little to mask his inherent, rugged appeal.

A wave of unexpected attraction washes over you, stirring a flush of excitement in your stomach. It's an odd sensation, this pull towards someone so different.

Gathering your composure, you slide into the booth, the soft leather cool against your skin. The space between you and Sorrel crackles with an energy as you offer a gentle smile.

"Hello," you begin, your voice well-rehearsed. You're acutely aware of your posture, the calculated tilt of your head, the practiced smile. Sorrel asked for authenticity, but it’s difficult when faced with such an imposing man.

Sorrel's response, however, is not what you anticipate. His voice, deep and resonant, carries a gentleness that seems at odds with his formidable appearance. "Good evening," he rumbles, his sharp eyes softening. "I hope the night finds you well."

As he speaks, the tension in your shoulders begins to ebb. There's a sincerity in his words, a vulnerability that peeks through the confident exterior.

With a smile, you turn to the menu. You hesitate, the array of exquisite dishes foreign and intimidating. There are a lot of words, and a lot of words that you don’t understand.

Maybe sensing your uncertainty, Sorrel leans in. His hands brush against yours, and the warmth of him makes you shiver..

"The risotto is my favourite. The salmon, too - it’s this one here, at the bottom."

You glance up at him, face flushed. You’ve been on countless escort jobs, and it’s always just been that. A job. Yet, as you soak in Sorrel’s warmth, his fur tickling your palm, something stirs inside you.

The words stick in the back of your throat as a waitress arrives. All you can do is nod in agreement as Sorrel makes a suggestion, and the waitress departs with your order.

There's a lull in the conversation, a moment of silence as you take in the man before you. "I must admit," you find yourself saying, breaking the quiet with a nervous laugh, "I didn't expect someone like you to be in a place like this." The words are out before you can stop them, and a flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks. "I mean, I made assumptions based on... well, what I thought I knew about trolls. I'm sorry."

Sorrel's laughter, rich and warm, fills the space between you. "No offense taken," he assures, his smile genuine. "I often find myself frequenting these types of restaurants. The same way the forest holds its charm, so does a well-crafted dish or a beautifully composed piece of music."

"I've not had the chance to dine in places as grand as this very often," you admit with a laugh, the restaurant's opulence still wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "It's a rare treat. You must do quite well for yourself, Sorrel. What is it that you do?"

Sorrel sets his glass down, the light catching the deep green of his eyes. "I left my clan some years ago," he begins, his voice solemn now. "We had... differing views on how to engage with the expanding human world. I believed in integration, in finding a way to coexist beneficially."

You lean in, captivated by his story, the depth of his conviction. "So, what did you do?"

"I started my own company," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "We specialize in eco-friendly construction materials. It sounds dull, I know, but it’s something I care about."

Your chest flutters. "That's incredible," you respond, genuinely impressed. "Although, I’m sorry about your family.

He shrugs. “Don’t be, it’s been a long time since I’ve been back home.”

The arrival of the meal serves as a delicious interruption, and the garlicky, savoury smell makes your mouth water. The risotto you chose under Sorrel's recommendation is creamy and rich, with the earthy aroma of truffles enveloping you. Sorrel's salmon is presented with an artistry that matches the taste, the fish's delicate flesh flaking at the touch of his fork.

"This is incredible," you murmur, savouring each bite, your previous apprehensions about the evening melting away with the flavors on your tongue.

Sorrel smiles, watching you with a contented gaze that makes your heart flutter. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

You smile, delving in, beginning to forget that this isn’t a real date. As you eat, the conversation meanders from the culinary arts to travel, to the hidden corners of the world each of you dreams of exploring. He’s a traveller, like you, although he’s visited places you could never dream of.

As the main course plates are cleared away, Sorrel suggests a dessert to share, a classic tiramisu that promises to be as light as air. When it arrives, you both lean in, the spoon Sorrel hands you brushing against his, sending a spark of electricity through you. You scoop a small portion, the dessert's creamy layers dissolving instantly on your tongue, and you can't help but close your eyes in appreciation.

"Good?" Sorrel asks, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

"More than," you reply, opening your eyes to find his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that quickens your pulse.

It's easy, in the soft lighting and over the shared sweetness of dessert, to forget the nature of how this evening came to be.

It's only when the waiter discreetly presents the bill that reality nudges you back into your role. Sorrel doesn't hesitate, reaching for his wallet with a grace that belies his size.

"How would you prefer the payment?" he asks, his tone casual but with a hint of something more, perhaps a reluctance for the evening to end in such a transactional manner.

The question jolts you back to the present, a reminder of the professional boundary that, for a fleeting moment, had seemed all but erased. "A bank transfer would be fine, thank you," you manage to say, your voice steady despite the way your stomach twists.

As you stand to leave, the warmth of the restaurant's ambiance contrasts sharply with the cool detachment now settling over you. Sorrel escorts you to the exit, his presence as reassuring as it is imposing.

At the doorway, you turn to him, the night air cool on your skin. "Thank you, Sorrel, for a truly wonderful evening," you say, sincerity lacing your words.

"Thank you," he replies, and something like regret flickers in his eyes.

On impulse, you rise on your toes and place a gentle kiss on his cheek. It's a small gesture, but it carries the weight of all the evening's revelations, his fur soft against your neck.

“Goodbye, Sorrel.”

“Goodbye. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As you part ways, the night swallowing his towering figure, you're left with a warmth that no chill can dispel. The memory of the evening, of Sorrel, lingers like a sweet aftertaste, leaving you wondering just how you’re supposed to forget about him.

***

A week slips by, quieter than usual, leading you to pick up part-time shifts at a local hotel to fill the gaps. The monotony of the days contrasts sharply with the vivid memory of your evening with Sorrel, which lingers no matter how much you try to forget.

When a new request pops up on the escort site from Sorrel, your heart leaps. The anticipation, the unexpected thrill of seeing him again, infuses your routine with a newfound energy. Preparations for your meeting are made with a care and attention you hadn't realized you'd been missing.

The park chosen for your rendezvous is entirely different to the opulent restaurant of your first encounter. As the evening draws in, the tranquility of the park, with its towering trees and the soft murmur of the evening breeze, soothes your nerves.

You spot Sorrel at the agreed-upon spot, his imposing figure somehow at peace among the natural surroundings. Today, he’s wearing a more casual fitted black shirt that hugs his generous curves.

His face lights up as he sees you approach, a genuine smile spreading across his features.

"It's wonderful to see you again," he greets, his voice carrying a warmth that wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

"The feeling's mutual, Sorrel," you reply, your own smile reflecting your genuine happiness. "I wasn't sure if you'd... well, want to meet again."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asks, his tone laced with genuine confusion and a hint of amusement. "Our last evening together was more enjoyable than I've had in a long time. I've been looking forward to this all week."

Your heart flutters at his words. It’s your job, you know, to be liked - but hearing it from him sends a thrill through you.

"I'm glad,” you say. “I've thought a lot about our last, er, date."

Sorrel's gaze softens, the park's gentle evening light casting a serene glow over his features. "I've found myself doing the same. There's a simplicity in your company, a peace I've come to... crave."

The admission hangs between you. It's clear that the bond formed over that dinner has only deepened with time, but you have to wonder if this feels all a little too real.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Sorrel suggests, gesturing to the winding path that leads deeper into the park.

"I'd like that," you agree, and together, you begin to walk. You link an arm through his, enjoying how big and sturdy he is. It’s difficult to resist the urge to lean in close, soaking up the scent of his cologne.

The park around you is quiet, the occasional rustle of leaves and distant sounds of the city the only interruptions to the silence.

As you walk alongside Sorrel, the proximity and the gentle brush of his hand against yours send ripples of excitement through you. Each step seems to synchronize with the beating of your heart, a rhythm that echoes the growing closeness between you. The thrill of all surprises you, and you find yourself leaning deeper against his plush side.

The small talk that fills the air between you is comfortable, and you find yourself eagerly listening to Sorrel’s deep, rumbling voice. You chat about the park, and the mundane details of your respective weeks. Yet, beneath the surface, there's a tension, as if there’s something more floating beneath the surface.

It's Sorrel who breaks the veil of casual conversation, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "You know, I've always found myself caught between two worlds," he begins, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "In the city, I'm too troll for most people to understand. Among my own kind, my views, my... aspirations make me an outsider. Too modern for my own kind, but too different for everybody else."

You listen, your heart aching at the vulnerability he's willing to share. The loneliness of his position between two worlds, becomes achingly clear.

"That's part of why I sought your company initially," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "I needed to feel understood, even if it was just for a moment, even if it had to be... bought."

The honesty of his admission strikes a chord within you, the professional facade crumbling further with each word.

"Now," Sorrel pauses, taking a deep breath, "my mother is ill. She's asked me to come home."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy with the gravity of his decision. The silence that follows is filled with a thousand unasked questions, each one a reflection of the complexity of his situation and the depth of your concern for him.

"What will you do?" you find yourself asking, the question laden with more than professional curiosity. It's a question born of a connection that's deepened beyond expectation, a genuine concern for his well-being.

Sorrel stops walking, turning to face you. In the fading light, his expression is a mix of resolve and uncertainty, green eyes thoughtful.

"I don't know," he admits, and in that moment, the vulnerability he displays, the raw honesty of his predicament, draws you even closer.

You stay quiet, allowing him a moment to think.

Sorrel's gaze drifts away for a moment, lost in thought, as if he's trying to piece together the puzzle of his future right there in front of you. "I think I need to go back," he says finally, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of resignation. "I want to be there for her, help her heal. She's always been the anchor of our clan, and without her strength..."

He trails off, the weight of his responsibilities, of his love for his family, evident in the pause. "Once she's well, perhaps I'll return to the city. Or perhaps not. The truth is, I don't know where I truly belong."

The vulnerability in his admission, the open-ended nature of his future, pulls at something deep within you. You reach out, almost instinctively, your hand finding his. The touch is electric, and you let out a muffled sigh.

"It sounds like you've got a tough road ahead," you say, your voice soft but full of empathy. "Being there for your family, making sure your mother has everything she needs to recover... it's a beautiful thing to do, Sorrel. It speaks a lot about the kind of person you are."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and in his eyes, you see a mixture of gratitude and something else, something deeper.

"Thank you," he whispers, and there's a warmth in his voice that wraps around you like a comforting embrace. "For understanding, for... for being here with me now."

The moment stretches between you. So does the quiet. The world around you fades into the background, leaving only the heavy thrum of your pulse in your ears.

"You should do what's best for you," you find yourself saying, your words laced with an unspoken sadness at the thought of his departure. "Your family needs you, and it's clear your heart is with them, too."

Sorrel squeezes your hand gently, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words. "I guess I always knew my path would lead me back home, eventually."

A twinge of disappointment tugs at your heart as the reality of Sorrel's impending departure settles in. Despite the professional boundaries you should adhere to, you can't deny the longing that has blossomed between you. Yet, beneath the layers of what-ifs, you find resignation setting in.

As you both resume walking, the conversation gently shifts, weaving through lighter topics. You admit, you’re grateful for the change of topic.

You share stories of your travels, the places Sorrel has been, places you’d love to go.

"I've always wanted to visit Thailand," you mention wistfully, the image of crystal-clear waters and verdant landscapes painting your words. "The culture, the food, the beaches... it seems like a world away from here."

Sorrel listens intently, his interest genuine. "Thailand is beautiful," he agrees, "you should go sometime."

The conversation takes an unexpected turn when Sorrel, with a look of determination, insists on paying you extra for your time. "Consider it a contribution towards your Thailand adventure," he says, his tone brooking no argument.

You hesitate, aghast at the number when you check your bank account. Three-thousand dollars. The offer touching yet tinged with the finality of a parting gift.

"Sorrel, that's too generous, I can't—"

"Please," he interrupts, his voice soft but firm. "Let this be my way of ensuring you get to experience the beauty of the world. You deserve it."

The sincerity in his eyes, coupled with the depth of gratitude you feel, crumbles your resistance. "Thank you," you say, the words barely a whisper, laden with a mix of emotions. "I'll never forget this."

You don’t know what else to say; but as it is, you don’t need to.

As you stand there, on the brink of farewell, Sorrel leans in. His kiss is unexpected but fervently returned as you stand on your toes, arms looping around his wide, plush waist. His lips are firm against yours, nipping at you with a passion that ignites a fire within you, the heat of his touch searing through the cool night air.

The kiss deepens, and for a moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you locked together, pulse racing.

As the kiss ends, a lingering warmth remains. You stand there, caught in the afterglow, the night air now charged with longing.

Sorrel's gaze holds yours, a myriad of unspoken words swirling in the depths of his eyes. "This... This was unexpected," he murmurs, the raw honesty in his voice mirroring the vulnerability in his gaze.

You nod, a gentle smile curving your lips despite the ache in your chest. "The best things usually are," you reply, your voice soft, laced with the bittersweet tang of parting.

There's a pause, a moment suspended in time, before you lean in for one final kiss. This one is softer,, a whisper of a goodbye in the brief touch of lips.

With a light-heartedness that feels forced, you step back and offer a playful smile. "Keep in touch, okay?" The words slip out, half in jest, half in hope, even as you understand the impossibility of the request.

Sorrel's smile is tinged with a gentle sadness, an acknowledgment of the unlikelihood of such a promise. "I'll remember this," he says, his voice a low rumble, rich with emotion. "I'll remember you."

You know, from the snippets of his life he's shared, that returning to his clan means stepping away from the world as you know it. The isolation of his people, their disconnection from the modern trappings of communication, almost brings tears to your eyes.

As you part ways, the echo of his final words lingers in your heart. The night wraps around you, and you shudder.

You hope to see him again someday. Somehow, you have the feeling that you will.

#exophilia fiction #exophilia #monster fucker #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x reader #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: sfw #tag: troll #tag: plus size #trying something new bc some people like present tense??#think i'll stick to past tense tbh

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