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running-with-kn1ves · 2 years

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Servantly duties

A/N: I've been working on this on and off for like a month so I'm sorry if its no bueno! I was really just trying to finish it and am keen to work on kinktober!

TW: implied sexual harassment, chipped fingernail, aphrodisiac/ love potion trope, forced kissing/touching

Synopsis: as a human servant to a satyr god, you're forced to draw him a bath and fall to his whims.

Word Count:4000

Being a servant for a deity and their court was not as glamorous as it may have seemed. “Yes your highness” this, and “of course my lord” that; you were just thankful that satyrs were a lively race. Especially considering their knacks for magic and devious enchantments, not to mention their selfishly lustful acts. But you, you had the special task of taking care of a very important one. A god. Though the god himself was not very powerful nor crucial to most creatures, in the hierarchy of his race he was the most grand.

After getting caught stealing from his altar out of desperation, you were condemned to work in the prime temple as a servant. You were shown mercy partly due to the gods laziness, and mostly because the being took a strange, licentious liking to you. Besides nymphs, humans were one of the most sought after creatures by satyrs, and it was not very often that one of the two would strut into such a dangerous territory. If it weren’t for the deity keeping you at his side, you probably would’ve been taken by one of his subjects. Satyrs never had a filter on their ravenous sexuality, only god knows what would’ve happened if they got their claws on you. But, it's not like the deity was any better.

Though your servitude was a punishment, you grew accustomed to your life here. You swallow your pride in order to avoid the gods wrath, hoping someday to be free of serving such voracious creatures. A snide comeback wasn’t worth being cursed for the rest of your life. He was still a deity, after all. So, you bite your tongue and do your duties. You were constantly at his beck and call to refill a glass of wine, to clean up after a luxurious party, or to wave a fan. The work never ended.

You recalled the orders from earlier.

"Dearest, I want a bath this evening. Make it nice, I only want you in my company." he purred to you.

You responded accordingly, but saw the way he looked at you. You were sure that he was planning some dastardly crude idea to get you to fall for him.

You were brought out of your thoughts by a searing pain, accidentally touching the burning pot in front of you. You retracted your hand as fast as lightning from the boiling water. The small fire underneath it had been slowly dying but yet the pail stayed piping hot. Picking up the handle, you delicately rose it from the fireplace. The metal handle dug into your skin as the weight of the water became nearly too much to carry. But you continued walking towards the large bath.

Reaching the basin, you took the thick cloth in your pocket and held the bottom of the pail, dumping it into the bath. The steam quickly diminished as the hot liquid mixed with the water already placed in the tub.

You hummed to yourself as you picked up a bottle of rose oil. You smelled it for a moment, savoring the sweet scent you'd likely never be able to experience fully. Small drips of the liquid fell into the bath, the smell becoming more potent the more it dripped. Setting it back down you took the few flowers surrounding the bathtub and began to peel them. The dried petals fell into the water elegantly. You snuck a few smaller ones into your pocket, watching the door in case the deity appeared.

You got up to find the clothes you put on the bed earlier, grabbing them and turning slowly to the basin again; The labor of the day was finally hitting you yet it was nice to have a moment alone. But your slack shoulders didn’t stay at ease for long; the sound of the bedroom door swinging open made you tense up again, hurrying to bring the clothing into the bathroom.

“Oh dearest human,” a sing-songy voice called. “Is my bath ready yet?” You heard the rustling of fabric come from the bedroom as you tripped over yourself to get to the door.

“Yes, my lord.” You cleared your throat, looking as you saw what was in front of you.

The satyr deity, Philon, was currently eyeing you with a grin. He had already tossed off his satchel, his dirty tunic clearly next. To say the god was bulky was an understatement. His race was not all that different from humans, but his huge stature and animalistic features said otherwise. The deity status was not one that made him any less intimidating, either. He easily towered over you, peering down while his furry ears twitched and his hazel eyes twinkled. You had helped dress the satyr on multiple occasions and occasionally tended to his bath, but it was always with other servants or worshippers. Now, you were given the task to handle him alone. You couldn't even imagine it.

He completely shattered any line of professionalism to the point where you didn't know whether to take his flirty words seriously, to refute them, or to fall to his whims out of fear for your life. Some of the other servants believed Philon was trying to court you. From the way he pursued you longer than any other creature that caught his eye, and how he dismissed any other satyr from touching you, it did look suspicious. But you wouldn't believe it; after all his games and his sickeningly sweet remarks, you believed you were just another distraction until he got bored.

"Finally," the god released a groan, stretching his arms as he began to disrobe. "Feels like I've been out in that forest for ages."

He noticed you watching as he pulled leaves out of his long hair, undoing the intricate weaving you prepared this morning. Small pieces of gold and little jewels were still strung in his locks. He smirked, staring back at you as he stroked his hair.

"See something you like?"

You looked away quickly.

"I apologize for staring," you mumbled, embarrassed and trying to gesture to the bathroom. He was so full of himself. "Please my lord, your bath is ready."

Philon grinned, strutting past you.

As he made his way to the bath, the god began untying his once white tunic. It had been stained with spilt wine and dirt, remnants that surely came from the loud festival outside. But he stopped for a moment, watching you stand there without following.

"Well come on now, these clothes aren't going to come off themselves!" The satyr said with a hearty laugh.

You swallowed harshly. At Least being ravaged by a deity was better than any old satyr, you thought to yourself. The all male race had definitely not been easy to deal with. Everyone was still outside the temple, busy celebrating this year's harvest thanks to Philon; he was usually the last one standing when it came to celebrations of himself.

You walked as slow as you could to the large porcelain bath. Philon sat on the edge of it and stuck a finger in the warm water, swirling it around as petals stuck to his skin. The pleasant aroma of the bath helped ease your nerves.

He watched you shuffle in, poorly hiding a devious smirk behind his hand. Your shaky hands begin to undo the knot that he had clearly re-tied.

You felt him staring down at you as warm breath hitting the top of your head. Your fingers struggled with the knot, sweat dripping down your brow as his stare grew intense. But he didn't stop you. Fumbling until your fingernail split, you successfully undid the knot. A small sacrifice to keep your dignity. You were glad the satyr didn’t seem to notice.

At the removal of the knot, the rest of the satyr’s clothes came undone. His chiton fell to the floor gracefully piling around his feet. You had seen the deity in all his naked glory before, but for some reason this time it felt different. Maybe it was because you were the only one who had his attention. Or maybe, it was because it felt like he was burning holes into your face with how hard he was looking for your reaction.

You ignored him, picking up the loose fabric that smelled of sweat and sweet wine to put in a small basket. Philon stepped into the tub, letting out an audible groan at feeling the water pool around his legs. You jumped at hearing him, the sensual noise catching you off guard. The lord lowered himself into the bath of petals and sweet smells as he waited for you to tend to him. Picking up the basket of clothes, you intended to get out as fast as you could. Bowing shortly you skittered towards the door.

“Wait a minute,” the satyr beckoned you with a finger, eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t think you’re done, do you? How am I supposed to get clean?”

He lifted his furry hoof, water dripping off of his lower half as you looked away; you were tempted to roll your eyes. Of course he wanted you to clean him. You reluctantly set down the basket, coming closer to the bath. You prayed to any other deities that could hear you, hoping they would save you from such a fate.

But alas, nothing stopped you as you found a clean washcloth on the table behind the bath, near the flower oils and a bar of soap. You quickly grabbed it, dipping the washcloth in the bath water and furiously rubbing the chunk of lye. Maybe if you rushed, he wouldn’t have time to try and mess with you, right? That was the only hope you could cling to.

But as soon as you were ready to begin bathing him, you froze. This was going to be a lot harder than you thought. You thanked the gods that bubbles covered his lower half, but his bare, dripping chest and biceps still sat before you.

“Start with my shoulders,” He commanded, resting his arms on the bath’s rim. “I’ve got a terrible ache.”

You bit your tongue and shimmied on your knees to the other side of the bath. “Of course.”

His back was as clean as you’d expect of a god who lazed all day. The nape of his neck was slick with sweat and water, a flurry of freckles dotting his back; they almost seemed to form constellations. You brought the washcloth to his shoulders, feeling his muscles vibrating under your touch. The small divots and hills of his skin were smooth against your fingertips. Before you knew it you had soaped up his shoulders and back completely. He had let out a few, throaty groans at your work but you were too preoccupied to notice. The satyr let out a blissful sigh as he turned upward to look at you.

“Don’t think your work is done yet, my little dove,” Philon grinned from upside down, fingers reaching out to graze your lips. He left your cheek wet with soap suds as you stayed put, mostly out of surprise. He cupped your cheek as you dared not to lean in or move away.

He then pointed to his head, the long reddish brown strands swaying as he moved. You were dazed for a moment until it clicked, your eyes lighting up with relief. Perhaps, all he really wanted was a bath? Maybe your hope was turning to delusion.

You grabbed a fancy glass bottle, remembering from having seen it a thousand times while cleaning. You assumed that it was the right one for hair, and poured its contents. Lathering it in your hands, you came to find Philon’s hair was already wet, likely done by the deity in order to speed the process up. You could tell he was growing impatient.

You began from the top of his skull down to the tips of his long locks, thoroughly massaging the suds into his head. You got to the sides near his long, furry ears, rubbing the soap in as you heard him release another groan. They seemed nearly unintentional; the deity's eyes were shut as he let you mold him, his body lax.

You were careful to avoid his horns, their presence hindering your scrubbing. They were one of the few traits that defined the satyr. Other than his horns and ears, from the waist up you'd think he was human. Well, nearly. His kind tended to grow more hair and fur than humans, and this one in particular had the blood of a god flowing through his veins.

You cupped the deity's chin and leaned his head back lightly, cupping water in your hands to wash out the lavender scented soap. He leaned his head backward and brought your arm to his chest.

Your hand went limp in his, afraid for a moment. You allowed yourself to keep washing the soap suds as he stroked your palm. Philon’s fingers messed with yours, prying open your hand that was balled into a fist. Warm, wet hands tickled your wrist as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

You swiftly finished rinsing the soap, getting up to busy yourself with finding the rag you left somewhere. You swore you left it on the table only a few feet away. But before you could figure out the location of the rag, you felt your arm tugged by a slimy hand.

"What's this?" Philon asked. He observed your broken nail. "What happened?"

You watched as he stroked your pointer finger, looking closely at the crack that divided your fingernail.

"Just an accident. It doesn't impede my work." You said matter-of-factly.

"Well I can't have you working with an injury like this. It could get infected, you know. "

"But the soap--"

He put a finger to your lips, talking over you.

"No buts. In fact, I think this needs to be taken care of now before you injure yourself more."

You were unable to protest as he pulled your arms into the tub. Before you knew it, he had dragged you entirely in, making you let out a yelp as he embraced you with his arms. Your clothes quickly soaked as you flailed.

Philon chuckled as shock and surprise fled your eyes. You bit your tongue to prevent from giving him a piece of your mind, not daring to extend your servitude sentence any longer. But boy, did you want to bite his head off.

"Awe, what's with the frown?" He grabbed your chin, twisting your face to admire the scowl you held. "glad I was able to make you wet, though."

You couldn't help but cringe, feeling the satyr grip your backside, both to hold you up and to cup a feel. You assumed you looked like a wet cat about now.

"My lord, how am I supposed to do my work like this?" you said between gritted teeth.

The satyr kept grinning at you cheekily.

"I can't have you getting hurt again on my watch. You can keep washing me in the bath." He leaned back in the tub, waiting for you to make your move.

Looking at his chest, you realized what he expected. He was still holding you, rubbing his large hands on your knees as you unintentionally straddled his waist. You didn't waste any time wondering what the protruding thing beneath you was.

At a loss for words, you decided to just keep working. Still holding onto the delusional hope of being able to finish quickly and leaving, you leaned forward to grab the soap from behind the Satyr.

The awkward positioning reminded you just how odd and wrong this situation was. He was a deity, a forest spirit who could banish you to never step foot in a grassy plain in the region again; he could take you if he so pleased, nothing in his presence able to stop him from claiming you as many times as he wanted.

It wasn't your place to be here, in a bath big enough to hold three, of which barely fit the both of you from the sheer size of the satyr. He touched you as if you were a lover, softly, taking in every crack and blemish in your skin. But that touch was also filled with authority; the way he touched you without looking for your acknowledgement, proved to you he knew there were no consequences.

Philons’ hand traveled up your hip, caressing your side as you extended to grab the bar of soap. You nearly had it, but it was still out of reach. He merely watched as you struggled to grab it. You were too engrossed in reaching the slick bar of soap to see him come up close to you, breath tickling the hairs of your neck. A soft kiss was planted below your ear, the satyrs’ hand coming up to caress your jaw.

You slipped without warning, which planted you face-first into his chest. Your nose burned from hitting his sternum so roughly, making your eyes tear up. His flush skin pressed on yours made you scramble up immediately, feet scurrying in the water to get off of him. Grabbing your hands he steadied you as you stuttered.

"I'm so sorry!" You cried. While the satyr made your skin crawl, you still felt bad about planting yourself right between his tits.

"Calm down," Philon chuckled, steadying you on his lap. "I never realized how much of a skittish little thing you were." You tensed as he brought your hand with the soap bar up to his chest. "Guess that's one more thing I enjoy about you."

His words nearly made you vomit. But the soap! You managed to grab it during the fall. The satyr almost looked disappointed when you ignored him and found the rag once more, watching you scrub the lye bar. Philon adjusted his legs beneath you, groaning as he "accidentally" grinded upward to get more comfortable. You would've scrambled off his lap by now if it weren't for his hands holding your damp hips.

Rubbing Philon’s chest in a methodical motion, you watched as the cloth began to make white bubbles on his tanned skin. His ears twitched and you swore if he wasn't in the bath, you would see his tail doing the same. The deity was waiting in anticipation, licking his lips as he felt your soft hands on his torso. He panted, flexing his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. You sighed and looked up at him to see what all the fuss was.

But his mouth was on you before you could ask. His forehead knocked against yours as he kissed you with a salivating mouth. Philon moved fast, pushing you backwards in the bath and pressing you against it; the water sloshing outside of the basin didn't stop him. Your arms stuck out awkwardly with your hands still holding the rag and soap.

"Mmn…! I can't help myself anymore--" he cut himself off with a kiss to the side of your mouth, voice hoarse and impatient. "I tried to give you time… let you come to me to spare my pride, but I can't … can't wait any longer. "

You squealed against his mouth, surprised and desperate for air. You knew the god would pounce, just unsure of when. And now was not the most convenient time. His soapy chest pressed into yours and dampened the rest of your clothes; his hands gripped hard onto the tub as he tried to get on top of you. His furry legs tickled yours under the water, ears flicking against your cheek as he smothered you with affection. He really had been holding back.

"My lord--" your voice cracked as you tried to press yourself deeper into the tub to create space. Philon took the challenge, pressing harder. "Please this is no way to behave-!" You were cut off with a kiss as he straddled your waist and forced your hands into his hair. The rows and rows of indents that formed his curled horns were smooth in your hands; Philon moaned into your mouth each time you ran your hands down them to push him off. You twisted away from his mouth, biting his lip for an extra measure.

"Why don’t you understand, I don't want this! Leave me alone!”

He laughed, belittling you with just one condescending look.

"I love the chase,” He licked his lip. "I think you'll find yourself yearning for me soon."

"What?"

Philon reached for a fragile bottle of wine on the counter of soaps and oils. You never had the pleasure of tasting such a delicacy but have witnessed its effects on those who drank it. It was a well-known aphrodisiac in the region, and you wouldn't be caught dead drinking such a thing around a satyr. Nonetheless this bastard.

He eyed you, taking a sip but not yet swallowing. You fought to get out of his grasp now that his other hand was preoccupied; he managed to hold you down with his forearm, pushing it across your chest to keep you tucked against the bath. The water was beginning to grow cold, bubbles having disintegrated and the fragrant smells starting to diminish. The flower petals had long since dissolved, turning the water a rosy red.

He threw the empty bottle to the floor with a clang, using his now free hand to try to pry open your mouth. As much as you stayed stubborn, you couldn't help but release a gasp when his long nails dug into your thigh.

Philon slammed his mouth onto yours, forcing the wine down your throat and against your tongue.Tears welled in your eyes and your nose began to burn. The satyrs inhuman leg pressed itself against your crotch as your hands twisted into his.

Letting go of your mouth with a wet "pop," philon came to recover your lips with his hand, nearly suffocating you.

"Swallow. Swallow it." He looked at you with expectant eyes. "Be a good little human now."

You couldn't breathe, water sloshing next to your ears while the large creature forced himself onto you. For the satyr though, he couldn't get enough. The water dripped down your chest, your collar slightly open as you breathed heavily. You groaned against his fingers, just like he always wanted.

You swallowed the thick, fermented juice, only out of fear for your life. The male let go as you gasped for air.

"I'm going to make you give yourself to me." He said, as your chest heaved and your hands tried to push him back. "When you're desperate and drooling in only a few moments, you'll have to beg me to touch you."

You promised yourself you wouldn't, that you would keep that small sliver of dignity no matter how dire the situation was, no matter how badly you wanted to return home. But the wine was already starting to take effect. You felt it in your fingers and toes, ones that tingled and went numb. Your chest ached and a warm feeling spread down your stomach.

"You're already feeling it, aren't you?"

The aphrodisiac was beginning to take its course. Your muscles tensed as your body grew restless; Philon watched with a sadistic glint in his eyes. He stayed true to his words, refusing to touch you until you began to squirm. You put your hand to your crotch, trying to suppress the growing urge inside of you. The sweet aftertaste of the wine still lingered in your mouth. Philon growled, ears twitching and flicking the gold pieces embedded in his horns and hair. The wine was beginning to take its hold on him, too. Not that he would’ve needed it in the first place.

He panted, running his smooth fingertips down your wet clothes. You felt sticky and hot and impatient, breathing heavily as something inside you made you thirsty. Philon squeezed your chest with hungry hands; you could see the lust beginning to take over his snide expression, his normally insatiable libido somehow growing worse.

“you're going to be begging on your knees for me.“

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ozzgin · 3 months

Note

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.