Monsters & More

Monthly story - male gargoyle x gender neutral reader (nsfw)

This is becoming absurd. 2-5k words is what I aim for with these monthly stories.

This one?

It's 17,677 words, and it's broken down into SIX chapters (internally - I'm sharing the whole thing in one go here). May's story felt long, then June's, now this one? I'm going to have to reel myself in for August or, should I say, Taurgust... :)

Anyway. Oof...!

Content: controlling/manipulating family member holds power over the reader and uses your skills as a thief to rob a powerful vampire's castle at very short notice. Turns out the amulet is better guarded than your uncle thought, and now you've got to explain yourself to a very grumpy, seven foot tall gargoyle. Tropes include: 'Big Grumpy won over by Smol(er) Sunshine', heist gone wrong, forced proximity/working together as punishment, 'the boss totally ships it', reader's life is in danger (not from the romantic lead), mated/fated bond, submissive monster towards reader.

Wordcount: 17,677

Extract:

“You want me to do what?” you blurted, staring your uncle down with a mix of astonishment and kindling unease.

The older man rolled his eyes and leaned back in his throne-like office chair, regarding you across his heavy, oak desk with a look of disdain and contempt.

His brother’s child you might be, but you were pretty worthless in his eyes. You had no magic, after all, and in a line of mages and witches and sorcerers, and even a warlock here and there, you were as useless as, in his words, a screen door on a submarine.

But there was something you were good at: sneaking into places where you shouldn’t be, and if you returned sometimes with something that wouldn’t be missed — at least not until you were long gone — then perhaps your uncle could find a use for you after all. The only problem was that in return for keeping you safe and shielded from those you’d robbed – by his position on the Council of Mages and his general lofty position in the world of the supernatural – he could always ask you to do just one more job for him. That was how, even into adulthood, you found yourself largely beholden to him. 

“I said, I want you to steal the Amulet of Protection from Rafael da Liro, and return to me with it.”

“You want me to break into a pureblood, elder vampire’s castle and steal an amulet that makes its wearer immune to vampire compulsion?”

“You can even put it on while you get it out of there,” he said with magnanimous sarcasm. “But it comes straight to my hands afterwards, understand?”

“How?” you exhaled. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

I can't believe this story is 14.5k words long. These monthly stories are only supposed to be about 2-3k words long, but hey.

_

It's still June, just... I'm so sorry this didn't appear sooner, but it's a whopping 14.5k words long, so hopefully that makes up for it!

Content: at the end of their first year at the Royal Academy for the Magical Arts, the young, entitled son of the wealthiest family on the continent is partnered for an assignment with a diligent reader from a very humble background, and makes a very poor choice. Years later, after finishing their masters, the reader finds themself having to work with him again, only to find he's not quite as they remember this time around. Also featuring a naga bestie, adoptive dads, a badass dwarven professor, and a chunky cameo from the orc mage, Orrakh from a short story on Tumblr.

(Light spoilers) content warning: reader is drugged to render them unconscious, but nothing untoward happens while they're out, and it's facilitated by their friend. Nsfw: reader gives a blowjob in a sort of semi-public place, and receives oral in return back in private.

Wordcount: 14,565

Extract:

Ambient magicka crackled and coalesced around you, becoming little flashes of light in the air as you strode down the navy blue corridor of the astronomy wing where you’d met your friend. “I worked my ass off for that placement, Alana, and I am not going to let some gilded turd buy his way in beside me and turn it into a farce!”

The naga’s thick, serpentine tail carved a wide swathe through the other student mages as she struggled to keep up with you, until she finally grabbed at the sleeve of your dark robe and yanked you around to face her.

“Take a breath, honey,” she said, pushing her circular, gold-rimmed glasses back up her nose and blinking moss-green eyes at you from her pretty, round face with all its myriad freckles. “From what you’ve told me, Rune is a first class shit, but you’re going to have to work with him.”

“He’s not just a shit, Alana,” you fired back through gritted teeth, aware that you were drawing a bit of an audience beneath the painted vaults of the long corridor. “He’s a rich shit who thinks he can throw money at people and just walk out with whatever he wants! That isn’t going to cut it with Magister Delfan.” The dwarven professor was notoriously impatient when it came to time-wasters, but if you got on her good side, people said she was an absolute blast.

Here's this month's offering - a female monster this time, and a gender neutral reader, and we're back in Starfall Springs again, and after two months of extraordinarily long (12k each!!) stories, I'm back to the more normal and manageable 2-3k word stories with this one. 

Content: casual hookup that could be interpreted to go further in the future, no specific body parts mentioned during the sex scene, gender and body neutral reader Wordcount: 2702

Starfall Springs wasn’t a glitzy resort like Oyster Cove or Silversand Island. It wasn’t somewhere the extremely wealthy went, unless they had a reason to visit one of the Silkfoot family, of course.

So when you pulled up to the door of Shell Cottage, a tiny, cozy, stone fisherman’s house with limewashed walls and tiny, deep-set windows, and a slate roof that bore moss in between the tiles like extra caulking, you expected the resident to be someone… ordinary.

Of course, ‘ordinary’ for Starfall Springs was a bit more of a variable term than it was for the larger cities, where non-humans tended to be outnumbered 10-1 by humans, so since moving to the quaint, seaside town, you’d come to expect the unexpected with every delivery.

Leaning your bicycle against the rough wall of the house, you unslung your insulated backpack and carefully extracted the bag of hot food, enchanted to keep its contents warm and fresh all the way to its destination, and approached the front door.

Before you could knock, however, a voice drifted out to you from inside, and its owner did not sound happy at all.

“… I don’t care how they got left out of the article, I really don’t, but you need to include images of her paintings in the bloody article about her paintings! She’s an artist, for crying out loud! Gods-dammit do I have to run the entire fucking magazine myself? Fix. It.”

Shit. Sounded like someone wasn’t enjoying their holiday at all. Still, you had a living to earn, and you weren’t going to do it eavesdropping on angry city folk who ran magazines about artists, or whatever this person did.

With a decisive knock on the cutesy, cottage door, you stepped back and waited.

The door nearly flew off its hinges when the occupant opened up, and you looked up at them in surprise. And then up. And up.

At nearly seven feet tall, the tiefling inside was… huge. And… gorgeous.

Her tail lashed back and forth behind her like an angry cat’s, and she was wearing… oh by all the gods… You’d had the door answered to you in all sorts of getups, from cartoon-pyjamas to athletic attire, tuxedos to even just underwear, and one horrifying occasion where they’d worn nothing at all, but this was the first time you’d ever been… affected by it.

Read the whole thing over on Patreon right now, and get access to the huge pre-2020 catalogue, as well as access to polls, WIP snippets and previews, and lifetime membership to our chill Discord server.

Happy Christmas - here's a surprise extra story for Patreon supporters! Lots of love x

Holy moly, folks, this one was supposed to be a 3k word story, ready to post in the middle of the month, and (a bit like the last one which was 12k) it morphed into nearly 15k of feels and fun... oof. Thank you so much to those who reassured me on Discord that it was ok to take a few extra days to make sure it was something I was happy to post. I hope you enjoy Celann the grumpy werebear...

Let me also just briefly take this opportunity to thank you for returning to Patreon to support me and for joining up since I relaunched in October. It means the world to me that you value and enjoy my writing enough to pay to have access to it once a month. Really, I cannot tell you what it means to me for you to give me this income and independence. I tear up just trying to explain it, even in words.

Anyway, apologies for the delay! I wish you a very merry festive season, and hopefully there'll be another little Christmas bonus for you too, as per the poll from a while ago. May 2024 bring you every happiness and blessing, folks. And here's to many more stories and characters to share and enjoy.

Content: gender and body neutral reader who is a healer/surgeon, a thinly-disguised Roman Empire/Iron Age Britain setting, a secondary character is seriously injured (no super-gory descriptions, only a brief catalogue of her injuries), a big, gruff and reserved loner werebear, brief brush with hypothermia from the reader, some good old 'cuddling for warmth', and some penetrative sex later on too.

Wordcount: a whopping 14,585!

Castle Rise Outpost, in the extreme, northernmost reaches of the Republic’s ever-expanding territories, was hardly the most illustrious or auspicious posting you could have hoped for.

As you and your tired horse plodded along the sandy track over the region’s high, wind-blasted heath, your heart ached for every last mile that stretched between there and your warmer homeland. It all seemed so far behind you now, but this was a new start and a new adventure as the surgeon and healer attached to one of the Republic’s vast network of military outposts, and you were determined to make a good life of it.

Gods though, this place really was desolate.

On your right, away to the east where the light was fast fading, a dense forest of gnarled and mossy oak trees looked as though it was spilling down from the rolling hills and tumbling inexorably down into the valley in a wild, green tangle, and below the treeline, a fast-flowing river cut through the landscape in a dark and sinuous ribbon. The water was rich with tannins from the falling leaves in the forest, and as the ebbing light caught it, you thought ominously of the colour of blood. Behind the forest, as the afternoon darkened towards the deeper hue of an early autumn evening, the far off shape of the snow-capped Highlands lurked on the horizon; their shape now black and foreboding as the stage background of a mummer’s drama.