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monstersandmaw · 8 months

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Male drider x trans male reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Commission number three! This one got away with me, for sure. Hope you folks enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!!

Content: trans male reader, some afab language to refer to the reader’s lower parts during non-penetrative, oral sex; chest area not mentioned. Kidnapping, some threat to life and mild injury (not from drider), brief mention of blood and stitches. Reader has submissive tendencies, enjoys being restrained, and the drider is gently dominant.

Wordcount: 10,123(!)

Running headlong into the dark pines that made up the forest which, according to your captors, had acquired such nicknames as the ‘The Bone Garden’, ‘Spectre’s Haunt’, and the ‘Blood Wood’ was probably not the wisest decision you’d ever made, but you’d been held by these thugs for four days of hard riding, and you were ready to risk it all to escape.

Had it really only been four days since you’d locked the door to your tidy little cottage on the edge of the village? With a gleaner’s bag slung over one shoulder and a basket in hand, you’d set out in search of the mushrooms that only grew at this time of year when the conditions were perfect — not hot and dry, not yet frosty, and just rainy enough. They loved the misty turn of the year almost as much as you did.

Without a care in the world, you’d stepped out along the weed-strewn gravel path that led through your herb garden, latched the wooden gate behind you, and meandered through the houses as the sounds of the village waking began to fill the air.

Gwyn had recently lit his forge and the rush of the bellows to stoke the heat reminded you of a dragon’s steady breathing; in and out, in and out. You’d snaked past the bakery just to swipe a fresh cinnamon roll before Garrick or Mercy or any of the woodcutters who also tended to rise early could finish them all off, and the orc behind the counter gave you the biggest one he had and a wink that made you just a little gooey inside yourself. “You’re a shameless flirt, Thom,” you said as you slid your coppers across the counter to him with two fingers.

“Hey, a man can dream, right, gorgeous?”

He was pretty fine himself, but he wasn’t really your type, and you’d made that clear when he’d asked you to dance at the first Spring Equinox dance you’d attended after moving to the village, then just a lowly herbalist’s apprentice. Ever since, you’d fallen into an easy banter of flirting that was destined to go nowhere, and it was harmless fun for both of you. You left the bakery with a smile on your face, and headed past Gwyn’s forge as you made your way north out of the village.

The smith, a colossal centaur with a dapple grey coat and a thick, white mane and tail that made anyone with long hair in the village green with envy, called after you and beckoned you over. “Headed north?” he asked with an uncharacteristic scowl.

“Yeah, why?”

“Take care, alright? Mercy said she’d seen sign of bandits in the area, and Willem said he’d heard talk of people being snatched when he took those fleeces to market last week. You shouldn’t be going out alone. None of us should really, not til things calm down.”

A little growl of frustration left you and you adjusted the gleaner’s bag on your shoulder. “I really need these supplies, Gwyn,” you said. “They’re ingredients I need to help fight off winter fevers, and if I don’t have enough, we could be in trouble come the cold in a few weeks’ time…”

“Can’t you take Garrick or Mercy with you? A good woodsman’s felling axe’ll do a hell of a lot more damage than that little sickle you’ve got on your belt…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you breezed. “I’m not going to be on the main road anyway.”

“Please take care,” he rumbled, and you smiled up at the enormous blacksmith. He might have had the shoulders of a rock troll and iron-shod hooves big enough to knock down a castle door, with a big burn mark all up his left arm from an accident at the forge a decade ago, but he was the gentlest and most softly-spoken person you knew.

You cursed yourself three hours later when your basket of rare, purple mushrooms lay trampled to a slimy paste on the floor of the clearing and a nasty looking wood elf with a sneer and a cruel glint in her eye had her bow trained on you, while a second elf trussed you up like a solstice bird. Your head was ringing from the surprise blow they’d dealt you to the back of the skull, and you were lucky you didn’t have a worse concussion.

“You’ll make a nice little offering for the mage,” the female elf purred while her companion straightened and marched you on unsteady feet back towards the road. “Humans like you always fetch a decent price. Something about your blood being universal for most rituals, I think…”

There on the dirt road, four horses were waiting, three of which were a normal size while the last was built like a castle wall and large enough to carry the orc sitting astride it. The orc had one milky eye and the brand of a murderer across his right cheek. “Shit,” you hissed when you saw that, and the male elf laughed cruelly when you flinched as the orc swung down and prepared to heave you onto the back of the spare horse.

Normally, if you were going to be tied up and bent over something for some rough treatment, this was not how it went. There was absolutely nothing fun or consensual about the way these bandits chucked you over the back of the horse and lashed your hands and feet to the tack so you didn’t slide off. The orc guffawed and spat off to one side when you cried out on impact as your ribs creaked and your lungs expelled all the air they’d ever contained in one ugly grunt. After that, you did just about everything you could to move with the rhythm of the cantering horse, but it was probably the most miserable experience of your life. When the group slowed to trot, the motion was so painful that you actually slipped into unconsciousness for a while, only to be jounced back some time later.

At the crossroads about ten miles north of your village — the furthest north from your little patch of paradise you’d ever roamed — they met up with a couple of other riders who had apparently been on a recce of their own to look for more people for this blood mage or whoever, but they got laughed at by the orc on his enormous, cantankerous horse for not finding any victims and rode off again without joining the party.

So, it was just you, alone in the wilderness, being taken gods-knew-where, by two feral elf siblings and a murderous orc. Stowed like a sack of potatoes over that rangy, stinking horse for five hours of hellish riding, you were barely conscious. When they eventually stopped to make camp that night, they did let you relieve yourself in relative privacy, but once you were done, they hauled you back to their pack animals and lashed you to a tree next to them so that you couldn’t hope to escape. You could still smell the stink of them though, and it was enough to turn your empty stomach.

Their food was revolting, and their company equally repulsive. They joked loudly about all the cruel things they’d done to people in the past, and you sat there wondering why you hadn’t let Gwyn talk you into going out with the woodcutters. There were mushrooms where they were currently coppicing hazel for the winter, but no. No, you’d decided to be adventurous and clever, and to collect only the best mushrooms for your salves and tonics.

Four days later, you were almost ready to give up.

The mage’s castle they were taking you to was legendary in the northern reaches, and no one who was taken there against their will ever returned. Tales of blood magic and horrific rites involving chimera and creatures brought back from the dead had entered the local lore, and now apparently you were going to be drained of your precious blood for whatever this necromancer had planned next. And the price of that precious blood had been discussed and debated by the bandits for the last day.

Personally, you agreed with the female elf and thought you were worth more than a couple of weeks’ wages in gold, but you had no intention of allowing yourself to be squeezed dry like an orange for your blood. So, after the group stopped in a dark and snow-mottled pine forest after the fifth day of hard riding, you enacted your plan. You’d been plotting it all day, and hoped you weren’t too delirious and weak to pull it off.

When they’d let you relieve yourself the previous night, they’d not bothered to tie your hands together or watch you, since there was nowhere for you to go. You knew woodlands though, and you were pretty confident that if you gave them the slip in the dark, you could take care of yourself in the wild for a few days. Long enough to get back home anyway.

So when they started their daily round of bragging and trading boasts about how many vampires they’d killed or how they’d survived the venom of three different nagas in the same attack, you made your move.

If that darned twig hadn’t snapped, you might have got away with it, but when the male elf barked, “Oi!” into the gathering dark and swung his lantern around, you knew you’d messed up.

Breaking cover completely and legging it into the endless ranks of black-barked pine trees in the fading light of day seemed like the only option now, so you began crashing through the debris and dead branches that had gathered beneath the choking canopy of dense pine needles overhead.

These woods were different from any you’d known before, and something dark and foreboding lingered there like a shade above a gravestone. These woods were not kind. The air was not fresh and sweet like it was between the beech and oak back home. It pooled and festered, stagnant between the rough sentinel trees, and the lower branches seemed to reach their sharp, bare fingers towards your face as you ran like a rabbit from the pack of hunting dogs behind you.

Your toe caught a root and you stumbled, and in the space where your head had just been, an arrow whizzed through the air and sank into the tree ahead of you with a thunk that almost made your heart stop. Your lungs were burning already and your legs felt shaky and weak after your rough treatment and half-rotten rations, but a brush with death that close shocked you to the core. The water they’d given you had been rancid, and your stomach churned as adrenaline curdled in your gut, but somehow you forced yourself on into the darkness.

Their voices dwindled, muffled by the carpet of fallen pine needles, until a shout went up and another arrow flew past you. This time, it left a searing pain in its wake and you clutched at your ribs where the hunting broadhead had torn through your skin. Luckily, it was superficial, but it hurt like hell and it was bleeding. Blood might draw predators out of the darkness, if your blundering and their bellowing hadn’t already.

Shit, you hadn’t thought about the horrors that probably dwelled in a place like this.

The bandits had been crowing about the ghouls and rabid cannibals that supposedly haunted these woods, and you’d passed plenty of skeletons along the roadside on your journey, your down-turned head providing you with a first-class view of them as your half-lame horse had jolted past them at its permanent, slightly-panicked jog. They hadn’t all been pack animals and horses lying in the ditch either. Some of the skulls had been humanoid, and there had been the horns of a minotaur at some point. This was a place where living things entered unwillingly, and most of them never left.

Forcing yourself onwards, you clutched your stinging side, but they were closing on you. The orc was thundering through the forest like a boar on a rampage, and the elves were quick as shadows.

“You little shit!” the female shouted from right behind you. Something heavy hit you across the back of your knees and you tripped and fell hard onto your palms as a flung tree branch rebounded off onto the forest floor. The force of the fall sent your cheek smashing into the muddy ground and you cried out as she landed triumphantly atop you and turned you over, smacking you full in the mouth out of sheer frustration.

“Gotcha,” she grinned. “You’re gonna pay for running, little rabbit,” she added with a laugh as she hauled you to your feet.

You kicked her knee from the side as hard as you could and she yowled like a cat dropped into a bath, letting go of you to stagger sideways, limping. The thing about being a healer is that you also know the weak spots where it can hurt most.

Before she could turn on you again though, something moved in the trees behind you and you all froze. The orc crashed to a halt nearby breathing hard, and the elf’s brother came over to help her stand while she spat curses at you that would have made a pirate’s ears bleed.

“What is it?” the orc growled, low and tense.

“Fuck knows. Tie him up again and let’s get the fuck back to camp,” the female elf wheezed. “I’m gonna drag him behind my horse for the rest of the way there. Shit that hurts!”

“Quiet,” her brother hissed. “Something’s out there.”

“Then let’s get fucking moving!” she countered.

You turned to glance over your shoulder and caught the shape of something white drifting in the distant trees just as the orc spotted it too. His grip tightened on the haft of his huge war-axe, and he took half a step back. Until then, he’d been the one who’d seemed steadiest; unshakable and immovable as a cannon, and he hit just as hard. Now though, he looked spooked and scared.

“They say the Death-Spinner hunts in these parts,” he said, eyes wide as he looked from side to side. “A massive white drider that strikes from the shadows and wraps you up in his web and sucks you dry…”

“It’s been too long since someone sucked you dry,” the female elf sneered at him, though the remark came out feebly and she looked around her in a twitchy, nervous motion. “Your blue balls are making you hallucinate. Come on. What are you waiting for?”

“He’s got other names too, you know,” her brother interrupted, reaching for you with a jerky movement that halted when the steady rhythm of something moving nearby rose above the whispering of the wind in the canopy. “Soul-Eater, The Weaver Ghost…”

“Please, the Death-Spinner is just a myth…” the female on your right hissed.

“Decidedly… not,” came a thin, harsh voice from the trees ahead, and your captors just bolted.

The supposedly tough bandits – the ones who had been talking about selling an actual person to a bloodmage to use in some disgusting ritual; who had joked just the previous night about flaying a minotaur like a cow on a butcher’s block; who had told you that there was nothing out here that would give a single, flying fuck about you – had fled with no more than a shriek and the clatter of boots in the dead underbrush, and left you alone with the being they called ‘Death-Spinner’.

“Better and better,” you spat, still tasting blood in your mouth from where the elf had cracked you across the mouth. “First it was ‘sold to a blood mage’ and now it’s ‘death by drider’.”

A pearlescent pale leg speared down out of the gloom that gathered between the black pines, its ivory chitin shining softly. Shaped like a thin, curved shard of polished bone, the limb moved with slow, silent grace, and it was joined by a second, needle-slender limb, then a third and a forth, until the white underbelly of the creature loomed large into your limited pool of light, followed finally by the lower part of a humanoid torso, and the large, armour-plated abdomen of the creature.

The whole of the eight-legged being was utterly colourless.

White and pendulous as the moon, the drider’s chitinous body looked like drifts of wind-blown snow that had then set into solid ice, swirling and churning across its body to rise in small peaks and troughs at the joints and high points of its legs and over the swollen curve of its abdomen.

The humanoid torso melted upwards at the hips from the body of the spider, and two, smaller, pincer-like limbs — pedipalps — were angled slightly inwards, both ending in single, wicked talons and looking like they were ready to spear you through the middle in the blink of an eye.

The drider wore no clothes, and patches of white chitin formed a kind of armour up its humanoid torso: over the hips but skirting around its lean belly, then up over its shoulders like pauldrons and creating natural bracers and gauntlets along its long, wiry arms. Its hands, you saw as it dipped a little lower into the faint glow from the elves’ abandoned lantern, were clawed, but its slightly curved talons weren’t like those of a mammal. They were simply an unbroken extension of the chitin that covered its hands and forearms.

Its face remained mostly out of sight, wreathed in the upper shadows of the trees, but you got the impression of two reddish eyes glinting at you in the dark, and long, silk-white hair flowing down its back.

“You’re bleeding,” came the slightly hoarse tenor that made your skin prickle. A creature that large should have a deeper voice, but the mellifluous timbre of the drider’s tone made you think of sirens luring sailors to their death with sweet songs and empty, deceitful promises.

“Only a bit,” you choked out, stepping back and catching your heel on the branch that the female elf had used to trip you. When you fell hard onto your backside, you caught the glint of steel in the sea of rust-red pine needles all around you, and realised that one of the elves had dropped their precious sword in their haste to escape this creature.

In a rush of blind panic, you snatched up the unfamiliar weapon and held it aloft. “Stay back!” you barked.

The laugh that rippled out of the drider chilled your blood.

“Please,” it crooned, and then it loomed down out of the shadow and into the light, squinting its two scarlet eyes against the sudden brightness. “As if a little stick like that could hurt something like me.”

The sword fell from your fingers as weakness washed through you, and you bit back a sob. “Please,” you said instead. “Please, they brought me here to sell me to a necromancer, but I… I don’t want to die like this either.”

“Die?” the drider said, and its red gaze flickered to the wound in your side. “You won’t die from that. A few silk stitches and a rest, and you’ll be good as new…” It frowned again, its white eyebrows pulling in like a loose thread in a perfect tapestry. “You’re filthy,” it said, and you noticed a diagonal scar cutting across its pale mouth as its lip pulled up on one side in a gesture of revulsion.

“Yeah, well, you try being thrown over the back end of a bandit’s horse for five days and see if you’re still that pretty at the end of it,” you retorted, exhaustion making you bold and just a little bit stupid.

The drider laughed, the sound like autumn leaves rolling down the road, and you paused. It sounded genuinely amused.

“Come, human,” it said, holding out a clawed hand. “Let’s get you somewhere where you can rest in safety.”

“Safety? What… What about… all that ‘Death-Spinner’ stuff?”

The drider paused, its huge body hanging in the twilight like a pearl. “I have no interest in consuming sapient creatures, but the rumours help to keep people out of my forest. It’s as much for their safety as mine,” it went on. “There are nastier things even than me in these parts.” The self-deprecating venom in its tone drew you up short.

“You don’t seem so bad…”

“Thank you,” it replied with flat sarcasm.

You took three more steps towards the drider before your legs gave out. In a flash faster than thought, the drider darted at you, and before you could even flinch, strong, armoured arms had caught you and lifted you up.

“You poor thing,” it crooned, and you looked up properly into its face for the first time. “You’ve really been through it, haven’t you? Easy now. I’ll take care of you.”

“Why?” you breathed, trying not to let your treacherous muscles relax into the solid frame that held you. You felt the chitin of its chest against your shoulder as it bore you along in a strangely smooth, gliding motion, the dark trunks of the trees whipping past in a blur.

“Evidently I have a soft spot for brave and lost creatures,” the drider smiled. “My name is Feluän, by the way.”

You exhaled your own name in return, and then said, “Isn’t Feluän an elven name? Some prince or something…?”

“You know your history,” the drider chuckled. “Yes, he was a prince of the snow elves a long time ago. I came across it in a history book I picked out of a caravan that was destroyed by a band of gnolls once. Their tastes run more towards beer than books…”

“I chose my own name too,” you said, the consonants feeling thick and slurred as the tiredness seeped throughout your whole body and the pain in your side mounted. “You’re a male drider then? If you named yourself after a prince, I mean. I don’t know anything about your kind really. Never… Never met one before.”

“Hush for now,” he said, squeezing you a little more tightly into his arms and drawing a moan unbidden from your lips. Gods, even in these circumstances, it felt so good to be held like this. “But yes, I am.”

The journey through the dark forest passed in a hazy blur, until you had the vague impression of torchlight and soft firelight and you were laid down on the softest surface you thought you'd maybe ever touched in your life. A long, deep groan left you and you suddenly didn’t care what happened to you.

“I’m going to stitch you up,” came the drider’s voice from somewhere nearby. “It might hurt. I can use a little of my venom to numb the area if you like…”

You nodded, not wanting any more pain, and out of the corner of your eye, you watched the drider’s white body move in the blurry shadows of the cave. He loomed over you and pressed the tip of one clawed finger to his upper canine, before bringing it to your side where he’d hitched up your shirt just enough to access the glancing wound from the arrow. A blissful numbness crept like winter ice across your skin, and you let the drider tend to you.

Tiredness claimed you not long after, but you had the distinct impression of a warm cloth being wiped gently across your face and hands before blackness washed in and you slept.

Over the course of the next few days, Feluän tended to your wound, and you forgot to be afraid of the strange creature. Centaurs had always held a fascination for you, with their animal lower halves and their humanoid upper bodies, and the way the drider moved was no less fascinating. When he wasn't tending to you, he was weaving linen and silk into the most wondrous bolts of fabric. His cave was dotted here and there with trinkets that he’d clearly pilfered from the sporadic ‘visitors’ to his part of the world, but aside from that, the cave was just that: a grotto carved out of a rise in the ground in the middle of a dank, desolate forest.

“You live alone?” you asked on the first evening you felt strong enough to get out of bed without his help. Until then, he’d forced you to stay still, and honestly, you’d been only too happy to let him boss you about and carry you around. He was sweet, but he didn't take no for an answer, and he didn’t let you wheedle your way out of anything either. Your best ‘puppy-dog’ eyes had crumbled his iron resolve a bit though, and finally he’d let you get out of his soft, cosy bed to join him by the gentle light of flames in the fire pit at the centre of his cave.

Feluän nodded. “Yes. I have spent my whole life alone. Driders are not sociable with each other by nature, and most people fear us too much to want us anywhere near them, as you saw yourself when your captors realised I was there.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you said as you took the carved wooden cup he offered you. It had some kind of sharp, pine-needle tea in it and he looked embarrassed that that was all he could offer you to drink apart from water. In the few days you’d been there, you’d had some kind of game broth which, while nutritious, hadn’t been particularly flavoursome. “I didn’t think I’d find anyone out here more intimidating than that orc, but you managed it.”

Across the fire, his ruby red eyes glittered and he laughed, tilting his head in your direction. He didn’t always meet your eye, you realised, and you wondered if his albinism affected his eyesight. “I live to serve,” he purred.

“The way you behave, I’d say you live to be served, but what do I know?”

Again, he laughed. “You offering, little human?” he said, cocking a white eyebrow in a way that made you feel a little dizzy.

“I might, if the rewards for service were worth it,” you replied archly, sipping the sharp tea. Its flavour reminded you of the tinctures you brewed at home, and of the people who would need you as the autumn drew to a close and winter began to coil around the edges of the village. Your shoulders dropped, and you sighed, steam from the cup swirling in front of your eyes for a moment.

“You clearly don’t think I could offer you much,” he said dryly.

“It’s not that,” you said. “It’s… I have a responsibility to the people in my village. I’m a herbalist, and the whole reason I was captured was because I was out looking for ingredients that would help fight winter fevers. If I don’t get home before the snows settle in, they’ll suffer.”

He shifted his weight where he was resting casually with all his long, spiny limbs tucked close to his pendulous body, and you realised he was feeling uncertain. “It must be nice,” he began in a new, faltering voice that you’d not heard from him before. “Nice to have people… who need you. Who… Who look to you for protection…”

You laughed softly and shook your head. “I wouldn’t say I provide any kind of protection — you want an orc or a centaur like Thom or Gwyn for that — but I help people where I can, and they’ve been good to me. I was apprenticed with their previous healer, and when he passed, I took on his mantle.”

“Tell me about them?” Feluän asked, red eyes blinking slowly in his frost-pale face. His long, white hair fell down loose to frame his high cheekbones, and the scar on his mouth was the only element in his face that interrupted the otherwise perfect symmetry of him, and it made you want to press your lips to it and see what it felt like beneath your kisses.

You looked away.

“Tell me about them before I take you back tomorrow?”

“Wait, take me back? You’re coming too?”

“You’ll never make it out of these woods alive without me,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t go to all this effort to keep you alive just to turn you loose for the ghouls and shadow wraiths to tear you to pieces when the sun sets tomorrow night.”

“Shadow… wraiths?” you croaked, eyes flitting to the cave entrance where the dark night pressed in against the tiny light of the fire. You shuddered and Feluän smiled to reveal his double set of canines, the larger, outer pair of which were actually hollow fangs that could inject his paralytic venom into his prey.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said with a rumbling, seductive purr in his tenor that went right through you to your core. “I’ll protect you. You’re safe here anyway. It’s warded.”

“Right.”

“Your people?” he prompted, and you started with Gwyn the dappled centaur. By the time you’d listed almost everyone in the village, your mind was slow and your eyes gritty with sleep.

Some time earlier, Feluän had moved behind you so that you were resting your weight between his lethally-taloned pedipalps, buttressed up on either side by something that could skewer through you in the blink of an eye, and his hand had recently moved to card idly through your hair.

The world tilted slightly as you dozed off halfway through a sentence about Thom the orc who ran the bakery and made the most incredible fruit pies in autumn, and you realised that Feluän had picked you up again and was carrying you towards his wide, soft bed of silk webbing.

As he drew a feather-filled silk duvet up around your ears and you hummed with deep satisfaction, you heard him murmur, “I wish I could live somewhere like the place you described for me tonight. I wish I could know ‘home’ as you do, but I fear I would never be welcome somewhere like that.”

“They’d love you,” you mumbled. After all, you were half in love with him already and it had only been a few days.

The journey south took about a week. On the first day, you were forced to ride on his back after only a few miles due to the lingering ache in your side. “If you don’t get aboard, I will refuse to take you anywhere at all,” he said sternly, and a thrill of heat shot down your spine at the steel in his tone. “Do as you’re told, human.”

“Fine,” you croaked, ignoring just how much you liked the way he seemed to mingle concern, respect, and command in a single sentence. “Bossy.”

You did enjoy having your arms around his middle as you rode behind him though. And he was quick when he got scuttling along.

Your pride did have you walking the next day, and before too long, you got to see the ‘Death-Spinner’ in action. In the rocky lower slopes of the pine forest, before it melted into a dewy, autumn meadow, a roar shattered the silence and a bear reared up from the thick grass, as surprised by your exit from the trees as you were by her.

Feluän hissed like a snake and immediately drew himself up, lashing out with his long front legs. Like twin swords, the lowest section of his legs flashed in the misty air and the bear threw herself up onto her hind legs with another bellowing roar.

The drider jabbed at her faster than your eyes could follow, nicking her ear and her shoulder in turn with left and right forelegs, his huge body filling the space between you and the threat like a bulwark. The bear turned on the spot and thundered away, and he dropped silently back to all eight legs and looked down at you. In the starker light of the meadow, he was squinting and his red eyes didn’t quite land on your face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bare marble chest heaving. His clawed hands were curled at his sides and his arms looked incredible, and suddenly it was very hard to focus on anything but how gods-damned beautiful this creature was. He barked your name and lowered himself down, still squinting. “I can’t see very well in full daylight like this. I need you to tell me if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you croaked at last, trying to swallow your inconveniently-timed arousal. “Are you? I’ve lived in the woods a long time, but I’ve never been that close to a bear before.”

“She really didn’t want to tangle with me,” he laughed, and you caught the way his articulated joints sagged in relief as his white hands found your shoulders and he squeezed you tightly for a second.

“You can’t see very well? What do you mean?”

He smiled sadly and let go of you. “As I understand it, people born like me, without pigmentation, often struggle with their vision, and bright sunlight in particular. I do anyway. Why do you think I chose the darkest place I knew of for my home?”

“I… I hadn’t really thought about it. You sure you want to be out here then? You didn’t have to walk me all the way home you know?”

“I want to,” he said, gesturing for you to continue on your way across the open meadow.

The overnight frost had melted a little, but it still lingered at the foot of the thicker tufts of grass and it crunched softly as you walked through it. Not Feluän though — he moved as silently as his spectral nickname suggested, but you did catch him tilting his head a little and inhaling, as though scenting the wind. His lips parted softly and you caught your best glimpse yet of his double set of canines. His tongue shifted a little behind his teeth, as though he was tasting something on the air, and you looked away. Everything about him was sensuous and it made you want to touch.

You were perhaps a day’s walk from the village now, but he still hadn’t turned back even though you’d told him you could manage alone from there.

That night at camp, you sat together as you had back in his cave, with you resting between the two smaller limbs that jutted out from his spider’s shoulder area. They twitched from time to time as he ate the now-roasted rabbit he’d skewered earlier for dinner with the talon at the end of one of them, and when you’d finished your meal, you reached out without thinking and ran your fingers down the chitin that covered them.

He jumped slightly and then went very still, but as you brought your hand closer to where the limb met his chest, he drew in a shuddering breath that made his whole body rock.

“Does that tickle?” you asked, wondering how much sensation he had with all that natural armour.

“Not exactly,” Feluän rasped. “It’s… It’s been a while since I’ve… since anyone’s — ah…” he gasped and his chest heaved. The little bone he’d been idly cleaning with his tongue dropped from his fingers to land in the carpet of beech and oak leaves around your feet.

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “Gods, don’t you dare stop.”

“Alright.”

You stood and faced him, and ran both hands up his ‘hips’ at the base of his humanoid torso. He shuddered again and sucked in another sharp breath. Gradually, you moved your touch up over the marble contours of his abs and ribs until you could reach no higher. “Come down here then,” you said quietly.

His scarred upper lip twitched and he surged down towards you, snatching you up in his hands and lifting you away from the fire. He pinned you against the smooth bark of a nearby beech trunk, and held you there four or five feet off the ground. His hands were secure around your waist as the spears of the two pedipalps lanced into the tree on either side of your face and you gasped, feeling heat rushing to your groin.

“The things you make me want to do to you, human,” he purred around a snarl, red eyes glowing in the night. His huge body was pale, standing out starkly against the darkness, and you felt a familiar, tingling weakness washing through you as he held you pinned there and growled those lustful words into your ears. You wanted him to take control. You wanted to submit to whatever pleasures he had in mind. It made your head go vague.

“What’s that then?” you slurred softly, dangling blissfully in his hold. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to tie you up with my silk,” he said, leaning in so he could kiss up your neck. He nipped at you, but not enough to break the skin or inject you with his numbing, paralytic venom. The trail his kisses left was cold though, and your flesh tingled. “I want you trussed and immobile for me while I give you every pleasure I can think of. Your body is so soft compared to mine. So vulnerable. I want it all. I want all of you.”

“You can,” you smiled. “Please.”

His lips twitched into another little snarl and he kissed you again. Your tongue tingled and you swallowed, realising a drop of his venom had landed there. “I can’t,” he said, stepping back and lowering you slowly to the ground. Your knees were too weak to take your weight at first and he steadied you.

“Why not?” Disappointment stung through the creeping haze in your head and helped to clear it a bit.

You glanced along his curved, spider’s abdomen and saw that a clear fluid was dripping slowly from a point on his underbelly. His obvious arousal looked obscene, and your core tightened at the sight of it. When he saw where you were looking, he shivered. “That’s what you do to me,” he croaked. “But I’ve lost too much control of myself tonight. I might hurt you.”

“Kiss me again?”

“No. My mouth is full of venom.”

Your breath caught and you bit your lip. “Please?”

“No.” He sounded angry now, and you looked away, ashamed of still wanting something he didn't want to give. When he saw the expression on your face though, his whole demeanour changed and he softened. “What is it?” he asked.

You shook your head, stepping back. “Forget it. You’re going home again tomorrow anyway. You’ll forget about me in no time.” But you wouldn’t forget about him.

Feluän’s lighting-fast reflexes left you breathless all over again as he snatched for your wrist when you turned away from him. “I will never forget you,” he hissed fiercely. “I can’t. You think I give every lost wanderer I find in my forest a personal escort home? If I had my way, I’d never leave your side again.”

The grip he had on your wrist was tight enough that it was just shy of painful, and you gasped, eyelids fluttering. You glanced down at where his claws were pricking into your skin and then slowly raised your gaze to his face. “Not helping…” you smirked softly.

He closed his eyes slowly and eased his grip just a fraction, and then he opened his eyes again, moved both hands to your face, cupped your jaw, and kissed your forehead. “Best I can do for the moment,” he said apologetically.

“You don’t have to go back, you know?” you said, giving voice to the idea that had been floating around your mind for a few days. “I mean, I know all your stuff is back there, but there’s a really cosy place that’s only a hundred yards or so from my cottage on the edge of the village. I think it would be perfect for you. You could… You could live there? If you wanted…”

Feluän raked his claws gently across your scalp and you shuddered. “And what of the rest of the village? What would they say about a monster taking up residence in their midst?”

“You’re not a monster,” you hissed, grabbing for his wrists and clinging to him while you glared up into his face. Gods, he was so beautiful, with his sharp features and red, gemstone eyes and his silver-white hair. “You’re not. How could they not love you once they got to know you?”

His throat worked and he lowered his spider body down, drawing his legs in so that he was as close to your eye level as he could get. “Do you really want me to stay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please. I — The thought of you going back to that horrible place with all those bones scattered everywhere, and no life — there’s no life in those woods, Feluän. It’s —” He silenced you with a kiss.

Your lips turned numb almost immediately but you felt his tongue brush yours as he growled and reared over you, overpowering you with just his presence. “The way you said my name,” he said. “No one’s ever spoken my name before. Say it again. I want to hear you say it again.”

“Feluän.”

“When we’re not camping in a forest, I’m going to take you apart, my beautiful human. I’m going to tie you up and take you to pieces when my mouth isn’t dripping with venom.”

“Could be fun for you to have your way with me while I can’t move…” you said.

“You wouldn’t be able to feel it either,” he said, deliberately moving away from you and breathing hard. “Gods, I’m a mess,” he chuckled. You glanced down and saw that he was leaking a little webbing too from the gland at the tip of his abdomen.

“So am I,” you said wryly, because you absolutely were.

“I know. I can smell it,” he said. “Taste it too.”

“Fuck,” you groaned. He’d smelled it earlier as well then, back in the meadow after he’d protected you. “You’d better live up to your promise, Feluän. I’m not letting you go home without feeling some of that silk around my wrists first.”

“Say my name again and I’ll give you anything you want.”

Getting to sleep that night proved difficult to say the least, but it helped that you both talked quietly, with you lying in his arms again, and when you woke to the gentle caress of his knuckles against your cheek, you blinked your eyes open and smiled up at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, awestruck by the creature looming over you. Honest delight lit up his whole face and he laughed quietly, helping you to your feet and brushing the dry leaves from your clothes and the borrowed cloak he’d lent you.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked as you kicked the cold ashes of the fire apart and made sure you left the forest as you’d found it. “You said we’re within a day’s walk of your home now?”

You nodded. “We’ll probably meet a few of the woodcutters on our way in — they’re working about three or four miles from the village at the moment, cutting hazel for fences and ash for firewood. If we meet anyone, let me do the talking?”

Feluän agreed, and you set off along the main road together.

“I’ll introduce you in the village if you like, and explain where I’ve been, and then I’ll say I’d like you to stay. If… If you want to.”

“I do,” he said. “I don’t have anything in that cave that I would particularly miss, but I could still go back and fetch it if I wanted to.”

The first people you met were indeed Garrick and Mercy, and when the satyr and the half-orc-half-elf saw the drider, they hefted their axes in their hands and stepped warily into the clearing they’d made beside the road. Mercy spotted you and called out your name, and you and Feluän held up your hands.

It took some persuading to let the two of you approach, but when you were close enough, Mercy dropped her axe and hugged you. “We’ve been so worried,” she said, squeezing you tight. With her muscles, it was enough to make you wheeze. “Gwyn and Thom and Gale searched for you for days but even Gale’s werewolf nose lost your scent when it rained. Gods, they’ve been beside themselves.”

“I’m only alive because of Feluän,” you said, gesturing to the pale drider who was waiting on the road. All his eight legs were drawn up tight and he looked tense and wary. At that distance, and in the clear, wintry light, you suspected he also couldn’t see very far, and for someone so powerful, he was probably feeling quite vulnerable. “I’d like him to live here with us. He was living alone in that dark forest, and I don’t think anyone should have to live alone like that. Not if they don’t want to.”

Garrick jutted his small tusks and said, “Driders aren’t exactly sociable creatures. What’s he gonna do around here?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” you said a little defensively. “While I was recovering in his care, he was processing and spinning flax and weaving bolts of cloth, so he could help Rowan, but I don’t think his place here should be determined by what he can do for us, do you?”

Garrick’s eyes darkened with shame, and he shook his head.

“I’ll catch up with you later. Right now, all I want is a bath and a change of clothes.” Your own shirt had been washed while you’d been recovering, and Feluän had stitched it up, but it was still stained with your blood and more than a bit travel-worn now.

The approach to the village was deserted, but when you stepped out from the shady road and into the brilliant, afternoon sun that bathed the thatched houses in stark light, Feluän grunted and closed his eyes, shielding them with one hand and wincing.

“You alright?” you asked.

“It’s so bright,” he rasped. “I… I can’t even see you and you’re right next to me.”

You paused and said, “This way. We’ll take the side road and go along one of the deer paths through the trees to the cave home I’ve got in mind for you. You can meet everyone tonight when the sun’s gone down.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shaking your head, you frowned. “No, Feluän. You have nothing to be sorry for. Let’s go.” You laid your hand on his foremost left leg, and changed direction, heading for the tall oak and beech trees that bordered the village.

You passed by your cottage, though you did point it out to him, and continued up the slope to the small, rocky outcrop where the old cave had sat empty since its previous occupant had moved to be nearer to her relatives. “This used to belong to Dinara,” you said. “She’s a dwarf, but the cave isn’t at her scale, don’t worry.”

He laughed, and now that you were in the shade, you noticed that his eyes were meeting yours again, and he wasn’t squinting so much. “Come here,” he said, and he lowered himself down to kiss you. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

“If it’s not, I know people will help you alter it. They helped me build my house when I moved here, so you could always just build something new if it doesn’t suit.”

“You make them sound like good people,” he smiled.

Squeezing his hand, you said, “They are. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“So long as they don’t try to hack me to bits with their axes… The one you called ‘Garrick’ sounded ready to cut my legs off earlier.”

“He’s protective, not unlike you,” you said wryly. “Come on. Let me show you the cave and see if you want to live there or not.”

“If you’re nearby, it’ll be perfect,” he said smoothly, and you immediately tripped, making him laugh.

In the end, the empty cave house suited him perfectly, and, as you’d predicted, people were wary to start with, but when they heard how he’d saved you and taken care of you, and brought you home, they welcomed him like a long-lost relative — something that clearly moved him deeply. He did bristle when Thom swept you up into his bone-crushing, baker’s arms outside the village inn that night and nuzzled his tusks against your neck and expressed just how worried he’d been about you though.

When you returned to Feluän after Thom had set you down and promised you a week’s worth of free pies and cakes, Feluän was prickly and distant, until you grabbed a hold of his pedipalp and refused to let go as he turned. The moonlight flashed along the polished chitin and the limb straightened as he turned away while you held it, but he twitched back to look at you with his red eyes blazing quietly.

“Feluän…?” you purred. Oh, you liked the way he clearly wanted to be possessive of you but was forcing himself to behave. It made you flush hot all over.

“What?” he hissed, still scowling.

You caressed your hand up the limb to his shoulder and splayed your fingers wide. He gasped.

“You promised me something…”

“What was that?” he said, spreading his legs a little wider, as though he needed the extra stability to brace himself upright all of a sudden. You enjoyed seeing that the effect you had on each other was mutual.

You drew back your hand from him and he rocked forwards as if seeking the contact again. You brought your wrists together and held them out as though waiting to be tied up before looking up into his face.

His white eyelashes fluttered and his red eyes rolled closed for a moment. “Where?” he asked in a whisper. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure you’ll fit easily in my cottage…”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, “But I’ll take your word for it. I don’t have any furnishings in my new home yet.”

“You can sling me a silk hammock,” you said boldly and he groaned audibly. “You like that? You like the idea of me lying on your silk?”

He choked softly and nodded, jaw working.

“What?”

“I’m trying to keep my venom to myself this time,” he said carefully. “If I don’t let it out, I can put my mouth wherever I want to this time.”

“And where’s that?”

“Let me tie you up and you’ll find out,” he snarled, baring his double canines, patience fraying.

“Take me home then,” you whispered.

He picked you up, letting you loop your legs around his humanoid hips and holding you there with his arms and his two pedipalps while he scuttled away from the village and up the hill to the cave where an oil lamp was already burning softly on a shelf.

The cave wasn’t so much a cave as a rock-hewn home, with an additional masonry front covering the opening from the elements, and stone shelves cut into the rock inside for storage, and a shelf at the back for a bed and a huge stone bath as well. Spring water was plumbed directly into a copper cylinder for hot water beside a fireplace with a chimney built into the mountainside. It was a vast improvement on his former, tunnel-like home in the forest, and someone had brought up a load of firewood for him.

Before he’d left his new home to greet the rest of the village earlier that evening, Feluän had lit a fire in the grate and it had since filled the space with warmth, driving away the lingering damp of disuse, and as he made his way on his long, skittering legs to the back of the cave, you kissed the chitin of his shoulders and watched the firelight lick along the sculpted shape of his natural armour. He shivered and then rose right up, tucking his abdomen under him and slinging a web across the shelf where the mattress would be when you eventually found him one. For now, a low, secure hammock of web would more than suffice.

He pitched you back onto it and you bounced softly while the drider’s huge body filled the air above you. The power and ‘otherness’ of his body made you hot beneath the skin and set your core burning, and you squirmed softly while he lowered himself down around you, all four right limbs braced on the wall to your left to give him the best angle. It was unnatural and eerie and creepy and wonderful and strange and everything you wanted in that moment, so you raised your hands above your head and crossed your wrists invitingly.

“You’re so good for me,” he purred and you arched upwards. The web hammock was substantial enough that you didn't feel in the least like your bodyweight was going to tear through it, but it left you feeling exposed and at his mercy. He undressed you carefully, his claws peeling the fabric back until you were as naked as he was. His spider’s body twitched and that clear fluid dripped down onto your shin, betraying his own arousal even as your own was made all the more evident to him.

He parted your legs with one clawed hand and carefully pressed the heel of his palm against where you were soaking wet. “Look at you,” he smiled, eyes glinting. “I can smell you. I can’t wait to taste you properly.” Then he licked his hand clean and your brain went blank for a moment as you watched and heard him groan.

His silk was cool as he wrapped your wrists tightly enough to immobilise your arms and then he secured the line to one of the others, pinning you in place as securely as any rope tied to a headboard ever could be.

“Fuck…” you cursed, arching your spine and spreading your legs. Your clit was swollen and sensitive already, but when he slid his arms underneath your thighs and brought his face close enough that his breath shivered across your wet skin, you gasped and bucked.

Feluän’s tongue teased you to start with as he simply savoured the taste of you, but when he got to work in earnest, his claws pricked your skin and he held you down while you tried to writhe and squirm. You weren’t shy about the sounds you made, and when you saw the way his abdomen was moving in time with his tongue on your body, you realised he was every bit as turned on as you are. You knew that driders didn’t mate the way humans did, and that when he came, he was most likely going to make a mess all over you. The thought of it made your eyes roll.

His nose nudged against your clit as he delved deeper into you with his tongue, moaning and kissing and sucking and devouring.

“I’m getting close, love,” he whispered in the tiny silence that blossomed around you when he drew back to adjust his grip on your legs. You’d never been rendered immobile like this by a partner before, with your hands tied and your legs clamped in his grip, and you felt your body clench in the absence of his tongue. He laughed, low and seductive. “So are you, aren’t you?”

Mind a blur with pleasure, you just nodded and keened.

“When I come, can I come over you?” he asked, and he sounded utterly wrecked.

“Gods, please,” you gasped, bucking weakly. “Please, anything, Feluän. Please… I need… I need you to… please…”

“Need me to do what, love?” he asked, licking teasingly over you with the tip of his tongue, savouring you without returning to his earlier endeavours to make you come. It was too much and nowhere near enough and you let out a broken sob. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t do it,” he said provocatively.

With a growl of frustration and effort, you wrangled the words into the right order in your hazy mind. “I need you to make me come, Feluän.”

“That’s good,” he praised and you arched upwards, legs parting a little wider for him. “Gods, you’re everything,” he whispered as he leaned back down and closed his mouth around your clit.

You gave another wild yell at the barrage of stimulation, and under a minute later you came with a heaving shout against his mouth. Waves of pleasure swept through you, and only a second after you stuttered out his name again, you heard him give a tiny ‘oh’ of surprise before he reared up, his whole body tensing and starting to shake, before his own release gushed over the spot where his mouth had just been. The heat of his come against you there sent you over the edge again and you thrashed beneath him. He was still coming when he lowered his humanoid torso down atop yours again and pulled you close, one clawed hand around the back of your head.

“Oh gods,” he said, his whole body twitching and coming while he cradled you beneath him. “Oh gods, you’re everything. You’re perfect… gods… oh…”

Eventually, his orgasm faded and he staggered, all his legs moving out of sync as he tried not to crush you while the strength fled his limbs and he collapsed onto the webbing.

You’d never been such a mess after sex, and you’d also never come quite so hard.

He reached dazedly out with one of his taloned pedipalps and carefully slashed through the silk holding your wrists together, then he raised his head a little more to regard you. “Are you alright?” he asked. “That wasn’t too much?”

“Perfect,” you mumbled. “You made a big mess though,” you said when you felt his release sliding over your thighs and hips.

“I’ve never made that much mess,” he said and he looked genuinely embarrassed when he pushed himself upright.

“Good job there’s a bath over there,” you said, eyeing the basin that was practically a small swimming pool. It was certainly big enough for a drider to soak himself in relative comfort too.

Feluän staggered over to it and turned the bronze tap that started a flow of hot water from the gigantic cistern beside the fire and then returned to you. “Can I carry you?” he asked, looking shy for the first time in your relatively short acquaintance.

“You’re going to have to. I can’t feel my legs,” you said.

“I didn’t — My venom —” he sputtered in horror. “I —”

“Oh, it’s not you,” you chuckled as you floundered to sit upright. “I mean, it was you, but not your venom.”

He deflated comically in relief and laughed as he scooped you up and bore you towards the tub. Glancing back, you saw that his come was all over the webbing and had dripped through onto the floor.

Feluän set you down on the shelf that ran around the edge of the bath washed you off while it filled. The gentle action of his caring, attentive hands on your body soothed you and worked you up again, and when you moaned and bucked weakly into his hand, he raised an eyebrow. “Again?” he breathed, as though hardly daring to believe it.

“Please?” you whispered, eyes half-closed where you floated in the warm water.

He was careful with his claws, using only the pad of his finger against you, and when you came with a little sigh and heaved into his arms a few minutes later, he smiled at you and leaned down to kiss you.

“I want to do that to you every day,” he said over the rush of water into the bath. “I don’t want a day to go past where I haven’t seen you make that face for me.”

How could you refuse an offer like that when it was so generously made?

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, and you made it all the way to the end, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

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#drider #drider x reader #male drider #trans male reader #reader insert #male drider x reader #male drider x trans male reader #monster fucker #exophilia #monster romance #fantasy romance #non human romance #monster boyfriend #drider boyfriend

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moonloredraws · 2 months

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So uhhh I completely forgot to post the free version of Itsy Bitsy Girlfriend publicly! You can read the rest over on the Moonlore Bookstore website (Check the link in content source, at the bottom of this post!)

#exophilia #terato #art #aberrant tendencies #artist #comic #spicy #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster fucker #monster romance #teratophillia #drider #drider boyfriend #itsy bitsy girlfriend

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mxnsterbabe · 3 months

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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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ash-rigby · 9 months

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Drider boyfriend tying you up in his web, biting and injecting you with aphrodisiac venom that leaves your head pleasantly fuzzy and your body loose so he can fuck you full of cum until he's milked dry.

#text #spicy #bugs #insects #spiders #terato #exophilia #monster love #monster lover #monster boyfriend #imagine #monster imagine #monster boyfriend imagine #drider #drider boyfriend

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colderdrafts · 3 months

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13 – A disturbance

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. TW for gore and violence. First Previous Next

Dimly lit tunnels passes by you in a blur as you walk, unseen forces tugging at you to keep moving. So far, you’ve passed by the path to collect water, the living room, the library, the sleeping quarters - deeper and deeper into the depths of Dren's extensive and confusing home. Eventually, you find yourself at the entrance of tunnels you’ve yet to travel.

You lantern does not do much to illuminate what lies beyond this point. It's like staring into a void. While Dren has vigilantly made sure the tunnels you most frequent remains lit, other tunnels leading to and from those places are not. Still, the agitated anxious energy will not leave you.

I need to move.

You take a few tentative steps forward. The need does not diminish. Is the air colder here? Or are you just nervous?

What a silly thought. There's nothing to be scared of down here.

You press on, and soon, you find yourself accompanied by darkness.

Well, the dark, at least, you correct yourself, throwing an annoyed thought the harpy’s way.

You're not too worried about getting lost, knowing Dren will instinctively know where you are and can come guide you back. Still, there's something eerie about venturing alone into the unfamiliar dark tunnels, with only a lantern to guide you. The deafening silence down here still gets to you at times. It’s just so achingly empty.

Perhaps it's something one can get used to. After all, Dren still lives here, doesn’t he? But even if it is a spider thing, you can't fathom it's very pleasant.

The dark stretches before you, and you feel a little better the further you go, trying to keep track of the turns you make.

You come by yet another small stream that floats gently through the tunnel you’re in, carved out so it gently trinkles along the side of the wall. Neatly out of the main path, yet still serving as a guide. Perhaps it’ll lead you somewhere, and it should at least be easy enough to track back. You watch the swirling patterns carved into the wall as you follow the small stream, listening to the calm flow of water that fills the otherwise heavy stillness.

Several indents in the web above you signals there’s tunnels leading up too. Seems Dren has thoroughly connected to this part of the cave as well. You’d probably be able to reach up and climb them if you really wanted to. That is, if the thread he’s spun here isn’t that sticky stuff he uses for traps. You’d not want to be tangled in one of those again.

You gingerly reach out toward the ceiling to test it, when a very, very subtle sound of movement somewhere to your right catches your attention.

Movement? Down here? That can’t be right.

Nothing but you should be alive this far down, should it?

This must be your mind playing tricks. Your brain just wants to fill out the quiet with something. Regardless, goosebumps appear on your skin. With them, comes the continued need to move.

“Fine, I’m going,” you mutter to no one in annoyance. Why are your hands suddenly so clammy? The parasite inside you churns with worry at the thought of hostility, though not in the way of Morgan’s presence bearing down on you. So where is this sudden burst of anxiety coming from?

A muffled sound like rock hitting dirt disturbs your train of thought. It came from the same direction.

You frown. Perhaps you should follow your instinct here. If anything, to prove to yourself everything’s fine.

You quickly pull down the cover of the lantern, leaving you in the complete dark, but with your hand on the wall you feel your way forward towards the sound.

There’s a small indent on the wall, and feeling around it, you find there's a tunnel leading up, thankfully closer to the ground where you can reach it. The sounds might have come from somewhere within.

You quietly lift yourself up. It's not far, and soon you're standing in a slightly smaller tunnel. It goes upwards. From here, you can hear it much better. The movement turns to quiet muttering. Unfamiliar voices. Up ahead, you see the faintest light source.

Your heartbeat quickens. You're definitely not alone.

Your fears confirmed, you sneak forward as quietly as you can, the soft padding of your feet on the dirt below. Something’s wrong. You stare at the swirling patterns there, finding some comfort knowing you're still in touch with a highly efficient defense system. But why hasn't it set of the one who usually monitors it?

You reach the end of the smaller tunnel, the faint lights shining from within illuminating the walls and floor. Interestingly, in this spot, Dren has apparently decided to cover every surface in a soft padding of web. You carefully peek around the corner with bated breath.

Oh.

It would seem you've found out where Dren hides his eggs.

You're looking into a small enclave covered in web from ceiling to ground. In the middle is a small cluster of three orange, oval eggs about the size of soccer-balls, covered in a protective layer of webbing. It takes second for you to register the utter defenselessness of them. How much you've just imposed on the sanctity of their hidden room.

If not for the light piercing the dark you just came from, you'd never have found them. You glance further into the room, and find its source. Your blood runs cold.

Three hooded figures are standing at the opposite end of the alcove, eyeing the eggs and quietly whispering in foreign noises to each other. One of them moves their head, and you catch a glimpse of blueish tinted scales of their skin. You grit your teeth, realizing what's happening.

They're snatchers. There's no doubt about it.

Behind them, there is a small open hole in the wall, barely big enough to fit an adult human through.

So that's how they did it. Your grip on the lantern tightens, wondering if these are the same thieves that made way with the rest of Dren's children. And finding a need to plant a solid fist in each of their faces, as it seems they're about to finish the job. Nasty little things.

What should you do?

If you start yelling for Dren they'll undoubtedly find you, and you can easily picture what could happen: You get attacked, and they haul ass out of there, snatching whatever they can carry quickly and make away.

It risks the arachnid losing the rest of his offspring. You don't want to know how he'd react to that. You can hardly bear leaving him even with his family still alive.

You should at least try to warn him.

Soundlessly, you run your fingers through the soft webs to find the carvings on the wall, finding the strong, silky warning thread within. You shake it vigorously. Some of the webbing breaks off and sticks to your hand, but you don't have time to worry about that right now, picking out another one and shaking that one too for good measure.

Simultaneously, the snatchers start moving.

One of them steps extremely carefully toward the eggs. In the light from their lantern, you spot that it has covered its feet in web, and carefully moves so that no other part of its body touches it.

Huh. Clever.

You shake the web again. If Dren doesn't feel it, he's going to lose them. You bite back a loud protest yell as the thief slowly reaches toward one of the defenseless orbs on the floor.

It would appear you need to make a decision. You need to move.

At this rate, Dren will never make it in time before they're gone. And you're not going to stand idly by and witness a kidnapping without at least trying to intervene. You'll have to buy their parent some time. You brace yourself for potentially one of the most stupidly risky acts you've performed in your life.

"Leave them!" you bellow suddenly, and fling yourself toward the snatcher closest to the eggs.

Element of surprise on your side, a gnarly startled screech escapes the creature, and it immediately stumbles backwards towards its fellows, and out of your way.

You quickly jump forward and stand in front of the eggs protectively, shielding them from the offenders with your arms out in an awkward position.

It's quiet a moment. The snatchers stare at you, and up close now you recognize one of them as the red one who spotted you back at the marketplace. Their yellow eyes once again stare into yours.

They bare their teeth at you and hiss something, guttural words you can’t make sense of.

The other two step out to flank you, and suddenly the sharp ends of a pair of spears are pointed at you.

You ball your fists to keep your hands from shaking.

"I'm not letting you take them," you hiss back, relying on a bubbling protective anger to keep you grounded. "I've already called for the parent. You should get out of here while you still can."

You're bluffing, and frankly you don't even know if these creatures can understand you. But you don't get any option to find out as the red one snarls something else. In a split second, the blue one on their left lunges at you, spear at the ready.

You instinctively throw yourself to the side, narrowly dodging the tip of the wooden weapon. However, you've left the eggs exposed when doing so.

The other two immediately take advantage and close in on them, while the blue one focuses on keeping you occupied.

You grab two handfuls of web from your position close to the wall and pull with all your might. It comes off with a soft ripping noise, and you quickly hurl it at your blue assailant.

The blue one rambles angrily, probably in no kind terms telling you to knock it off, tearing the sticky threads off their body. They hiss, and jab forward, stabbing at you again. You jump sideways, but the creature is quick to reassess their aim. The weapon connects with the tissue in your shoulder and you grunt in pain, feeling warm blood trickle down your arm.

The other two have meanwhile managed to pick up one of the eggs each. You don’t have time to intervene with the blue one still coming at you.

In an act of desperation you swing your lantern at them, hitting them over the head with a loud clonk. The glass shatters, sharp splinters flying across the room. The blue one staggers back, dazed and now bleeding.

You take the opportunity and step forward, shoving your uninjured shoulder into their side. They're smaller than you, and trips and falls, further disturbing the webbing below.

You manage to snatch up their discarded spear, and rush ahead to cut the thieves off, blocking the small hole that makes the exit. You point it at the two fleeing with one egg each.

"Put them down!" you demand.

The two others stop momentarily, hissing at you, but while your focus was on them, the blue one has recovered. You feel a scaled arm locking around you and catching you in a headlock. You're roughly pulled backwards, losing your grip on the spear. The other two waste no time hurrying toward the exit with their prices.

The one furthest behind does not get that far. A flash of black snatches it clean off the ground, squealing.

Their red companion turns in time to watch a pair of long, hairy and pitch black spider’s legs slowly appearing from the opening of the alcove, having grappled their friend uncomfortably tight around the stomach.

Dren fully enters the room, his imposing presence suddenly making the small room feel much smaller. He's holding the snatcher with his front legs, and they're kicking and snarling in his grip, desperately struggling to escape. The egg lands on the soft webbing below with a soft bump, thankfully unharmed, and Dren quickly uses another leg to pull it behind him to safety.

Then he let's out a disgusted huff, and rapidly slams the snatcher into the ground. Following the movement is a loud crunch.

You hear bone snapping with the force of the impact, and the snatcher squeals in agony.

Dren carelessly lifts the screaming creature, and smashes them against the floor again. Their pained cries echoes through the otherwise deadly silence of the cave.

You can do nothing but stare.

Drens lifts the snatcher, and knocks them against the floor again.

And again.

Three more times, until the squealing snatcher goes silent save for a wet gurgling wheeze, their body reduced to a broken pile of bones and meat.

A cold sweat breaks out as your entire body shudders, distraught from the horrific sight.

How long until he cracks, and simply kills you?

The grip on your head lessens in favor of gripping around your upper body tightly, and you hear a small whine from the blue snatcher holding you captive. It feels like it now focuses more on using you as a meat shield rather than trapping you.

Dren looks up from the ruined carcass below him and his eyes dart between the one holding you, and the one holding his second egg, eerily quiet with and odd stoic expression. Fresh blood drips from his carapace, his mandibles clicking in contemplation, like wondering who he should sink his fangs into next.

No one dares move.

You suddenly understand why an insect freezes in the presence of a predator, fearful of what any slight disturbance in the air would set off. It's like he's an arrow nocked on a bow, ready to release at any moment, and you pray to anyone who might be listening that you're not its target.

You suddenly feel something sharp poking your side and let out a small gasp. Not a millisecond later, you let out a yell as a large spiders body is suddenly towering over you, there in a flash. The blue snatcher’s grip on you vanishes in an instant as it flies upwards, dropping a knife that falls to the webbed ground with a soft thud.

You stumble forward, landing clumsily on your knees and palms in the sticky webbing below. All around you there is movement as Dren paces around, his lower body above you. There's an uncanny wet tearing noise, and you suddenly see droplets of blood falling on the floor as yet another squealing egg-thief is efficiently silenced.

You hear footsteps, as the last of the snatchers, the red one, makes a beeline for the small exit, sprinting across the alcove with one egg in each arm.

Dren's entire body springs to attention as he moves above you, pointing in the direction of the last thief. He dashes toward it, carelessly throwing the now disfigured body he was holding aside. They splatter against the wall with a squelch, leaving blood stains behind as they join their dead comrade.

The last snatcher barely manages to leap through the opening before Dren tramples them flat.

"NO!" Dren roars, and starts pushing his legs into the opening, too big to fit through. "NO!"

His enraged outburst echoes through the cave as he claws at the opening in the wall, trying to make it bigger so he can give chase.

You sit up and stare at him, feeling your heart galloping, a stench of blood and sweat in the air. Your eyes dart to the two mangled corpses carelessly thrown to the ground, and you find it odd. How were these lumps of meat two people just mere seconds ago? The final egg lies motionless on the floor close to them, vulnerable and harmless. The very beginning of this whole conflict.

What will they be capable when they grow up?

You look back to Dren, your answer, your companion and protector, watching him completely loose himself along the safety of his last eggs.

There's an odd sort of clarity in your mind then, watching this unfold. Like being inside the eye of a storm.

Something in the way Dren tears through his home without a care of ruining what he has spend so long building, in between his wheezes and snarling, you're reminded of what he is in this moment. Despite having witnessed him tearing two people apart in seconds flat, despite the bloody scene and ruthless violence - right now, he's just a parent, desperately trying to avoid any harm coming to his children.

You can feel it. You can sense the pain and fear fueling his wrath, and you find it links to something you share with him. Something inside you pops, a sudden burst of anger demands you take action.

Dren won’t fit through that hole. But you will.

Quickly, you find yourself on your feet, picking up the discarded spear and rushing toward the custodian to help.

"Move!" you yell at Dren, and he doesn't hear you at all, still feverishly ripping whole chunks out of the wall. "Out of the way!"

You push past the flurry of movement that is his legs, and shiver when they grace across your back when you interrupt, but thankfully no further - seems he's still coherent enough not to squash you - so you quickly slip inside the opening to chase down the red thief. The arachnid’s distressed shouting and hissing continues behind you, and you hear him call your name.

You see the light-source up ahead and sprint toward the snatcher, even though you're not really sure what you're going to do if you catch it. The tunnel is narrow and you need to duck your head under roots traveling across the ceiling. The snatcher is quick, but you find yourself at an even pace, even catching up. It carrying two eggs might have given you an advantage in movement.

The snatcher stops up ahead close to a small ladder presumably leading outside. Carefully but quickly, the red one puts the eggs into a basket waiting on the ground next to it. You intercept them there, spear at the ready.

"Give them back!" you yell.

The red snatcher stares up at you in surprise, and meets your threat with a hiss. They take a heavy step forward.

You don't let up. You angrily jab the spear at Red again to force them further back, and away from the eggs.

They snarl at you this time, two long fangs glinting in the dim lantern light as their hands open and closes, considering their options. With their hood back, you notice the red scales covering their head are torn in places. Their yellow eyes are blown wide open, and their nostrils are flaring.

They're afraid.

As they should be.

"Run now, and you may get out of here alive," you spit, trying your words while they're still reluctant to fight. "Get the hell out of dodge before the spider figures out the tunnel has another entrance point."

You're still not sure if the thing even understands you. But they look between you and the basket containing their price, and then glances back the way where a certain large predator has his mind currently set to 'brutally murderous'.

The snatcher takes a few steps backwards, watching you. When you make no move, they turn on their heel, and dashes toward the ladder, leaving the eggs and lantern behind. They glance back at you one last time, before rapidly ascending it into the darkness outside, and out of view.

You keep watch for a few seconds, giving the snatcher time to cover some ground before daring to look away from the opening.

Once certain they've gone, you hurriedly open the basket, and look over the eggs.

They're still orange, slightly translucent, and, most importantly, uninjured. On top of the tough membrane, you see what seems to be an outline of legs. You breathe a heavy sigh of relief, carefully putting a hand on one of them. It’s pleasantly warm.

There's a strange sort of intimacy in staring at these fragile little creatures. After all, Dren's trusted no one to see them, not even you.

This is Dren’s children you’re looking at. And you've just saved their lives.

Carefully, your reach down to scoop them up in your arms.

"Holy shit, do not drop them, do not drop them.." you urgently whisper to yourself as you do, anxious you might accidentally do just that.

The warmth emanating from them is familiar, and you hold them close to your chest, carefully making your way back down the tunnel. The weight of them in your arms brings an odd sense of calm to you, despite the haphazard situation.

A brief gust of wind stops you, however, and you glance back at the hole above the ladder.

You almost feel a pull, calling you towards it.

What a bad time to be interrupted. But you could just go and leave everything behind to be somewhere else, couldn't you?

All these emotions, all of this trouble, the blood and violence, everything you'll need to fix when you get back home. You don't have to do any of it.

It's almost tempting to climb up, if just for a few seconds. Just escape to the outside and feel free of it all.

Escape? You stop and ponder on your own train of thought. That would require I'm a captive.

You look down at the two vulnerable orbs nestled safely in your arms.

No. Something else inside you says. These are more important right now.

You trudge back down the tunnel, ignoring the thing inside you squirming in protest.

Dren has meanwhile managed to turn the opening of the snatcher tunnel into mulch. He's still going at it when you return, now completely silent save for the noise of dirt being ripped apart.

The sight reminds you of the potential danger from this whole confrontation. Dren's current state of mind, and the full view of his powerful legs violently reducing the wall to nothing, is not helping matters. Suddenly, you don’t feel much like a savior. You feel more like a rat hiding inside a crack in the wall, while the cat tries to furiously claw its way towards it.

You step in place for a moment, unsure.

"Dren?" you call out eventually, hesitant.

And the movement halts. You can hear him panting from the effort, tense and awaiting your next words with panicked anticipation.

Your throat is dry. "I- I have them. They're okay.”

Dren’s legs slowly retreat and his head and torso appears in the tunnel entrance. He leans down to peer through it at you.

All his pitch black eyes are wide open and his mandibles are flaring, but something in his expression shifts when he spots you holding his eggs close as to not drop them. Fear? Anger? Desperation? You can't read him at all.

You take a wary step back.

“Please,” he rasps quickly when you do so, and very, very slowly reaches his bloodied hands toward you. Inviting you in with open arms. “Please. Come here.”

There's something eerily familiar in the way he says that, his voice gently rolling through your mind, urging, compelling you, in a way he hasn't done before.

The cold sweat prickling your skin at the feeling makes you reluctant to follow the instruction. Yet, another part quite would like to, would like to indeed, you can trust him and get closer, he’s safe, you know he’s safe- You shake it off, unsure if he's of sound mind to not grab and tear you apart the second you're within reach. Just like he did the previous creature who held his eggs.

Dren swallows, obviously struggling to not continue his rampage to just get them back, to just reach you, to take control of what happens to what is his - armed with the patience of an experienced predator he takes a deep breath, grounding himself as to not startle you further, lest you take flight.

"Please," he says softly, normally, waving his hands in a beckoning motion.

You realize the amount of power you hold over him right now. If you wanted, you could turn on your heel and walk away. You could name a price. You could throw the eggs on the ground and trample them flat, and he would be powerless to stop you.

But you don't. These eggs are innocent and vulnerable, and in front of you stands a sure-fire way to ensure that nothing will happen to them.

You still see Dren there despite the terror. You recognize his patience and fiercely protective nature, that’s been there with you every step of the way. Now, once again, working to keep everything he cares about safe.

You slowly make your way toward him. He’s staring at you almost like in a trance.

You had prepared to hand the eggs over once you reached him, but Dren slowly moves back, allowing you to pass through the carnage that used to be an entry point. Just watching with wide eyes. You’re not exactly sure what he expects you to do. But he hasn't stopped you, so you keep going.

You step across the alcove, and carefully place the eggs back to their right place in the middle of the room. Dren comes up next to you, and places the third next to them. In silence, he starts gently wrapping some of the ruined webbing over them again with his front legs. You move back to give him space to fuss over them.

You've barely taken a step before he rapidly turns, and suddenly lunges towards you. With his arms, he snatches you clean off the ground.

You can't hold back a small scream as you're suddenly in the air - this is it, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm so so dead - which Dren completely ignores, as he forcibly squeezes you against his torso in a bone-crushing embrace.

Your face is flattened against his fur-covered shoulder, your arms sprawled to the side in shock, legs dangling uselessly over the ground. You hardly dare breathe, not that the force currently pressuring your ribs allows for much lung expansion anyway.

Dren buries his face in the crook of your neck.

He's shaking.

"Thank you," he breathes, clutching you a bit tighter. "Thank you."

You dangle awkwardly in his arms, trying to calm your racing pulse, taking shuddering breaths. Oh. It would appear this is gratitude.

Gingerly, not really knowing what else to do, you wrap your arms around him in turn, and he shudders when you do so. He shifts then, and you feel yourself being leaned backwards, settled on his pedipalps. Your backside is leaning against the web-covered eggs, and his front legs curl around them, holding both you and them in place.

He holds you like that for a while. You let him cling to you, while he works through whatever it is he needs to work through to calm down after this experience.

You don't dare glance toward the mutilated corpses currently concealed behind the furred shoulder, your face is pressing against. You ignore the stains of crimson littering the space. There's nothing you can really say, so you settle for running your fingers through the hairs on the back of Dren’s neck in a soothing manner. A soft chitter suggests he likes it when you do that, at least.

"It's alright," you mutter softly, testing the waters. "They're safe."

"Safe," he repeats, nodding against your shoulder. “Safe.”

There’s a pause, and then Dren readjusts his hold a bit. You feel him tense, like preparing for an impact. He sucks in a breath before he speaks.

“Give me the winter,” he blurts hurriedly. Like he needed to get it out before it was too late. “Just the winter.”

You try to lean back and get a look at him, but his grip won’t let you move an inch away - as if he's afraid to let you go.

“What..?” you try as softly as you can. He’s getting agitated.

“Just until they hatch, until they can fend for themselves,” Dren elaborates, rushed words leaving him like rapid fire. “I’ll help you get back home, I promise, whatever you need, I'll do it. Just – please stay. Act as my sentry. Give me the winter.”

Supposedly it makes sense he would do this now, of all times. It would seem this is what it took to finally break him.

You lean further into him, if anything to silently let him know you're not just going up in thin air, so maybe his death-grip on you lessens a bit.

You sigh. "That's - but Dren, you know I'm not-"

"You're perfect," he states firmly, cutting you off. The tips of his fangs brush over your neck as he speaks. "You kept watch and called for me when it was needed - risked yourself to defend my young, despite them not being your responsibility - you've already done more than I could ever ask. I have no right, I know that, but I can't - If I lose anyone else-" he trails off in his rambling. "Please. Give me the winter."

It's not like you're actually much in a position to say 'no', but you don't really get the feeling Dren is thinking about that right now. Like your refusal means you're going to slip through his fingers, and vanish in an instant. As if he's not the one holding your only known key home. As if he's not perfectly capable of keeping you trapped here, if he so did desire.

But maybe his conviction in this ultimately being your choice means something - maybe that actually means everything.

You sense the remaining vulnerable eggs pressing against your backside, a faint reminder of what you did tonight. It seems it's wasn't really you who needed to move.

You’re already connected to them, aren’t you? How could you possibly leave everything behind? Not now. Not after all of this.

What's a few months of darkness as a price for keeping everyone you care about alive?

"Okay," you whisper, clutching him back. You can feel a pressure growing around you, like you’ve just used your entire body to pick up something heavy. It’s warm. "Okay, you can have my winter."

"I will let you go," Dren assures you firmly, speaking through his teeth. "It will hurt, I know it will, for both of us, but I vow to you, when all this is over, when we're all safe-"

"I know," you placate. "I trust you."

Dren breathes out, and with it leaves the tension in his body. He finally leans back to look at you again, and there are tears in black eyes. Carefully, gently, his hands reaches up to cup your face. You stare at him like you did earlier this very day and, once again, he effortlessly draws you in.

Because looking at him like this is nice. It’s really, really nice. You’re being enveloped in a warm blanket, soothing all worry you’ve ever had. You can feel a pull from him, coaxing you closer, something gently wrapping around you. Of course this will work, of course you’re in good hands here, of course Dren knows what’s best -

A sudden piercing pain shoots through you in retaliation, and you gasp, severing eye contact and instinctively trying to curl up to protect yourself. It's no use. The pain strikes your core, like a gun was fired from within. Something inside you heavily disagrees.

Dren hisses at the interruption and deftly pulls you to him again, like a futile attempt to shield you with his body. You can feel his formerly calm energy clouded in a protective fury, zeroing in on the interloper, surrounding it, grabbing it, strangling it.

You cry out. You can’t help it. The parasite’s pain is as much yours as it is its, and the agony is unbearable. It feels like your chest is being crushed, like your ribs can shatter and destroy your innards at any moment.

“I know, Sweetness, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, shh,” Dren soothes you, holding you against him with a hand over the back of your neck, keeping his grip on the parasite and angrily thwarting it.

It feels like forever you're in this pure world of pain, at some point you may have started begging for it to stop, only wishing dearly for everything to turn quiet, for it to be over. You can faintly hear reassurances and apologies in the foggy cloud of your consciousness, and something, someone, peers into your mind, feeling for a thread intertwining with the very core of your being.

Then, there’s a small release of pressure, like when you’ve finished tying the knot of a shoelace. At the end, you let it go, sitting neat and comfortably tight.

And then the pain is gone.

It’s like the hook trapping the fish suddenly disappearing from the fight. The struggle is over, leaving the fishing line there, suspended in the flowing water. Useless.

Dren’s breath is warm on your neck as he chitters and purrs to calm you, pedipalps and arms around you like both of his halves are checking on you at once. You just hold on to him, feeling an immense relief coursing through your body. The pressure is gone, leaving you sore, and completely exhausted. Vulnerable.

And you can feel him. Really, feel him.

Dren is everywhere around you, inside you, his energy twisting and turning in a strange dance. He’s happy. So, so happy. The overflowing emotion is infectious, and you struggle to hold in an odd strangled laugh full of sobs.

And it dawns on you now what you’ve just agreed to. What you’ve just accepted into your life. And, if what you’ve learned from the harpy is true, you’ve just acquired the qualifications for your new job as a sentry.

#colderwriting #in which things finally fall in place #or something like that..#drider x you #monster x reader #drider #drider x reader #uv #terato #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x human

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ragdoll-exoart · 2 years

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Courting a Drider by accident - I

This fic has mature content with non-con elements, predator x prey. Only read it if +18

If you don't like the theme, don't read

Drider x female human

I-

The drider slammed her back against the trunk of a tree.

"You naughty little human, you'll pay for what you did to me!" He hissed menacingly as he clutched his bleeding forearm. The human hunter would've sliced it off if the Drider didn't have such good reflexes. Well, even without an arm, he still had another three to compensate along with all his eight spider legs.

He also underestimated her, acting like a cat toying with a rat before killing it, so the cut was well deserved.

"I'm not scared of you, you ugly fiend!" The woman said defiantly, looking up to the monster who towered over her. She tried to move, but her back remained glued to the trunk behind her. She probably was trapped by one of the webs made by the drider that she didn’t notice. The female warrior shouldn't have fight with him so deep inside the forest, in the monster's territory, now she was trapped, her sword on the ground just under him and far away from her reach.

"O-ho! You should be," He lowered his torso to have a better look at the face of the human who dared to trespass his domains. He grabbed her by the chin with one of his hands and opened a devilish grin that exposed his bare fangs and his sharp teeth. "It's been a while since the last time I ate human flesh," Paralyzed by fear the woman didn't move a muscle as the drider approached his face just under her jaw, inhaling deeply. "And you smell so, so good," His voice was low and hoarse. "Must taste as good as well,"

Her brain suddenly woke up from the daze as if predicting her incoming death and she finally found strength to react. The drider quickly backed away as the woman tried to cut his throat with a pocket knife.

"G-get away from me!" She shrieked in a tremble voice, not sounding as courageous as she wanted to be, but she was a warrior and wouldn't give up without a fight.

The drider checked her over with more amusement than annoyance. Oh, she probably looked pathetic with her back glued to a tree and only a small knife to protect her life. He huffed out a snort. "You're a dangerous one, aren't you?" In a blink of an eye, her weapon was gone from her hand. "I must be careful with you, right?" His voice was filled with sarcasm as he played with the stolen knife between his long fingers, examining curiously the metal blade.

"You'd better be," She spat in anger, aware that she was far from threatening, as she was clearly all barks and no bites but wanting to take off all frustration from inside her chest. "Come closer again, and I'll bite your face off!"

The drider retreated back a little, looking as astonished as if a horn just sprouted on her head. He leaned down his torso just enough to maintain their heads at the same level, his three pairs of eyes searching through her facial expressions. The woman did her best to conceal how awfully frightened she was trying to simulate a mask of anger as she kept her eyes locked with the monster's.

The seconds stretched and was odd the way how the whole body of the drider stayed still as a statue while he examined the woman. Her heart was beating at a maddening pace and her legs felt like jelly. The woman prayed inwardly that the creature ended everything quickly. As he opened a grin full of teeth, her only thoughts were how HE was the one who could actually bite her face off. "Human teeth aren't so sharp, you can't hurt me,"

"T-try me," She said defiantly.

He chuckled darkly. “A little man with a big mouth,”

“I’m not a man! I’m a woman!” She complained, always tired of people who didn’t acknowledge her skills due to her gender, always mistaking her for a boy. She was about to die, yes, but she would do so with her honor as a woman!

“I’ve heard female humans taste way better than men, I’ve always wanted to try it,” He said as he licked his chops.

“Well, I would try a drider too, but I bet you taste awful!” She said without thinking and blushed as soon as she noticed how twisted her words could ring on the wrong ears.

The drider was taken aback by her words. Then he grabbed her face in one hand and narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Careful with your tongue, human,” She struggled and used her own hands trying to release herself from his grip, but he had an extra pair of hands to grab them and hold her firmly in place. With only his thumb and middle finger, he pressed each one of her cheeks, forcing her jaw to open. He slid his index finger inside her mouth and she closed her eyes in anticipation, thinking he was about to rip the inside of her mouth using his nail but it was retracted, she could feel it as he caressed her tongue. The moment he let his guard down and relaxed his grip, she closed her jaw with all the strength she could muster to bite his finger off. He hissed but didn't pull it off even as she continued to chew it in attempt to hurt him as bad as possible. "See? You are weak, can't you try harder?" His skin was sturdy but she was determined and felt a small victory when the metallic taste of blood invaded her mouth. He hissed again and when she looked up, the drider was biting his own lower lip in an expression of pure delight.

The woman had an awkward feeling and tried to take his finger off her mouth, but he didn't allow her to budge.

"Are your intentions true?" He said in a hoarse voice. "Do you spit or swallow?"

She started to panic by the way he sounded. Of course she was only imagining the double meaning of his question. About what intentions was he speaking of? His blood tasted awful and way too strong. The only thing that crossed her mind and was plausible was the fact that perhaps drider's blood was toxic for humans. It seemed better for her to die quickly, so she sucked his finger and swallowed all the blood and saliva in a big gulp. He pulled his finger as if she just burned him and looked at her with a startled expression.

"Y-you sure of it?" He asked with such insecurity that the woman felt as if she was unexpectedly talking to a thirteen old boy. She didn't understand what the hell was happening, but if he somehow was feeling intimidated by her, it was best to stay in character.

"The only thing I'm sure of," She started, her voice now in a tone of renewed confidence. "Is that if I were a monster like you, I would pin you to the ground and rip each one of your limbs, very slowly and painfully,"

He drew on a breath. "Slowly?" His voice was shaken. Whatever the woman was doing, she was walking on the right path.

"Yes, very, very slowly. I would want to keep you alive as long as possible, make you suffer until I was done with you.” Again she blushed a little by the double implication of her words.

"Oh fuck," He breathed and made a painful expression as one of his hands felt downwards to touch his lower belly, exactly where a human crotch would be, though in his particular case it was at the junction where his humanoid part fused with the spider body. It was covered in thick dark hair, just like a tarantula, but she could see something poking out of it, shinning and dripping.

Oh no.

It couldn't be his... could it?

"And what would you do... after?" He asked giving a stroke on it. Oh yes, that was definitely a drider's cock.

"A-after what?" She asked stupidly, unable to take her eyes out of that.

"Would you let me live?" He asked in ragged breaths, still touching himself with a dazed expression on his face.

She had to give the worst answer imaginable that could act as an ice bucket of water on him. "Oh no, of course not," The tip of his cock twitched, as if it was a being with its own free will. "I would feast on your flesh until your last breath,"

He grunted and made a frustrated expression as his cock furiously expelled a long white stream, he wrapped his hand tightly on it in an attempt to prevent it from happening, but his cum kept coming out, a load so long and heavy it looked like he was peeing.

Oh no, what she just did?

“H-hey! What’s your problem you stupid monster??” She asked exasperated by the absurdity of her situation. Of all the possible scenarios she imagined as she hunted down the drider, she never expected that it would end with him jerking off to her and climaxing as she said how she would torture him.

“What’s MY problem?” He laughed like a maniac, his lips stretched in a way that exposed too much of his teeth and fangs, a mouth that could easily take apart any limb from her body. “Oh, you are so cute, brave woman, coming from so far away just to courtship me,”

She blinked stupidly at him and gasped. “I did not!”

He pulled her easily from the tree only to slam her against his body, one pair of hands holding her by the arms as another pair held her just under the knees, making her straddle him in the air as their faces were awfully close. “Don’t deny it, little human, not when you so boldly state that you also want to carry my offspring.”

Before she could state otherwise, she felt a sting on her neck and she cried in pain as the drider buried his fangs and teeth on her flesh.

“Stop, it hurts!” She complained in a crying voice, while she grabbed him by the hair, trying to pull him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He said in a voice so sweet it almost dripped honey. Then he kissed where he bit her and slurped the area. That honey was probably her blood. “Don’t you want your belly stuffed with my eggs?”

‘No’, her rational mind thought. ‘Yes’, said the warmth that was spreading through her lower belly. Her mind was fuzzy.

She heard him breathing a laugh near her ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you,” The drider said as he carried her more deep inside the forest and far away from human civilization. A primal instinct screamed that he was carrying her towards his lair, a place where he had absolute power and safe enough for them to mate without being disturbed or endangered by anything. If something bad happened to her, no one would ever find out.

The woman had no clue about drider’s reproductive habits, in particular the fact that female driders often killed the males after their coupling and they consider an honor to serve as the food that will nurture the future generations. It turned him on not just the things she said to him, but also the fact that she didn’t cower in fear or plead for her life even after being captured by him. Easy prey is too boring.

Next chapter

Commission info // Tip Jar

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monstersmashorpass · 6 months

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SMASH OR PASS: Driders (in general)

[art credit, left: Drider MtG Art from Adventures in the Forgotten Realms by Jodie Muir] [art credit, right - Drider, Wizards of the Coast, by Anne Stokes]

Please reblog for greater sample size, as per usual!

#monster smash or pass #monster x human #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #smash or pass poll blog #smash or pass #poll blog #the polls #tumblr polls #tumblr poll blog #poll #driders #exophilia

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sympateawithsugar · 9 months

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Inktober 2023 Day 2: Spiders

Hey it's the guy who has many legs or something

#inktober #inktober2023 #bg3 #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #Kar'niss #fanart #drider #monster #monster boyfriend #monsterfucker #exophilia #my stuff

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mixedupmojo · 2 years

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Ok so I just found out that male spiders will sometimes pluck a tune on their webs in order to attract a mate and I’m just thinking what if driders did the same. Just imagine them being masters of string instruments, or making complex webs that created the most beautiful sounding music and serenading their potential partners with it.

Or maybe a situation involving a deaf person stumbling across a driders web and feeling the vibrations of their song and just being in complete aw of it and the drider being like the cute human likes my music (≧∇≦)

just musical driders

#drider #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x human #exophilia #drider ideas #monster prompts #spider #My writing

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yanderemommabean · 23 days

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Drider Mahito please mama I am begging on my hands and knees

The spider crawls forward, humming and tilting his head as he examines a few spots of his surroundings. A small bush here, a skittering critter over there, and of course a terrified bounding deer that’s trying to avoid the fate of the current one dangling and bleeding in the creature's mouth.

He’s so excited,the electricity thrumming over his skin. He wants to catch as many meals as he can, he’s sure if he catches the most then things will go just as planned!

Mahito was positive that all he needed to do was show he could hunt, gather, and track to be able to win your heart. He’s kept an eye on you for about a month now, watched you celebrate a holiday here and there, and was just in awe. You’re so intriguing. Most humans have boring and too bland of a life for him to care for, but you…You have a way about you. The way you carry yourself, the way you stand up to people despite their rank in your nest, the way you favor one thing yet despise another.

He wonders if you’re the kind to appreciate the beauties of eating one's family members. He could scoop up that pesky relative who questions too much, you seem to have an ire of sorts towards them.

Ah, maybe as a first courting sort of gift. For now he has to at least get his feet in the door!

Maybe you’d like that street cat as well? You cuddle the other ones though…mmm…No, best to leave it be. You humans have weird ways to show some creatures affection, and others horror and disdain.

Though, he supposes that's every creature.

Trudging around in the trees, he hums a small tune and waves to the other Driders and Nagas, finding their meals and their bones to chew on. Some wave with a smile, others move on with their eyes down or a soured look on their faces.

They’re smart. They see the markings that Mahito bears and know to stay a good distance. He has a reputation for mauling and using his venom just because some dare to look him in the eye. But that doesn't mean he’s a monster! What? He can’t have fun and play around?!

A crackle of leaves and twins makes everyone alert, and a wide, almost manic smile grows on Mahitos face. It's you! That scent, that heart beat, the heat he can see on your flesh-It’s you! Oh he can't wait! He can’t wait!

He scurries forward, blood and meat dripping down his chin and chest as he hurries toward you, pupils wide and wild as he manages to pinpoint exactly where you are. Ah! Now that he’s this close, he’s suddenly nervous!

But you look so pretty, so delicate, so easy to break and eat and devour if you were more of his prey….

Thankfully you’re his mate! Or, well, you will be! See, he isn’t keen on being told no to something he desperately wants. Be it food, territory, or a way to be with you every single day for the rest of his life.

You’ll accept, you’ll come home with him, learn his name and learn to stay inside at all times when he isn’t beside you. You’ll kiss and laugh and you’ll tell him how much you love him, how he’s such a good boy for you, how he’s such a hard working hunter who deserves your attention and love and-

He’s so lost in his excitement he doesn't hear the horrified screams you make as he drops the raw meat and bones at your feet. He just grins, a large tongue coming to swipe at his blood stained teeth as he waits like a dog for your answer and your praise. Surely you see how hard he’s worked on this right?!

Oh…you’re…scurrying away again?

Well that’s rather ungrateful don’t you think?

After everything he’s done?

His expression sours, but he doesn’t let you get away as he easily gets ahead of you, lifting you up with ease as you dangle in his grasp, begging for your life and terrified of the creature holding your life in his hands, literally.

“Insolent little wretch. I swear. I did all of this and you’re just going to turn away?!” he hisses, teeth coming close to nipping your skin as you feel your heart seize in your chest. Your voice, quivering and weak, speaks out as he dangles you higher, wanting to see the fear in your eyes for denying him your courtship.

“Please don’t kill me”. What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would you assume-

It clicks. You see him as a predator on the hunt rather than a mate to be loved by. Huh. How did you ever come to that conclusion? It’s like you think he’d eat your bone marrow or something!

Then there’s a simple solution to this! He just holds you in his hand, tight and firm, carrying you and your wriggling body away to the dark edges of his territory as he explains how he’ll prove himself.

It’s easy! You just have to let him show you how much he wants you! Well, it's more of a need at this point. He went feral just thinking of you with some other mate, human or not. And if those Naga's want their tails intact they’ll know to keep their distance.

-Mommabean (I hope you enjoyed!)

#yandere drider #yandere Mahito #yandere jjk #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere exophilia #yandere x reader #yandere male #Mommabean

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monstersandmaw · 1 year

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Male drider pirate captain x gn human (mild nsfw)

___

Surprise! A story out of the blue! Hope you like it.

Content: a human who faces daily discrimination for being one of the only humans in a relatively isolated society of non-humans, non-explicit/detailed mention of unwanted sexual/physical contact (it’s brief, but it’s in there - paragraph beginning ‘Still, they couldn’t be any worse than the naga...’), a reader who was orphaned at a young age, a dread pirate captain who’s actually a total softie, a motley crew of pirates who are also all secret sweethearts, and a tiefling friend who wants the best for you. And a briefly spicy ending. Enjoy? Wordcount: 8710

___

For all its pretty beaches and steady flow of gold and goods, Cutthroat Cove was hardly the kind of place that people aspired to reach, and it wasn’t the kind of place people lingered once they washed up there, humans least of all.

To get off the island, you had to find a pirate ship willing to take you, and the price of passage was usually dearer than it first appeared. Most of the crews didn’t like humans aboard either, which was another odd stacked against you.

“To the Empress!” A shout went up from the furthest corner of the dingy tavern, and tankards were raised in a jeering chorus of howls and inhuman noises. You glanced up from where you’d been drying off the wooden mugs that Harrow had just finished washing, and you watched as the crew of the Blackbird, flush with fresh plunder, began a familiar toast. “May she continue shitting out shiny gold coins for us to keep plucking out of her fat little merchants’ hands!”

Their laughter filled the small, low-ceilinged common room and made your ears buzz. There must have been a siren among them, you thought distantly as you shook your head to clear it. No one else seemed affected, but a nearby patron — a triton leaning heavily on the wooden bar — leered toothily at you and flared the fins on the side of their head in a mocking sneer.

As you turned away to diffuse the situation, your elbow caught a bottle of rum on the edge of the counter. It teetered and would have smashed had Harrow not grabbed it with his prehensile tail and shunted it back to safety. He shot you a warning look and rolled his dark eyes affectionately. A creased dimple appeared in his cheek and the tiefling smirked a fanged smile at you before throwing a wet dishcloth in your face. “Watch it, clumsy,” he snorted playfully. “Honestly. What are you like?”

“Thanks,” you mumbled and tried not to watch too closely as his purple tail uncoiled slowly from the bottle. Perhaps it came from being raised on a mostly non-human pirate ship, or perhaps you’d just been made differently, but your fellow humans had never done much for you, and in fact, the less human someone looked, the more likely you were to find yourself tripping over your feet around them.

With another sigh, you turned to see to a goblin with blood red hair who had just leaned over the bar to yell an order at you above the clamour in the room, a gold ring glinting in her nose, when the door flew open and a small harpy boy flapped inside, with his feathers all ruffled and his chest heaving from a wild flight up the hill to the tavern.

“The Widow’s Web docked down on Rum Quay fifteen minutes ago!” the boy panted, wide eyed and sweaty faced. “And they’re coming ashore!”

For a moment, the entire, packed tavern went completely still. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Someone set down their tankard with a loud clunk but for a good ten seconds, that was the only sound in the whole room.

“The Widow’s Web?” someone finally hissed. “She never docks anywhere. What the fuck is she doing here?”

“Maybe they need to resupply?”

“They don’t resupply ashore,” someone else scoffed. “They just take what they need off the Imperial Navy and keep on sailing!”

“Maybe one of them is sick?”

“Or they’re looking for new crew?”

“I heard the captain wraps people up in his webs to eat later…” came a nearby, dark muttering.

“Or maybe —”

“— Maybe they just want a good drink for once, and find Her Imperial Majesty’s rations perennially disappointing,” came a deep, smooth voice from the open doorway behind the harpy boy.

The poor lad squeaked and puffed up in surprise, floundering out of the doorway in a twittering spray of mousy feathers and gangly, avian legs, and everyone stared at the figure who had melted from the darkness beyond to fill the doorway completely.

It was impossible not to stare. You’d seen driders before, but you’d never seen one like him.

He moved on seven dark legs that were armoured with a natural carapace like a crab, with pointed spikes at the joints that glinted in the low light, and the eighth was a prosthetic, replaced below the articulated ‘knee’ joint of his right front leg with a shining, steel limb that had been sharpened to a point to match his other limbs, and which clinked softly when he walked. He had to duck almost double to squeeze through the tavern door that had been built wide and tall enough for even a draft centaur to get through.

As he leaned down, his straight, white hair fell forwards around his face like a shroud, momentarily concealing his slate-grey skin that was tinged with purple. He had four eyes, all completely black, and dark mandibles at the corners of his mouth, and as he entered the tavern, he took off his cocked hat and hooked it casually over the upward turning spikes on his left foreleg.

His spider’s body was huge and pendulous and black, covered in a downy fur that shifted like moonlight and spread up his human back, vanishing out of sight beneath a heavy, black coat with silver buttons and emblazoned on the back with the silver web of his ship’s emblem, the Widow’s Web.

Someone dropped a glass in the silence of his arrival, and you startled a little at the sound. Beside you, you heard Harrow inhale slowly. “Holy shit,” he hissed, and his dark, cloven hooves made a soft clopping against the flagstones as he sidled up to you. He was shorter than you, and you glanced down to find him looking up at you with wide, worried eyes. “That’s… That’s him…”

“Capitan Steelsling…” you whispered. “I thought he and the Widow’s Web were just… a myth? You know?” you added, glancing between Harrow and the pirate captain.

Behind Steelsling, a truly colossal, silk-white bison minotaur dipped her horns beneath the lintel and surveyed the room. She had red eyes and a pink nose, and was almost as legendary as her captain, and together, they made their way towards an empty table near the bar.

“Good luck, mate!” Harrow elbowed you in the ribs and ducked away with a mumbled lie about checking the stock.

You could hardly hear anything through the fear that had started a pounding at the back of your skull. You were going to have to go over there.

Still, they couldn’t be any worse than the naga who’d grabbed you with their tail and coiled around you tightly enough to make your ribs creak last week, only releasing you when the laughter of their companions had faded and you’d nearly passed out. Or the gnoll who’d tripped you into her lap and laughed about you being a soft little human while her claws had picked through your shirt. Or the siren who’d made you take your top off and dance a jig on the table with their hypnotic voice, to the rabid amusement of a packed bar. You’d endured a thousand humiliations in your life at Cutthroat Cove, and you were certain that you could weather whatever this dread pirate could dream up for you too.

Squaring your shoulders, you set the damp cloth down on the bar, wiped your hands on your trousers, and strode across the room towards the newcomers, with the eyes of the entire tavern on you.

The captain watched you approach with an unnerving intensity in his four, jet black eyes, but his minotaur first mate seemed entirely bored and unimpressed by the entire establishment. You included. Clearly you posed no threat to her or her captain, so she ignored you for the time being.

You drew to a halt in front of their table and looked up into the captain’s inhuman face. He was sharply handsome, with the hard, cut-glass plains of his cheeks and jawline thrown into start relief in the low light of the bar, and the thick, black, curved talons at the ends of his mandibles glinted in the lamplight like pieces of obsidian.

He tilted his head in a manner that might have been either patronising or curious, you couldn’t quite tell, and blinked his black, almond-shaped eyes slowly. The two pairs moved slightly out of time with each other, the smaller, lower outer pair starting first, followed by the larger inner pair. Holding his gaze for long though was like trying to hold an oil slick in your hands.

“What can I get for you?” you asked, cursing the way your voice cracked a little.

Conversation began to pick up hesitantly around you, and in the far corner, someone got out a tin whistle and began to play a well-known and popular song. The captain smiled when he heard it, his mandibles chittering briefly, and he leaned over to his first mate and grinned, “Remember when Keel played this and Harrik fell overboard trying to impress him?”

She snorted suddenly, her wild, white mane of curls bouncing and her large, fluffy ears flicking back and forth. “How could I forget that?” she chortled. “He looked like a wet rat when we hauled him back on deck. Couldn’t look Keel in the eye for a week!”

You stood stock-still while they reminisced, wary and patient and silent.

The captain turned sharply back to you and twitched his head a little. “My apologies,” he purred. “We are still waiting for a few more of our crew, but I know what they’ll have to drink at any rate. Perhaps you could bring a couple of pitchers of your finest ale over, and six tankards?”

You nodded and paused just long enough to see if they were going to add anything else to their order.

The first mate leaned forwards towards you, resting an elbow on the thick tabletop. It groaned under her muscular weight. “What’s in the kitchen tonight?” she asked. Her voice was rough and deep, but her tone was gentle enough.

“Roast pork,” you said quickly. “And boiled vegetables.”

The captain nodded. “We’ll wait for the others to order food, I think. If that’s alright with you?”

You blinked. “What?” you said before you’d thought about it. “I mean, of course. I’ll be right back with the ale. Excuse me.”

And with that, you bolted back to the bar, sweaty and a little shaky. They hadn’t been at all what you’d been expecting, and they weren’t like the usual patrons of the Salted Kipper.

Harrow had emerged by the time you returned, and he shot you a look. “Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” you snapped, distracted.

“Well what’s he like? I heard from Maggie that Steelsling ripped a human’s head clean off their shoulders just for looking at him too long, and one time, he used that legendary ‘steel’ web of his to garrote the commander of Port Liberty, but the thread was so fine the man didn’t know it had happened til he was bleeding out on the marble floor. And his first mate is hardly any better. I heard —”

“You shouldn’t listen to what people say,” you said with a frown as you fished the enormous pitchers out of the cupboard under the bar and turned to fill one from the barrel on the wall behind you. “You know how much bullshit gets peddled through here in a single night — how much sailors love to exaggerate.” In truth, you didn’t want Steelsling to overhear Harrow’s words and think you were gossiping about him.

“Yeah, but… no smoke without a fire, right?”

You just shook your head and concentrated on filling the pitcher without creating too much of a foaming head on the ale.

With the two pitchers set on a wide, wooden tray, along with the six empty tankards, you set off for their table again. En route, someone with sharp claws grabbed a fistful of your arse and you had to step over the swaying, serrated tail of a lizardfolk at the table next to the drider captain’s. She cackled a laugh at you when you nearly spilled the pitchers because of it. One slid a terrifying couple of inches along the tray as it tipped, and you wobbled in a desperate attempt to stop it sliding all the way off.

You cursed as you staggered, completely off balance, but something solid caught you at the hip and buttressed you up. Cold relief sloshed through you as you saved the pitchers from toppling off to make an ungodly mess all over the floor, only to look up and find that the drider captain himself had jutted out one of his huge, armoured legs to steady you. It was the steel prosthetic of his right foreleg, you realised, and you could feel its coldness seeping through your clothes the longer you stayed pressed against it.

All the blood drained from your face and you felt your jaw go slack. “I’m so sorry,” you blurted, and you almost leapt away from the contact to set the tray down, hoping to disappear as quickly as possible.

“It’s no trouble,” he said in his oddly polite, lyrical voice. You’d expected something coarse and harsh from the legendary sea captain, but he was refined and softly-spoken. “Does that happen often?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Uh…” you swallowed, stepping back with the tray held in front of you a bit like a shield. “I mean… I’m pretty much the only human on the island now, so where else are they going to get their fun, you know?”

You’d said it with a false lightness to your voice, hoping to make him smile and say ‘fair enough’, but his expression darkened and his eyes glittered dangerously.

“It’s fine,” you babbled. “Really. It’s harmless. They’re just blowing off steam, you know?”

That also didn’t help.

He glared around the room and you got the vague impression that the people who had been staring, hoping for an impressed reaction from him, suddenly looked away in shame.

“Excuse me,” you said again, and fled.

The rest of his crew arrived not long after that, and they were an equally odd mix of people: another drider, though she was stocky and built like a tarantula, and her arms and torso were thickly muscled where Steelsling’s body was lean and wiry; a delicate cervitaur who looked about as unlikely to find a home on the sea as the Empress herself, with a white coat and white antlers and a dancing, graceful way of walking that wouldn’t have been out of place in a palace; a rugged, crab-like merfolk who was armoured to the nines in his own orange chitin and had pincers for hands and a sour look on his face as he squeezed his bulky carapace between the tables; a forest naga with a rainbow shimmer to her tail and dreads that fell to her waist; a tiny, waifish, hummingbird harpy whose iridescence matched the naga’s in vibrancy if not in hue; and finally… a human?

Yet again that evening, you tried not to stare, but it was so unusual to find a human among a crew of pirates in these parts that you weren’t the only one taken aback. People hissed and whispered behind their mugs, but no one tried anything with the other human in the room. They saved that for the one they knew was alone and largely unprotected.

As you worked the other tables that night, dodging wayward hands and sneaking trip hazards in a familiar dance, you caught glimpses of the way the crew of the Widow’s Web laughed and joked among themselves. They were clearly close as family, the realisation of which struck you to the core with something akin to genuine, physical pain. The other pirates who frequented the Salted Kipper were business partners and tight-knit groups, but there was always something festering away beneath the surface — some jealousy or scheming distrust — but the Widow’s Web crew touched each other frequently with a friendly nudge or a playful shove, and they laughed. They laughed until they cried and fell about on each other’s shoulders over something and nothing, and even Steelsling himself seemed amused. He kept a little back from the others though, as though he wasn’t quite a part of it, and he kept his four eyes roaming the room every so often too, as though keeping watch for trouble. Wherever he looked, people looked away, uncertain.

Frequently, his glinting gaze landed on you. When that happened, you ducked your head and busied yourself with another task, but you felt the weight of his four eyes on you as you crossed the room all the same.

If the scattered crumbs of gossip were to be believed, which they rarely were, that night was the first time in six years that the Widow’s Web had formally put to shore, and no one expected to see them again for another six at least.

And yet, a month later, the door opened and in strode the hulking form of the first mate, accompanied by her eight-legged captain and a few of their crew.

You served them ale, and he asked you how you were as you set the pitchers down. “Fine, thanks,” you mumbled, head down.

It seemed to irritate him that you were so deferential, and he sighed sharply.

“You?” you added, glancing up as you tacked the question on as an afterthought.

His mandibles twitched in what might have been an arachnid smile and his shoulders dropped a visible inch. “I’m well, thank you. We had a successful couple of encounters on the Whale Road Shore lately.”

“You went all the way to the Whale Road Shore?” you gasped, staring openly at him. “But that’s… that’s at least a two week sail from here, even with the winds in your favour? How did you make it there and back in so little time?” Distances, maps, and charts had always fascinated you, the way a caged bird dreams of open windows.

Across the table, the first mate chuckled, and with a jolt you remembered yourself, and your place, immediately.

“Forgive me,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry. Enjoy your evening.”

“Wait?” came Steelsling’s soft, rich baritone. He didn’t speak loudly or harshly, but the simple, politely uttered question stopped you in your tracks. “You weren’t prying, and I don't mind. We have a wind witch aboard. Makes things much easier and faster.”

“Oh,” you breathed. A wind witch? Was there no end to this crew’s mystery?

“They’ll be here any minute,” Steelsling said carefully, deliberately, pointedly. “If you want to meet them.”

“Oh, no… thank you,” you said, despite the way your heart ached to meet a real wind witch. It was a particular talent that only humans had, though other species had similar gifts with the weather. It might have been nice to talk to another human after so long. “No, that’s alright. I don’t want to intrude, and I… I should get back to work.”

The captain just nodded, but he didn’t speak to you directly again that night. The human on his crew — the wind witch — did show up a little while later, accompanied by the pretty cervitaur and the fiery-looking orange merfolk, and the crew lost themselves again in their food and drink and conversation. All but one of the crew, you realised after they’d been there an hour. The captain himself was sitting back, resting his humanoid upper body against the wall of the inn, his spider legs tucked up tightly around him, almost like a cage of spiked, black steel with one silver bar, and he had his arms crossed over his chest and a dark glower on his face. You tried not to look at him when you discovered him already watching you, and you traded a week’s worth of floor scrubbing with Harrow to avoid serving their table again.

Month after month, the crew of the Widow’s Web returned to the Salted Kipper, and month after month, the captain watched you.

He watched you dodge the other patrons, sloughing off their insults and jibes and clumsy, pawing attempts to get you into their lap, and each time, his expression grew darker and more severe. He stopped taking part in his table’s merriment, glowering in the corner like a monster from a fairytale while his crew carried on around him. Only his first mate would frown at him and try and get him to engage, but he never did for long. You started to think you’d insulted him by refusing the honour of a conversation with the wind witch, and he was concocting a truly venomous revenge for your rudeness.

Then, after six straight months of visits, they vanished.

No one saw the black and silver sails of the Widow’s Web for months, and gossip about them erupted.

Rumours circulated like gulls on the wind: they’d been sunk by the Empire; they’d been swallowed up by a kraken who’d been hunting Steelsling for years after taking his right leg off; there’d been a mutiny and they’d all killed each other in the process; they’d strayed off the edge of the world; they’d strayed off the edge of the world and then returned with some mysterious illness; the captain had eaten his crew one at a time while stranded in the doldrums… Each theory was more ridiculous than the next, but you came to miss the crew’s polite presence in the corner of the inn. The lowering eyes of the deadliest pirate in the known kingdoms had gone some way to lessening the way you were treated as a human among so many of what the Empire called the ‘monstrous species’ and the ‘beast folk’. Monstrosity was a relative thing, you’d found.

One morning, after preparing the inn for the day, you headed down alone to the harbour to stock up on supplies for the kitchen. The folk who ran the market were used to you, given that you’d been on the island since you’d washed up there at the age of eight, and they’d stopped trying to fleece you on each purchase you made for Silas, who ran the inn.

You’d just added a box of smoked salt into the groaning basket on your arm when a gasp went up from the nearby shoppers and you turned to see what had snagged their attention. The elegant and eerie prow of the Widow’s Web — a series of carved, black spiders crawling up a cylindrical spar — and the furled black sails of the legendary ship as it was towed into port drew the attention of everyone in the harbour-side market.

You’d never seen them outside of the inn, and you watched as the small, efficient crew scuttled around making last-minute preparations to the lines and the sails before docking, and there, leaning his weight casually against the taffrail with his white hair streaming out behind him like a banner, was Captain Steelsling himself. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him and you stared openly, drinking in the contrast between the curve of his dark spider’s body and the angular lines of his slim, armoured legs. They looked like they could puncture the hull of a warship like a harpoon, and his prosthetic caught the sun and flashed blindingly for an instant.

You watched in awe as he left the deck and scuttled up the rigging with enviable ease to talk briefly to the figure tucked away in the crows nest. That done, he fearlessly descended the rigging and joined the others on the main deck. Just as he turned to give an order to someone on his left though, he froze and you looked on with an odd mix of trepidation and delight as he noticed you.

For a long time, he stared at you. Then, finally, he inclined his head and went about the business of making port.

You had intended to be gone from the market by the time the lengthy process of bartering for better docking fees was over, but fate it seemed had other ideas. You were halfway through haggling with the knife-sharpener for a more reasonable price for her services when she looked up and she dropped the small paring knife she’d been using as a prop to try and frighten you into giving in and accepting her price.

“Captain Steelsling…” the skinny naga exclaimed, and then she hissed at you. “Get out of the way, you little bilge-rat. Don’t you know who this is? My apologies, Captain, my apologies. How can I help you?”

“I know who he is,” you said carefully, turning and smiling shyly at him. His dark mandibles hitched up on one side and he crossed his arms. His long, white hair was plaited back off his face in a series of intricate, interlaced designs, cascading down over his trademark black coat with its silver buttons, and he looked so dashing that your heart skipped a beat. His captain’s hat was nowhere to be seen and he carried no visible weapon, but the authority washing off him was enough to make people skirt around him with their eyes averted.

“Good to see you again, and in daylight this time,” he said, and the knife-sharpener sputtered something unintelligible behind you while he ignored her completely. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you,” you replied. “You’ve been gone a long time…”

A sad expression flickered across his face. “Yes,” he sighed, and his posture sagged. “A sad business, but it’s over now. I’m glad to be back. I’ve grown rather fond of a certain inn here in Cutthroat Cove after all.”

“You have?” you asked, astonished. “I thought you only came to the Kipper because your crew like it. You always look so miserable.”

The knife-sharpener gasped audibly at your bluntness and started to titter something about offering him whatever he wanted, free of charge.

“I didn’t come to talk to you, and I sharpen my own blades, thank you,” he snapped at her, and turned to look over his shoulder, away from the market square. “Will you walk with me? I have a hankering to stretch my legs after so long at sea.”

“Uh…” You would expected back at the inn soon, but there was little you could do if the king of pirates himself wanted a moment of your time. “Sure.”

He smiled again, and held out a hand. “Let me take that for you.”

Still a little stunned, you mutely handed the creaking basket to him. He took it like it weighed nothing at all and hooked it over his other arm so that it was in no danger of swinging and accidentally clocking you around the head. He was massive on his stilt-like legs, after all.

You walked in silence for a little way, along the waterfront towards the old Imperial fortress that had been taken over by the Raven Queen - the local pirate power in these waters. She, ultimately, deferred to Steelsling though, as most pirates did. And there you were, trotting along at his needle-like heels while everyone stared.

“Why would you think I’m miserable when I’m at the tavern?” he asked after a while.

“What? Oh… I didn't mean to offend you,” you said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed at that, and you got the feeling you’d said the wrong thing. Instead of pressing the issue though, he paused at a bend in the fortification walkway and looked directly at you. “Why do you stay here?” he asked.

You frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“If you’re so unhappy here — treated so poorly — why do you stay?”

You scoffed a little laugh and turned to look out at the bright blue sea.

A strong wind was whipping the peaks of the waves to foam and the gulls dipped and soared on the currents, buffeted this way and that and seeming to love every minute of it. Further out, near the cliffs off Needle Point, gannets speared straight down from the clear sky with barely a splash as they disappeared into the waves, chasing the fish that glittered and flashed beneath the surface.

Salt air filled your nose as you inhaled and you shook your head. “Don’t have much choice, I guess. I can’t afford passage on a ship — not at the prices they charge a human — and… I have nowhere else to go anyway.”

“No family?” he asked carefully.

You shook your head. “No. My parents were killed when the Albatross was captured.”

You caught the soft inhale of shock from the drider captain and turned to look up at him. His solid, black eyes were wide and his mandibles had parted to reveal soft, almost human-like lips behind, and a row of sharp, white teeth. The soft, ombré shading of grey that spread up his jaw, fading from almost coal black around his mandibles to a heather grey around his eyes, was almost mesmerising enough to ignore the look of open horror on his face. “Your parents were on the Albatross?” he whispered at last.

You nodded. “My da was the cook. Ma was a gunner.”

His black eyebrows rose at that. “But you survived?”

“Got washed overboard,” you shrugged. “I was eight.” You fought down a tide of sickening memories and rested your forearms on the stone wall of the old fort.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My first mate, Ellary, led the mutiny against the captain of the Bloodcrest after what he did to the Albatross. She killed him herself.”

“Good.” Somehow, that did bring a bitter kind of consolation, and you managed a smile. “Anyway,” you said. “When I washed up here, Silas took me in as a pot-washer and floor-scrubber at the Salted Kipper. It’s not so bad…” you said, but you didn’t sound convincing, even to your own ears.

Steelsling shot you a flat look. “I’ve seen the way they treat you there,” he growled. “I’d have cut off their hands if they tried to touch me like that.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all shoot barbed wire out of our bodies, can we?” you said, speaking yet again without thinking first.

Instead of being insulted though, the captain laughed loudly and freely. “I suppose not,” he said when the sound faded naturally, like a retreating wave on the shore. “Listen, there’s an opening on my crew. It’s nothing exciting, but we’re a soul down now, since Tammas had to go back to his family on land, and I’d like to ask you to join us.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“But… Why? I haven’t been at sea since I was eight. I’d be no use to you.”

“I know for a fact you can cook, and I bet you’re just as capable at mending and fixing things. Besides, I think you’d make a good fit in our family.”

Sure, you’d grown pretty handy in a number of areas over the years, but you were hardly a sailor. “You’d do better to ask around the market,” you said, fighting down a wave of anxious pressure in your chest. “I — Thank you, for the offer, but I should get going. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

You turned without another word and walked away before you’d even realised he still had your basket over his arm. Seconds later, he scuttled up behind you, his needle-like legs making scarcely a sound on the stone, save for the single steel pin of his prosthetic, and he darted in front of you, blocking the way with his body. Your breath caught as a moment of panic flared and dissolved almost immediately. He held the basket out to you but didn’t relinquish it once your fingers gripped the handle. “Think about it,” he said. “The Widow stays here for a week, but I shan’t push you.”

And with that, he let go and stepped to one side, and you fled back to the tavern with your heart pounding.

You dropped three tankards that night, tripped over two tails that weren’t even in your way, and nearly landed in a slime’s lap before Harrow pulled you to one side and asked if you were coming down with something.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just… distracted.”

“What’s going on?”

With a sigh, you told him, and he gawped at you like you’d grown another head when you got to the part about being offered a spot on Steelsling’s crew.

True to his word, Captain Steelsling and his crew stayed away from the tavern until the very last night that the Widow was due to stay in port. When Ellary opened the door and stepped in, the usual hush descended on the common room, and Harrow shot you a look. ‘Do it’ he mouthed at you along the length of the bar, and you sucked in a huge breath for courage and held it til your lungs burned.

When you made no move and looked like you might possibly throw up instead, Harrow marched over to you and poked you right in the centre of your chest, none too gently. “Fucking do it,” he said. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you, but if you don’t take this chance, you’ll never get off this gods-forsaken lump of rock. Plus, he fucking likes you.” When you frowned, Harrow rolled his eyes. “The dread pirate Steelsling, who famously never comes ashore, takes one look at you and comes back here to this shitty tavern once a fucking month for six fucking months, apologises for being away for so long without telling you, threatens to personally skin anyone who lays a hand to you, and —”

“— wait, what?”

“Oh.” Harrow’s dark eyes widened guiltily. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know! What the fuck?”

Harrow shifted his weight. “I only learned about it when I overheard Lannicka grousing about how she wanted to teach you a lesson but didn’t want to wake up in a fucking web, dangling off a spar on her own ship…” He cleared his throat and glanced at the floor between his dark goat’s hooves. Behind him, his tail swished back and forth. “Turns out your captain overheard someone a few nights ago down at the docks laughing about getting you to spill ale all down your shirt, and he let it be known that the way people treated you was… ‘unacceptable’…”

“I wondered why people had backed off a bit this week,” you muttered. “I just thought they’d finally had enough fun and got bored with picking on the human.” You wanted to be angry with him for doing it behind your back, but it had made your work noticeably easier.

Harrow looked across the common room and his tapered ears pulled back suddenly, his multiple earrings flashing in the lamplight. “His first mate’s looking at you. She just pointed at you and beckoned you over.”

With a sigh, you turned your back on Harrow and looked at Ellary. She cocked her head to one side in a silent, expectant question.

“Go,” Harrow said. “I’ll miss the fuck out of you, but —”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” you laughed, already taking your apron off. You hugged him and he hugged you back. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you said. “You could have been like everyone else, but you weren’t, and I’ll always love you for that.”

He squeezed you more tightly. “Don’t forget about me, alright?”

“Never,” you promised, and set your apron on the counter top. “And thank Silas for me too,” you said. “He could have turned me away.”

“Still could have treated you better,” Harrow growled, canines showing.

You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now though, does it?” you said, and grabbed the small bag you'd packed earlier and stowed beneath the bar. “Take care, alright?”

He nodded. “You too.”

When Ellary saw the bag in your hand, she grinned and stood up. Beside her, the delicate cervitaur rose from the soft cushion they’d been seated on — or, more appropriately, draped across like a slightly wilted lily — and flicked an ear at you.

“You’re coming along, then,” Ellary said, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to send you staggering. You reeled backwards and found yourself righted by the crab-folk merman, who laughed like an open drain.

“I hope your sea-legs are better than that, friend,” he guffawed, snapping his pincers like percussion instruments.

“Last time I used my sea legs, I was eight,” you said, embarrassed. “I’ll be lucky if I’m not throwing up over the sides before we leave port.”

“Ah, Anneke has a potion or concoction for everything, seasickness included. You’ll be fine. Come on,” he said, and he chivvied you out of the tavern amid a forest of astonished gazes from the patrons.

When you reached the harbour, with the small fishing boats gently bobbing and the larger ships creaking and swaying at their stone quays, you had begun to wonder what you’d got yourself into. Ellary had strode along on huge, near-silent hooves, her scarlet coat flapping open to reveal only the thick fur of her pelt and the vaguest impression of her physique underneath, and Macs, the crab-folk — who apparently never shut up unless Ellary threatened to put him in a cook pot — had talked himself hoarse about their plans for the coming weeks’ sailing, while Phlox, the cervitaur, had tittered at almost every joke Macs made. You snorted softly through your nose when you realised that the most fearsome and mythical pirate crew of the era were actually a bunch of kind-hearted dorks.

“Something funny, human?” Macs asked, glancing sidelong at you while you all headed along the stone dock towards the sleeping figure of the Widow’s Web where she rocked quietly in the darkness.

“You know what?” you said, “I was actually afraid of you lot when you first walked into the tavern.”

“Ha!” he barked, and elbowed you in the ribs so hard you actually tripped over your feet at last and went sprawling sideways onto the stones. Or at least, you would have done, had Ellary not anticipated it and grabbed you at the last minute and hauled you up again with her huge hands.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered. “Can’t even take you to collect a new crew member without you causing physical harm to someone, Macs,” she said, and then looked at you. “He’s our master gunner, believe it or not.”

You raised your eyebrows and he clacked his pincers together. “Ain’t no one able to make a shot like me, human,” he grinned. “You can bet your unarmoured hide on it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’ll show you, soon as we clear the reef tomorrow,” he said, puffing his chest up enough that Phlox giggled again and he looked mightily pleased with himself.

“I live with a bunch of buffoons,” Ellary said dryly and ushered you up the gangplank ahead of her, probably so that if you tripped, she could catch you before you toppled head-first into the salty, sloshing muck of the harbour at high tide.

A flap of dark wings from the rigging above made you look up once you were aboard, and a black-feathered kenku dropped to the deck. In Ellary’s own voice, using what was clearly a carefully-curated selection of her own words, parroted back at her, they said, “About time you got here. Captain’s gonna start spitting webs in a minute.”

Ellary snorted a laugh and turned to introduce you to the kenku. “This is Specs,” she said, gesturing at the avian creature. “Lookout and navigation.”

“Pleasure,” you said, muttering your own name.

In Macs’ voice this time, Specs cackled, “Nice to have new blood aboard.”

“C’mon. I’ll show you where to put your stuff, and we’ll find our illustrious, brooding captain, shall we?” Ellary sighed.

Knocking on the carved, ebony door of the captain’s quarters a short while later, Ellary didn’t wait to be called in, barging her shoulder against the salt-warped wood and stepping in with the familiar ease of a lifelong friend.

Part of you had expected to find webs slung in the corners and the carcasses of dessicated animals dangling from the ceiling, but of course, it was just a simply but comfortably furnished cabin, with a large desk smothered in charts and navigational instruments. The captain himself was standing behind it, his body little more than a dark silhouette against the large window at the rear of the ship, and his silver hair dangling like a drifting ghost in the light breeze that wafted in with Ellary.

The minotaur shoved you into the room and saluted the captain without a word before leaving, closing the door behind her.

“You… You decided to come?” he faltered, sounding unsure of himself for the first time.

You nodded. “I do have a bone to pick with you though, Captain,” you added and he cocked his head.

“Oh?”

“What’s this I hear about you threatening to flay people on my behalf?”

He did have the good grace to look embarrassed about that, and dropped his onyx gaze to the floor. “I apologise,” he said. “I lost my temper with someone in the docks, and did nothing to stop the spread of the rumour once it started.”

You shrugged. “Figured that was how it had gone.”

“Did Ellary show you your quarters?” he asked, as much to change the subject as to find out the answer.

With a nod, you looked around his cabin. “Nicer than a mouldy mattress in the Kipper’s storeroom,” you said. “When do we sail?”

“With the tide,” he said. “I’d almost abandoned hope you were coming with us.”

“Why did you want me, really?” you asked with narrowed eyes.

He sighed and came around the desk to stand in front of you, his prosthetic making a soft ‘pinging’ noise on the wood as the wickedly sharp tip pulled free with each step. You wondered, not for the first time, how he’d lost the limb, but didn’t ask.

“I warmed to you the moment you spoke to me,” he said simply. “You were afraid, but you still came over, and you were… yourself. The others… they all know my — our— reputation, and that changes how they speak to me, how they act around my crew, but you remained yourself, and I admired that.”

Swallowing, you tried not to choke. Other than Harrow, no one had ever made you feel like you were worth more than a passing moment their time, but here was the most successful pirate captain in the known kingdoms, telling you he thought that who you were was valuable to his crew. To his family.

“Look, you must be tired,” he said, clearly reading your emotions and not wanting to overwhelm you. “Why don’t you settle in for the night? We’ll sail within the hour, but you don’t have to do anything. Of course, you’re welcome wherever you like on the ship, but no one will ask anything of you just yet.”

Blinking through your tears you nodded and choked out a vague ‘thank you’ before vanishing below.

It was three days before you felt like you could contribute anything useful, and, just as he’d promised, no one asked anything of you until then.

After three months as part of the crew, you knew you were never going to set foot on land again willingly, and you understood why they just kept sailing from prize to prize. It was bliss. Even in the worst of the weather, you felt safe. Anneke, the weather witch, kept the most violent of storms from touching the ship, and the crew knew their business, tightening and trimming the rigging and the sails til the ship fairly thrummed with the joy of being at sea.

Ellary, you came to learn over the course of many an evening, had a dry sense of humour that left you breathless before guffawing a great laugh that would have made you self-conscious before, and Macs was just as bad. He was a practical joker, but never in a way that made you feel small or embarrassed. You met the other elusive members of the crew as well — those who had not felt confident or comfortable in coming ashore — and you fell slowly in love with all of them in their own way. Minal, an aqrabuamelu with a scorpion’s body and a human’s torso, was the cheery chef of the ship, and Gráinne, a selkie with a voice like singing glass and a burn scar across her face, was the ship’s quartermaster. Others on the crew included another minotaur named Wilf, a huge but incredibly sweet gnoll with a habit of giggling at the most inappropriate of moments, and a twitchy werefox named Keel who still treated you with suspicion, even after three months.

But above all, you found yourself drawn back to the captain. He stood on the deck with the wind in his hair and a smile on his handsome, inhuman face, and he looked truly relaxed. His strange body absorbed the motion of the sea and the rocking of the ship, and he would just as happily spend the morning dangling from his webs amid the rigging, scouting the horizon with Specs, as on the solid deck below, but oddly enough, when he seemed most happy, he was with you.

He taught you to read the charts properly and to map the course of the sun, to plot the stars and read the ocean currents and the patterns of the birds. He introduced you to the colony of orca merfolk who hunted just off the shore and provided information on the movements of the Imperial navy. He ate with the crew on the deck on warm nights, laughing shyly and encouraging them to play their instruments and dance and sing. Keel was a talented violinist, and Harrik, the gnoll, would always watch him with wide, dark, bashful eyes. It was unbearably sweet.

One night, as you leaned back on your hands and tilted your face to the stars while the others continued their revels, you caught a huge sigh from the captain, and glanced up just as he looked away from you and rose to stalk away towards the stern of the ship.

With a little frown, you noticed the way Ellary shook her head too, and when you met her gaze she rolled her red eyes and said under her breath so that no one else would hear above Keel’s lively gig, “Go after him, for pity’s sake.”

You nodded, and slipped away from the others. Climbing the stairs to the deck above the captain’s quarters, where you weren’t really supposed to be, you found him staring out over the ship’s wake, leaning his forearms on the taffrail and resting his great spider body on the boards of the ship’s deck. He looked small and sad and deflated in a way you’d never known, and it sent a frisson of worry through you.

“Captain?” you asked.

He startled a little despite the noise your boots had made on the stairs, and he twitched around to look at you. His breath caught audibly in the moonlight and you watched him swallow. “Yes?”

“Are you alright, Captain?”

His large eyes turned especially glassy for a second and he looked away. “Yes,” he lied.

“Captain, you —”

“It’s Ruven.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Ruven.”

“Oh,” you breathed, wondering how you’d gone so long without learning it. Then again, everyone called him ‘captain’ with the same affection they called you ‘human’. “Can I join you, Ruven?”

Slowly, and with an unbearable sadness in his eyes, he looked back over his shoulder at you. He was wearing only an undyed linen shirt, and it flapped loosely around his lean torso in the breeze. It made you want to touch, to draw it up to expose the musculature and chitinous plating underneath, to explore his body with your hands. “Yes,” he said quietly.

You approached on his right side and watched as he drew his long legs in a little closer to his body, as if to welcome you further into his space. You leaned your weight carefully against his steel prosthetic, knowing it could take it, and he let out a shaky breath.

He towered over you but you’d never felt more at ease with someone, and he nestled a little further down to accommodate your height. You smiled at him. “Thank you, Ruven,” you said, trying out his name again and enjoying the sound of it on your tongue.

“For what?”

You shrugged and stared out at the dark sea, a little overwhelmed. Little flashes of phosphorescence danced on the ship’s wake, like a heartbeat in the depths. “For giving me a family again,” you said with a glance back at the crew who were capering about on the deck below. “For making me feel loved.”

“You are loved,” he said without hesitation. He exhaled your name and leaned down to take your fingers in his dark grey hands. “You are loved,” he said again with sincerity burning in his black eyes. “Never doubt that.”

You smiled up at him, and gently tugged one hand free of his, then reached up to cup his sharp face in your palm. “I don’t. Not now.” You ran the pad of your thumb along his right mandible and he shuddered bodily, eyes rolling shut with a rasping breath. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered.

A second or two later, a large, slow tear rolled from one eye, down his cheek to splash onto the deck between you.

“Ruven?”

“No one has ever said that to me,” he croaked, nudging his cheek further into your palm without opening his eyes again. “Terrible, monstrous, ruthless… but never beautiful.”

“Always beautiful,” you said, and he picked you up.

He held you to his chest, supported by the knees of his forelegs, and hugged you. His hands began to wander and you gasped, arching into his touch.

“Take me below,” you whispered and he smiled. “I’m yours.”

He didn’t linger, scuttling silently down the gangway to his cabin and closing the door behind him.

He laid you down on his large, soft bed and took you apart with slow kisses and lingering touches until you were moaning his name and shaking with a pleasure you never dared dream would be yours.

“Come over me,” you gasped as he kissed you where you were most sensitive, enjoying the taste and feel of you. “Please, I need —”

“Don’t encourage me,” he laughed. “I’m so close, and I’m making such a mess…”

You looked up at that and saw that he was dripping clear fluid from his abdomen onto the floor beside the bed.

“I’ve never made such a mess,” he laughed again.

“Please…”

He shifted his legs, looming over you again, and he rubbed his sensitive core over your legs, enjoying the slide of your bodies together at last. In three strokes, he came undone and cried out, arching his human spine to bring his spider’s body close to you, and he came with a yell in a wave over your lower body, his legs twitching and his body convulsing.

When he was utterly spent, he lay down beside you on his back and you curled up next to his cool, human torso, tracing the lines of chitin plating where his abdomen blended into the soft, moonlight fur of his spider’s body. He twitched occasionally but otherwise lay still and stared at you with his black eyes.

“I love you,” he said, apropos nothing.

You kissed him and let his mandibles rake tenderly over your cheeks while he kissed you back. “I love you too, Captain,” you smiled and he groaned into the kiss. “I love you too.”

Thanks for reading this story, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging it (as well as leaving a like) if you enjoyed it, as that will help others find it.

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#drider #spider monster #drider boyfriend #monster boyfriend #spider monster boyfriend #exophilia #monster pirate #pirate monster #pirate #pirate romance

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faerietells · 1 year

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"(name), I really think we should go back now..."

Huh. Who would've thought that a seven feet tall drider could be a scaredy-cat? When you asked him to accompany you to find out about this strange lady people had been talking about, you thought he’d be the perfect person to go with due to his intimidating appearance. After all, if this woman turns out to be a sketchy person or a criminal, she most likely would think twice before attacking a creature that could easily give her a fast pass to the afterlife with his bare hands, right?

That’s what you thought anyway before the both of you entered the woods. Then you were reminded that he’s practically scared of everything and now you’re questioning your decision.

You’d be lying if you don’t find it at least a bit amusing, though. He might be the deadliest thing in this forest, yet somehow he’s more scared of the dark forest than you are. You should be the one shaking and whimpering since you can barely see anything, not the other way around. It’s also a bit goofy since he literally has to really lower himself just to be able to reach your shirt, but it seems that he prefers to walk awkwardly like that rather than risking getting separated with you somehow. You doubt that would happen, but since the contact seems to bring a bit of comfort to him, you said nothing of it and just let him grab onto your shirt like his life depends on it.

“It’d be fine! I bet it’s just one of those robbery schemes where a woman pretends to need help just to lead anyone who attempts to help to her accomplices,” you said in attempt to make the situation less scary since he’s been so terrified of the possibility that the two of you might see a ghost. It doesn’t seem to work that well, though, because although he now looks at you with utter bewilderment on his face, you can tell that he’s still terrified.

“I’m sorry, how is that fine??”

“You’re scared because you think this lady is a ghost, right? Wouldn’t it be better if she isn’t?”

“But then we’d get robbed! How is that better?”

You turned your head to him slowly to give him time to rethink what he’d just said, but he still doesn’t seem to realize that no one in their right mind would try to rob a drider.

“Sometimes I think you forget that you could easily chomp someone’s head off,” you remind him since he seems to have forgotten that he has sharp claws and venomous fangs that could tear into someone like they’re made of warm butter. “Trust me, when she sees you, she wouldn’t even attempt to talk to us. She’d probably try to run, and that’s where you should stop her with your web so we can bring her to the city watch.”

Well, you certainly have it all planned out. Although Asa highly doubts that your plan would go as smoothly as you think it would since he’s more likely to snatch you off the ground and start running when he sees the lady, he also knows that he’d feel really bad if it turns out the woman is indeed part of a band of robbers and he does nothing to help stop her and her accomplices. He shakes his head, trying to will himself to ignore his fears and go along with your plan as best as he could. As he takes in a deep breath, he tries to encourage himself silently— if you, a human, could be this brave, he should have some courage too. Not to mention, this might be his chance to prove to you that he’s reliable. If he can prove that you can rely on him, perhaps then he’d be worthy to be your—

Wait, what was that?

His train of thoughts abruptly stops when he spotted something. It was only a brief glimpse, but he’s pretty sure he saw a woman. Was he imagining it? No, he could’ve sworn he saw her standing by the river, but now she’s not there anymore. It’s definitely strange— normally, he’d be able to catch someone’s scent easily even before he even spots them but this time, he didn’t catch any other scent except for yours. How is that possible? Even now, he doesn’t catch any unfamiliar or odd scent in the air even as he took in a deep breath.

An unpleasant chill went down his spine as he’s now convinced that the woman the two of you are looking for might not be a human after all and his fearful grip on your shirt tightened, stopping you in your track. “Hey!” you protested as you swatted his hand, worried that he’d accidentally rip your shirt from pulling too hard. But as you look up, your irritation is quickly replaced by concern as he looks pale, fear etched onto his features as he seems to freeze in place.

“What? What is it?” You followed his gaze out of curiosity and concern, only to frown in confusion as you see nothing except for the river. He’s played in rivers before, so you doubt that’s what scared him, but at the same time you see nothing there. Did he spot something? He does have night vision, so there’s always a possibility that he saw something in the dark where the light from your torch can’t reach.

You turn your head to look at him again, this time with questioning look. What did he see? His adam apple bob as he swallowed thickly— his throat suddenly feels really dry as he feels incredibly hesitant to look away from that exact spot. What if that woman shows up again when he looks away? And what if the longer he looks away from that spot, the closer she gets to the both of you? He doesn’t know what think or do, but now he feels like the two of you need to get out of there now.

“(name)…” You already knew that he’s terrified, but this just seals it. Fear is practically oozing from his shaky voice, making him sound as though he’s about to cry. You decide that perhaps he sounds like that because he is about to cry, judging from his glassy eyes when he finally turns to look at you.

He was about to explain what he saw— he really did— but then he made a mistake of subconsciously taking a glance at that spot. His voice died in his throat as that he sees her again, and this time she doesn’t immediately vanish so he unfortunately gets a better look of her. She looks just like how people had described her— fancy red dress, long black hair and sad eyes. But there’s one part that they seem to conveniently forget to mention, or perhaps they just simply didn’t see it due to the lack of light.

The lady has a hole on her chest that went through her back and now that he could see her clearly, it seems that her so-called red dress isn’t actually a fancy red dress like how people described it— it’s actually a white nightgown that only seems red from a glance because the blood from the gaping hole on her chest had soaked through it.

To say that he feels faint would be a major understatement after he witnessed that.

He was right. The lady isn’t just some sketchy person hanging out in the woods for whatever reason, she is a ghost. She has to be. There’s no way a human would be alive after receiving that kind of injury.

Upon realizing that, he quickly decided that both of you are no longer welcome in this forest, and this is when you learn something new about your beloved drider friend. While he has always been a scaredy-cat, what he lacks in courage he apparently makes up in reaction speed. You didn’t even have the time to react when he suddenly scoops you up by the waist and holds you close to his chest as he makes a run for it.

“What the fuck is going on??” you yell in confusion, your voice muffled against his broad chest as he held your head in place, worried that if you see even a glimpse of the woman, you’d want to try to capture her instead of running like any sane person would do. He didn’t answer your question right away either— not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s too scared to say anything about it while the two of you still haven’t reached the city.

Needless to say, that was the last time the both of you stepped any foot in the forest for a very long time.

#monster x reader #monster lover #monster romance #monster boyfriend #self insert reader #female reader #teratophillia #terato #exophilia #drabbles #drider #drider x reader

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mxnsterbabe · 5 days

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Male Drider/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 2,910 Tags & Warnings: character of colour (reader & monster) Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You own a dance school and have one especially unusual student - a clumsy drider who loves human culture.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow through the large windows of Rae's dance studio. She smiled as she watched some of her students chat; Kamaria was putting on her shoes, pausing to laugh in that pitched, gnollish way when Andromeda said something silly.

The studio was a sanctuary, a place where music could chase away the worries of the day. Rae's students were a diverse group—humans, elves, tieflings, a gnoll, and even a cyclops—each bringing their unique flair to the dance floor. She loved the mix of cultures and styles, finding joy in helping each person find their rhythm.

As she was about to start, the door creaked open, catching her attention. Rae glanced up to see a towering drider hesitantly entering the studio. The rest of the class turned their heads in surprise. It wasn’t every day that a drider joined a dance class.

The human half of the drider was a lean, tall man with richly dark skin several shades darker than her own, and striking grey eyes. His hair was tied in a haphazard bun, a few braids hanging loose. His spider half was equally impressive, a sleek black with a hint of iridescent sheen that caught the light.

Rae felt a jolt of nervousness, unsure how to teach someone with more than two legs.

He approached her, his many legs moving in unison. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice deep and calm. “My name is Amandi.”

Rae took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “It’s alright, Amandi. Welcome. I’m... I’m glad you’re here. Why don’t you find a spot and we’ll get started?”

Amandi nodded, moving to an empty space near the back of the room. The rest of the class whispered among themselves, glancing curiously at the new arrival. Rae clapped her hands to get their attention. “Alright, everyone. Let’s start with our warm-ups.”

She led the group through a series of stretches and basic movements, her eyes constantly drifting to Amandi. His upper body moved fluidly, mimicking the steps with surprising grace, but his lower half struggled to keep up. The floor seemed too slippery for such slender legs, and his delicate spider feet were bare. She could see the frustration in his eyes, and her heart went out to him.

As Rae moved on to the main routine, she couldn’t shake her apprehension. How could she adapt her instructions for someone with a completely different body structure? The thought was daunting, but she reminded herself that everyone deserved the chance to learn and enjoy dancing.

“Alright, let’s try the first sequence,” she said, demonstrating the steps. The class followed her lead, their movements in sync. Amandi tried his best to keep up, but his many legs seemed to get tangled, causing him to stumble.

“Okay, everyone take five,” she called, giving the students a break.

A few glanced Amandi’s way as he tried to regain balance. He ducked his head in embarrassment, brows scrunched in frustration.

“Hey,” Rae said softly, approaching him. “You’re doing great. It’s just... maybe a learning curve, you know?”

Rae could see the tension in Amandi’s eyes, and she wanted to ease his worry. “You know,” she said softly, “street dance is all about expressing yourself and having fun. It’s not just about perfect movements. It’s about feeling the music and letting it guide you. You’re doing great, really.”

Amandi’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Rae. That means a lot.”

She nodded, encouraged by his positive response. “Let’s head back to the class and try again.”

They rejoined the rest of the group, and Rae resumed the lesson. She demonstrated a basic move, breaking it down into simple steps: a bounce, a slide, and a quick step to the side. The students followed along, their movements tentative.

Amandi tried his best to keep up, but his numerous legs seemed to have a mind of their own. He bounced too high, slid too far, and his steps were more like stumbles. The other students couldn’t help but steal glances at him, their concentration wavering.

“Alright, let’s put it all together,” Rae called out, her voice bright and encouraging. She started the music, a lively hip-hop beat that filled the studio. “Five, six, seven, eight!”

The class moved as one, their bodies finding the rhythm. Kamaria’s gnollish laugh rang out as she nailed the slide, and Andromeda’s wings fluttered slightly as she spun with ease. Amandi’s movements were still uncoordinated, his legs tangling beneath him.

“Focus on the beat,” Rae encouraged. “Feel the music.”

The distraction Amandi caused was painfully obvious. Students glanced his way, their own steps faltering. Amandi, determined but struggling, misstepped and stumbled forward, all eight legs skidding on the polished floor. He crashed into the mirrors with a loud thud, and the music came to an abrupt halt.

Rae rushed over, her heart in her throat. “Amandi, are you alright?”

He looked up, embarrassment and frustration etched on his face. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice strained.

The rest of the class had gathered in a concerned circle, their earlier amusement replaced by sympathy. Rae helped Amandi to his feet, her touch gentle but firm.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said softly, meeting his eyes. “We’ll find a way to make this work for you.”

Amandi nodded, though his expression was still clouded with doubt. The rest of the class murmured their support.

Rae felt a surge of determination. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she was committed to helping Amandi find his place in the dance.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Rae announced to the group. “We’ll come back and try again next week.”

The students began to file out, murmuring amongst themselves. Rae could hear snippets of their conversations. Kamaria, always the most outspoken, paused by Amandi on her way out.

“You know,” Kamaria said, her gnollish voice soft and encouraging, “I was just the same when I started. Couldn’t get my legs to cooperate at all. I got the hang of it, and so will you.”

Amandi managed a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks, Kamaria.”

With Kamaria’s encouragement, the rest of the students offered nods and murmurs of support before heading out. The studio gradually emptied until it was just Rae and Amandi left.

Rae approached him, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the lingering embarrassment in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry,” Amandi said quietly, his voice tinged with frustration. “I didn’t mean to disrupt the class.”

Rae shook her head, stepping closer. “You have nothing to apologise for, Amandi. This is new for both of us, and it’s going to take some time to figure out what works. I’m just glad you’re here and willing to give it your all.”

She reached out and touched his arm, her fingers brushing against his smooth, dark skin. She couldn’t help but notice how lean and slender he was, his human half exuding a quiet strength. Her eyes drifted to his spider half, which seemed almost delicate despite its size. The sleek black legs shimmered in the low light.

Amandi looked at her, grey eyes sparkling. “Thank you for being so understanding. I know I’m not exactly built for this.”

Rae’s heart warmed at his words, and she found herself drawn to his sincerity. “You’re determined and passionate, Amandi. That’s what matters most. The rest will come along on its own.”

She smiled at him, feeling an unexpected flutter in her chest. There was something incredibly endearing about his shy smile. She admired his willingness to step out of his comfort zone and try something new, despite the obvious challenges.

“You really think I can do this?” Amandi asked, his voice soft and uncertain.

“I know you can,” Rae replied firmly. With a final, reassuring smile, Rae squeezed Amandi’s hand gently. “See you next class?”

Amandi nodded, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’ll be here.”

***

The following week, Rae arrived at the dance studio earlier than usual, wanting to prepare for the evening class. To her surprise, Amandi was already there, standing near the entrance with a bashful yet determined expression on his face.

“Hey, Amandi,” she greeted him warmly. “You’re here early.”

He nodded, his grey eyes reflecting a quiet resolve. “I wanted to get some extra practice in before class. I’ve been working on the steps over the weekend.”

Rae’s heart swelled with admiration. “That’s great! Let’s get started then.”

They moved to the center of the studio, and Rae began demonstrating the steps they had worked on last time. Amandi followed her lead, his movements still a bit awkward but much improved. His upper body moved with more fluidity, and his spider legs seemed more coordinated, albeit still with the occasional stumble.

As the rest of the students trickled in, Rae couldn’t help but watch Amandi from the corner of her eye. His lean muscles flexed with each movement, his concentration etched onto his features. He really was striking, dark skin glistening with sweat.

“Alright, everyone, let’s start with the basics again,” Rae announced once the class was assembled.

A few students groaned, particularly Andromeda, who rolled her eyes. “Do we have to? It’s so easy.”

Rae smiled, her tone firm but kind. “Yes, we do. It’s important to master the basics. Trust me, it will make everything else easier in the long run.”

She glanced at Amandi, who gave her a grateful smile. He was clearly more comfortable and confident than he had been the previous week. They began the routine, Rae leading them through the steps slowly at first.

As the music played, Rae found herself continually drawn to Amandi. His determination was evident in every move he made. The lines of his lean muscles were pronounced under his smooth, dark skin, and his spider half moved with a fluidity that hinted at countless hours of practice. There was a grace to him now, a confidence that was beginning to shine through.

“Great job, everyone,” Rae called out, watching as the students repeated the steps in sync. “Let’s try it a bit faster.”

The class picked up the pace, and Rae’s heart swelled with pride as she watched Amandi keep up. He still had moments of clumsiness, but they were fewer and farther between. His improvement was undeniable.

She moved around the room, offering pointers and encouragement. When she reached Amandi, she placed a hand on his arm to correct his posture. His skin was warm under her touch, and she felt a slight shiver run through her.

“You’re doing really well, Amandi,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his. “Just remember to keep your shoulders relaxed. You have six extra legs to contend with; try to move them in sync.”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “Thank you, Rae. I’ve been practicing a lot. I really want to get this right.”

As the class continued, Rae found it increasingly difficult to focus solely on the routine. Her thoughts kept drifting to Amandi, to the way he moved, the way his determination shone in his eyes. There was something incredibly attractive about his dedication and the quiet strength he exuded.

When the class finally came to an end, Rae gathered everyone for a quick debrief. “Great work today, everyone. I know it can be frustrating to go over the basics, but it’s essential for building a strong foundation. I’m really proud of the progress you’ve all made.”

As the students began to disperse, Rae lingered, her gaze once again finding Amandi. He was talking to Kamaria, who gave him a friendly pat on the back before heading out. Rae approached him, her heart racing slightly.

“Amandi, you were fantastic today. I can see how much effort you’ve put in, and it’s really paying off.”

He smiled, a hint of bashfulness returning. “Thanks, Rae. I’m just trying to keep up with everyone else.”

“You’re doing more than that,” she replied warmly. “You’re becoming a great dancer.”

He smiled; tentative, bashful. “I might have been practicing over the weekend,” he admitted. “By the way, how are you getting home?”

“I drive. I could give you a lift, though…” Rae trailed off, cheeks warming. “Though I don’t know if you’d fit in my little Nissan.”

“Oh, I only live around the corner anyway. Can I walk you to your car?”

Rae tried to ignore how her heart fluttered at the offer. As if she would say no.

They walked out of the studio together, the cool night air refreshing compared to the warmth of the studio. As they reached the parking lot, Rae approached her car and fumbled for her keys, only to find that the engine wouldn’t start. She tried a few more times, but the car remained stubbornly silent.

“Looks like I’m not going anywhere tonight,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat.

Amandi stepped closer, concern etched on his face. “Do you need help?”

Rae shook her head. “It’s too late to call a repair shop. I’ll just have to figure it out tomorrow.”

“Where do you live? I could walk you home,” Amandi offered, his voice gentle.

Rae hesitated for a moment, but the idea of walking home with Amandi was strangely appealing. “Are you sure? It’s a bit of a walk.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied, his tone sincere. “Besides, it’ll be good exercise.”

Rae smiled, grateful for his kindness. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that..”

They set off, the quiet streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. The city had an almost magical quality after dark, and Rae found herself enjoying the peacefulness.

They walked in comfortable silence, their steps in sync,

After a while, Rae felt the urge to break the silence. “You know,” she began, her voice light and teasing, “I think you’re going to be the star of our class soon.”

Amandi chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I doubt that. I’m just trying to keep up.”

Rae felt a flutter in her chest at his humility. “Well, I think you’re amazing; and not just because of your dancing.”

He glanced at her, his grey eyes curious. “What do you mean?”

Rae hesitated, feeling her cheeks warm. “I mean... you’re determined, kind, and... well, you’re a great guy.”

Amandi’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me? But… why?.”

Rae stopped walking, turning to face him fully. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing his arm. “You’re unique, Amandi. I find that incredibly attractive. Your strength, your grace, and the way you light up when you talk, it’s all so captivating.”

Amandi’s gaze softened, and he took a small step closer. Rae could feel the heat of his body, his hard muscle beneath his t-shirt. Her heart raced, and she felt a heady mix of excitement and nervousness.

“I... I never thought anyone would see me that way,” Amandi said quietly, his voice filled with wonder.

Rae smiled, her fingers tracing the lines of his lean muscles. “Well, I do.”

In the soft glow of the night, she could see the warmth in his eyes, the flicker of something deeper. She leaned in, her breath hitching as she closed the distance between them. Amandi’s lips met hers, tentative and soft at first, but growing bolder as the kiss deepened. She felt the gentle clink of his fangs against her own teeth, and shivered.

She pressed closer, her hands resting on his shoulders. She could feel the strength in his lean body, the delicate yet firm hold of his arms as he wrapped them around her.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. Rae smiled, her heart pounding. “I think you’re amazing, Amandi,” she whispered.

Hand in hand, Rae and Amandi walked the remaining distance to her home. The night felt alive with possibilities, the air humming with promise. Rae’s heart raced, her thoughts a delightful jumble of excitement and anticipation.

As they reached her front door, she turned to face Amandi. His eyes, striking grey, held a softness that made her feel cherished. She soaked up his presence.

Then, with a bashful smile, Amandi leaned in. His lips brushed hers gently, a tender, almost hesitant kiss that spoke of his growing affection. Rae responded, deepening the kiss, savoring the warmth and sweetness of the moment. Her hands rested on his shoulders, feeling the lean strength of his muscles beneath her fingertips.

When they parted, he was beaming. “Rae,” he began, his voice soft and sincere, “would it be alright if I took you out sometime? Maybe for dinner, or a walk?”

Rae’s heart skipped a beat. “I’d love that, Amandi,” she replied, her smile matching his. “Although, you do realize the dance class will be talking about us. They love some romantic gossip.”

Amandi laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Yeah, I figured. Sorry.”

Rae shook her head, her smile widening. “I’m not sorry at all.” Then, “thank you for walking me home,” Deft fingers traced the underside of his jaw, along his clicking mandibles.

“It was my pleasure,” Amandi replied softly. “I’ll see you soon, Rae.”

“I can’t wait,” she replied, her heart full.

With a final, lingering smile, Amandi turned and walked away, leaving Rae standing at her door, her heart brimming with anticipation. She watched him until he disappeared into the night, the memory of his lips still lingering on her skin.

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

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