âA Nokken or a vampire! I know Nokken are a bit obscure so i'm equally as happy with a vampire! This is some info I had already typed up, is this okay? --> Iâm 5â3, chubby with curves and African American. I wear glasses, have thick, natural curly hair and brown eyes. I prefer palazzo pants, maxi skirts and flowy blouses to hide my shape as Iâm not confident about it.Iâm eccentric yet introverted, energetic yet socially anxious and Iâm clumsier than a baby deer. I love old romance; the poetry, the emotions, no hookup culture. My hobbies are listening to music, cooking and gardening!â
Thank you so much @kawaiijellyfishgarden for your ko-fi donation! Monster Mates are still open for the rest of the day. If youâre looking for a more personalized or steamy story feel free to donate to my ko-fi the more you donate the more you get!
You were beyond thrilled at the request to house sit for a friend when they explained the small cottage with a stream that ran through the property. Worried as they were about the heat wave, and the modest garden they kept not being able to sustain itself otherwise. For you it seemed like a paradise, time away from the busier pressures of life, and secluded enough to calm your spirit. Of course that was before youâd broken almost three pots trying to balance them all from the car, to the backyard.
The sun washed against the rich dark of your skin, warming you even through the billowy layers you wore. Kneeling down to pick up the large terra cotta pieces with a click of your tongue. If it was the worst thing to happen, the weekend would still be one of the best youâd ever had. Of course just as the thought drifted through your mind, your thumb caught at the edge of a broken piece.
Blood dripping down in slow, heavy beads where the ground all but swallows it. Quick, and thirsty, causing you to leave the mess behind favoring getting a bandage for it instead. Standing within the small cottage with nothing but the faucet running, your thumb beneath the water, you swear you hear the bubbling of the stream just past the property.
How even softer still you swear you hear music, a line violin with warbling notes that ache at your heart. How they draw so slow, and sweet, somber to the ears. Yet when you reach to turn the water off, the music fades. Thereâs nothing but the stream, and the woods come alive with birds, and the insects calling out against the blister of the sun.
The pots forgotten, and your mind still swimming with thoughts of fairy tales you head out to find the garden your friend had tasked you with. Not that itâs hard to spot, where a large willow tree rests, its branches dipping into the very stream it stands beside. Though stream isnât quite the word youâd use seeing it for yourself. How it reminds more of a slow moving river for how wide across, but clearer than anything the closer you get. The garden seems less of a concern now as you toe that much closer to the water. How the tree beside you towers at a great height.
Water splashes up at your ankles, and your curls bounce slightly as you spring back. Not remembering stepping into the water, yet now standing calf deep within it. Your shoes left on bank side, and what seems seconds, or minutes missing from your memory.
Thatâs when you see him, drawing up, standing tall at the halfway point across. His hair is shimmering silver, and his skin is that of a grayish blue that seems to glow. Silver like scales seem to adorn parts of him, catching at the sun, throwing light across the water as if fireflies follow him. Yet itâs barely noon, and no matter how you blink, he does not disappear. No trick of the light, but a water spirit. One whoâs smile comes syrup sweet, and just as slow when the curtain or hair parts to show the rest of his face.
Pupils dilating, flashing a silver sort of color at his Irish before the colors eaten away by black. âYou heard my song then?â When he moves towards you, the water seems to part. Rippling out, and around him, yet he draws closer still. You, you feel rooted, a bubbling sort of energy beneath your skin, but unable to leave, or move out of his view. Find yourself wanting his attention, âYou gave me a sacrifice.â His words drawl, and itâs then you feel his hand taking yours. Bringing your thumb to his mouth, pinching gently until blood wells.
Sealing his lips against it he all but purrs a noise of contentment. âSuch a sweet gift youâve given, little one.â And itâs then you realize he must be near six feet, if not more for how his shoulders curve, and his spine bends to be closer to your face. His laughter reminds you of the music from before, soft, and sad when his fingers touch at the rim of your glasses gently, almost curious. âWould you not stay with me awhile? I grow lonely here, and you- you are sweeter than anything-â his face draws nearer, and again you can hear the violin as it plays seemingly from within the water around you both.
His kiss is cool, as his fingers drift along the column of your neck. Before smoothing against the light billowing fabric. Pressing in to feel the curves of you almost greedily. His steps draw him back, and you canât help but to follow. Water rising, weighing down your skirt, making it cling to your thighs before pitching around in the water as it hits your waist. He leans back enough to watch where the red fabric of your skirt seems to dance in the water around you both. How his own shape always seems to shimmer, and shift, like this is only one form of many.
At times you swear you see the green of moss climbing like ivy where his veins ought to be. âYouâd stay with me? Iâd give you years beyond knowing, young one. You, and I could live beneath the stars until one by one they blink themselves out, and even longer still.â This he says even as his long fingers draw up the inside of your thigh. Curve against the seam of you, the other cradling your face, his breath misting your lips. âThe things I might show you, all for the taste of you one more time.â And here he smiles, presses up, and against you until a gentle gasp flutters free of your lungs.
The water soothes, and yet spurs you, and your smile is a wide thing when you nod. Only he pauses, âI rush, youâll be here, for awhile yet, yes?â How you can only nod, dizzy, the way his fingers never stop the slow torturous draw against you. Like brewing heat between your thighs, while his face dips to press a kiss to your throat.
âThen Iâll take my time, Iâll convince you. Go then, return to your earth, and soil, I will come for you again at dusk. Iâll show you the truth of me.â When he draws away he takes his fingers into his mouth. Relishing the taste that lingers there, âQuick now, sweet one, the current can be a dangerous thing.â And just like that you watch as he seems to turn into a silver flecked steed. Only instead of drawing out, he sinks further into the water.
Leaving you shivering in the water, desire lit in your bones, and breathless as you watch the spot he stood. Music, in the distance that matches the wild beat of your heart.
Dusk canât come soon enough.
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