Demon!Simon Riley glanced down when summoned. He had just materialised in a random living room all of a sudden standing in a pentagram. “You know,” he said in a gruff voice to the terrified-looking mortal, “you don’t have to do the pentagram shit. It’s meaningless.”

Warnings: Sex, restraints, mentions of biting, mentions of knotting, cockwarming, edging

- Minotaur husband that punishes you by tying your hands behind your back when fucking. He knows how much you like to grab onto his horns when you fuck him and watching you struggle against your restraints pleases him greatly.

- Vampire husband that keeps you on the edge, his cock a slow drag through your wet walls. He bites gently at your neck all night but never sinks his fangs in. As dawn approaches you think he will finally grant you some relief but you are sorely mistaken when he pulls out and leaves you with nothing.

- Orc husband that stretches you out on his big cock but doesn’t let you move at all. No matter how much you cry and apologize, needing him to move, he refuses. Each time you try to move earns a smack to your ass, the skin becoming more raw and inflamed throughout the day. Anytime you finally calm down and start to doze off he gives you one hard thrust, jolting you awake and stimulating you just enough to have your cunt needy again.

- Tentacle monster husband that refuses to fill your cunt but uses his suckers to suction and overstimulate your nipples and clit until they are swollen and sore. The marks will be there for weeks as a reminder for you to behave.

- Dragon husband that hangs you from your lairs ceiling with gold chains, decorated with jewels. He keeps you suspended and at his mercy all day to play with as he pleases, a ruby ball gag keeping you quiet and obedient. His pretty little treasure.

- Werewolf husband that fucks you over and over but refuses to give you his knot. Tears stream down your face as you apologize and beg for it but he just tells you that you need to learn your lesson and brats don’t get rewards.

- Demon husband that binds you in a pentacle and makes you watch as he strokes his thick cock knowing you want nothing more that to taste and fuck it. Ignoring your cries as he releases his cum all over the ground instead of inside you where it belongs.

Expanded Story For Demon Husband Can Be found Here And On Patreon

pairing: gn ! reader - ft. werewolves, orcs, minotaurs, succubi / incubi, dragonfolk, and vampires.

author's note: this'll be kinda messy, so sorry. just had a misunderstanding due to a language barrier today and somehow got inspired. sorry for the ramble lol.

[ pt. 2. ]

werewolves. 

“so, when are you two tying the knot?” 

the vicinity goes quiet. your werewolf friend freezes mid-drink, ears slowly turning red under messy, shaggy hair. “w-we’re not—! that’s . . . !” 

“what?” you blink, confused at their weird reaction.

someone in the pack coughs into their hand. another is trying very hard not to laugh. 

the werewolf mutters into their sleeve, mortified. “humans shouldn’t say mating phrases so casually.”

you stare. “i said marriage.”

“exactly!”

orcs.

you pat the orc who was helping you on the shoulder. "woah, you’re really strong, you know that?” 

they go still. very still.

you notice the rest of the orcs nearby stop talking, too. one of them elbows another with a smirk.

the orc clears their throat, trying to look casual. “. . . you think so?”

“yeah?”

a radiant smile bloomed on their originally stoic face, a satisfied hum vibrating through their chest - their tusks seeming to be somehow glinting brighter under the sun. “you should say that again sometime,” maybe a day where the two of you weren't under the scorching sun.

now they're thinking, maybe going over to help the little, struggling human was worth it. even if they only had just been egged on by their friends to approach any human and flirt. . . . this may be a good distraction for a while.

minotaurs.

you notice a lost looking minotaur among the halls - and deciding to take pity, you approach.

“here,” you say, grabbing their hand. “the hallway’s confusing. c’mon, i’ll guide you.” asking them where they needed to go to, you lead the way once getting a shy response.

the minotaur follows quietly. 

when you finally reach the exit, you turn around, tugging your hand to free it —

– and freeze upon feeling the vice grip on it. 

they’re staring at your joined hands like you just handed them the world.

“ . . . what?” 

their ears twitch, still staring. “in my culture,” they murmur softly. “. . . nevermind.” ignoring the fluttering feeling in their chest at being guided through the maze of hallways, 

they stuff their tingling hand in their pocket. “can i have your number?”

demons. 

“i promise i’ll help you tomorrow.”

the demon’s pen stops mid-signature.

“…promise?”

“yeah?”

their eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“binding or casual?”

“…what?”

“verbal promises can still count,” they say, pulling out parchment. “just for documentation.”

“IT WAS A FIGURE OF SPEECH.”

the demon sighs.

“humans are terrible negotiators.”

dragons.

you place the gold ring on the table. “i thought you might like it.”

the dragon stares at it.

then at you.

then at the ring again.

their wings shift slightly. “ . . . humans give courtship treasure very quickly.”

you choke. “WHAT.”

they gently slide the ring into their palm, inspecting it, before slipping it on their finger. it seems to be the perfect fit.

“ . . . i accept.”

“WAIT—”

incubi / succubi.

“sweet dreams.” you wave before heading to bed.

the cubi pauses in the doorway. “. . . was that intentional?”

“was what intentional?”

their smile is slow, amused. “humans wishing dream-based creatures sweet dreams.”

“. . . it’s just a goodnight phrase.”

“pity.” they lean against the doorframe. “i thought you were inviting me.”

your face burns.

they grin wider. “that blush is very convincing, though.”

vampires.

“you look delicious tonight.”

the vampire says it with complete sincerity.

you pause halfway through adjusting your collar.

“. . .thank you?”

they nod approvingly, gaze lingering just a second too long.

“radiant complexion. warm pulse. excellent circulation.”

“. . .you’re flirting, right?”

the vampire tilts their head.

“. . .i was complimenting the meal.”

you slowly back away.

Imagine a threesome with a succubus and incubus who fucking hate each other and are now competing on who can get you off the fastest.

Succubus plays with your tits, rubbing her clit against your sensitive bud while her tongue swirls around your mouth. Her pussy is slick and warm, and you're already cumming within seconds.

The incubus stretches you with his fingers, his tongue circling your clit as he makes you count how many orgasms he gives you with his mouth alone.

You can't keep your eyes off of his cock as he fucks his fist, precum dripping from the tip.

Now that's you're all wet and ready, they want to take turns with fucking your fat cunt!

First, the succubus walks over, her strap lightly bouncing with each step, she holds you down in missionary, biting your neck as her strap fucks into your tight hole.

As you have sex, the strap fuses to her body and becomes flesh and blood, pulsing inside of you. She whimpers and tugs on your nipple with her teeth, begging to cum inside and breed you.

The incubus is next, huffing as he wipes away the succubus’s cum from your thighs, his cock is huge, nearly twice the size of the succubus, and he’s proud of it.

You’re pulled onto his lap, forced to take his cock deeper than you thought possible. Your belly bulges with his cock, and you struggle to breathe properly.

He fills you with so much cum, cooing over how cute you’ll look with swollen tits, heavy with milk to feed his young.

You cum several times round his length, ending the night so fucked out you can’t even think.

As the two tally up the amount of orgasms they each gave you, they’re both delighted to learn it was a tie.

“Guess we’ll have to try again~”

——————

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Pretending to be bashful when it winds its way around your thigh or wraps around your waist.

"Oh! Sorry haha, this damn thing. Like it has a mind of it's own 😅"

You let it slide because you like them, until one day you see them not so discreetly catch a pencil with their tail and manoeuvre it expertly back into the pen holder on the desk it fell from.

You pretend not to notice, your sneaky suspicion now confirmed.

So the next time they're sitting next to you and their slinky tail starts winding around the fat of your thigh, you're so ready for it.

"You're doing it again."

They turn away from what they were pretending to focus on, act all bashful and start apologising,

"Oh shit, I'm sorry."

Before your demonic friend can retreat, you cross your legs, effectively trapping their coiled tail between your warm thighs.

"It's alright, I don't mind."

You say dismissively, as you lightly stroke the arrow shaped point at the end of the tail with your thumbs.

You feel them shiver and look up to see them practically panting, staring down at you with heart shaped eyes and hot cheeks.

I re-watched The Conjuring with my partner last night, and I was suddenly hit by the potential of cursed doll x reader dynamic.

You've always had that damned doll in the house. Your parents brought it in one night, tucked it behind a glass case, and told you to never go around it. There was a demon attached to it, they warned, a powerful entity that needed to be kept under constant supervision.

It was a natural consequence that the doll would follow once you became a paranormal investigator yourself. You glared at it resentfully, remembering all the nightmares that plagued you as a child because of its presence. It would haunt your dreams, mock you in your sleep, taunt you with promises of an eternal bond.

Tonight, you return from the latest exorcism. You drag your feet inside, exhausted, and promptly pass out on the sofa. Unbeknownst to you, the evil spirit has merely traded one human for another, stalking you all the way here, ready to infest your home.

A shadow looms over your oblivious form, claws extending up, ready to pounce. The entity, however, freezes.

"Wrong place," a mechanical voice threatens from the depths of your hallways. "This is my human." Some of these ghouls truly have no class; the audacity to barge into someone else's turf!

You abruptly jolt awake, overwhelmed by a familiar dread, then rush to its room. The doll is resting peacefully in its case, staring at you with the same hollow eyes.

"Thank God," you mumble, half-awake. "I don't need another menace to deal with."

And you never will have to, beloved (Y/N). No other creature shall ever bother you, not under its dutiful watch. The threat has been eliminated. It's only the two of you once more.

Demon x Witch!reader— praise, body worship, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, scratching, biting, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms

When your coven members started getting sick, dark horrifying jagged marks blooming on their skin, they all looked to you for answers. You weren’t coven leader, not by far, you were only their humble head healer. This was the kind of stuff you specialized in yet even you had no idea what was going on.

But witch after witch was appearing on your doorstep, their faces scared, desperately begging you for help. Of course you did what you could but the illness was such a peculiar thing, you could barely make sense of it.

With each new blot that formed the witch’s magic grew more powerful but also more unstable. The marks consumed them until they could no longer control their magic and it became a liability to allow them to continue their practice. Which was another issue as the illness also raised their aggression levels tenfold. Even the slightest uptick in their heartbeat could unleash a raging current of magic.

Most cases, no matter how much you tried to stop it, ended in the death of a witch and fewer answers than you started with.

For some it came on quicker and for others it was like a slow crawl. Yet it always reached its end and you could never catch up with it. That is until it finally caught up with you.

Haunting tendrils that began to form on your hands as if the illness was mocking you. You had failed to heal your coven members and now you’d fail to save yourself before it was too late and it’d claim another witch.

You only allow yourself a few minutes to panic. There isn’t time to linger on it any longer. Not when you’re unsure how much you have left. But even as you move, scouring through countless old texts and forbidden spells, that frenzied fear is what drives you forward.

Days go by running through the same cycle. Reading the books, testing incantations and potions, refusing to collapse as another fails, and forcing yourself to start all over again. Each failed attempt threatens to destroy what little hope you have left. There has to be something— anything— you haven’t thought of.

That’s when it hits you. As much as the rationale side of you immediately rejects the idea, the other tells you it’s your last chance. For your coven, summoning a demon is quite possibly the greatest offense a witch can commit. You remind yourself of this over and over as you draw the circle in the dead of night.

Bright purple flames shoot straight to the ceiling as the Demon appears before you, in clothes from a time long ago and a piercing gaze that acts like he already knows what you’re about to ask. Yet when you show him the marks making their way up your arms a flicker of surprises passes over his expression.

He breaks through your summoning circle with ease, clawed hands grasp at your arms with a surprising tenderness. It still manages to send a fierce shiver down your spine. Under his inspection you try and remain normal, ignoring the way your body warms and hums under his touch. A growing throb echoing straight to your core.

Again.

Another date that started with promise and ended with disappointment.

At this point it almost felt laughable. Your friends called it bad luck. Your mother called it poor taste in men. You called it exhausting.

You had spent years trying to make yourself easier to love.

Softer voice. Smaller opinions. Less emotional. More patient. More forgiving.

None of it worked.

One cheated on you with your coworker. One forgot your birthday three years in a row. One left halfway through dinner because his ex texted him.

After enough heartbreak, you stopped expecting good things from people.

Still, loneliness had a way of creeping in during quiet nights.

You tossed your ruined makeup wipe into the trash and shuffled toward the kitchen, flicking on the small lamp above the sink. The apartment glowed warm amber against the storm outside.

Then the lights flickered.

Once, twice, you frowned.

“Please do not die on me tonight.”

The bulbs steadied.

A knock sounded at your door.

You froze.

It was nearly midnight.

Another knock. Slower this time.

Your stomach twisted as you moved carefully toward the door, checking the peephole.

A tall man stood in the hallway.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hood.

Black gloves.

The overhead light buzzed strangely above him.

You hesitated before cracking the door open slightly.

“Yes?”

The stranger lifted his head.

And your breath caught.

He was handsome in a way that almost hurt to look at. Harsh features softened only slightly by tired eyes. A scar cut across his face, pale against tan skin. Blond lashes shadowed eyes so dark they looked nearly black in the dim hall.

“You dropped this downstairs.”

His voice was deep and rough like gravel dragged across velvet.

He held up your wallet.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

You snatched it from him, immediately checking inside. Everything was still there.

“You could've taken the cash.”

“Aye.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “Could've.”

You laughed quietly despite yourself.

“Thank you…?”

“Simon.”

The name settled strangely in your chest.

His gaze lingered on you for half a second too long. Not in a creepy way. More like he was trying to memorize you.

Then the hallway light above him burst with a sharp pop.

You jumped.

Simon did not even blink.

“Sorry,” you muttered nervously. “This building is falling apart.”

“Seems that way.”

Another silence settled between you, oddly comfortable despite the fact you had never met this man before.

You noticed rain soaking the shoulders of his black jacket.

“You can come in for a minute if you want,” you said before thinking too hard about it. “Until the storm calms down.”

His expression changed slightly.

Almost surprised.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

You stepped aside.

The second Simon crossed your doorway, the warmth in the apartment seemed to shift.

Not colder.

Heavier.

Like the air itself had thickened.

He removed his gloves carefully, revealing scarred hands and silver rings. Your gaze snagged briefly on one oddly shaped ring that looked ancient compared to the others.

“You live alone?” he asked quietly.

“Unfortunately.”

His eyes flicked around the apartment before settling back on you.

“You should get a better lock.”

You laughed nervously. “You sound like my dad.”

“Smart man.”

You made tea mostly to keep your hands busy. Simon stood near the kitchen counter, massive compared to your tiny apartment. Somehow he looked completely natural there, like he belonged in shadows and dim light.

“You always rescue strangers during storms?” he asked.

“No. Usually I make objectively terrible choices with men.”

That earned a low hum from him.

“Bad history?”

“Catastrophically bad.”

The words spilled easier than expected.

Maybe because Simon listened instead of waiting for his turn to talk.

You told him about the cheating, the lying, the way every relationship somehow left you feeling lonelier than before.

“You start wondering if maybe something's wrong with you after a while,” you admitted softly.

Simon went still.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

The certainty in his voice startled you.

“You don't even know me.”

“Don't need to.”

Your face warmed.

Rain thundered harder outside.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then Simon looked toward your window sharply.

Not casually.

Alert.

Like he heard something you couldn't.

“You expecting anyone tonight?”

“No?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

A cold shiver crawled across your skin.

Then came three knocks at the apartment door.

You frowned. “Who the hell…”

Simon was already moving.

Fast, too fast.

One second he stood beside the counter. The next he was near the door.

You barely processed it.

He glanced through the peephole and his expression darkened into something genuinely frightening.

“Stay back.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What is it?”

“Stay behind me.”

The deep tone in his voice left no room for argument.

The knocking came again.

Harder.

Your pulse hammered as Simon unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway, pulling it nearly shut behind him.

You heard muffled voices.

Low.

Aggressive.

Then silence.

A horrible silence.

You crept closer before the door opened again.

Simon stepped back inside calmly, shutting the door behind him.

Your eyes widened.

There was blood on his knuckles.

“Oh my God.”

“Not mine.”

“What happened?”

“Drunk bastard had the wrong apartment.”

Something about the explanation felt thin.

Still, Simon looked completely unbothered.

Not adrenaline high, bot angry, just cold controlled.

He noticed your expression and sighed softly.

“Scared of me now?”

Strangely, you weren't.

You should have been.

Every instinct said something about this man was dangerous beyond reason.

But beneath all of that danger was something else.

Something lonely, something aching.

“No,” you answered honestly.

Simon stared at you like the word physically hurt him.

“You should be careful saying things like that.”

“Why?”

His eyes met yours fully then.

Dark, endless, not human.

The lights flickered again violently.

For one impossible second you saw something behind him.

A shadow stretching too large across the wall.

Two massive horns curling upward.

Golden eyes glowing from darkness.

Then it vanished.

Your breath stopped.

Simon closed his eyes briefly like he knew exactly what you saw.

The apartment suddenly felt too small.

“What…” Your voice trembled. “What are you?”

Silence.

Rain hammered the windows.

Finally he spoke.

“A bad man.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“No.” His gaze lowered to the floor. “It's the safer one.”

You should have run.

Any sane person would have.

But instead you whispered, “You brought back my wallet.”

Simon looked almost amused by that.

“Your standards are low, sweetheart.”

“They've had to be.”

A quiet sound escaped him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite sadness.

Then he stepped closer carefully, like approaching a frightened animal.

“You keep picking people who hurt you because part of you thinks that's all you deserve.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“How would you know that?”

“Because creatures like me can smell loneliness.”

The room went cold.

Creatures, plural.

Your heart raced but Simon remained perfectly still.

“I haven't lied to you,” he continued softly. “I just haven't told you everything.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

His expression immediately hardened with something fierce.

“No.”

The answer came so fast it felt instinctive.

“Never you.”

Your breath caught again.

Simon lifted one scarred hand slowly toward your face, giving you every chance to pull away.

When his fingers brushed your cheek, warmth spread through your skin despite the storm around you.

“You're the first good thing I've wanted in a very long time,” he murmured.

His thumb traced beneath your eye gently.

“And that's dangerous for someone like me.”

You should have pushed him away.

Instead you leaned into his touch.

Because for the first time in your entire life, someone looked at you like you were precious instead of temporary.