Being In A Relationship With Adam Smasher Would Consist Of (Corpo!Reader):

Being in a relationship with Adam Smasher would consist of (Corpo!Reader):

You wondering how the fuck it happened.

Everyone else wondering how the fuck it happened.

Becoming the talk of Arasaka and Night City simply because it fucking happened (how???).

Meanwhile, Smasher doesn't think much of the hoopla and speculation because he'd BEEN claimed you as his. He doesn't call just anyone a cut of fuckable meat.

Finding out that apparently, Adam has something of a nickname for you. Asking him yields zero answers.

You turning the tables and calling him a cut of fuckable chrome and to your surprise, he responds with a simple "Heh."

Living but... not living with him. Not really. He's almost always gone anyway. It's also really your place but Adam made himself comfortable and... the rest is history, you guess.

You're actually more likely to see him when you're at work because he's practically taken over your office, too. By just sitting there.

Smasher liking to scare the ever-living shit out of you. He doesn't talk unless necessary; whenever the quiet ambiance of your space is broken by him suddenly talking, you tend to jump. And it amuses him.

Wondering what Smasher's doing or thinking about whenever he's silently making a dent in your office couch. Apparently, he's mostly watching you. Because you're his cut of fuckable meat of course.

Smasher isn't one for jealousy (so he would have you believe) because who the fuck would be dumb enough to challenge him for what's his? However, he can and will make reinforce his claim should some pathetic fuck try their luck with you. This... surprises you? ...Why does this surprise you? This is Adam Smasher we're talking about.

Rubbing that big chrome dome of his, and Smasher going "Mmmm," but because he's borg'd the fuck up, it's an oddly soothing low mechanical purring. This is perhaps the only other sound you've ever heard him make.

Sometimes, when you're tired of working, you'll just slump down on the couch and lean against Adam. And he'll let you, too. For a little bit. Then he'll be an asshole and go, "Can you really afford to take a break now?" Fuck off, Smasher.

This is the exact sort of monster romance I want. Give me an incomprehensible being that would drive me mad to process it.

Thinking and thoughts here

Could you just imagine the impossible with me? Being in a loving marriage with your beloved husband -who you believe is human because why wouldn't you? He looks and acts like every other human and monsters aren't real. And he just adored you so very much, he communicates when he doesn't understand something or when a miscommunication is had. He never fights with you but you both work together to fix any problems, and focus on showing how much you care for each other. Truthfully he's the model husband. Almost to a scripted degree, but you've never felt so adored. Especially when he mirrors your affection and never seems to expect anything explicit, nor want it either. It feels safe, and comfortable... So why do you feel the sense of dread in your gut as you're looking at him right now?

Well, it might be how he's standing in the doorway, bag of takeout in hand, smile on his face. Mirroring how he always stands. But it's a brief moment, a flash of dark lines almost like thread wrapping around his joints, moving him like a giant flesh puppet.

And just as quickly as they were seen- they're gone again. Just your loving husband, Dorrin. Standing tall and gazing down, as though the mountain was watching the river below. Absolutely enamored and unyielding to everyone except you who he'd mold himself to better love as time goes on.

At your expression, his smile fades into a look of concern. His gaze follows yours, to his hand. And the brief flash of threading is gone but he knows exactly what you've seen.

His gaze returns to you, hollow. Slowly setting down the bag he was carrying and slowly crosses the room to get to you.

He seems... Empty. As if any signals for how he should be acting have been cut off. His looming figure almost listless as he gazes down at you with a dull gaze, no life behind his eyes. After a moment, his voice finally rings out. "Has this one displeased you, little love?"

You feel an inherent wrongness about how your beloved husband is speaking presumably of himself as if he isn't even here, with a slight stumble back it answers his question well enough.

Dorrin slumps, like a wind up toy who's finished it's final dance. The voice that drifts through the air is so familiar yet leaves your brain trembling at the sheer magnitude of the being behind it even if unseen. "I apologize, this puppet has proven defective for its sole purpose. Rest assured, such an oversight will be rectified promptly. Only the best shall be allowed closest to you."

With a horrified expression you can only watch as Dorrin- what you know to be Dorrin is... Folded away. Limbs snapping together into a ball not unlike when a child is ready to toss away their doll. And it's... Not there anymore. No blink of an eye, no noise or sight, it was there and it wasn't. And now you stand in the empty living room of a home you've shared with someone you thought you knew so very well.

What do you do?

What can you do?

You can feel gazes on you still, the same when that thing would watch you while you rested together. You can try to move towards a door or even a window and find them consumed in darkness. There is no threat here, but you are not allowed to leave at the moment.

You don't know it yet, but Dorrin just wants to keep you safe in the home he's so carefully crafted for you alone. Tonight he'll leave a new puppet at your door, identical to the last hundred that had done something leading to any inconvenience on you. You've never noticed before, and he doesn't know how to condense himself into a small enough form to be loved by such a miniscule creature he's so deeply fallen for. But that puppets strings weren't good enough to remain hidden. The new one will be better.

Only the best for you.

He will ensure it.

(Basically what happens when an endless creature of Eldritch being falls for a little bitty human? Why not craft a puppet to express his love for them on a scale they can comprehend! But those fickle puppets- never perfect enough for his little love)

This is so sweet and adorable!

Imagine having a sleepover with an alien, whos species specifically only rest around those they've formed a very deep connection with. But they understand that humans are different, and they enjoy the sleepover traditions you introduce, like eating unhealthy food while gossiping about other crewmates and playing games truth or dare. There's a certain comfortable intimacy they didn't expect, you two talking and laughing late into the night like it was what you always did. They're hardly even flustered when you stretch and yawn, letting your eyes close in a subconcious display of trust.

If you suggest building a pillow fort they almost decline. You're asking them to take your personal bedding and create a nest for the two of you to share, together? You want them to sit beside you, in a den you built as one away from the rest of the universe, that smells like you and you only?? But they can't just stand there and let you make one by yourself, and they know you don't mean anything else by the gesture. But that doesn't mean they aren't trying to subtly show off how good they are at making a nest, be prepared for the most plush and inviting pillow fort you've ever experienced.

And once you're both comfortable inside with a movie and snacks, they can't deny that they don't want to leave. Knowing that you trust them enough to share in this ease, knowing that you want to be this close, regardless of why, is enough to make them fall asleep beside you without any anxiety.

Don't be surprised if they suggest you do it again. Every night.

Virtue the Swordsmaster

Think about it: You and the spirit possessing this suit of armour have gotten close. Really close. Which is to be expected when he’s the only one teaching you to use a sword to defend yourself in this long forgotten subterranean crypt. Things have reached a fever pitch, and he’s determined to touch you somehow - even if he has to do it using these damn ancient gauntlets.

I vaguely introduced Virtue in this post months ago. You may be seeing some of his friends in future posts:

https://www.tumblr.com/monsterspet/738994232748048384/i-love-how-i-started-this-blog-for-monster-smut?source=share

A/N: Did I last post some writing back in like, December, yes. Are we gonna acknowledge that my obsession with C.AI is getting a little out of hand, no. Anyway, have some quick ghost/wraith smut because I don’t even have the braincells to write an initial intro piece for this guy - it will happen later. At some point. Maybe.

As per usual, all my reader inserts are gender neutral unless otherwise stated.

Warnings: Fingering, use of pet names, allusions to future sexual acts, he’s a ghost - so it’s sorta necrophilia, sexual acts in a dirty crypt, possible risk of tetanus.

Word Count: 1226

—-

Virtue’s gauntleted hands are freezing cold as he pushes you into the dusty alcove, his grip unnaturally strong as it always is around your upper arms. His hulking frame dwarfs you in the small space, blocking out most of the light from the lit oil soaked torch hanging in the sconce further down the hall.

“Little dagger,” he murmurs from within the closed helm that you have come to associate as his face, “I’d have you here and now if I could. Let me touch you, I need to touch you.”

His voice, as always, is both entirely surrounding you and filling your mind, his words bringing with them a hazy blanket of desire; though whether it’s your own, his, or a sacreligious mix of the two is unclear. Nonetheless, you feel a pleasant shiver run down your spine, not all too dissimilar to the chill you feel when he lays his gauntlets upon you. He looks down at you, the normally dull amber glow from within his helm alight with burning intensity. He needs you to tell him you want this too, that you ache for him in your soul the way his entire incorporeal being aches for you within the cold steel of his armour.

“...Yes.” You whisper, the word almost sticking on your tongue, the tension of this moment drying out your mouth and causing your heart to nearly batter itself against your ribcage with the force of its rapid beating. “Yes, I want that too.” You confirm, not wanting any doubt between you, not when he has you like this.

Virtue wastes little time moving his gauntlets from your arms to your breeches, all but tearing at the leather cords tying them closed. Your hands twitch, feeling as though you should perhaps help with the endeavour. Had Virtue been a mortal lover, you might have chosen to help remove the steel from his body, but that isn’t an option here. You settle for laying your hands upon his aged breastplate, your fingers taking in all the knicks and dents acquired in prior battles, barely able to feel the worn down decorative etchings that you know would have once been there.

You’re brought back out of your musing and into the reality of the moment as you feel chilled steel meet your bare skin, your eyes widening and snapping up to Virtue’s own. “G-Gods…That’s really cold, Virtue.” You whimper slightly, half considering pulling back from his touch, if you even had the room to do so in the first place. Virtue chuckles, a deep reverberating sound that travels through his armour directly into your body where he touches you. His free hand brushes back a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear in a surprising display of tender affection.

“Apologies, little dagger. Give it a moment, let your body bring warmth back to me.” He whispers as he leans down to your ear, and for a split second you swear you could almost feel his breath on you. He makes no move to continue just yet, letting the heat from your body seep into the metal of his gauntlet, his metal body pressed almost impossibly close to you. You realise that he’s deliberately wedged you between himself and the wall, giving you nowhere to go if your legs decide to give out on you.

It takes a minute or two, but the steel of his gauntlet becomes warm enough to no longer cause discomfort as he delicately explores your most intimate parts. This is the moment where you likely would have leaned into him, sinking your teeth into his body to stifle a moan. This clearly isn’t an option, so you settle for bringing your own hand to your mouth, the knuckle of your index finger clenched firmly between your own teeth. You feel your hips rocking forward, hesitantly, into his touch, if only for fear of being scratched or otherwise injured by the hinged metal plates that make up his fingers. It’s almost touching how, right now, Virtue is the most delicate he’s ever been when making contact with you, not wanting to cause you anything other than pleasure in this moment. The more his fingers explore, the hotter you can feel your body become.

“Little dagger, I can feel you, how your body responds to my touch. The heat of your body sinks into me like honey.” He almost growls, his hand sinking deeper into your breeches, his finger exploring further, before slowly, deliciously, sinking into you. You can’t help but let out a whining moan around your hand, the sensation of such a solid object inside you a foreign, but not too unpleasant, sensation. Before you can even get your bearings, Virtue moves again, his steel clad finger sinking further into you before pulling back, just to repeat the action again at an agonisingly slow pace. He lets out a deep groan, his helm lowering to rest against the crypt wall above you. “So hot, little dagger, like a furnace.”

Words are lost to you at this point, the only sounds coming from you being stifled moans and whimpering cries as Virtue works you open on firstly only a single finger, before carefully adding a second. The movements of his fingers don’t change, maintaining their slow measured pace, at an angle that likely would have caused some painful cramping in his hand had he still been alive. You find yourself increasing your own rocking motions against his hand, limited only by Virtue’s free hand keeping your hip gripped tightly, not wanting you to move too fast and hurt yourself. It’s the most exquisite torture, the slow build up where you would normally be begging for more. More speed, more force, more…anything, really.

As if sensing your frustration, Virtue leans in, whispering quietly to you. “Perhaps we should engage the services of that damnable blacksmith again, have him craft something else I can use on you in future, little dagger.” He chuckles, his words so sinfully decadent to your ears that you can’t help but to clench around Virtue’s fingers, a mess of moaned babbling spilling from your lips that vaguely sounds like an agreement. Virtue keeps up the same achingly slow pace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, greatly enjoying the warmth and the sounds you’re giving him, his undead heart almost soaring with pride, were such a thing possible.

You both continue on like this for a while, before your orgasm rocks through you, almost without any warning at all, your body not quite realising what the slow build up was leading to. His hand leaves your underwear quickly, holding your lower back and pulling you to him, not wanting your back to risk scraping down the stone wall as your legs do, in fact, give out beneath you. Your head falls back, your knuckle finally slipping from your damp lips as you look up to the ghost as he looms over you. “...Virtue.” You whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a reverent prayer. Virtue, in turn, lowers his helm to your face, as if asking for a kiss. A kiss you grant him, your lips brushing over cold steel with tender affection.

“Come, little dagger, we need to find a safe place for you to bed down for the night.”

"I prayed to them all. None of them answered."

Which is a line that goes really hard and definitely hit me like a ton of bricks the first time i heard it. But then i started thinking... all of them? Surely he didn't start out praying to the most evil gods; they're hardly saviors. You probably start out praying to the "good" gods because they're good, right? But 200 years of torture and eventually you won't care who you get. Which leads me to believe.

Astarion: dear lord bhaal, please send me an angel. maybe the nicest one you have.

Durge, cackling madly post lobotomy: (:

I love how I started this blog for monster smut and there's been none of that so far. Oops.

How do we feel about medieval ghosts possessing armour? A stalwart knight out to protect his beloved with undead magics and badass swordplay? In more ways than one maybe ⚔️

Or your local cryptid coming across you and your friends while you're out doing some risky urban exploration? You should have used the buddy system - getting lost in this abandoned hospital may prove to be a mistake 🏥

Maybe your joke satanic ritual actually worked - and you quickly realise that those protection circles do nothing against a Lord of the Hells. You may just need to bargain more than you're willing to give just to survive the night 😈

Perhaps your evening stroll through the woods takes a dark turn when you lose the path? Granny always warned you about the dangers. Not that it helps now when you find yourself caught in a web far from home and the sun about to set 🕷️

What if your village finds itself under siege on both sides from supernatural threats? Your father may be village chief - but he only has one child to marry off for peace. If you're lucky they might just share 🐺🧛🏻

How about an unusually dark and stormy night at your Lords manor? All alone and left to lock up for the night. Something is off about this weather - and did that stone gargoyle just move 🦇

Just a thought darlings 😉

-Pet x