Demon Boyfriend: Marchosias (complete)

Female Reader x Male Monster

Since your father passed away, you’ve only been allowed to stay in your home due to stipulations in his will. Your stepmother and her family never really took to you. Your stepsisters were always cold to you, sometimes even callous. Your stepmother only showed her true colors once your father passed. She kept you in the house only because the will told her to, but she was counting down the days until she no longer had to bother.

You’ve gotten pecked into a corner, and you have to either stay in their good graces, or live miserably in your room with the door locked forever. You cook for them, clean, run their errands, style their hair, hem their dresses - whatever they asked for, you take care of. It becomes a living hell for you, and nothing you do seems to be good enough.

One afternoon while trying to be as silent as a shadow in your room, you see a crow sitting on your windowsill. It pecks at the glass, and another crow joins it. The two black birds sit there as if trying to call your attention before they fly away. Watching their flight, you decide that you can fly too.

Under cover of night, after lacing your stepfamily’s drinks with a powerful sleeping aid, you leave. You take your mother’s jewelry from your stepmother’s jewelry box, some of your dresses from your stepsisters, and you abscond with your father’s beloved bible, which is probably the only thing they won’t notice missing. There isn’t much money left, but you take enough from the secret stash your stepmother hid away to last you until you’re far away.

You take your father’s horse from the stable and turn your back to the house, even though you know it’s your home. You travel all night, resting a bit before dawn, then carrying on your way again. That night it begins to storm, and your horse grows horribly frightened, but you’re in the middle of the woods and there is nowhere else to turn.

“We have to keep going,” you coax the beast. “Only a little further, and then we’ll find shelter. Please, do not cry so.”

The horse is unmoved by your words, and it shies and flinches at every noise outside the fall of rain. You’re cold and your teeth are chattering, and you know you won’t last much longer this way either, but you have to push further.

There are lights twinkling in the distance. Slowly, more flickered on until every window is illuminated, and you realize you are standing at the end of a path leading up to a great manor.

“Maybe someone will let us shelter there.” You chatter through your breaths as the cold seeps beyond your bones and into your soul.

The gates open as you approach, but you’re so cold you pay the phenomenon no notice. The path turns to cobblestones and moss as you get closer to the manor. Your eyes cross, then go blurry. There is a halo around the lights in the windows, and as you reach the front doors you sag in the saddle.  The front doors open as you step down from the horse. There is a figure standing in the bright light of the doorway, but you collapse before you can ask for help.

You dream of those two crows at your window. They fly above your head in a pink-and-orange sky. Grass brushes up against your cheek, and you can hear your father reciting passages from his bible. You reach your hand up to the sky and see a large diamond upon your finger. Your hand drops onto your face, and that is when you wake.

Stretching under fine sheets and squeezing your toes until they pop, you let the pillows under your head billow up and graze your cheeks. You gaze up at the painted ceiling, depicting scenery of angels and bluebirds, fluffy clouds, and a dark night sky beyond them.

Sitting up, you smooth your palm over the sky blue and pink duvet resting on top of you. The rest of the room matches the ceiling and bed, all pale blues, soft pinks, and delicate lavenders. At the farthest end, a huge white fireplace blazes. Beside it, sticking out like a sore thumb, is a man clad all in black sitting in a pink-upholstered chair.

You stay silent, used to holding your breath until your step-family passes by or grows bored waiting for you to cry. The man looks quite big, and has long white hair tied back into a braid. He’s holding your father’s bible in his lap, and as your eyes fall on it you gasp.

His head lifts up. “Are you awake?”

Your heart throbs in the back of your throat, making you want to choke.

The man closes the bible and stands, taking a cane into his hand. “If you’re awake, I’ll send for the hearty breakfast I have prepared for you. My chef makes the best pancakes you could imagine.” He places his cane before him, tapping the ground in search of something. His face is covered by a mask. The dark metal is formed into a face, but it has no eyes. Vines and flowers are carved into the places where the eyeholes would be. You realize he is perhaps blind.

“Where’s my horse?” Your voice cracks.

“He is being taken care of in my stable. He has plenty of food and water there, and he will be kept warm and comfortable.” The man steps closer, and when his cane hits the bed he turns slightly. He is so tall you have to crane your neck up to see him. He looks stout, with big shoulders and arms and a broad middle. He appears to be quite comfortable with his life.

“Who are you?” you ask, pulling the blanket towards your chin.

He gives a slight bow. “I am Baron Marchosias.” His deep voice is gentle. “Judging from your luggage, my staff assured me you were a lady of fine standing.”

You frown and stay silent. The Baron tilts his head, as if trying to listen better. “You’re free to stay here as long as you need. From the looks of things, it appears you were running away from something.”

You look away from him. “My lady, are you all right?” His voice is saturated in concern. “If there is someone trying to hurt you, you can tell me.”

“I’ll leave when the storm passes,” you whisper. “You won’t need to worry about me for long, I promise.”

Marchosias sighs heavily. “I am afraid I can’t permit that. I will not stop you from whatever it is you wish to do. All I ask is you have a warm meal and rest before you do it. One of my maids said you looked extremely thin.”

You press your lips into a firm line. “I am fine.”

“I will have your food sent up to you,” he says. “Eat whatever you like.” His cane taps out before him again as he leaves.

Moments later, the doors open and a cheerful woman comes into the room with a trolley. “Good to see you awake, Miss. Come, come.” She pushes the cart over to the table near the fire and sets out dishes and a tray, then pours something from a steaming kettle into a cup. You stand from the bed and cautiously approach. She almost looks like your mother, short and plump, the exact opposite of your stepmother. The woman smiles while she serves, and beams at you as you approach. “Come, sit. I’ve made a lovely meal for you.”

She places a cloth napkin in your lap when you sit, then removes the covers from the trays. “Pancakes, bacon, custard, whatever your heart desires. I hope it pleases you!”

Your mouth waters at the sight of the food. Back home, you only got what was left over, even though you were the one who had made all of it. “Are you sure?” you ask cautiously.

“Of course!” She moves beside you and begins piling your plate. “Eat until you’re content, then eat some more.” Her smile is warm and infectious.

You smile at her, although you feel uneasy. “What is your name?”

“You can call me Mrs. Pompoen,” she says. “The Baron told us to take special care of you. It’s not often that lovely girls pay him a visit,” she chortles.

You furrow your brow a bit as you reach for a fork. “Who is the baron?”

Mrs. Pompoen pours melted butter over your pancakes. “He’s a good man,” she says softly. “Just a bit too shy for his own good. After he had a falling-out with his family, there was an accident, and he’s largely withdrawn from the world.”

“He is blind, then?” You wonder why, then, he was holding your father’s bible.

“As blind as three mice!” Mrs. Pompoen looks over your heaping plate proudly. “I’ll let you eat then, Miss. I’ll come check back on you in a moment.”

You sit alone with all the food you could dream of. Slowly, you begin to eat, taking small bites of the delicious food. The bites become bigger, and soon you are using your fingers to eat. It’s been so long since you ate your fill that you get a bit sick after eating so much. Mrs. Pompoen returns and gathers up remains as you sit before the fire, feeling like an overstuffed goose bursting apart in the stove.

“Did you enjoy my food, Miss?” Mrs. Pompoen asks.

“Very much so, ma’am.” You place your hands over your belly. “I’m afraid I made myself sick doing so.”

“Then let me go and fetch you some ginger,” she says. “It’ll make you feel right as rain.”

You glance at the curtains. “Speaking of rain, is it still storming out?”

“A right gully-washer.” Mrs. Pompoen clicks her tongue. “Not in a hurry, are you?”

You sink into your seat. “Not anymore, I suppose.”

Mrs. Pompoen places everything onto the trolley to take it away. “The Baron wishes to have supper with you this evening.”

You hold your breath. “He doesn’t need to concern himself.”

“Might I make a small plea on his behalf?” she says gently. “Miss, I know the Baron is quite an imposing figure, and to a tiny lady like you he must be terrifying. He is gentle though, and so kind. Over the years I have watched him create a shell around himself. He is lonely, and also a wonderful dancer.”

You turn back to Mrs. Pompoen. “A dancer?”

She nods. “Even blind, he dances like an angel.”

“I will think about it.” You look back to the warm fire. “Right now, I am too full to even consider another meal.”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll go and fetch that ginger for you now.” She leaves the room, and you curl up your legs under yourself.

You decide to have dinner with Baron Marchosias that evening, although you accept because of Mrs. Pompoen’s plea rather than your own desire. In the dining room, he is waiting at a table crowded with food and candles. He is dressed all in black again, and his long white hair is braided and wrapped into a bun at the back of his head. He stands as you approach, using the table to guide himself to your chair and pull it out. “I am so glad you agreed to attend, my lady.”

You sit down and he pushes your chair again. “You saved me from the storm. I am grateful, sir.”

“Call me March,” he says. “Now, I know there is a decanter nearby. If you’d like, help yourself to the wine.”

The crystal decanter is right in front of you, filled with fruits and dark wine. You pour a small glass for yourself. “Your glass is empty. Would you like some?”

He lifts his chin. “I am not eating this evening, my lady. I am merely enjoying your company.”

“Oh.” You sit back down. “I thought you would take the mask off. I am sorry.”

He cups his hand over the mask. “Don’t apologize. As far as I know, we are strangers, and it takes me a while to want to remove my mask for even friends.”

There were times you wanted a mask in your home. That way, your step-mother could not see you crying, and could not mock you for your tears.

“So tell me, fine lady, how can we move beyond being strangers?” He waves his large hand.

“I am not certain I am someone you would want to know, sir.” You look at the food spread out before you, and with a cautious hand you take a spoonful of potatoes and put them on your plate. “I do not wish to be a burden.”

“I would never consider such a thing.”

You place gravy over the potatoes. “Mrs. Pompoen speaks very highly of you,” you say to change the conversation.

“I speak even higher of her!” Marchosias chuckles. “She is a dear friend, and I would be dead without her.”

You look around the massive dining room. “Do you entertain a lot of people here?”

“A handful,” he murmurs. “I tend to find reasons not to have many here.”

“I won’t stay long,” you offer.

He shakes his head. “You may stay as long as you need. I told you before, if you are running from danger, I will protect you.”

You’re afraid to eat too much again. You enjoy your time with Marchosias though, and afterwards, you go to bed. The next day it is still raining, so you settle in for staying another day. He invites you to dinner again that evening, and you take more food onto your plate.

The next day the world is covered in ice, so you stay again. You have dinner with Marchosias again that evening, and you eat more than the day before. You even share a laugh and a few stories with him as well.

Snow comes and buries the land in an endless sea of white, and you realize there is no leaving until spring comes to melt the cold away. You decide it is best you stay until then, under the protection of Marchosias and Mrs. Pompoen. As days go by, you see less and less of your bones, although you’re still quite thin. You’re better able to fit into your mother’s old dresses, and one night, you wear one to dinner with Marchosias.

“It is snowing again,” you say as you glance out the window.

Marchosias sighs dreamily. “Tell me what it looks like. Describe the snow to me.”

“I’m not sure how,” you murmur. “But  let me try.” You grip your skirt under the table. “The snowflakes look like stars slowly drifting down from the sky. They make a forest through the air, and when they land on the ground they become a blanket of white. The trees, the statues, all of your garden is nothing but thick white down.”

He sighs heavily, and you hear a sob in his throat.

“March?” you ask in concern. “Is everything all right?”

He chuckles. “Fine lady, I am all right.” He sits erect in his chair. “Your lovely words touched me, that is all.”

You smile at him. “I’m glad. I owe you so much for all the care you’ve given to me during my stay.”

“I would give you much more. I have enjoyed you and your company much more than I could express.” He lays his hands on the tabletop. “You’ve brought light back into my heart.”

You look across the room, then back to him. “When I first arrived here, Mrs. Pompoen told me something about you that I have yet to see or believe.”

He chuckles softly. “That is terrifying. She knows all my secrets. Which one could it possibly be?”

You smile. “She told me you were a fantastic dancer.”

He laughs and nods. “Although it has been so long ago I last danced.”

Standing from your seat, you walk over to Marchosias and take his hand. “I would like to dance with you.”

“Oh,” he says breathlessly. “Well, I cannot turn that down.” He stands, towering over you, then takes your hand and walks out onto the floor. There is no music, but as he places his hand about your waist, a tune begins to lilt through the air. The more you move, the louder the music becomes. Marchosias spins you around, guiding you in dances you have never done before. He scoops you off the floor and makes you float. You barely acknowledge the hours flying by, until you realize how exhausted you are once your feet touch ground again.

“I have not done that in so long,” Marchosias laughs. “You truly made my night have meaning, my lady, and for that I owe you a debt.”

“You owe me nothing, March,” you chuckle. “I enjoyed it as well! You really are a wonderful dancer.” You take his hand and kiss the center of his palm.

Marchosias flinches, nearly pulling his hand away. He softly cups your cheek. “Be careful. More of that and I will truly be in love with you.”

Your heart flutters. “Why Baron!”

His thumb presses to your lips. He leans down, and the cold metal of his mask touches your ear.  “I mean it. I will love you and I will steal you away forever. Come spring, you can leave.” He takes his hand away.

You hold your breath. “Do you want me to leave?”

Marchosias shakes his head and bows it. “No. Of course not. That is not my decision to make, it is yours.”

“I have nowhere to go,” you say weakly. “I don’t know where I was running to before. I would like to stay here if I am not a bother to you.”

He is still and quiet for a moment. “Then, fine lady, there is one last thing I must do this evening.” He extends his hand to you. “Come with me.”

You take his hand and follow him down a long corridor. Candles flicker on as you go, but it remains quite dark. You stop before a large black door and Marchosias stands before you, taking hold of both your hands. “I want to show you who I am,” he says warningly. “Whatever reaction you have, I will understand and I will accept your judgement.”

Fear gnaws at your belly. “You are frightening me.”

He holds your hands tenderly. “I know, and I apologize.” The doors open and he leads you inside. The room is dark and cold until the fireplace ignites. Marchosias then stands before it and kneels as you approach. “Take off my mask, my lady,” his voice trembles.

You reach around his head, untying the ribbons. The fire sizzles and pops as you take the mask into your hands. “It’s so much heavier than it looks.” You struggle to pull it away. As you do, his hair comes down, cascading around his face and shoulders. He doubles over, pressing his face into the floor, where he cowers in fear.

“March?” you whimper. “What’s wrong?”

His body looks strange, having changed shape while he cowered. His long white hair grows down in a ridge along his back, stopping short at a long, scaly tail that slowly uncoils behind him. Your voice catches in your throat, and you step away from him. “March? March, what’s wrong?” You tremble behind the hands you clasp around your mouth.

He sobs, his whole body shivering. “I am glad I am blind,” he whispers, “so I cannot see your eyes.” He lifts his head, and his eyes are pure white, scarred over and sunken. There are scars covering his entire face, and the corners of his mouth look stitched together. Jagged shapes jut from his forehead and behind his ears, which are pointed like a wolf’s. He clasps his hands around his face while tears pour from his eyes. “I am no man, as you can see. I am but a demon.”

You slowly fall to your knees and gaze at him. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No,” he whispers. “I would never hurt you. I cannot. I am...” He  holds his palms out to you. “I am far too broken to harm anyone.”

You hold your breath, hoping he will not hear you. You want to run and hide away, but your legs will not move.

“Should I call Mrs. Pompoen for you?”

You shake your head. “No,” you manage to say. “No.” You look back at him, his large body and his strange form. You blink tears from your eyes. “Are you in pain?” you whimper.

“If you are frightened of me, my lady, you can leave.” he whispers. “You do not need to force yourself to stay if you...”

You jump up and run, heading towards the doors and bolting. You’re halfway down the corridor when you stop. You’re breathing hard, and the sound echoes off the walls. You’re missing a shoe, and it must have fallen off in his room. Turning back, you look at the door you left, then slowly you tiptoe back and peer through the door. You see Marchosias putting his mask back on, standing there as the fire goes out. In his hand is your slipper. You open the door wide and he stiffens, turning around in alarm. You close the door behind you and lean upon it.

“You dropped your shoe,” he says softly.

You approach him with your breath held. You touch his hand, placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“Sit down.” His voice breaks. “I’ll put it back on.”

You sit down and help guide him. “I’d rather you take the other one off, please.” Your voice comes out quietly in the darkness.

“If you wish it.” Marchosias removes your other slipper. His warm hand holds your foot tenderly.

You throw your arms around him, embracing him tightly. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, no.” He holds you in return. “I understand.”

“It wasn’t right! You bared your soul to me and I wanted to run from it.” You cling to him, holding him as tightly as your arms will allow. “You have shown me nothing but kindness, and I should be strong and give it to you too.” You kiss the lips of the mask, pulling it away and tossing it aside so you can kiss his lips. They are soft, marred with hard scars. His hands tremble, and you can taste the tears on his kiss.

“Come spring, I will stay,” you whisper. “Come summer, I will be yours. Come fall our bed will be warm so that next winter we will never cry again.”

He whimpers and buries his face into your neck, strong, thick arms holding you tight. “My lady, I am yours now. If you accept me I will always be, no matter the weather. I will remove your shoes and put them on. I only ask you to describe to me the morning when it comes.”

“Is that all?” you whisper through tears. “Is there not more I could do to apologize?”

He kisses your cheek. “I want your touch, but I dare not ask for that.”

You meet his kiss, slowly moving your hands until they are on his chest. “Ask,” you breathe. “Ask me for everything. I owe you. I desperately want to make it up to you.”

Marchosias chuckles softly. “My love, I dare not.”

You cup his face between your hands. “Dare.”

He shudders and drags his hands down your body. “May I undress you?”

“Of course.” You whisper. “But be careful, this was my mother’s.”

Marchosias holds his breath, carefully undoing your gown. He removes all the layers, slowly, carefully. With some effort he loosens your corset and as he touches bare skin he whimpers. He plants soft kisses down your skin, gliding his tongue between your small breasts.

“My knees are weak,” you murmur. “Let's go to the bed.” You crawl onto his bed and have him lie down. You kiss him softly, breathing into his ear as you remove his clothes for him. You touch his barreled chest and thick middle. His skin is bleached pale, but it is soft all over, with thick white hair covering his chest. “I do not know where you will touch,” he shivers. “The thought of it is driving me wild.”

You kiss his neck and he sighs, sucking breath between his teeth. “You’re so big. There is so much to touch.” You help him out of his shirt and press against him.

“You feel so small, so delicate.” His big hand cups your bottom. “I fear my touch will shatter you. But you’re the one ripping me apart at the seams.”

“I would do no such thing.” You kiss down his chest, then his arm. You lick and suckle his fingertips.

Marchosias is losing his breath. “My love, keep going. Keep touching me however you want.”

You crawl on top of him again, biting his nipple as you wrap your hand around his throat. He groans in ecstasy, his mouth open wide so you can see his sharp teeth and long red tongue. You press your fingers onto it, and he chokes slightly. Kissing down his chest, you undo the laces of his britches. “Easy now, my love,” Marchosias breathes. “You do not have to push the boundaries tonight.”

“The boundaries are gone, March. I cannot stop now.”

He lies back, placing his arms above his head. He remains silent, breathing deeply as you finish undoing the laces. You pull his pants down, finding him hard. “Oh my,” you whisper.

His hips fidget, both cocks flaring out and throbbing before you.

“I have barely seen one.” You take a shaft into your hand and he whimpers. “Let alone two.” You hold one in each palm as you try to think of what to do.

Marchosias has his hands pressed over his face. “I can feel too much!” he cries. “Oh, my love, be gentle with me.”

Your pulse is high, and your nerves are shot. You take the tip of one into your mouth, sucking him until his back arches off the bed. He whimpers pitifully, but it only sounds like he is begging for more. You take turns between each shaft, sucking one while stroking the other. For some reason, this brings you great pleasure, and his moans almost make you feel powerful.

“I can’t hold on!” He throws his whole body back and pulls from you, curling himself into a ball. “If you touch me more, I will die,” he pants.

You stroke your hand up his side, kissing as you go. You moan into his ear as he untenses. “Would touching me make you feel better?”

You take his hand, guiding it over your body. His fingers find you wet and warm. He takes his tongue and buries it inside you, moaning against you as you sit upon his face. Grasping the headboard, you hold your breath in anticipation. Behind you, the sun is rising, filling the room with an orange hue.

Marchosias’s tongue buries itself deep while the bridge of his nose rubs against the most sensitive place outside. The sun continues to rise, and as the heat of it crawls up your back, your legs grow weak, your thighs tighten, and Marchosias licks from you a deep, heated sensation. Below, his belly is coated from two streams of his seed, which shimmer pink in the sunlight. You breathe hard as you lay beside him, snuggled against his warm, soft body.

“Is it morning?” he whispers. His foggy eyes gaze beyond the window.

“The sun is pink,” you whisper. “The snow looks like sherbert spread out for miles.” You kiss his fingers as they dot over your lips. “But all I can look at is you.”

Marchosias kisses you softly. “Did I please you?”

“You did,” you whisper. “Maybe tonight I will not be so overwhelmed by your gifts.”

“You will always overwhelm me,” he kisses your cheek and ear. “I hold no hope of growing used to you. Oh, you’re shivering. Are you cold?”

You shake your head. “You made me weak. But warmed me just the same.”