Chapter Text
His skin’s hot. His claws are sharp. His hands, so big, could easily snap you in two without even a second thought or any hesitation. But, he’s gentle. He’s gentle as he runs his fingers over your belly and hips and shoulders, those claws scraping just slightly and leaving pink lines along your skin, and it feels right. Those teeth of his, they scratch as well, when he places open mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulders, nails scratching light and slow along your bare thighs. It feels nice, almost homey. You sigh as he bites down softly on your shoulder, never wanting to hurt, and your head falls back onto his chest.
He looks down at you, blinks those many eyes, and smiles. It’s literally ear to ear, and those teeth glimmer, sharp and bright, in the light of the lamp. You smile back, arching just slightly to sneak a kiss to the soft and sensitive skin under his jaw. He squirms against you and lets out a chuffing laugh, the one you adore, and that gains him another kiss to his jaw. The smooth, hot skin under you is like a safety blanket in your mind, shielding you from the world outside. You shift out of his lap, move to the middle of the living room, and announce you’re making a fort.
An hour later and you’re curled in his lap, arms around his neck as you watch a movie in your fort. There’s soft light filtering in from the fairy lights he had hung up, and his many eyes take in the sight of you in the light and the movie at the same time. There’s no noise to your movie, you had muted it the moment it interrupted your peaceful quiet, and he wouldn’t have it another way. Some of his eyes close, a type of rest for him, and you cuddle closer into his warm embrace.
It’s quiet, and you feel at peace. He does too.
On the nights when the ache in your chest is too big, too needy, you find it hard to breathe. He sleeps in a separate room on these nights, wanting you to have space, but you find him and wake him with soft sobs. All of those eyes are on your again and his hands are soft as he cups your cheeks and licks your tears away. His lips brush over your forehead, murmuring in his ancient tongue. They’re terms of endearment, encouragement, and you understand his words even without his translations. He hold you, all night, and murmurs.
When the aching stills and your heart and soul are no longer screaming, he’s still there. He’s still holding you, many eyes watching every reaction of yours, and his arms curl around you. Muscled but thin arms, four of them now, and they’re warm as a cup of hot chocolate. It calms your hurt, and he lets you curl in his lap, the curve of your spine under his hands with four too many fingers. His murmurs begin anew, then turn into a soft song, one he had known for eons and decades and millennia, only sharing it on these nights.
It’s calming, and helps you sleep. It’s quiet again, and you’re at peace.
He finds solace in your peace.
In the mornings, he is still holding you, but with not an inch of space between you. He’s afraid of you leaving, and becomes an octopus during the night. He knows you wouldn’t.
Even monsters are afraid sometimes.
You wake after him, and find those eyes staring at you, the deep reds and bright golds and forest greens seeming to brighten when you blink up at him sleepily. He steals a kiss, not minding your breath isn’t the best in the mornings. You reach for water and he gives the bottle to you, watching intently as you swallow down almost a quarter. He reaches out, large hand around your throat and resting softly on your skin. Those claws also press to your skin, and his other hands run slowly down your chest and back, mapping your internal workings.
Humans always fascinated him, and you were the best to observe in his mind. You bring up breakfast and he shrugs before stealing another five kisses, tongue pressing in just a bit past your lips and licking into you. It brings a flush to your cheeks, your fingers digging into his sharp shoulders, and he lets out a laugh, deep and rich. You huff against his tongue, landing a light smack to his shoulder, and one hand of his returns the light smack to your thigh as a smile forms against your mouth.
You stay in bed that morning. He brings you breakfast and has his way with you, letting you do the same after lunch. He has you for dinner.
It’s quiet at night when you go to bed. He holds you, just like always, and you feel at home and safe.
There are days when you go out without him, days when you’re free to do things by yourself, but the connection between you and your monster is soul deep and he feels the things you do. When you’re happy, he sends a sharp smile through the link and you beam even more, the thought making your cheeks hurt at the huge smile he wears.
When you’re afraid, he barely hesitates before he comes to your side. One wrong touch by a man that had been following you and your monster is with you, in his human form with his dark hair and his red and green eyes and too blunt teeth. His canines keep their sharpness, and you cling to him as he stands there and stares the man down. He walks you home before pressing a kiss to your cheek and shutting off himself from the soul bond for an hour or two.
He comes home smelling of blood and death and dirty deeds done in hidden alleys. His claws carry bits of flesh and muscle of the man who had frightened you so much, and you feel a deep love for him. A love so deep that you press a soft kiss to his blood soaked mouth, and lead him into the bathroom. At irregular intervals, his many eyes blink as he watches you clean off his claws and patch the tips of his feet, the small circles seemingly impossible to carry him. You press kisses to his skin, nuzzling his neck, and he silently begs you to join him.
The tub’s barely big enough to fit you both, but you make it work, and curl up between his legs, chin on his chest as you watch his many eyes blink and he thinks silently. He’s clean, but you still run the wash cloth over his warm skin, and he hums his soft thanks. He carries you out of the bath, drying you with gentle hands, and offers his chest to you to cuddle up to him.
His nails dig into your hip a bit, the sharp pain making your breath hitch, and he lets his tongue run over your chin and cheeks as he scratches a symbol onto your hip. It’s a claiming mark, making you his own, and your heart races at the knowledge. He lifts you up, cuts his thumb with his own claw, and drips some blood into the symbol. It flashes and sears into your skin before he licks over it, and nuzzles his mouth between your thighs.
When he’s done, he rumbles happily in little purrs, one hand resting on your back as you sprawl on his chest, and he explains the marking. You were his, body and soul, and that mark would show anyone that truth. Once the daylight came, he would allow you to make a mark similar to the one on your hip in his own skin.
It’s quiet after you say your good nights, and after you mark him, his fears slip away.
You wouldn’t leave, and now he knew it.