#Feaster x reader

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hear. Me. Out.

Lord of calamity pls. "You belong to me now" prompt with reader who's also part of the COA squad (the survivors) pls?

Hear what? Im in his dms. Im licking his tentacles. Im fucking the outer hp lovecraftian god, anon. Im built different lolol hastur is my wife and i love him to pieces

Rated T | Warning: Lovecraftian themed

Perhaps it is too much to ask of humanity to not embrace the false bliss from the creature who is killing the world, but can you blame them? The pain, the loss, it chips at the soul until there are only shards at the feet of this… Thing. The whispers call it Lord Of Calamity, you find it strange it has a name. If Luchino was… If the professor was here, he would hypothesize this creature has been here before. That is the only reason it has such a grim name.

You fear the others are lost to you. Frederick may not be a pod like the others but he talks nonsense as he seems to offer the thing worship— Praise!

You only escaped the pod because… You are not sure actually. One moment you were in paradise, everything you could ever want but you… You saw through the lies. The deceit and it made you angry.

Humans, like animals, can react violently when there is no way to escape. A fight or flight response but you could only fight. In that paradise you killed someone, then another person, more and more until you woke up screaming and crawling at the pod.

Maskless, your clothing is slimy, and parts of it appear to have been started to be eaten at. You stand by Frederick up at the creature.

It is like looking into the abyss.

And soon the abyss looks back at you.

“Fascinating,” You turn around to see the creature now standing not far from you, it made a version of itself to speak directly with you. “Not many of your kind can escape serenity. This one is curious, was it not to your liking?” Polite.

“My liking?” You stand defensive with one foot in front of you and hands making fists, “That was not real!”

“It is as real as you wish it to be. A paradise of your own making. Were you not satisfied?”

“Paradise is not created from a lie.”

“This one has seen humanity prove otherwise.”

What are you supposed to say? Are you supposed to defend humanity with a battle of words? Which you try to do with everything you have but this creature counters every one of your statements. At one point you fear you might believe that humanity has become a blight upon this earth— No! You shake your head and then look around you, you refuse to let that numb feeling of hopelessness get to you.

“You wish this one harm.”

“I wish to leave.” Looking back at the creature. You move slightly to the side and a tendril from the ground wraps itself around your ankle locking you in place. A tug or two and you glare at the creature.

“This one tries to grant you a painless death. Suffering gives this one no pleasure. A mercy humanity is ill-deserving of.”

You look away then look up at it as it slips close to you suddenly, “Lord of Calamity, have you done this before?”

It is quiet, its hand reaching out to touch your face even though you try moving your head away, “At the pinnacle of your species, this one will consume all. A few will live, chosen by natural selection. The one called Frederick shall be my voice. The one called Luchino will be my enforcer.” The creature is laying out its plans. “The others have no use to me. They may enjoy bliss until they perish.”

“You bastard.” Grimacing at the way the fungal tendril maps out your face. A smooth slime trail and you struggle as more tendrils appear from under you grabbing you.

“This one has not seen your type in many of its lives. Few are granted omniscience, your kind is showing growth between each annihilation and rebirth.”

“What are you talking about?! Let me go!” Fighting your damndest to get out of its hold.

“A birth of a God. A fledgling one but a God nonetheless. You shall create a new world.” So matter of fact, “You belong to this one, fledgling. Once you have matured, you will provide companionship to this one.”

You feel yourself being pulled down like before back into a pod, you scream at it.

“Rest. Dream. Envision the world you will create.”

[oletus-writer]

may i request hastur breeding kink hcs? >.<

-monsterfucker anon >:)

Bro you are thirstyyyy (I don’t really understand breeding kinks so this is definitely a bit bad. Anything for you monsterfucker anon. We monsterfuckers have to stick together!!)

Hastur breeding kink headcannons

Warnings: nsfw, weird god shit, I don’t know how to write breeding kinks

If you have read Lovecraft at all, specifically The Dunwich Horror, then you would know that it is possible for a god to mate with a mortal and have children, although it is a bad idea. Hastur, seeing his father’s half-god offspring, does not particularly like the idea of raising children with a mortal, but he can’t deny the prospect of filling you up with his cum isn’t attractive.

It should be safe, in terms of stds and stis, as I don’t believe gods would have them, but make sure to take contraception as Hastur would scoop up the cum that is leaking from your hole and stuff it back in.

Regardless of whether or not you have a uterus, he would fantasise about getting you pregnant and seeing how the mortal body changes through the terms, as those of gods do not change as much.

[smittenroses]

Hiii

If you have time could you write Hastur comforting (or helping in his own strange way, he's still an eldritch god lol) overstimulated reader.

Sensory overload has been kicking my ass recently </3

Your work makes me so happy, and motivated me to start learning how to write in my free time

— To Be Human

ask box open | commissions open | hit the tip jar | Patreon

Fandom — Identity V Pairing — Feaster | Hastur/reader (suggest this takes place in the same universe as the Mouse and the Cats) Summary — Hastur's knowledge of humans is still lacking. You constantly confuse him — he adores that. Content Warnings — mentions of Hastur eating people Word Count — 532 words Author's note — when I got this in my inbox my heart bloody melted, nonnie. To be the person that motivates you to learn how to write is such an honor and I do hope to be able to read your stuff sometime in the future 💕

Endless knowledge, endless power, and yet Hastur always found himself to be confused by you. So tiny, so frail against his mighty form, one that you had grown close to despite the knowledge he had feasted on mortals, feasted on the innocent and guilty alike, yet you always sought comfort in his endless robes.

“For what does my most devote follower need?” He asked one day as he felt your presence against the back of his robe, feeling the way your arms came to wrap around the vast colours of soiled yellows and whites of his sins, your face pressed against the fabric that smelt of the sea. When you did not reply, he allowed his body to shift ever so slightly to look down at you, seeing the way your hands trembled and shook. Though his form of slightly involved his body contorting in inhuman ways, his spine audibly growing and shaping in order to allow him to commit the impossible.

Like a rabbit or sheep ready for the dinner table, your soul smelled divine to him as the two of you stood in the manor’s library.

“I cannot aid you unless you speak up, mouse.” His hand came to cup itself under your chin, raising your face away from his clothes, tentacles appearing from the abyss to slowly stroke at your legs. “Ah, have you been crying, little one?” He muttered, his thumb coming to caress your cheek. “I can smell your sadness,” he muttered softly, even if his voice may boom like the mountains in your mind, “who did this to you?” To make a devotee cry, to sadden the one thing that did not fear him besides the snake wrench that wandered the halls, it was a notch on his soul, one that fanned the embers of rage that constantly welled in his heart.

“No one…” You finally muttered, your words soft and meek in reply, “the world is just too loud, lord.”

“Too loud?” he questioned as you buried your face back into his robes, escaping the merciful touch of the Lord in Yellow as you weeped. “What thing do I have to silence to bring you peace?” For you, he would send any animal, person, god to the abyss, to the eternal silence and madness that was where he crept, but yet your fingers clenched tighter on his cloak and he knew all at once something that made his soul ache and burn.

This was not something he could squash with the weight of madness. He could not even grasp it in his feeble hands. “Talk to me, dear mouse. What is it that makes you cry so?” As you began to talk about the sound of the wind in the trees, the texture of food you dislike, the feeling of cuts and bruises on your skin that would not fade; it all overwhelmed you so, caused for your mind to whirl and your senses to increase.

“Stay for as long as you need, mouse.”

Wrapping the edges of his coat around your shoulders, he did not let you leave until your heaves softened and your eyes dried, you were his most devoted follower after all.

[corruptedroses]

Hiii!!

If you feel comfortable doing so, could you write nsfw Hastur hcs or kinks that you can think of? <3

Fandom — Identity V Pairing — Feaster | Hastur/reader Content Warnings — mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy kink, public sex, mind break Author's note — ooo Hastur, probably one of my fav hunters lore wise, thank you for sending in the ask nonnie! Trying a new format with these so hope you don't mind.

As an Eldritch god, Hastur probably is into worshipping, with him the one receiving; he's a god, you're a mortal, and even if he adores you he will visually become more aroused if you worship him and his power. Making comments like "you're so powerful" and "you're so big" fuels his ego. Same with Size kink, you're so small against him that he cannot help but want to see you overflowing with him.

On the topic of being overfilled, he probably really enjoys the concept of breeding you, even if you cannot get pregnant (then again, he's an eldritch god so anything is possible) he will want to fuck you so full that you're spilling his seed from every hole. If you can get pregnant, even better; the human body fascinates him, but the fact that his seed took to your womb?

He will want to keep you full.

Probably into Exhibitionism due to the fact he'd want to show you off, show others what they're not able to have because he has you, his perfect little cum dump for his abominations, for his spawn. Probably would fuck you in front of a cult if it meant showing off his power.

Tentacles are a given at this point, he'd want to see you tangled up in them, being fucked by them, gagging on them; he can feel all of them since they're still an extension of himself so it's most likely you'll be in them more often than on your back.

Mind-breaking probably is a HUGE kink of his, especially since one look at his actual form may drive you insane, but the concept of breaking your mind, making you so dependent on him gets his libido going and he loves it. Do not actually do this with him or show that you're interested, you will lose all sense of identity.

There are more things he's probably into, but they probably would break the human mind...

[literate-bitch-boy]

Why are we lewding everything but identity v’s human design for hastur?? Like I see people lewding classic lit authors (mood) and Gabriel (real) but no human hastur?? He’s so hot and guyfailure what do you want for me??

[callimaria]

hastur x reader fluff jwleneloew

ancient…. cephalopod…….. in parking lot…. he stole my parking spot

warnings: none

characters: hastur

how on earth did you ever manage to catch the eye of an all-knowing god?

through your “intriguing” decisions in life, of course.

it all started, perhaps, about a week ago—you had crawled out of bed and your room into the kitchen, slinking around as silently as you could—where you accidentally burnt your toast. you shrugged it off, barely awake at the time, and then mistook marmite for a different spread.

you ate a half-blackened piece of toast with marmite slathered onto it, and you ate it all happily; though, you had no clue you were being watched.

the feaster had been nearby the entire time, choosing to not spend and bide his time inside his given room, and he had watched the whole thing.

and then came the second night, where your subconscious willed you awake, and you managed to walk into a lounging room instead of the kitchen. you shrugged that off too, and sat on a rug, staring straight into a potted plant as if it held the secrets of the universe.

the one that did hold the secrets of the universe was conveniently sitting in an armchair, however, intrigued by how dazed you were. he chose to leave his room once more, having predicted you’d go somewhere during the night.

that doctor seemed to know about your night walks—she just happened to not notice the shadow in the corner after all.

his hand reached out, transforming into a tentacle as it neared your face, simply hanging there. your head slowly turned, and still very much in a daze, you bit it.

hmm.

💗

you woke up a bit early, gaining a little bit of free time before you’d have to go down for breakfast. as you sat on your bed, you vaguely remembered wandering off last night, and then the feeling of biting something squishy.

it was really weird if you thought about it—you had to contemplate the possibilities of it being a fever dream, but then you realized you were not sick at all.

huh.

you then pondered telling emily, before you heard the gardener knock on your door, asking if you’d accompany her to breakfast.

💗

the moment a teammate—ah, what was her name? ver.. something—was knocked down, you were at 3 ciphers left.

it was fine, quite decent, except you were worried; your last match with this hunter hadn’t gone too well, as you bit him several times in retaliation when you were caught, and the match ended sourly.

the hunter? hastur, the feaster, the one you personally didn’t like going against—and the one you were now going against.

💗

one down, and then another, and then the mercenary had to tell you to give up on him; now, it was just you left, left in a panic because just as you found the dungeon, it switched locations.

and right as it disappeared, hastur turned around the corner.

despite what you thought was your end, he simply stood there.

right, you forgot. you didn’t like going against the hunter at all, and you were very prone to biting him, but there was an odd dynamic between the two of you.

it all started with small offerings of things you thought you were nice—funnily shaped pebbles and stones you found, whatever you collected outside, they were simply in a pile in front of his door (did you ever really venture into the hunter’s side of the manor? no, but you managed to bribe that little axe boy with candy. he enjoyed candy, and you just let him be.)

you thought nothing of those offerings, and kept sending them to his door. the only reason you disregarded them was because you figured, as an almighty ancient being he was, he’d have had much larger and more important offerings and sacrifices.

who would care about a four leaf clover you had painstakingly found? apparently hastur, as he gave his thanks one day as you were chaired and half-conscious.

you felt embarrassed thinking about it now, feeling like some weird person; you didn’t even notice a hand ruffling your hair and a gravelly voice speaking to you.

“what you recognize as ‘right’ is interesting to a servant of god,” he said, leaving you confused as his hand lingered for just a second, an unmistakable warmth spreading from your head to the rest of your body.

the hunter then turned a blind eye, purposely leaving the other way for you to find the dungeon once more.

“am i.. supposed to keep giving you things?” you mumbled, squinting as you placed your hand on your head, feeling the warmth before beginning to walk.

you always thought that, because he was an octopus-man, and because of his hood, that hastur would be really cold to the touch.

LISTEN LISTEN IF YOU SQUINT YOU CAN SEE THE FLUFF, YOU CAN SENSE IT, IT’S HIDDEN BETWEEN THE LINES

i’m also sorry it couldn’t be more obvious i snooped thru his wiki and even took notes and i was like “🧍🏻‍♀️how am i gonna make this believable”

i think i did ok tho, i like this; also shame on thee for bribing robbie w candy (no this is a joke)

[ms0milk]

𝟖 | 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You do flinch though, when the prince parts your legs with his hips at the lip of the counter to be this much closer and tilts your face up with that same oddly soft hold from before, a thumb and forefinger balancing your chin where he wants you."

cw (I) bkg mom mode activate, reader attempts murder at a dinner party, super brief paranoia sequence. (II) accidentally suggestive wound-tending, a completely reasonable misunderstanding + bkg is momentarily horrified by what you think of him. 5.7k.

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It's akin to murder in Aldera, killing an ant or fly or caterpillar– to not move worms off the path after a rainstorm. Your home is love.

The little Todoroki Prince is delicate like his mother and his kingdom, like his older brother and sister seated beside him, pale and silent, but as he sits down to eat he crushes a spider making home between the candles and sweeps its body off the table without thought.

It’s a nagging dread across your cheeks, it’s the prickle of a thousand invisible whiskers towards the danger in the corners of this bustling room of feast. Something is wrong with Takoba. The Todorokis are quiet and unpleasant, sure, but something else– someone– shouldn’t be here.

“Y/n?”

Your head tilts to Kirishima sitting at the table in front of you when his low voice cuts through the clamor.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm.”

He smiles as if to say just checking, and pours himself back into his meal and a conversation between friends.

Is Takoba truly so wealthy that they can hire pleasant crowds on demand? Where did all these happy feasters come from? Where do the wicked crows from the throne room roost? The sparkling white hall where you’re stationed this evening bathes in dusk and endless candlelight, music, fine dancing, fine food and kind company. It is the warmest room in all the kingdom for one night only.

All day long you tried tracking down the simmering blond princling currently sitting with his back to your post, but he hid, like a whelp, until dinnertime.

“Where is Prince Bakugou’s chamber?” You attempted to interrogate the maid sent to deliver your change of clothes and show to your room last night, but she just shook her empty head.

A soldier was posted to your door at dawn and you scared him out of his polished boots in your own Takoban uniform well before the sun even crested the castle walls. As delicate as the kingdom and all its trinkets could be, the cotton padded tunic did an admirable job of keeping out seachill. Your halberd bled a red gash down the back of your white and blue uniform and you felt altogether ready for war.

“The feast has been planned for weeks– you must attend!”

“I mustn’t do a single thing.”

“I’ve been ordered to take down your preferences. The prince himself–”

“My prince?” You cocked your head to the nagging butler who had finally caught up to you outside of the soldier’s quarters. Aizawa and all his exhaustion had been no help in your search.

“No, M’lady the Tako–”

“– I am not your Lady.”

“Miss please,” he’d begged. He’d begged and begged until he grew too weary of your wandering.

The prince’s less than modest attitude soured your sleep, even after the shock of opening your chamber door to a room fit for a lord. Green ivy rugs, climbing their little fingers in a pattern across the floor to the sea-facing window beside your bed. Four wooden posts and white linen curtains. It would take two of you to touch the ceiling and ten more to reach from one wall to the next and by all means you should have slept like the dead.

But Bakugou’s smug canine grin burned into your eyelids like a flare. Marching alone down a hallway, you bared your teeth to the thought.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I haven’t seen him.”

“I’m not important enough to know such things.”

“Who?”

“Weren’t the Alderans injured? Maybe the hospital?”

Through every level of the seashell castle, through every kitchen and office and workshop and training ground, you searched for the prince’s chambers. You marveled all the way through the grand entryway and combed empty jeweled halls and peeping windows. You wished a good morning to Lady Mina and Sero on their way to breakfast and stormed anxiously through the outdoor walkways built into castleside, trying your hardest not to peer over their railings into the sea.

Ahead of you now Prince Bakugou looks too polished and still all too natural at the head of the table while you stand guard behind him, close enough to pluck a golden hair off his head.

The Alderan guests and Takoban royalty perch on a platform at the front of the room and an expanse of feasting festivities stretch out before them. Thankfully this crowd is less oppressive, it is less hateful and more excited to eat the fine food and sing merry songs than to bother much at all with you. Even a place as callous as Takoba enjoys hot meals with friends.

Kirishima gives piggyback rides to children brave enough to approach and Mina watches on, picking petals off the set flowers and tossing them gleefully to the rowdy bunch. The crowd, all seated at their own long tables, giggles and cheers and soon the redhead is lost under a pile of little girls in their poofy ball gowns.

Whiskers twitch again and your gaze shoots across the room to a man milling with drink trays and the blindspot of a candle behind him where the wall stills in darkness. You’re brought back to the light when a voice hisses,

“Denki! Quit it–”

Sero admonishes his friend as Kaminari gorges on roast vegetables and sliced meats that have wafted their warm autumn sweetness through the seashell castle all day long. The noisy eater is seated directly beside the fairy blue prince and his bellsong siblings who’ve hardly spoken a word all evening. The three of them dazzle even without their mother present, they wear it like the color blue was made for them and you know that behind her sick, the Takoban Queen must be the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.

Mina squeals at something the fair princess has said and Sero, along with the youngest Todoroki clap and smile when Kaminari starts to hiccup from all his inhaling of food. More people who already know each other and more reason for you to feel a bit out of place.

When Prince Todoroki tilts his delicate face far enough towards you, you can almost catch a glimpse of the famous red framing his features. What does he sound like, you wonder? Out of all of them Bakugou is the only one whose face you can’t see, broad shoulders pressed flat back against his chair as he lounges.

“Quit starin’ Eyes, you’ll ruin my appetite.”

“Yes, sir.”

The fork squeaks as his fist tightens around it. Where has he been hiding?

"..Little Alderan…"

Sweat prickles your temples when a ghost calls to you suddenly, traveling from shadow to shadow in the candlelit room, swimming through them strategically to be closer. Shadows cast by dancing men, or thrown behind full mugs of ale across the long feasting tables. The steaming scars of the flame mage still burn ripe across your mouth from where he grabbed you in the forest, like a muzzle. You stand with square shoulders and hands behind your back and wish Shinsou or Uraraka were here to share your paranoia but they’re stationed outside with their men where fire demons don’t dance across the walls.

The prince doesn’t seem bothered by the song or dance or laughter; he only wipes his mouth and looks out over the crowd. He peers behind his tall chair towards you every so often, never truly looking, and it rubs something in you wrong the way he can’t even trust you through one meal.

You’re far enough away from the joyful crowds that they can’t swallow you whole. Harps and horns do not make your heart race and you only need worry about the six royals in front of you and the gaggle of incompetent Takoban guards standing similarly around them. Prince Bakugou’s head bobs as he eats. Tens of candles burn so hot across his table that their melted wax pools around his plates and bowls and he reminds you of his father the way food will just steal his attention away. How is this the same cruel man from last night? It is hard not to remember his family while you watch him.

A clatter of silver across the floor startles the table’s attention from friends to the feasters and you jerk your dagger in its scabbard, but a child has just tripped on his too-big shoes and into the side of a serving tray.

It is too eerie for words, this happy bustling hall, and too threatening to explain. Gods, it’s hot in here. Blue lords and blue ladies create the sea beneath you and fires, even the smallest candles, threaten to set their world alight. Sometimes when you blink, the cream calm world goes horribly blue.

“Cool it.”

A creaking wooden chair pulls your focus and in his seat your prince shifts while Mina makes a show of declining a great many offers to dance from beautiful suitors. He watches on like always, peering into the depths of the room and through the idle chatter. Without his red cape Bakugou appears broader, less contained, tucks his chin into the crease of his shoulder and submits to boredom. He rasps across the high lilt of a fiddle, “Calm down.”

The prince has tilted his ale warmed cheeks far enough again for you to see an expression clearly, empty but present, and you make a point to only glance. To just watch a little. To linger on a few pieces of golden hair that stick to his face with sweat. Oh how angry it makes you, how beautiful he is and how easy it would be for him to get away with anything. What a wonderful distraction from the imperceptible threat you can’t quite shake.

He shuffles his tongue across his teeth and tilts a little further– far enough that you realize he’s peering directly at you from the corner of his eye. An accusatory jewel. The candles in front of him flicker suddenly a hot, hot purple.

“You hear me?”

You do not.

Those candles set on the table jump for a moment, quivering in the windless Hall all while two figures slip across the edges of the room: one a man cloaked and the other his shadow. Your hands can hardly stay still within each other while the tiny flames all around your company flicker white then red, then purple again– they are fighting to be blue.

Kirishima is the first to see you advance. He is the second to try and stop you.

You know that, had you given the champion time he would have taken your hands and asked again, are you alright? But he saves his worry at the sight of your hand on your dagger. Between the redhead and the prince you approach their table and bend calmly at the hip, quietly blowing out the candles that surround their food and faces.

Prince Bakugou barely has time to register your presence or come up with some horrible quip before you’re at his side and drawing your weapon.

“Do not–”

“– Y/n!”

For all their showy training these two are not faster than you. Kirishima lurches for your dagger from his seat in shock, so you drop it to keep all his fingers attached and plant a steadying foot behind you.

Joy dies when your halberd launches across the room.

Through the familiar stretch of your bicep, relief pours when you fetch it from your back, through the strain and still of aiming well trained eyes and finally through the flex of your ribs when your back arches and whips itself forward to create the deadly momentum you need. Release. Thumb, index, middle and ring, the bloodred weapon sails from your fingers. A star begging to explode.

You unsettle something in him, Prince Bakugou, and as a rule he does not like to watch you. But his mother’s favoritism starts making sense tonight, that crazy fucking woman.

Thunk, is the hollow sound of pierced wood followed by a flat squeak of musicians trailing off midsong and the immediate hush of dancers and feasters. You must look as smug as you feel because your aim is, as always, perfect. The tip of your halberd spears a cloak to the wall, trapping but still sparing the man wearing it and necks crane to the front of the room. Your royal table stares. One head behind the next, mouths open, eyes bulging, those might be tears in Kaminari’s eyes– and even in a kingdom as incompetent as this one, you suppose only one thing can happen next.

Almost immediately the Takoban guards seize you. The room erupts.

“–Y/n!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t– wait, wait!”

Your body is snatched up by armored men and thrown flat onto the wooden table with all of its webs and candlewax. “Don’t dawdle!” You shout into the hard surface you’re pressed against, “He’ll get away!”

But you are the spider now and no one is listening. 

To their credit, the Todoroki siblings gather themselves quickly enough to stand. One of them, the little prince, waves an arm and shouts to his men– maybe ordering them to release you, maybe ordering to kill. It’s so, so loud now.

The Alderan company and their thunder can’t help you, the champion is held back by Sero and Mina whose eyes dart to every face in the room to try and find reason in your attack. Kaminari clutches the arm of the guard who takes a bit too much pleasure pressing your face hard against wood grain with a hand on the back of your head.

It’s a different sort of chaos from the prince’s smoking of the throne room. No one swarms, in fact no feasters yet have the courage to walk past the spot where your weapon has sunk deep into the elven doors, and flee into the safety of the hallway. A little talisman to ward off the flies. A talisman no longer containing the shadowed man, only his cloak and a shred of shirt cloth.

“He’s–!” You grunt, struggling against heavy hands holding your body down and moreso than that, to be heard. He’s escaping! You want to scream but fingers have threaded their way through the hair at the base of your head and gods it hurts when you’re yanked back up by a braid. Momentarily lightheaded by the rise, you consider all the ways to get this guard on his back without having to cut his hands from your hair.

“Oi,” a firesoft voice breathes, soot ash and matches, “let her go.”

It’s quick, faster than that– in fact, it takes the same amount of time for Prince Bakugou to separate you from the soldier as it did for him to give the order. Before you’re even pulled back up to standing, a heavy hand wraps around your bicep and he plants his other over the soldier’s headpiece to let loose a few tempered sparks. As you're yanked into his chest the guard goes flying.

Others replace the first, soldiers alerted to danger by the haunting sound of an explosion rush from the floor where they watch over stunned guests, and to the platform where their own Takoban Royals are once again under threat from Aldera. It’s never ending. Even as you plan to attack them it isn’t lost on you, what a headache you have been to these royal guards.

It’s easier to focus on one thing.

You have to plan your defense and you certainly have to find an escape route, but you can’t see over the swell of his shoulders. His warmth, his caramel, it’s distracting, it’s all too distracting– it’s all moving in slow motion. Broad but not all that tall, soft, Bakugou’s body surrounds you momentarily as he steadies you both from the recoil of his shot.

“Enough!” A low voice like bells is heard suddenly so clearly that the rest of the voices in the Hall become mud. They all become racket in comparison to, “Leave them.” 

They all become cut glass played against, “We’re fine.”

Around the room soldiers freeze mid stride in shock presumably and folded inside of each other, you and Bakugou must look exactly like them because the Todoroki siblings are standing as calm and bored as napping babies. The eldest even reaches into his quilted jacket breast to check the time on a pocket watch.

“Go on then, leave them alone,” the princess reiterates, little flecks of red warming white hair. Her crystal glasses glint so bright in the candlelight one could hardly see her eyes but her stance is strong and her blue dress whips about the floor from the sudden quiet of the room. The silence of the forgotten partygoers is comical, a collection of a hundred wide eyes blinking from one action to the next like bats in a cave.

Bakugou seems to realize how closely he’s holding you and pushes you away with his hand still around your bicep.

“She needs to be punished!” Your blown-away guard insists, “She fired into a royal crowd!” He’s collecting himself as best he can from where the prince shot him backwards, disgruntled, armor crooked, and generally singed. He rushes you in the grip of your prince, and before you can brace yourself, before the youngest Todoroki can cooly object or your champion can finally hit someone, Bakugou snarls and jerks you forward.

“You think I can’t punish my own fucking staff?”

You teeter on the lip of the platform step and the prince practically throws you to the floor from how close behind he’s pulling you, caramel vicegrip still firm on your arm. Bakugou tears into the thick hush of the Hall, heavy footsteps, nagging growls, indignant muttering. You just try to make sure you don’t roll an ankle from how quickly you’re expected to move, down off the platform and into the petrified crowd.

Kirishima cups his hands around his mouth and tries to call after you, which gets him exactly zero response. In fact the prince grips your arm bruisingly harder at the request as he marches you both through the parting sea of partygoers. They stumble over each other to both watch and hide from you in their fancy clothes.

“Highness–” you grunt, but you’re cut off immediately with another tug. Your cheeks sting from being dragged across the table. He doesn’t seem to be marching you to the entryway, but past it, to a door at the back of the room. “See?” You grumble and reach out for your halberd with your free had as the pair of you pass it, “My aim–”

“Do not!” Bakugou spins around and seethes. He swats your hand and jerks you forward yet again to leave the red weapon exactly where you’ve sunken it, “Not helping ya little fuck.”

If last night was a short fuse, what you’ve cut for yourself tonight is a lit explosive. Oh how the prince rumbles. He holds you somewhere between ferocity and urgency and you hate to remember– you curse yourself for your timing– just how deeply you embarrass him. How many different ways you could have detained the suspicious figure– even if he was a mage, the mage, even if fires did beg to turn blue.

Past the long wooden tables, past frightened guests and musicians tuning on the orders of their exhausted princess, Bakugou tows you to the back of the room. He kicks a modest door in and blinding candlelight pours wet warm over your shadows. Veins throttle the back of his hand. The hand that grips your arm so tightly– his hand that relaxes and slips as he storms inside behind you, to cup your elbow.

The silver kitchens are alive. Handmaids and bakers and strongmen heft vats and soups and bread every which way as the door to the Hall closes behind you, and you have to duck or dodge every few steps to keep out of their bustling paths.

“Clear out! I need the flouring tables,” your prince barks into the kitchen carnage and in his new oddly gentle hold you’re only reminded of his presence because of that voice. The one that splinters wood and drops plum pits to your gut no matter how many times you hear it or how many times it’s barking directly at you.

Punishment. Dragged from your post, from your entire company, to be punished by him with the full roster of kitchen staff here to watch. Shame boils every stream of blood in your body so violently you have to cup your chest to believe the rate your heart is beating.

The man crude enough– you suppose, the only man who even ranks highly enough– to treat you like a toy. After growing up beside one another. Chewing you up, spitting you out, nothing but ridicule for an entire week punctuated by last night’s wretched performance of submission.

The prince must feel your heartbeat in his fingertips because he begins marching faster the second it picks up from your embarrassment, “Hurry up.”

While Bakugou guides you deeper into the organized chaos, maids and bakers and butlers shift slowly under his orders like watching ants change course in a rainstorm. Great big balls of dough are heft from the counter islands in the center of the room, silverware clatters, fires blaze around you from cold new stoves starting, and most impressive of all, every worker buzzing through the bedlam keeps up their pace without faltering.

Muscle plump bakers trot past and behind you every which way, narrating their movements with cupped hands to teammates.

“Behind!”

“This isn’t sugar.”

The prince’s odd orders add to their symphony, “Cold water and boning tweezers– need ‘em yesterday!”

“Someone light this for me?”

“Hey will you– and this—”

“Here Kats, tweezers.” A butler in a highcollar frock pulls the metal from her pocket and drops them cold into your prince’s hand on her way out the door with an ale tray.

Kats? You dare a glance as the butler makes her way back into the Hall. Just one, a look not a stare, up the curve of your collarbone to his clenched jaw and even just a little higher than that. The prince’s brandfire pupils glow behind lids half shut with exasperation. Hooded, heavy eyes watch yours. He’s looking.

He’s looking at you and your mouth has gone dry.

You don’t know how to prepare yourself because you aren’t sure what to expect, least of all Bakugou lifting you up under the arms like you aren’t fully suited and setting your hips on the closest countertop. Partially stunned and partially professional, you make sure to sit up straight suddenly at his eye level, legs dangling, to receive your punishment. The bluefire mage is as far as he’s ever been from your mind.

“Been telling you to calm down all night,” he rasps– to himself if volume is indicative of anything. Even his inflection goes menacingly quiet now that kitchen chaos can’t slip between the pair of you. He keeps the tumult behind him and boxes you between his shoulders, grumbling before closing in, “My fault for thinking you had a brain in that thick skull.”

You have to keep yourself from clutching his wrist when the prince abruptly cups your jaw and begins rocking your face slowly side to side, and you hope beyond all hope that whatever he’s going to do to you ends quickly enough for you to return to your post unbruised; he looks like a man that likes to leave marks.

If he takes this much pleasure in your pain, why does he still wear your earrings? Your golden suns hang in mismatched holes from his many missing piercings but they still scream with Aldera pride. He knows that they’re yours. He knows this as he thumbs your stinging cheeks, as he turns and barks requests into a half-listening crowd, and as you try your best not to pull away from him. He refuses help, companionship, and protection– it must only be to torture you.

“Give me your hand.”

The way he speaks is not dissimilar from last night. Mean. When Bakugou finishes warming your face like putty in his fingers, he arms himself with his tweezers and waits for you to execute his orders. “Hand,” he repeats and you don’t hesitate this time to give him what he wants.

You do flinch though, when the prince parts your legs with his hips at the lip of the counter to be this much closer and tilts your face up to meet his with that same oddly soft hold from before, a thumb and forefinger balancing your chin where he wants you. Like a cat who kneads suddenly with its claws, your skin prickles at every agonizingly delicate touch of the prince’s fingers as you wait for sparks.

He presses his face so close to yours that for a second you think he might kiss you. Force himself onto you. Closer than two swordsmen crashing at their hilts, your faces mirror each other in the prince’s concentration. Whiskers sear. This is the only kind of punishment you won’t tolerate. You can’t– you know that you’ll strike him. Wine and honey roll from his tongue in puffs of sweet air as he leans in further– as you struggle with the sudden proximity and try not to let your thighs cradle his.

Bakugou doesn’t seem to care about your wide eyes this time, doesn’t really seem to be paying them all that much mind in his focus. What is it? What is he focusing on? A week without looking at you and now the bridge of your nose is the most interesting thing in the world?

“You’re a fucking headache.”

“Sir, I–”

“Told you not to call me that.” He plucks what feels like a hair from your cheek and your eyes flood immediately and involuntarily with sensitivity, “Well, Eyes? Or– hah, should I call you captain?” One sharp exhale like a laugh and his head cocks a bit to the side, “Since you’re obviously so qualified to be my fucking keeper.”

Prince Bakugou crowds you between bread proofing bakers, a confinement that should make your skin itch, and stands tall in the chaos of the bustling kitchen, a room that would otherwise fill you with dread. He pinches your cheeks again with his tweezers and drops something from them into the hand that you’ve given him, and somehow even in the overheating swell you don’t bubble over with panic. Even as you picture all the ways to disarm him, he is the one still thing you focus on to stay calm.

“Fuck are you so tense for? I don’t bite.”

“I’ve seen you bite many times,” you breathe into his shoulder, monotone and confusion.

What is he waiting for? When is he going to strike you? Burn you? Take you? The anticipation and confusion is worse than whatever punishment he could dream up. The violence always in his eyes and the way you can’t even find a hint of threat right now in his concentration, chills you. His borrowed white formalwear radiates cold from all its twinkling silver baubles but the warmth of his body obliterates the chill. Chest against chest, it shocks your overstimulated nerves and sends you ever closer to the sensation of being trapped in your skin.

He continues his gentle pinching as you continue gauging how much stronger than you he might be. Lifting you like nothing, throwing men through the air, even if you tried to fight back you might not be able to stop him.

A bowl of ice water appears beside you on the counter and the woman who delivered it tosses a rag your way, casually, as if Bakugou’s already dragged a thousand disobedient guards into the kitchen to disrupt her soup stirring. It only reminds you though, that no one here seems to be all that interested in Bakugou’s royal status and subsequently even less interested in coming to your aid if he decides your body is the only penance he’ll accept.

He waves his thanks to the kitchen and pulls away from you for a moment, never making eye contact but still taking something in. A part of you. Like admiring a painting, or more likely– with those furrowed brows– wincing at a carriage wreckage. He wets the rag and rings it out in a fist without looking away.

Prince Bakugou Katsuki looks so much like his mother it’s going to break your heart.

You flinch when he brings the wet cloth to your lips and a lump swells in your throat when it makes him smirk. How could someone this cruel come from the woman who raises the sun? His ashen hair, shoulders thick from training his magic, soft leather hands and beautiful eyes– the sun did create him. And she asked you to keep him safe.

The prince drops the rag in its bowl and takes your jaw up in his hold again, presses his hips back to yours to be closer, still just as eerily gentle. You must be biting your tongue hard to taste all this blood.

Even as a sparkworn palm steadies itself on your thigh instead of the countertop beside you, all you can think of is your queen’s request– your orders. You won’t resist him. You fired into the crowd in a foreign castle. Your prince spared you a public humiliation and you won’t deny him your punishment.

“Highness,” you can barely hold dignity in your voice as you speak into his tunic from how closely he keeps you, and something about the pitiful sound makes him pause his little strokes at your cheeks. You muster the courage to continue, “Please just– just be quick.”

“What, so you can go back out there and assault another waiter?” He growls back, distant with focus, “All that got you this time was a face full of splinters.”

Before you can process his words the prince claps your cheek to agitate the last few flecks of wood still embedded there under the skin.

“Leave it to a Takoban carpenter to serve their guests on fucking driftwood.”

What?

Your angry prince, shoulders hunched, jaw set, frowning– always frowning– is plucking your…splinters? What splinters? Cradling your face instead of attending his own feast? Instead of punishing you? Instead of screaming, striking, exploding– instead of pulling your tunic apart by the buttons and eating you.

“What are you doing?” You breathe again, unsure of if you’ve even said the words out loud.

“You got the short term memory of a goldfish.”

Prince Bakugou drops the tweezers in the water dish after dusting clean his now-wood-free canvas and tilts your face up a bit higher to match his gaze. Your hips connect. Cold blooms at your mouth where the prince presses the icy wet rag again and this time you realize he’s wiping blood from your nose.

Does he not remember marching you through the Hall five minutes ago? Last night’s raised hackles and voices flash so vividly in your mind that you still feel his arrogant breath down the back of your neck. The furious canines that kept you up all night. Who is this?

“Titania almighty you’re jumpy, what happened to my Alderan Captain huh?” But his eyes stop half way through their rolling before he finishes speaking again. His hand freezes where it steadies your jaw, fingers and thumbs cupping you there and a warm pinky stilled at your throat with his words, “Like you think I’m–” knotted brows fall as he realizes, “– that I–”

Slowly, your prince’s face lowers to the shadow your body casts in candlelight and for the third time in your life, you watch each other. Wide red eyes, too near to see clearly, burn into your own and you can’t quite decipher all that they’re saying. His fingers twitch like he’s only just realized who it is he’s touching and how he’s touching her and for a moment you can feel his thighs tense inside of yours. Like he’s going to run away. Blond hair sticky with kitchen sweat brushes your temples from how close you’re kept. 

“Did you think–”

“Let go of me.”

At the same time Bakugou realizes your fear, violence finally returns to you. How long has it been?

Heat soars from your heart to every tip of your body in humiliation. From the top of your head to the points of your fingers, you reel forward off the counter to disrupt his hold and he similarly jerks away from you, chest and hips parting, fists clenching.

Heads turn at the sudden disruption. The rhythm of these kitchens never stops, but maneuvering around Alderans has become tonight’s full time precaution and at the very least you could be considered entertainment.

You and your prince stand facing each other. You, chillingly still and bleeding so slightly, and Bakugou at a safe distance.

Growling, taunting, threats and blows, spitting, sneering– why now of all times to be kind? Your mouth forms the question. Hours of patience, a lifetime of service, admiration, devil’s advocation, self sacrifice, pride. But your voice can’t quite push it out.

Is it fun? Toying with me?

Prince Bakugou stares across the floured floor at you, cheeks and neck so flushed it makes his white tunic glow. Your posture curves inward like a stalking cat as you stare back.

For the first time in his life, Bakugou can’t find words. You won’t know what he’s trying to say for a long time and for now it’s a coincidence and a blessing that you’re too grieved to speak.

When you push silently past him back into the Hall hardly a soul notices you. Music swells and children dance. Blood drips from your nose as you march, your cheeks sting, and slowly blue lords and blue ladies at the edge of their tables catch chilling sight of you. You consider all the ways you should apologize to the waiter you speared in your delirium.

Slowly, forks are lowered and necks crane. Slowly mother’s pull their daughters closer, drunkards stop singing, eyes fall on your stride. The music tapers out as you approach the front entrance.

A genuine laugh is so close to escaping you when the entire room winces in unison– you plant your heel to the polished white wall and rip your halberd from where it’s still wedged, pretty and red, in the elven door and with a flourish the polearm is back in its holster between your shoulders. Your company is gone; no one sits at the royal table. Bakugou doesn’t follow from the kitchens.

As you slip from the Hall and back into the seashell castle, you’re sure you’ll be punished for this too, whatever the fuck that means.

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[magiccueball]

Hi! Can you please do hastur/ the feaster with a kuudere, cold emotionless reader who is very distant towards the hunters and survivors pls

Hastur/Feaster x GN! Kuudere Reader Headcanons

[SFW]

Note: My hunter main? In a story? Dreams do come true! I’m not entirely familiar with writing kuudere characters but I hope you still enjoy! ^^”

]|I{•------»♡«------•}I|[

-Each day, same as the last. Run, run, hide. Perhaps fly away if you weren’t careful enough. It was never ending.

-But you didn’t care. Whatever it took, you supposed.

-Nothing changed. As long as everyone kept away from you, you would be okay.

-It was basic survival.

-You kept away from everyone, hunters and survivors alike. Not because you despised them but merely because you saw no reason to bother yourself with their goings on. But yet, you didn’t mind watching them from a distance.

-One in particular being Hastur, such an odd being he was but intriguing nonetheless.

-On the occasions that your paths cross, he would greet you by name and yet you felt yourself compelled to greet him the same. Short, yet there was something you felt from him the moment you reacted.

-A kinship, perhaps?

-You clear you mind of the thought. How foolish.

-You usually ran off to your hiding spot in the manor, away from the noise and chaos of it all. A place of peace. An emptiness that echoed your own. The only thing giving the room any sign of life was the window with which you watched the world below from and your very existence.

-You hadn’t been there long before you realized something or someone was watching you.

-With no change to your expression, you turned around to find the source of this watchful presence only to be greeted by Hastur lingering in the doorway.

-He doesn’t say a word but doesn’t leave either. He just stands there watching you.

-You turn back away from him, looking out the window once more. You could hear him slither to your side and stand beside you, the both of you now partaking in the sights below.

-There were no words exchanged but yet a mutual understanding lingered between you two.

-This occurrence soon became a routine. The two of you watching through the window with not a word spoken. Honestly, you ignored his presence half the time but he was always there whether you wanted to be or not.

-It became oddly comforting to have someone to share these moments with but you never made it apparent to him. You weren’t sure you even could.

-But one day, you asked Hastur why. Why did he choose to spend his moments of free time here? Why did he enjoy it so much?

-You could hear a faint chuckle echo from underneath his hood.

-He explained that as a being of great power, he was not beholden to anyone in these trivial games. But what initially drove him to participate was to see survivors run like rats in a trap. To see their insanity growing by the day. But even an old one such as himself can tire of seeing dread.

-Then he saw you. A clean slate. No fake facade or fear about you. You were you. Something he highly respected you for.

-You two were one in the same. Expressionless yet filled to the brim with emotions you kept deep inside. Observers. Watchers.

-For the first time in your life, you felt a smile slightly curling upon your lips. He understood.

-He became your new normal now. It was a quiet normal but one you both treasured. You found calm in one another and didn’t dare to have it any other way. Perhaps surviving day to day wasn’t so bad as long as you had Hastur to be by your side.

[zaynesplushiekiller]

Hi! Can you please do a headcanon about survivor s/o who is extremely shy, scared & the event of the oletus Manor with memory/little girl, hastur, Jack & luchino pls. Also t for the headcanon of little girl/memory is 100% PLATONIC PLS!

alriight, i hope i portrayed the shy survivor well! im always a little hesitant to write about them cause im afraid itll be like... overly cliche? hope you enjoy! (✯ᴗ✯) also im so excited about luchino I LOVE THAT GUY!! i've included: Memory, Hastur, Jack, and Luchino -

Memory: the little girl herself is really quiet and, honestly? kind of nervous around new people. I mean, imagine this poor kid who's been thrown to this. I think you guys would get along great. immediate parental-figure to her tbh. everyone in the damn manor is. this kid is literally never going to get away from the "see when I was your age-" kind of thing. but you? she's relaxed around you. you still make sure she's safe, but with your quiet demeanor, she feels like she can be a little more lax with her... dumb kid stuff. you're not going to be loud, or confront her on anything unless its life-threatening. she likes it! and maybe takes a little bit of an advantage of it. if you say something is okay, then she's gonna flaunt it to everyone who tells her it isn't. she likes baking with you, its a quiet activity that doesn't require anyone else nearby. you don't need to talk to anyone but her, and, honestly? she does the majority of the talking anyway. she likes you better than most adults! you just let her talk and don't tell her that eating the burnt part of the cookie is bad!

Hastur: out of both of the deities in the manor, Hastur is probably the better one to go to. Yidhra is nice! but she is so fucking scary oh my god. Hastur is quiet as well, but he's definitely not shy. if he finds you interesting, then he will talk to you about it. even if you're not responding in full sentences because holy shit an actual god is talking to you! if anyone were to make you feel uncomfortable, whether it be by forcing you into a situation you don't want to be in, or taking advantage of your shyness (memory...), he would step in. in the events of the manor, unfortunately, there isn't much Hastur can do to stop them from happening. unlike you, a survivor, Hastur feels no fear to the manor. he cannot be hurt (except for stuns), he is a powerful deity, and therefore the terror is almost minimized. and, Hastur doesn't so much as feel empathy. he has never needed to. but for you, he is willing to nod along as you whisper about the match(es) that day, and offer a shoulder of support. maybe a head pat, if you had a particularly bad day. he is nice to you, and although you're a little awkward to him, he pays it nearly no mind.

Jack: now THIS guy, on the other hand, is not even close to as kind as Hastur. he immediately flocks to you, after you get absolutely destroyed in a match. he finds your terror endearing, in some weird way. he is part psychopath, after all. but when you really don't respond to him, or even give him any attention, he wonders if you're turned off by him, y'know, trying to murder you. so he tries to make it up to you! by cornering you after he murdered all of your teammates! so approachable! when you finally admit that you're just shy, and a bit nervous, he feels really bad. like super bad. he did just murder your entire support system and corner you in the back of China Town. once you get past the first introduction, where he profusely apologizes for being uncaring towards your feelings, its mostly just him trying to woo you. he's flirtatious, there's no denying that. so he'll bring you flowers, and bask in your gorgeous flustered face. sometimes he'll cook you your favorite meal and bring it to you, sending you random presents, the works. I think that Jack was (maybe) a survivor before he became the Ripper, so he understands your fear to the manor, and assures you he'll try to go soft on you during matches with him. he keeps his promise, sometimes... he's more empathetic than Hastur, but don't think he'll go easy on ya!

♥Luchino: Luchino is, to no one's surprise, incredibly awkward. like, he's definitely not shy by a long shot, but he's so awkward about initiating conversations with anyone. especially since he's so physically terrifying. he's afraid he'll scare anyone by trying to talk to them! so, if you want to talk to him, sorry honey, but you're gonna have to talk to him first. but honestly? once you get over the hurdle of talking, being with him is so damn easy. he's so chill, very go-with-the-flow. definitely not as awkward as before, and really nice. he understands your feelings of fear, and applauds you multiple times for coming so far in the manor. and even more so to talk to him, he knows how intimidating he can be, so expect lots of head pats from him. since his transformation, Luchino doesn't feel fear as effectively as before. but during his transformation? pure terror. he gets disgustingly scared when thinking of the pain he had been in, no matter how long or short it took. he's incredibly sympathetic to you, but don't tease him about it! if anyone makes note of how kind he is to you during matches (giving you the dungeon, or purposefully missing his jumps and hits so he doesn't hurt you), he'll get very embarrassed about it most days with him are spent in comfy silence. sometimes he'll speak up, but with you both being on the quieter and shyer side, its a good comfortable silence. he's good with helping you deal with your bouts of shyness, but is in no way shape or form good with dealing with his own. what a hypocrite!

[floofyflowers]

Hey? Umm can I request about..Hastur and Smiley Face react to their mini selves? I didn’t see many blogs accepting Hastur and Smiley Face asks 😭🙏

ask and you shall hopefully be happy with the results because i'm still not sure i can portray them v well ;; (i also wasn't sure if you wanted this to be platonic or romantic, so it can be interpreted as either)

original post for reference !

hastur and joker reacting to their mini selves trying to defend a gn!survivor!reader by attacking their feet

hastur

the tentacled deity tied you to balloons, amused by your huffing and whining

"hastur, c'mon, that wasn't very fair.. just set me down and give me a five second head start, i'll kite well, just please-"

just as he was going to respond with a low chuckle, something snagged on his foot/tentacle/limb(???)

swiftly turning, the god was met with a very angry mini version of himself

the little thing had a grasp on the hunter, desperately trying to drag him away from the chair

hastur sorta just blinked for a moment before using a tentacle to flick him off (poor mini hastur)

he basically just ignored him </3

went back to chairing you, but mini hastur was determined

from attacking the hunter's feet/tentacles/whatever (to which hastur simply shook him off), to trying to reach your restraints and un-chair you (hastur was also extremely tempted to chair the pet with you-)

mini hastur was utterly disappointed to see you sent back to the manor :(

all in all, hastur really couldn't care less about mini hastur attacking him, but he is just slightly proud of the pet for wanting to protect you

joker

smiley face decided to go friendly!

you hopped into a locker, allowing him to tie you to balloons and the two of you were just walking around, laughing and having fun while the others were finishing the final ciphers

then out of nowhere, there's something on his leg?

peering down, he sees mini joker smacking him

and smiley face was so confused????

like, "bud, why're you hitting me?? what do you want from me???"

then the mini clown began jumping up towards you, with outstretched arms, wanting to get you down

the frown was very apparent on mini joker's face and big joker didn't wanna see him upset :(

so, he set you down and picked you up, multiple times to help speed the struggle progress up (though, it did make you dizzy-)

and soon mini smiley face was hugging your legs, while you patted his back and slowly coaxed him off you

in conclusion, joker finds it so wholesome and cute <33

i'm also really really sorry this took a while to finish, but i do hope you liked it ! take care of yourselves !!

[sdr2lovemail]

I had a dream about Feaster like a year back and was like you know what I'll turn it into a sorta crack-fic. Just something while I try to recover my lost fic.

This dream also implies that Feaster knows what Minecraft is.

Enjoy!

Hanging out with the Man in Yellow.

‘Protect the Gate!’

Shoving a survivor onto the chair, you make your way to the southern gate of Lakeside Village. The Disciple was near the northern exit gate attempting to down anyone she could. From the looks of things it’s bound to be a loss, but you still want to try your best anyway. A few survivors sit in the opened gate, either waiting to see their teammates leave or to gloat about their victory. 

Lakeside Village wasn’t the safest map for games. The wet, slippery ground was a hazard on its own. With survivors in your line of sight, you pull back your weapon prepared to swing. The sound of something shattering fills the air and you lose your footing. Someone had thrown down a coldsnap flask causing the floor beneath you to be covered in a sheet of ice.

You trip and fall onto the muddy earth, coating both you and your clothes in a thick layer of mud. There’s a near pathetic attempt of you getting up before a flare gun is set off. The thick smoke fills your lungs as the survivors finally take the chance to leave. 

As you stand up and wipe the mud from your clothes the best you can, The Disciple comes from behind and sets a cautious hand on your shoulder. “We had done our best, my child. Now, let us get cleaned up.” 

The walk back to the manor was silent, Ann wasn’t one for conversation. You both depart once entering the hunter’s manor. After a shower, you make your way to The Feaster’s room.

It was a mystery on how this all powerful deity became what most would call a friend. When you had asked, he simply said you intrigued him. Upon walking up to his door, it swings open. His room is pitch black except for the few candles and incense burning. There were many papers, fabric, and statues of all kinds filling the room. Hastur sits at the center of it all.

You come around to sit on a mass of squirming tentacles. It was almost like a damp, always moving bean bag chair. Hastur maneuvers you with his appendages, making it so that you could sit more comfortably.

“I was wondering when you would show, young one. Your appearance is noticeably late.” He bellows, his many eyes peering gazing over your form.

You tsk at having to remember such a tiring match. Leaning back, your upper half rests against a bundle of tentacles. “I would’ve been faster if I wasn’t jumped by the survivors. They had so many stunners along with those flare guns. To top it all off they waited at the gate, like they wanted to rub their win in my face.” 

“There shall be a special place for them in the deepest pits of the underworld.” Chimed Hastur.

“Like in Minecraft?” 

There’s a long pause of silence. “...No. Not like in Minecraft.”

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hii if you feel comfortable could I request sensory deprivation with Hastur? His tentacles covering readers eyes and ears while he uses his other tentacles on them sjsnwjsn

I'm so horny for him forgive me 😔

Not my best pain

Rated M | Warnings: Monster fuckery, Hastur does not get horny tm but good for you finding him sexy lol

The eldritch horror named Hastur is currently sitting in a chair in the library reading a book. It is fascinating how humans attempt to capture so much in a few words. He can see why you read often when you are around him and enjoy sharing space with him. Today, however, Hastur noticed you were in need, you required sexual satisfaction as your hormones are high. He does not mind entertaining your needs, you are respectful that he derives no pleasure from this.

You made it very clear that you could find another means of resolving your little problem but he insisted. It is amusing to see you currently squirming on the floor as the tentacles he summons during matches fill your holes.

Strange human, but from what he understands you turn your fear into desires. Or maybe that is just with him.

“Hastur, Hastur.” You say when the tentacle that was in your mouth moves between your legs.

“This one is here, little human.”

“Can you kiss me?” You are very needy.

“This one has no mouth yet you insist on kissing this one.” You reach out for him blindly as he lifts your body, “Kiss here.” You can hear his voice closer so you kiss his strange face. “Better?”

“Thank you.” Moaning out your thanks.

[oletus-writer]

Hastur, Yihdra x god reader

Warnings: none

Hastur

He seems to be a serious, cold man, but when you get to know him he’s quite goofy. Have you seen mini Hastur’s animations?

There’s a chance he would have heard of you before you came to the manor, but he doesn’t interact with many other gods. He didn’t expect another god, since Ithaqua didn’t turn out to be his son, but he didn’t make any effort to talk to you.

‘I am Hastur, The Feaster from Afar, The King in Yellow, The Lord of Interstellar Spaces. You are?’

The two of you grew close by your effort, and you began to see a different, goofier side to him. Sometimes, he’d like to dance to a song in his head, or talk smack about the other residents in the manor.

‘It feels like the Baron is laughing at me - Gillman worships my father, then some mortal with my son’s name enters, not to mention the never-ending nightmare that is Yidhra… I may as well become a recluse and not speak to anyone.’

Yidhra

She’s heard of you, and you’ve heard of her before either of you came into the manor. So when the two of you found yourselves face-to-face, she was quite impressed. To risk yourself and your powers to be in a little game the seemed to fuck with time and space.

‘So, why are you here? It’s pretty interesting to watch these foolish mortals compete for something they’ll never have, but why are you here?’’

Cue annoying Hastur and screwing with chasing shadows. Yidhra needs her fun, and Hastur isn’t enough of a companion nor a friend. He’s too much of a recluse and is over with her antics.

She isn’t the kind of person to avoid talking to mortals, yet the two of you shared a connection you otherwise wouldn’t have if you weren’t a god. Sometimes, the two of you would lie together, and she’d start talking about whatever’s on her mind.

‘The manor allowed myself and Hastur to invent a game mode - he chose dodgeball, isn’t that amusing? - so I wonder if they’ll do the same with you. Pray tell, darling, what will go decide?’

[smittenroses]

reader who is nothing but a huge SIMP for Leo Beck, Hastuur, n Joseph headcañnons

Hastur, Leo Beck and Joseph with a reader who is pinning after them

Leo Beck || Hell Ember

now usually Leo expects that if someone was interested in him, it would be him giving them the gifts as it is customary to do in situations of courtship, however, he was not expecting for himself to be receiving these gifts.

the day they started showing up at his door, he was confused, a little wary, and didn't open the first few for a few days thinking that they were tricks from one of the other hunters, though when he finally got the courage to open up one, it was adorable. A small stuffed bear holding a heart.

after the first one, he opened the rest, finding them to be more adorable than the last, and more kept coming, his shelves in his room eventually filling up with more cute things that his admirer was sending him.

sure he was curious about who was sending them, but he didn't want to pressure them to reveal themselves - well, that was until one day as he was on the way back from helping Joker fix his leg, he saw you.

the moment you had noticed him noticing you, you had almost completely flown down the hall before Leo could even get a word out, but yet you had left one of those little gifts that he knew only could belong to one type of person; the person that had been admiring him from afar.

and thus the games begin, as soon enough you yourself found yourself now receiving gifts as well as giving them, as Leo wasn't the type to not reciprocate gifts when he could.

and then the flirting began, and Leo was not prepared.

being confronted with roses and being told how handsome he was, being invited to dance all of a sudden - it frankly made him flush red whenever it would had never happen in his time, and yet here he was, being so flushed and red.

and dare say, he fell, and he fell hard.

Hastur || The Feaster

a god never really had the chance to seek love, being so busy with building their own churches of people that would do anything for them, but this sort of worship... it was different.

compared to the others, the god in yellow knew straight away who his little admirer was, as frankly it wasn't that very hard to figure it out when your scent was all over the gift box and the things inside - it smelt vile to him, but yet then again, most humans did to his immortal nose.

though he kept the gifts, storing them who knows where in his yellow robes as they continued to show up at his door, sometimes even at the place where he would sit for dinner they would show up.

though he would've much preferred a fresh human or animal sacrifice, he must admit that at least he was being worshipped.

though what were these lines that the human was sprouting to him?

"They're trying to flirt with you, you overgrown calamari." Burke would say to the god whenever Hastur would ask a question, Burke being the closest thing to a human within the hunter side of the manor, "they like you."

"as a follower?" Hastur didn't exactly understand.

even if he didn't exactly understand the concept of human emotion, you had to admit, being able to ride on his shoulders was something new and exciting, especially since he wasn't attempting to throw you off.

Joseph || The Photographer

similar to Leo, the photographer had been taken aback when presents suddenly started appearing at his doorstep, especially since he preferred the company of himself in the moments he didn't have to talk to other people.

but there was something tender about the little care package that had been left in front of his door that had made the usually prideful and egotistical nobleman's heart melt, especially when he saw the love and care that had been put into it to make it themed after cameras and blue.

but you must remember that Joseph figured out the ways of how to freeze and preserve a moment in time, so he most likely will use it against the secret admirer, and thus he began to take notes of anything similar between events that could help him figure out who it was the next few times this happened.

the presents would arrive at midday sharp, a soft knock on the door, and by the time he would've gotten to his door, the person would be gone - and the next time that the time arrived, the flash of a camera within Joseph's room caught you off guard, causing you to rub your eyes as you attempted to get your bearings.

"Ah, there you are." Being a native french speaker, Joseph's accent was incredibly thick as he spoke, though he didn't stand in front of you- he was behind you. He fingernails gently grazed your cheek as he held your chin, keeping you still.

"I should've taken your most risque courting tactics as a clue of whom was leaving these gifts." He hummed, though as his finger tapped against your cheek, you couldn't help but gulp.

"You've impressed me. But can you court me all the way?"

[randomfanner]

The Feaster/Hastur Yandere HC

I have heard rumors through other stuff the Hastur crowd is in need of food.

TW: Yandere and anything relating to eldritch horror who wiped out a whole village.

- How the hell do you get him to fall for you in the first place? I have no idea, it probably started out as an interest that evolved into something more... Gruesome. But once you have his attention there is no question, you are not losing it.

- It is rare something truly catches the interest of a being as old and powerful as Hastur, so when that happens he savors every moment of it.

- Training Type, he doesn't want to break you by any means... however he does want you to be a loyal follower of his nonetheless. He does have the skillset, of course, minding melting magic, fear, tentacles, he can do whatever needed.

- Removal Type, if there is someone else who has their eye on you, he will take care of it. He does not take well the contest and so anyone who dares try will be dealt with swiftly, hunter or survivor.

- Monopoly type, you belong to him and only him, he is rather possessive of what is his. During a game, you are the one he hunts down first, which causes most survivors to stay away from you if he is the hunter and he will do everything to make sure you are out first.

- Once he has you in his slimy grip, there is truly no escape for you how to matter how hard you try. You may as well say your prayers, perhaps he will listen.

[idvloveletters]

Hastur Romantic Relationship HCs

He’s the great king in yellow that doesn’t deserve any less, and thus you should feel rather honored that he views you in such a way.

Hastur isn’t merciful, even as a lover. However he may lead you to the dungeon at least.

He has forbidden knowledge of all sorts of things, yet to court a human is by far one of the strangest things he’s ever had to experience.

He doesn’t doubt his greatness, nor his decision to make you one of his own. 

He may come off as cool and aloof, but his passion for you is genuine. 

Public displays of affection aren’t really his thing, but there’s no rejection of any actions.

He can also be a bit possessive, using that fearsome gaze of his to ward off anyone who dares to even look upon you.

Only you’ve seen what lies under that hood... and he has made you swear to never tell.