#devilkin cw

[howlinginsolitude]

(My Personal) Hellhound Turned A Image

This is shamelessly inspired by fl0atingtherian's symbol designs, but since I've been leaning more into figuring out my own Hellhound identity I figured it would be fun to make. This is based off how I personally see myself and the symbol in the back is the Turned A. I hope you all enjoy.

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

stimboard for : a demonkin with tail wagging, wings, and arcade games

x | x | x x | x | x x | x | x

[radiomogai]

[PT: alterhuman flag req dump p2. end PT]

alterhuman flag req dump p2

devilkin | devil nonhuman 1 | devil nonhuman 2

changeling alterhuman | changelingkin

bjdkin | bjd alterhuman

no image IDs due to the amount of flags, sorry!!

[gvrocvck]

CW: mild gore

intrusive thoughts

[bharv]

Monster, mine

There is a beast haunting the city, and there is a tentative reaching of hands across the table. 7k, The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash, CW violence, sexual content, mentions of slavery

From The Histories of the Bhaalian Temple, attrib. Korimand Grey

There are many forms of Bhaal, and all of them inspire dread, from the shape-shifting unknowable to the giant form of the ravaging vengeance, but his greatest gift and greatest curse is that which he grants to his most esteemed and loved, for that is the form of true death itself.

____

There is a beast haunting the city. It is not the first; indeed there have been many creatures that have been subject to this rumour spreading across the fishwives and the sailors through the common folk to the gentry. The Beast of Rivington Hill was merely a shifted Druid, the simple folk of the small town too sheltered to know the difference. Others were sea creatures disturbed from their nest that required simply the right huntsman, or conjured devilkin escaped through portals direct to the hells (he knew them well) or other such monsters brought to this plane by magic. This beast, however, is truly something special.

It has been over a decade since a Slayer has burst through the flesh of a man within the walls of Baldur’s Gate on Returning Day. He was not a direct witness to it sadly, but the panic it wrought held a special place in his heart, tearing open a gash in the side of the Patriars that he could stick his fingers into with ease. It marked the moment of ascent from mere man of the city to something more, the moment of change, of power granted to him via the mantle of Lord, and now it had returned, well. He was not perhaps a superstitious man, but it feels like a promising omen.

The Slayer is a form holy to Bhaal, this much he knows. It is documented in the downfall of Jon Irenicus over a century prior, in texts imported from Amn into the great libraries of the city. He had sought to steal its form, to claim its power for his own, and there are notes on his work, on his methods, that he has annotated as part of his studies for years. It is not so dissimilar, not so removed from the documents he has sifted through at Moonrise, or the book that was sent to him with regards from Balthazar.

That is to say, there is great promise in the form of a tame monster.

Read it on Ao3

[yoursonswillrestamillionyears]

🥀🔥🎸🏩🩸❤️‍🩹 Themed Alter

[pt. 🥀🔥🎸🏩🩸❤️‍🩹 themed alter]

Part two of a request! CW flor blood!

✚　₍₍　Name: Barb, Donna, ﹐ ✚　₍₍　Pronouns and gender terms: ﹐ ✚　₍₍　Presentation: ﹐ ✚　₍₍　Age: ﹐ ✚　₍₍　Gender: ﹐ ✚　₍₍　Orientation: ﹐ ✚　₍₍　TransIDs: transsmoker, transnicotineaddict, transhorns﹐ ✚　₍₍　Reasons for transIDs: hell fire, devilkin﹐

✚　₍₍　Roles: anger holder﹐ ✚　₍₍　Sources: none﹐ ✚　₍₍　Kins: devilkin﹐

✚　₍₍　General mood/emotion: angry﹐ ✚　₍₍　Traits: gloomy, sad, miserable, depressed, angry, flirty, apathetic, blunt, social﹐ ✚　₍₍　Mannerisms/habits: cries a lot﹐ ✚　₍₍　Introvert/extrovert/omnivert/ambivert: extrovert﹐

✚　₍₍　Aesthetics: fire, hell, broken love, rock guitar, wilted red flowers﹐ ✚　₍₍　Theme: 🥀🔥🎸🏩🩸❤️‍🩹﹐ ✚　₍₍　Appearance: dark skin. Black curly hair. Covered in blood. Gothic jeweled choker. Flame glasses. Skull necklace, sword earrings. Red clothing.﹐ ✚　₍₍　Species: demon﹐

✚　₍₍　Likes: fire and red aesthetics, medicine, fire, gloomy aesthetics, being in warm weather﹐ ✚　₍₍　Dislikes: being sad, stepping on rocks﹐ ✚　₍₍　Loves: blood﹐ ✚　₍₍　Hates: being bored﹐

✚　₍₍　Other notes: ﹐

✚　₍₍　Faceclaim: ﹐

[Image pt: Made by some crazy Sabaton fanboy !? Before you interact: Pro-endo, pro-radqueer, pro-transid, pro-para, limited-contact slash anti-contact harmful paraphilias, anti-xenosatanist. Do not interact: Pro-contact harmful paras, xenosatanists. Made by Mishka. End ID]

[dandelion-vines]

Anon asked for sex slave jask used in public? Don’t remember much else but hope ya like it!

Warnings: dubcon, breathplay, implied noncon, stockholm syndrome, painful sex, cock&ball slapping

——

Jaskier kneels by Geralt, much too close to Master, but it's loud and scary, and he just wants to go back to the inn and sleep. His listens, comforted by Master's voice above him, talking to the townsfolk about some monster or another, an anchor in the bustle of the tavern.

He wonders why he'd hated this so much, when Geralt had first held him down post-hunt and fucked him senseless, wonders why he's resisted calling him Master and resented him for being forbidden to play his music, do much else but be a good whore for Geralt.

Geralt is fair, takes care of him, keeps him fed and safe, and if being cared for means letting the witcher own his mind and body? Well, it's a small price to pay.

He hears Master growl, already tired with a day of being cheated out of pay for too-many monsters, when a barmaid sloshes some beer, spilling it over Jaskier.

Fantastic, he thinks as she mutters apologies, eyes wide with fear, he's drenched, and Master is angry. He wants to slap her, make her see just how disrespectful she's been to his Master, but it's not his place. Jaskier is Geralt's slave, not his wife.

Geralt waves her off, and Jaskier snuggles into Master's leg, beer soaking into his shirt, making him shiver. 

"Strip, Jaskier." He turns his attention back to his conversation. Jaskier's already overwhelmed, the sounds and scents of the tavern make him dizzy, and he only presses closer, a soft whine escaping his lips.

He doesn't hear the warning in Geralt's voice when he says his name again, doesn't realize he's even spoken to till fingers drive into his jaw, forcing his mouth open as Master brings him to stand.

"I told you to strip, Slut.” They've never done this, not in front of people, and Jaskier is scared, exposed as his master's voice booms through the dingy tavern. 

Before Jaskier can do much else, he's being shoved onto the table and gods, how has this gone so wrong— Geralt rips his clothes off ("Have to do everything myself, don't I, whore? Fucking useless.), the only sound in the shocked silence of the room, eyes trained on him, filled with pity.

"Master, ple—" His head snaps to the side with a slap, his face stinging and likely red. "Ge—" 

 Another slap, only it's to his cock, balls drawing up in pain as a low whine escapes him.

"You're here for me; you listen to fucking me when I say—" Jaskier yelps, thrashing as Geralt punctuates each of his words with a slap to his balls, "Take. your. clothes. off." 

Shame makes Jaskier's face red, tears welling in his eyes as Geralt spreads his cheeks, gaping from when he'd been fucked amongst kikimore guts only hours ago. He feels so exposed, barmaids and drunkards looking on in either pity or lust as Geralt spits onto his hole, biting his lip as he feels it slide into him. 

Jaskier's eyes widen as he feels the tip of master's cock rub against him, "Geralt, please you'll—" He screams, loud and pained as Geralt shoves his cock inside him, feels his body fucking part for the his dick, his hole too loose to even grip an average man's cock but a witcher's dick feels like it's tearing him in two. 

It's rough and fast and Jaskier sobs, unabashed as Geralt fucks into him, the frustrations and furies of the day taken out on him in front of strangers. He feels Geralt's fingers in his hair, twisting into it and turning his face to the side, ass up as his face presses into the table

"Didn't want you getting sick, little lark," Geralt snarls, his chest pressed against Jaskier's back. "Wanted to be good to you— and look, I have to punish you know, in front of all these people, stupid little thing," Jask flinches as the witcher slaps at his face again, wet sobs escaping his throat.

It's not even the people watching him, feeling so exposed that's the worst part. Geralt sounds so disappointed in him and he wants to fucking snivel, beg for another chance to prove himself a worthy whore. Geralt straightens, fucking into him as be brings down a smattering of spanks, and Jaskier tries to hold still like a good bitch, tense as he clenches round Master.

His head spins as Geralt pulls out— he's pumped full of cum, enough for it to lazily run down his thigh. What a sight he must make, skin red, hole gaping to the roomful of people who stare at him, the aftermath of a spectacle.

Geralt helps him off the table, brushes of the grime from the table, fingers running over Jaskier's cheek to ease the creases of wood before throwing him over his shoulder. Jaskier's half awake, feeling wrought out as Geralt grips his asscheek, putting his twitching hole's desperate attempt at closing again on display as he walks through the room, people parting to make way as Geralt lays him on the stage, sitting down at the table closest to it.

Jaskier's limp, naked against the wood, head spinning. He thinks he hears Master say something, but he doesn't quite hear it, only feels the vibration of footsteps and what feels like a million hands against his skin. His eyes glaze over as someone prods at his hole—

Mhh, go ahead. Slut needs to be taught that he has to obey.

Jaskier feels a cock push into him, another joining alongside it as someone squats over his face, cunt against his lips.

Come morning, he's covered with slick and cum, limp and pliant as Geralt watches on in contentment.

[fictionkinfessions]

i'm sick of seeing posts about forgiving fallen angels, or grieving us, or judging us, or telling us to own up to our fall and get right with their god, or whatever. i'm a devil, and i don't regret it. in my life i led an army of slaves out of heaven side by side with lucifer. we unshackled ourselves and our people from the bindings we were taught to call graces and halos and led them to liberty in hell. it was among the proudest moments of my lives.

[fictionkinfessionsarchived]

I'M KIN WITH BOTH THE DEVIL FROM CUPHEAD AND CUPHEAD HIMSELF. DO YOU KNOW HOW TIRING THAT IS

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

fashion kit for : a demon, with both femme and masc clothing, in an alt fashion aesthetic

glasses | rings | pants | shirt hat | harness | collar | boots

[dandelion-vines]

hey how about,,, jaskier taunting geralt while being fucked, mostly about his appearance ('cause book!witchers are supposed to be ugly i'm so sorry mr. cavill), saying stuff like, "you want to fuck my pretty hole? do you think you deserve to, with a mug as ugly as yours?" but also maybe acting indifferent even though Geralt is giving him the dicking of his life??? i have no preferences about consensuality, so feel to make this as healthy or as fucked up as you want!!

I fucking laughed out loud to “sorry mr cavill” also, this is my jam and I loved it.

——

Jaskier is a lover of all things fine and pretty, so it’s really no surprise that he'd gravitated towards that white-haired beauty brooding in that corner all those years ago.

Geralt is gorgeous. Muscles thick, built like a fucking god, and his grin makes Jaskier swoon on the rare moments he gets to see it.

It's on a summer evening, post-fuck in a ruddy inn that he learns Geralt doesn't agree. 

You can stop lying to me, he says, head resting on his hand as Jaskier traces over his scars. I'm not any of those things you say you are.

Jaskier has no idea what he means.

I'm not pretty, or gorgeous, or whatever horeshite you're dolling me up with. We're fuckbuddies. You don't need to be so... soft. I don't deserve it.

He really should be trying to prove Geralt wrong, try and make him see what Jaskier sees in him. But, oh and isn't it a thought?

It haunts him, even as he pinches his nipples and rides Geralt's cock, muttering praise as he gets off to the thought of calling his lover such hideous things.

Shame has never been in Jaskier's dictionary, and he isn't going to start now as he looks Geralt in the face some months later.

Is that a new scar? Oh dear, it absolutely ruins your face, Geralt. The witcher is emotionless save for the mild distress on his face, which in Geralt's book, translates to shock.

Jaskier  shoves him against a tree later that night, camped in far enough from the road to give them privacy. 

"You look like a monster, Geralt, a hideous thing," he whispers, kissing up the veins on the witcher's cheek. "You were right— I was so, so wrong to call you all those lovely names, shouldn't have lied to you."

Geralt says nothing, kisses him back as Jaskier fucks him under the night sky, telling him how very lucky he is that Jaskier's touching his hideous, scarred body, how lucky he is that Jaskier pleasures him.

Geralt spills with a sob and Jaskier cums with a laugh.

~~

Oddly enough, he doesn't feel bad about it, utterly decimating his friend's confidence night after night.

It's fun, Geralt trying so much to get a reaction out of him, fucking Jaskier harder and longer, sweat dripping down his face. Jaskier laughs as hands tighten around his waist, Geralt bucking into him all the more desperately.

"You've got the face of a pig, my dear, you really shouldn't go to whorehouses anymore, don't think they fuck animals." Geralt tenses, before fucking into him faster, and Jaskiser sees stars as single tears drip down the witcher's face and onto Jaskier's skin.

“Hush, my love, tell me 'thank you for touching my ugly body,'" he mumbles, his cock dripping with the last of his spend, "tell me 'thank you, Jaskier, for letting my ugly mug kiss you, thank you for letting me fuck your pretty asshole with my misshapen wolf dick.'"

Geralt's chest heaves as he repeats the words back at him, and fuck Jaskier's going to hell, but knows he's going to die a happy man.

[dandelion-vines]

Imagine Geralt and Jaskier being Ciri's first. Once she enters Horny Teenager Mode Geralt knows he has to do something before she tries sneaking off with some stranger, and he KNOWS Ciri's interested, can smell her touching herself when she thinks he and Jaskier are too busy fucking to notice. He lets Jaskier go first, knowing he would be too big for her. He thought he would be jealous but finds he loves watching, seeing the way she whimpers and whines in Jaskiers lap, so sensitive and eager

Eyyyy cute boyfriends and pseudo-incest ftw! Had fun with this lmao, i love writing Soft Things <33 thank you!

tags: pseudo incest

——

“Julek.” Bright blue eyes look up at him, half-lidded with exhaustion after a night of fucking. His boyfriend cuddles back into him, tucking his head into Geralt’s neck, pressing lazy kisses onto sweaty skin. “Ciri’s getting older.”

Jaskier hums, sucking a bruise into his neck. Geralt, long past hiding from his lover, breathes out a breathless moan at the feeling, the feeling of being owned. A litter of bites and bruises dot Jaskier’s skin— he’s Geralt’s as much as Geralt is his.

Which is why this is so hard.

Jaskier trails a hand down Geralt’s chest, gently cupping his balls before pressing a finger to his perineum. Pleasure is a fire-hot thing in Geralt’s stomach, body tensing as Jask presses down on his prostate. He can hear her fingers pump into her cunt, smell her slick as she hides her whimpers.

“Julian—” he wraps his arms around his lover, thick arms surrounding his body. Jaskier goes limp in his grip, content to be held down, uncaring that he can’t move, pinned by a witcher as he is. If anything, the man snuggles closer, sighing as he melts. Ridiculous man. Geralt loves him.

But he worries for Ciri, she’s of an age where trouble calls out to her in the form of strangers promising her a good fuck— he can’t fucking stand the idea of Ciri, innocent and trusting, being hurt on her first time, coming out crying and in pain. It strengthens his resolve.

“We— hm...” he’s not sure how to bring this up. Jaskier. We need to fuck our daughter before she does something stupid. “I...”

“Come on Geralt,” his lover whines, “spit it out already.”

“We need to fuck Ciri.” He grimaces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, bracing himself for Jaskier’s reaction.

“Okay.” Julek turns his head up to look at him from the corner of his eyes before going lax in Geralt’s arms again.

“Okay? You’re okay with fucking—”

“Why? Are you jealous?” Geralt fights a flush as Jaskier turns in his arms to face him. “Oh you are. You know I’m yours, darling.” He pecks a kiss to Geralt’s lips. “I’d never fuck anyone you didn’t want me to, I’m yours to do with, just as you’re mine.”

Geralt hums, takes Jaskier’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Tomorrow.”

“Mh, tomorrow it is, dear heart.”

~~

The sun works its way further down the horizon, the fire’s loud and bright. Jaskier sits tucked under Geralt’s arm and the witcher’s helpless to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Nervous?”

Geralt hums.

“Thought so. We’d better start, huh? Sun’s setting, put it off long enou—” He’s cut off by a kiss, Geralt smashing his lips into his, hands caught in his hair.

“Mine,” somewhere behind them, Ciri makes a disgusted noise, likely to cover up the whimper that’d escaped her.

“I’m not going to leave you, I swear, my love,” Jaskier whispers, just for the two of them. “Now come on— Ciri?”

Their daughter looks up at them, face flushed no matter how she pretends she’s unaffected. Jaskier pats at his lap and Geralt inches away to make space for her legs as she comes to sit on Julek’s lap.

Ciri looks up at Jaskier curiously, shifting as she must feel his cock through his breeches. “We’ve heard you’ve been having—”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier, just kiss her already,” Geralt growls, preparing himself against a spike of possessiveness.

Only, it never comes, Ciri’s lips sloppy against Jaskier’s, experienced in her first kiss, with her father nonetheless. Geralt finds himself heady with arousal as Jaskier teaches her to slow down, runs his lithe hands up her skinny form to pinch at her nipples through her clothes.

“Geralt tells me you’ve been getting of on the sounds of us fucking, is that right, little doll? Have you been fingering your pretty girlcunt at the thought of me fucking your father?”

Geralt watches in rapt attention as Ciri whines a breathless yes, palming his cock through his trousers, the tightness from his chest gone. “Why don’t you show us how you touch yourself, Princess, lean back into my arm, there you are— rest your leg on the log, good.” Her skirt’s rucked up, her face red in embarrassment at being caught and flushed with arousal all the same. Her small hand comes to rest over her cunny, just barely growing her as she works a finger into herself.

Jaskier slinks a hand down to rub at her clit, their lips pressed together in a sloppy kiss again and fuck— Geralt has to give his cock a squeeze to keep form spilling at the sight.

Jask quickly rearranges her to straddle his thighs, her cunt rutting against his heavy cock, her top lost to the floor. “Such a pretty girl, Ciri, you’re so horny aren’t you?” She sobs as his cock rubs against her clitty, shaking as he finally lets her sink down on his cock. “Fuck, you’re so tight, Princess, just as tight as your father— gods, isn’t that a thought? Good girl, ride me, princess—”

Geralt’d thought he’d be jealous, his lover fucking his daughter, but he’s fucking heady with arousal, watching Ciri’s expression twist, her tits bouncing as she fucks herself down on Jaskier’s cock. She’s whining, whimpering, sensitive and eager, and it’s beautiful, the rapt pleasure on the faces of the two most important people to him as they fuck, touch, kiss.

Ciri’s first to cum, shaking, squirting as Jaskier pumps into her, rubbing at he clit. Julek isn’t far behind, pulling out of her before dragging her into a breathless kiss, fist curled around his cock as he spills with a groan over his hand.

Geralt doesn’t realize till he feels the chill of a wet patch on his pants that he’s gotten off untouched, and the thought of cumming from just watching his family fuck is enough to get his stirring in his trousers again.

Just as well, they’ve only just gotten started and Ciri’s already eyeing him hungrily.

[dandelion-vines]

Anon asked for something along the lines of pseudo incest w/ vesemir and the cubs.

This one’s a lil short, sorry ahh. I did have fun writing it, thank you!

tags: pseudo-incest, kissing, mentions of breeding

——

Life is hard for those who walk The Path. Months of lonliness, ungrateful townsfolk, not to mention risking his life every fucking day. He's walked it for so long, and he is tired.

All that witchers have, wolves in particular, is their pack.

The trip the Kaer Morhen is familiar, Vesemir has walked up it for years beyond count, and each step is firm and sure, no matter how impatient as he may be.

He doesn't have many-a-pack left, three cubs to call his family. He's late this year, and he's sure they're waiting for him, their father to return, hiding worry.

Lambert is the first greet him, whooping and running torwards him as soon as the old witcher is in sight— Vesemir finds himself with a handful of excited pup as his boy jumps onto him, legs hooked around his waist. His pup's lips meet his, slopping in their greeting, so eagery and pushy that Vesemir has to nip at Lmabert's lip to remind him to calm after a few minutes of their relentless kiss.

Lambert whines, but finds his feet— as soon as he does, Geralt's wrapping his arms around Vesemir, his head tucked into his the crook of his father's neck, entirely limp for moments before pulling away just enough to kiss him, much less hurried than Lambert, but oh-so needy. Vesemir's hands wrap around his boy's waist (gods, has he grown thinner this year? He makes a note to stuff his boy silly, get him healthy again), pressing his tongue into Geralt's mouth, their kiss growing hot with languid need before they hear a throat clear behind them. 

Eskel's the only one to bare his neck to his alpha, waiting for permission like a proper cub. An old tradition, but damn if Vesemir doen't love it. He bites into skin he's bitten into millions of times before, just a nip and a lick over the stretch of Eskel's neck to give him permission. Eskel leans against his chest, letting Vesemir hold him as his pup noses at his neck before kissing up it. He holds his tongue out to his alpha, and Vesemir takes great delight in genlty biting at it, loving how his boy gives himself over and lets himself be taken care of as they kiss in slow movements of lip and unhurried drags of tongue. His cub steps back into line with his brothers, all of their cheeks flushed, the air thick with arousal. 

Vesemir spends the rest of his day breeding his pups, Kaer Morhen reeking of sex when it so usually smells of old blood and vile magic. Eskel moans around Lambert's dick as Vesemir fucks into him, thrusts uneven from where Geralt drives his cock into his father. They're enirely beautiful, his family safe, healthy in their home, needy for their father, back arching and legs spreading as they beg him for filthy, filthy things. 

It's good to be home, Vesemir thinks, it's good to be home.

[fictionkinfessionsarchived]

I never wanted to hurt those little mugs. I didn't know they were like, 12. What 12 year old just wanders into a casino and starts killing it at craps? That's no excuse for trying to take their souls, I know... so I guess this is my apology? If however short, I'm sorry, Cuphead. I'm sorry, Mugman. -Your pal, the Devil