#to saying that she had a “demon in her womb” like what?!?

[theghoulboysblog]

i think about these pictures from the buzzfeed exorcism video literally every day because even through the uncomfortability and awkwardness that was that video, shane was still right there making ryan laugh, and i think that’s so nice :)

the only besties that matter i fear! :)

[hazelfoureyes]

Alastor in Rut (one shot)

Rutting Alastor x Fem Rabbit Reader

Less than confident and lacking much in the way of assertiveness, you find hell to be scary. But, a very kind and helpful deer demon has a solution! Just in time, as an unexpected rut hits him and he feels the need to reel you in.

this is pure self indulgence. Shout out to @jazzmasternot , @lustylita , @sugoi-writes , and @minkdelovely for keeping me sane and horny (with art lol)

「Warnings/Promises: actual warning - mentions of accidental vehicular homicide and reader's death, Marathon Smut, p in v, finger almost in a?, anal is considered, knotting because fuck it, attempt at breeding, womb flooded, not dubcon but everyone in the hotel thinks it is, slightly repetitive fucking because he wont waste semen on other holes, Alastor would fuck anyone but you’re the most amusing, Alastor doesn’t think he’s the good guy which is honestly kinda cute, deadass talk about making you carry his fawns?? Why is it so hot?? Knock me up deer man bleat bleat bitch, implied previous relationship with a human man, plans to cuckold your ex, heat, blue fire isn’t hot, you’re tricked into a deal with Alastor, kinda size kink, demon Alastor, minor aftercare, a little sexual choking (as a treat)」

Hey--- we're all here for something. This is 10000 words, 5300 or so is smut. Smut starts at the bright green divider for you impatient and horny deeries.

MINORS YOU KNOW THE DRILL DNI

The line for reception was long, but that was to be expected. After the extermination ended early and Adam killed on television by a maid, the Hazbin Hotel had been busy. Or so you overheard others saying. You’d only been in hell a day, lucky enough to catch the advertisements and hear the gossip for the hotel soon after your descent.

You recognized the princess immediately, but not that tall man beside her. He wasn’t doing anything, just staring and smiling. Was he friendly? Were there friendly people in hell? Truly friendly. Not high school girl friendly. Or hungry witch friendly. He had witch vibes.

“Hiya welcome to the”, she took a deep breath in, “Hazbin Hotel! I am Charlie! This is Alastor! What did you do to bring you to hell? Gotta know so we can cater your redemption activities to your sins!”

She was staring at you so happily, pen over paper. Your eyes nervously shot to the man, who leaned down in response.

“I fell asleep driving and killed someone, and myself.”

Everything about Charlie was frozen still except the sudden glossiness forming over her eyes. “You… you… were you like, a thief or… did you…… push old ladies into traffic?”

You shook your head no.

“Gluttonous? She asked.

“No, I wasn’t a fan of overindulgence.”

“Prideful, then?” 

“Unfortunately… I don’t think too highly of myself. Living or dead.” Your hand came to your down turned rabbit ears, sad and limp. Even in death you weren’t the right kind of anything.

“Uhh,” Charlie clicked her pen furiously again and again, “Lustful?”

“Just the one partner. My highschool sweetheart.”

A sweat was forming on Charlie’s brow, “Sloth?”

“I did fall asleep behind the wheel… but it was from working 25 hours of overtime this week.”

Charlie put the pen down, “I don’t think you belong in hell. You made an accident. That’s not how sins should work…”

Your eyes bore holes into the desk, avoiding eye contact, “I don’t think heaven cares much about that.”

“Poor thing. Let’s circle back, Charlie.” Alastor’s large hand rested on your head, patting twice. 

She nodded, “Good call. I’ll just,” her tongue stuck out as she began to write, “make a new category just for you! Other.”

Yeah that made sense, you thought. That was fitting. This truly was hell. Finally you stood out, as the one who didn’t fit in. You supposed that’s what a wallflower deserved for murder. 

“Follow me little one.”  The tall Alastor instructed you as he snatched a key from the hook and walked past you.

Happily. Small tail uncontrollably swishing as you followed a foot behind him.

A hum of approval, Alastor noticing the distance you kept.

“You obey instructions well.”

You always did. “Thank you.” Tiny and soft, your response made his shadow shift and smile.

It wasn’t a compliment, but the fact you took it as one interested him. Subservient. 

Fun. 

“I take it that you really were a good girl in life, weren’t you?” He swiveled on his heels to face you, the sudden change causing your face to run into his lower chest.

A song of apologies fell from your mouth as you backed up, tripping over your own pathetic attempts at platitude and falling back onto your ass.

He was tall before but now he towered over your, hand outstretched to help you up. You offered a thank you before taking it.

Clawed fingers tightened around your palm. Not letting you pull away. “You’re new to hell, right?”

A glance around, no one else in the hallway, “Is it obvious?”

“Yes. But also, you mentioned work this week.”

A nod, “It’s been maybe a day.”

Delicious.

“Could I offer you some advice?” He leaned down, hand tightening further. Wide eyed and a little frightened with the change in atmosphere, you just nodded again. “It’s very dangerous out there for little prey animals like yourself.”

“Aren’t you also a prey animal?”

His hand uncurled.

A moment of tension, Alastor leaning down further.

A strange sound was coming from his microphone, the best approximation you had was a car radio going haywire skipping through the channels.

“Room 243!” His body popped up and he held the key out for you. The hallway lights seemed to be glowing brighter now.

You grabbed the key, “Thank you!”

Two fourty three was just past him. A small tremble kept you from getting the key in on your first and even second try. 

You didn’t even stop to turn on the light, just pushing the door closed behind you as soon as your body was through the threshold.

The relief barely left with a sigh when you heard it, “You know…”

Frozen, your eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see the shining of his red and pink eyes in front of you.

“I’m somewhat of a deal maker. For a small price, I could help you. Perhaps, you’d like a change of appearance?” His voice seemed to be coming from the walls, above and beside you all at once.

Something lifted a floppy ear. But his eyes were too far from you for it to have been his own hands. A small scream as you smacked at the appendage.

“What do you say? I can use a little magic to make you happier with your new form.” A dark whisper into your right ear. 

Your hands flew to your head before you dropped to your knees to escape the hidden things touching you. 

“What do you want?” To your left now. “Let’s make a trade. A deal.” Above your head. 

His eyes were gone. Just darkness and a soft laugh echoing around you.

Your mind was reeling through possible answers, what did you want? At that moment? In general? 

An answer tumbled out, too quietly.

“Hmm?” His eyes reappeared closer to you and glowing a bloody red. “Speak up, my ears are quite a bit higher than your mouth.”

A second attempt, “Safety. I wanna be safe.” The laughter got louder, mocking you without words.

“A little tougher of an ask.” The sound of something slithering near your feet made you pull your knees tighter to your chest. “But! I’m here to please. In exchange for protection from the more nefarious of hell’s citizens I’ll need something worth my while.”

Of course, that is how deals work, right? A promise with compensation. 

“I don’t have any money, or possessions yet. Maybe I should try again later?” You were lost in the light of his stare and found the darkness deepening around him.

A considered hum, “Well, you’re already dead. You’ve no need for your soul. Damned as it is, give it to me instead. To keep safe. And I’ll always answer your calls for rescue when in harm's way.”

Why would…what use was a soul, you wondered. Was he right? But if he wanted it, surely it had value. You were too new to this world, scared to say yes and part with what little you had. 

At the risk of angering the demon in the darkness of your room, you whispered to yourself and hoped he would hear it, “I think I shouldn’t.”

Hissing in your ear, “Disappointing.”

The lights flickered on, an empty room. A bed. A nightstand. A closet. A bathroom. No tall smiling dealmaker.

A tremor stayed in your hands through the night. 

To your surprise, when you ran into Alastor the next day he was more than kind. He was eavesdropping when you asked Charlie if the hotel needed any staff. Not only did you want to be of use, you were hoping to earn some money. He quickly slid beside Charlie suggesting things you could do. 

Wow, you thought. He didn’t hold a grudge at all. Maybe he had been trying to help before? 

It took a few weeks, but you found a groove. You were a floater between the staff, helping Husk with the restocking of his bar, following behind Niffty with supplies her tiny arms couldn’t carry, and keeping notes for the activities Charlie held. It was vital for you to feel needed and everyone seemed happy to have you around. Hell wasn’t so bad.

“Dear,” Alastor found you holding a basket of towels in the hallway on a rather standard weekday, “I need an errand runner. Do you mind?”

You had been finding Alastor’s presence enjoyable, a little secret you held. He was always smiling, which made you smile in turn. And his manners, well, perfect. You couldn’t understand why such a sweet man was in hell, but then you considered you were also in hell. Mistakes happen, perhaps he was also damned by technicalities. 

Not that you would ask him, you barely spoke a word to the deer demon. Every time he was around you your throat would close up. Oftentimes you would pull your hands behind your back to shield the wiggle of your too-honest tail. 

When he would speak to you, you would get so focused on the sound of his voice and watching his mouth move you’d actually not hear a damn thing he said. You must have looked like an absolute airhead, always replying, “What?” every time he finished a statement. 

“Hellooo, anyone home in there?” He knocked gently on your skull. Ah, those big hands again. He watched the pink bloom across your cheeks, your hands coming to your ears to pull them down as your mind wandered off.  A snap of his fingers finally brought you back.

“Sorry, what?” Your eyes were bright as you finally made the journey all the way up to his face.

“Welcome back. I need some stuff picked up from a shop downtown. I can’t leave right now, mind hopping over for me?” The grin he offered you made you melt.

“Of course!” That damn tail shaking behind you, “What am I picking up?”

He waved his hand, “Not important, it’ll be all wrapped up and waiting.” The radio effect of his voice grew, “I’ll write down the address.”

Terrible handwriting. You could barely read it, but didn’t want to insult him so you just nodded as he followed you to the doors. Pausing, you realized it was your first time leaving the hotel alone. 

“What’s wrong? Not up to it?”

You shook your head, “No! I can do it. Thank you.”

A pounding in your chest made you question if you were actually dead. But despite your concerns, no one bothered you beyond some catcalling and intense glares. Staring at the paper, you struggled to decipher the address. Was that a 7 or a 1? A 4 or a 9…? You were in the general area, the street name lined up and the first couple numbers of the address too.

You brought the paper closer to your face, maybe if you really inspected it you could figure it out. 

A shriek, dropping the paper to felt a small goblin-like creature pushing at your knees. Another, then another, began to appear from the shadows of the street. Black and white little creatures pushing and pulling at your legs until you tumbled over.

“Help!” You thought it was a shout, but it came out as a soft spoken request, the tone itself adding a ‘please’ to the end. 

They weren’t hurting you, just knocking you over every time you tried to stand up like grade school bullies. You managed, the creatures relenting momentarily before a stockier one materialized. A step back, what did they want? Money? You pulled out your wallet and opened it but the large one smacked it to the ground. 

That quick heart skipped a beat when your back hit against something solid. As your head bent backwards, you could see those red and pink eyes looming over you. 

“Oh dear. Trouble already?” 

You could cry. You did cry, a little, at the sight of a familiar face. With a flourish of his hands, those previously unseen tendrils whipped from his back and flung the aimless attackers away. 

Rescue! You hugged his waist, a chorus of ‘thank yous’ and ‘Oh, Alastor!’ into his chest. 

“Now now, can’t even be a proper task rabbit. You really do need some safeguarding.” He peeled you off him, brushing his coat off. Your mind thought back to the offer. “And I don’t see my purchase… didn’t complete the task either?”

You shrunk, you’d entirely failed him. His smirk was one sided, eyes half lidded and expression dramatically disappointed. Alastor sighed and turned to walk away from you. You’d let him down. He’d been nothing but accommodating and gentle.

“I’m sorry! Alastor!” You grabbed his wrist, eyes shut so you didn’t see the green glow of arcane symbols floating up around him. “Can I please have that deal? Please. I’m sorry, you have my soul as payment.”

Painless, selling your soul. With a handshake, a little light show, and a whirling of magic, you had done it.

“Excellent choice!” Alastor patted your head, “I’ll come to your aid when you’re scared for your life! Aaaand in return, your soul is mine. Easy peasy, yes?”

Fine, not an issue in the slightest. “Do I need to do anything?”

“About what?” His eyes wandered to inspect his fingernails.

“My soul.”

A barking laugh, “No. You’re tied to me now, dear. As for my end, just call my name when you’re in danger and I’ll,” a flourish of his talons, “rescue you.” His smile strained as he peered down at your little face, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m so happy to have the help, thank you Alastor! You really are just, amazing. Your mother raised you right.” Your hands were holding your cheeks, grateful and feeling a little less alone.

The mention of his mother made his back straighten, a bloom in his chest he knew all too well to be pride. Finally, someone was vocalizing his better qualities. Well, other than Charlie. But impressing Charlie was like making a dog think you’d thrown a ball. Just a little quick whirl of your hands and a couple sweet words with a smile and she’d be all wagging tail as she ran to retrieve nothing. 

But he supposed you were very much like Charlie, easily tricked and distracted. Had you really not noticed those goons were his? Or that the address wasn’t real? Were you stupid or naive? His head fell to the side unnaturally as he watched you talk. He wasn’t listening, though. He took in your features, slight but average. His hand came out absentmindedly and felt at one of your long and limp ears. He didn’t see you blush or caught how you stiffened. 

Naive. Terribly naive.

Perfectly usable. 

He dropped your ear and turned to leave. “I won’t rescue you twice in one day. Best to follow me home if you value your life.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You hadn’t told anyone about the deal, a secret for yourself to keep. Partly because you were embarrassed you needed the help, and partly because you had been warned extensively to not make a deal with the deer demon. Everyone had such a peculiar idea of Alastor, it seemed to you. Even after making a deal, he was still…Alastor. Always offering a joke, or playing something jaunty in the shared spaces. You could vent and whine and Alastor would hum as he read. Always offering a gentle pat to the head when you were sad or did something he liked. 

So when Alastor suddenly left the group in a sweat, hands shaking and body rocking slightly side to side, you were quick to follow behind him. He bumped off the walls a couple of times before making it to his room and falling forward past the threshold. 

You waited for the door to close before running down the hall and knocking. 

“Are you alright?” You pressed your cheek against the wood and listened for any reply. 

Alastor was still on the floor when you knocked, which worked out well. He leaned against the door, ears flat with his condition. He took a deep breath, voice dropping an octave and carrying easily to you, “Just— an out of season rut. Unexpected and unwelcome. Without any does nearby it’s quite odd.”

“Oh, are deer not like rabbits? Rabbit does are always in estrus! Mating actually triggers their ovulation. Neat, huh?” Silence, Alastor’s ears turned forward focusing on every other word.

Does, always, oestrus

Mating, triggers, ovulation 

“I had pet rabbits when I was little. Isn’t that funny though? That they’re also called does.” You worried he thought you were weirdly interested in rabbit sex. “We had them as pets. So….,” a silence you misinterpreted as awkward.

Alastor tapped a long claw on the door before dragging it down the wood. A line was etched behind, “Is that so?”

You knelt down to get comfortable, “How long will it last?”

“Ah, hard to say. I've only suffered through a few. Alone, perhaps a week.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“With an appropriate partner, a deer demon would rut for two days. One for mating with his doe, one for guarding his doe from rivals who could still interfere with conception.”

His doe. You both found your throat running dry at the words. 

You nodded, “Oh wow, I guess that’s why you always see bucks locked together in fights.”

“Precisely.”

“But...can sinners actually conceive?” You gulped, the idea was a little naughty to you. The entire conversation was actually making you uncomfortable. The kind of discomfort that made your breath pick up. The kind of discomfort that shifted to hunger with just a few words or a well placed look.

“No, but that doesn’t matter. Once fully in the hold of a rut or heat, demons aren’t motivated by logic.”

You nodded again, forgetting he couldn’t see you. “Oh okay…” the idea of Alastor rutting into his own hand desperate to fill a womb made your knees come together. “Must be hard for you. As an asexual.”

A hum, confusion breaking his creeping fog for a second, “A sexual what?”

“Nevermind.” You shook your head, shaking off the topic with the motion.

Alastor could smell your arousal wafting under the door. A feverish chill ran through him, drawing the fog back into the recesses of his mind.

“Well… I’ll let you rest. I know you can’t call me, so I’ll stop by to see if you need anything.”

His mouth opened to correct you— he could call you in a sense, and he didn’t need help as he had minions he could summon with a snap. 

“That sounds lovely, what a helpful thing you are.” The words came out strained, his jaw tensing. How much longer could he hold out? The thinnest lie held in place that he’d suffer alone through the week. Already compromised by his errant shadow, flat against the carpet beneath your thighs. 

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Within hours Alastor was lying on the floor with his limbs splayed out. The sweating was the worst, not the heat. He could feel ticklish drops dripping down his stomach. His hair was sticking to his face, adding to the mounting overstimulation. Wet, hot, clothes clinging to his body like a second skin. A clawed hand pulled off his bow tie. His fingers shook too much to handle the tiny buttons of his shirt so he gave up and ripped it open. 

It fell into a pile with the bow tie and soon his pants and socks joined. Sitting up on his elbows he looked down at his underwear, he wasn’t hard yet but he knew the smallest touch could trigger what could be days of painfully swollen erections.

He fell back to the floor with a huff, hands raking through his hair and gripping his ears a little rougher than he’d meant to. A gasp, red tipped talons feeling down his ears and slipping around his already growing antlers.

Alastor’s eyes rolled back, strong hands squeezing his prongs, tugging them forward as he imagined anyone riding him. Using his appendages as a handle while he bucked up into them. His hips were already moving, lower back rising off the carpet as he rolled his body up into the imaginary mate he despised his desperation for. His mind flicked through faces. Husk’s pained but satisfied expression, Vox’s tears as he whined, Carmilla’s lusty eyes paired with surrendered sighs. He lingered briefly on Angel’s smirk as his hands roamed down his chest and his thighs in tandem. 

But through the darkness of his imagination he saw two watery and timid orbs, tears welling as eyebrows rose in confusion. Pleasure making the features soften. Soft. Soft velvet ears he could tug on in turn, a little bushy tail he could grip. 

A doe. 

The only doe he knew of in the hotel. 

The radio on the writing desk flipped through channels, piecing together the sounds to form the words he was trying to forget, a magazine ransom note cut from sound bites.

....out the windows

 ....always and forever, 

....in yesterday. 

....rusty cage 

May you never....

Hating how I....

....pull the trigger

....say you love me?

....congratulations 

The relevant sounds spiked in volume, mocking him. 

He walked to the radio and hurled it across the room. Aggression. Already he was losing himself to hellish biology. 

A minor part of him didn’t want to use you. You always looked at him with such adoration, which he’d come to look forward to when others weren’t giving him adequate attention. You also seemed to genuinely see him as a friend, as much as he didn’t directly feed that idea.

But using people was how the world worked. Everyone was using someone. You had said how much you wanted to help… Alastor leaned on the desk with both hands and watched the sweat fall onto the wood and leather writing surface.

How was his body leaking from every pore but his mouth was so dry?

His shadow reached for the thrown radio, the light flickering on. That dark doppelgänger using a song to offer another piece of torment for him, ‘you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine.’

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You had been speaking to Husk about what you could do to help prepare the bar for the weekend when a green light began to form around your neck. 

“Did you— Did you make a deal with him?!” Husk dropped the dish rag, hands shooting to your shoulders, “Hold on! I’ll— fucking hell. Fuck!”

“Wait what’s wro-,” you were standing inside an unfamiliar room, just at the door, before you could figure out why Husk was panicking. Looking up, you locked eyes with Alastor. The room was dark, curtains drawn shut and ceiling lights off. A slight glow from a roaring blue fire to your left. His eyes were those familiar glowing red orbs in the darkness of his large canopy bed. “Oh, Alastor.” You finally noticed the third light source. A neon green large linked chain was wrapped around his fist. Following the squared interlocking pieces down the length of the bed, across the carpet and up as you looked down to find it ending on you.

Your hands touched your neck, feeling the cold metal of your collar. 

Alastor took a deep breath in, a shaky exhale following.

Oh. You’d heard from Angel how his deal with his boss often materialized as a series of smoke rings linked and attached to him. 

Before you could question it any further you were sliding across the floor, hands and feet struggling to find purchase as he reeled you toward the bed. Alastor lifted you by the glowing chain around your neck, evidence of the deal you so easily accepted.

“Can a deer breed a rabbit?” He mused, breath ragged as he struggled to remain in control of his impulses, “Doubtful. But I’ll give it my sincerest efforts, regardless.”

“Alastor-! You don’t want to do this, it’s just your rut.” You pulled back, legs kicking and piling up the blankets. It was fruitless. 

He laughed, incorporeal radio studio audience joining along. You couldn’t stop from glancing at the straining fabric of his black boxers. Setting a small hand on his chest to better attempt to push away you gasped, “You’re burning up!” The fear of the moment left you entirely, replaced with deep concern. 

He gripped your wrist with his free hand, not letting go of the chain in his right, “The fever is unbearable. My mind is slipping away.”

“Is this normal?!” Your hands came to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck. You remembered how your grandmother always checked your temperature, and pressed your lips to his sweat slicked brow. “You poor thing…”

When you pulled back you were met with the bright and blown out pupils of Alastor’s gaze. He was staring at your mouth, the green of his magical connection to you reflecting off his glossy eyes.

“Poor me.” He’d been sitting with loosely crossed legs but got on his knees. His face rose until he was looking down at you, hand now holding your chin, “You promised to help me.”

Your eyes were looking everywhere but his face. 

His hand on you tightened, cheeks squished together as he pulled your head up, “Are you a liar?” Of course not. His hand made your head shake left to right.

The trembling of your hands was obvious to you both. A cruel laugh, “Do I scare you, little bunny rabbit?”

In life you weren’t popular. No one hated you, but, well, you never had much luck attracting the men all the women seemed to want. No one of power or consequence ever paid you any mind.

Alastor was scary. But were you scared? Someone strong wanted you. Someone people feared was saying you were good enough for them.

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt your tail wiggling side to side. Your body always betrayed you. Your own death had been the doing of your body’s inability to listen to you. 

He couldn’t see the tail but the way your face screwed up in shame tipped him off. Letting go of your face, super heated finger pads slipped down your back. He slotted your tail between two fingers. There was no reason for it to be such an intimate action, but your entire body trembled.

Another deep sigh from Alastor, closing his fingers around the base and pulling gently. A test. Your head dropped to hide your reaction.

“Ah ah, eyes on me.”

He hummed happily as you did as you were told.

But the moment was cut short, you jumping when a rough knock came to the door.

“Alastor!” Vaggie was turning the knob despite knowing it was locked, “Is she in there? Open the fucking door.” A kick, a threat, “Now.”

“I’ll need your answer.” He leaned back onto the pillows piled behind him. Making a point, he lifted your chain and dropped it. It dissolved into nothingness before it could hit the bed.

“I’m here!” You said barely loud enough to be heard through the wooden door. Your eyes were drawn to Alastor’s lap as he pushed down his underwear to free his deep red cock.

His hand tenderly touched his base, hissing with the contact.

“For fuck’s sake Alastor!” Vaggie yelled, “You have three seconds to open this fucking door before I rip it off the hinges.”

Alastor’s head fell back with a moan, stifled as he bit down on his lip. 

“One!”

As his fingers slid up his length and touched his leaking slit his entire body violently shook.

“Two!”

He opened his eyes just barely. You hadn’t noticed the antlers on his head were quite a few times larger than normal. 

“I’m okay!” You shouted, the loudest noise you’d made since your death, but not the loudest you’d make by the end of the day.

Silence.

Mumbling.

 Vaggie spoke up again, “Are you sure? Come out and talk to us first.”

His hand began stroking himself, precum spilling down. Something soft and fuzzy was settling over the front of your brain.

You scooted backwards off the bed, eyes staying on his lap. The light color of his inner thighs. The little bit of red and black tail you could see squished down under his ass.

“Hello!” You opened the door just enough to shove your head through. “Hi there gang.”

Husk’s arms were crossed and his foot tapping, “Are you really okay? No matter the deal he can’t fucking make you stay in there with him.”

While you weren’t sure that was actually true, it wasn’t an issue, “I wanna stay! He needs someone to watch his fever and-,”

A brief rush of cool air up your shirt before a hot mouth was pressing into the small of your back.

Vaggie’s eyes narrows, “and?”

“And! And. Yes.” Your eyes shut, “and take care of cleaning up after him.”

They shared a glance, “He can just make his little creatures do it.”

A surprisingly long tongue ran up your spine.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god! No! I couldn’t let my friend,” you sucked your bottom lip in as his hands wrapped around your waist and undid the button of your pants, “rely on strangers.”

Husk sighed, “Alright, just… like, call us or something? If you need anything.”

You began to nod but the door was shut and locked by Alastor before you could reply.

₊✧˚﹕︶︶︶﹕૮₍ ⸝⸝´ ꒳ `⸝⸝ ₎ა﹕︶︶︶﹕ ˚✧₊

Your face hit the wall as you lost balance when he pulled down your pants and panties with one yank and buried his face into your crotch. His tongue licked at the wetness pooled at your entrance.

Any moans would probably still have been heard by the other two so you tried to keep quiet. Alastor didn’t seem to care though, growling into your skin.

The fever seemed it would spread skin to skin, but when he pulled away you found your body quickly cooling. Taking a moment to breath before turning back, you wondered if you’d made a great decision or a terrible one. When you turned, Alastor was settling back into his previous spot. “I could rip the rest off of you or you could undress yourself.” He wasn’t looking at you as he said it. You made quick work of removing your shirt and returning to the bed as you had before.

"Turn around."

You turned to face the door.

"On your hands and knees."

You paused briefly, but did so.

As you bent over, little tail high and trembling, Alastor’s clawed thumbs spread open your bottom lips. Perhaps it was embarrassment or just the nerves but you were twitching open and close.

You heard a low “Fuck” before the feeling of heat dripping onto you made you jerk forward. One of his hands came to your shoulder to hold you in place, the other kept your hole open as his seed continued to dribble down onto it.

He hadn’t been trying to cum, but his body was already responding to the opportunity before it; a breedable and submissive doe.  His cock trigger-happy at the sight of your pussy, inside pink and clenching.

A tiny yelp as he fell over you, joining you in an all fours position but larger body caging yours between his limbs. He laughed again when the back of your head hit him square in the chest. 

“You are uselessly small.” His body rumbled over you. “Clever girl to make a deal for protection.” 

A burning stiffness slid down your folds. You could feel from even how little contact he made he was too big. Was it a bad time to tell him you’d only had the one partner on earth? A rather boring but sufficient sex life. If Alastor was hoping for a sex kitten he’d be deeply disappointed in you.

He hummed imagining dropping his weight and feeling you fruitlessly squirm under him. 

“Mating triggers ovulation, I recall you said. I just need to fuck you into it, right sweetheart? Maybe if I do a good enough job,” his hands gripped the flesh of your ass, “your body will actually respond. Your belly will swell with the evidence of my virility.” Both hands slipped down your hips and came to nestle above your womb, tenderly caressing the protective layer of fat there, “could your little form handle it?” Little form? Not quite. But to him everyone was little. Claws leaving faint red marks as he dragged them up your ribs, around your sides and pressed your back down to get your chest into the bed and ass in the air.

A squeak, your legs flailing with what little motion they had as you turned your head, “Well that’s for actual rabbits not--.”

His hand came over your mouth, “Shhh, there's safety in the quiet. Don’t you know? We’re most vulnerable when we mate.” On the utterance of the word you’d been avoiding to even think about Alastor’s still hard cock squeezed its way into you. Your body was willing, but your pussy wasn’t ready to accommodate him. Not that your living partner had been small, but he wasn’t a seven foot tall rutting deer demon. And with height came a girth and length you’d not anticipated. You had seen it, yes, but that didn’t translate to much once Alastor was entering you.

His hips were snapping back as soon as he sank in. It frustrated him endlessly that he wasn’t trying to fuck you with such a lack of control. He couldn’t have been sure he’d have done it any differently had the circumstances been changed, but he liked to think he’d  retained some skills over the long years alone.

The way he whined made him sound like a weak man, which he was in that moment. You wanted to call out his name, do the things you were used to doing during sex, but his hand was still over your mouth.

As if he heard your thoughts, his fingers spread open over your lips. Pinky under your chin to keep his hold on you. 

“Alastor,” the tenor of your voice surprised you.

“Stick out your tongue.” He sounded far away, despite being right behind you. When you did as he instructed his hand shifted. Two long fingers went into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue. Immediately his fingers and your chin was dripping with drool. He whined again, louder, the noise growing into a growl as his speed began to pick up. 

You could feel the thin flesh at the bottom of your entrance stinging as it was failing to stretch enough for him. It would have bothered you more but the way his burningly hot cock's head was pressing into your cervix was making your eyes lose focus. 

Without ceremony, you felt a rush of heat deep in you. Your shins lifted from the bed as you squirmed, weak attempts to escape the deep press.

His hand left your mouth and you felt it working on the base of his cock that was not yet in you. He mumbled something, it sounded like an apology, before you felt him pop the rest of himself in. You choked on your scream, not knowing what he had put in you. 

It throbbed, new and stronger spurts of his seed felt against an indescribable place. 

A brave hand reached between your thighs and felt at the space between your bodies—- well, would have felt at that space. But there was none. You were flush against his lap. Your fingers slid down to feel taut balls pulled up into his body. 

He shivered as you traced between them, checking neither were …  inside you. 

“I should have warned you, but my ability to speak wasn’t—,” he waved his hand around, “available.” You tried to pull away but found you both were locked together. “A knot. Not an accurate representation of a deer… and technically useless.”

That word meant nothing to you. “Is it normal?”

His thumb pressed at the virgin tight ring of muscle just above your pussy, you instinctively jerked away but just made yourself gasp as that large knot in you threatened to further tear you if you kept it up. “I don’t normally do it so early in a mated rut.”

You surrendered, trying to relax your upper body into the bed. “How do we get it out?”

A mocking chuckle, “It’ll deflate, so to speak, in a couple minutes. It’s just keeping my little doe in place while I finish filling her up.” He patted your ass. 

It was mortifying to be suck in that position.

“Have you ever used this hole?” He rubbed some of your wetness up to your asshole. 

 Your tail lifted, “My boyfriend didn’t like anal.”

Alastor massaged around the puckered ring, “I didn’t ask if he used his.” Your head turned to look at him, shaking it ‘no’. You noticed his face looked less strained now, and that his finger didn’t feel like a fire was just under his skin. “Ah, well. I won’t need it today anyway.”

He didn’t see the bright blush that came over your face. He spoke so easily about the topic, a topic you’d never heard him speak on before. One you’d been told he had no interest in.

An error you made, assuming a lack of interest meant a lack of knowledge or experience. 

When he finally could pull himself out of you, you felt a rush of warmth down your inner thighs. Looking under you, past your chest and between your legs, you saw the thick white semen escaping from your stretched entrance. 

You’d never seen such an opaque release before. You wondered if it was a hint at his…potency. You wondered more what was happening in your body at that moment. 

“Will it come out on its own or do I need to clean it?” Finally sitting up, your fingers felt the mess still dripping out of you. 

Alastor leaned back onto his legs, ears turning in your direction as you asked, “Is this your first time? Your little boyfriend never finished in you?”

Crossing your arms, you turned to him, “Don’t be patronizing to him. And no, okay?”

He felt the heat rising from his gut again, cock twitching at every bit of the scene before him. Insolent body language, an attempt to scold him, and an admission. You watched him sit back up, a sudden reminder how much taller he was as darkened eyes looked down on you. The blue of the fire cast half of his face in shadows. “What’s this? My obedient doe wants to defend another man in my bed?” 

Your hands nervously came to the ends of your ears, “I didn’t mean it like that.” A finger twirled, telling you to turn around. You hesitated. Did he want you to leave? He didn’t want to look at you? You hadn’t—, “I’m sorry.” 

With a blink, his eyes were black.  His fingers longer as parts of him seems to stretch between the joints. He twirled them again as his smile grew wicked.

Desperate to show him you hadn’t wanted to upset him, that you wanted to stay, you turned around. The fear of not knowing what he would do next was sending waves of electricity to your lap. You realized you hadn’t touched yourself yet, not that this was the time to start. 

One by one, those freakishly long fingers curled around the small of your waist and lifted you off the bed. The tops of your feet were sliding across the dark maroon blankets beneath you both.

Your heart was pounding in your ears as he pulled you against him. He positioned you above his renewed erection, your legs opening a little in instinct. 

Grateful now to be turned around, you let your face run the full range of feelings as they washed over you. Fear, arousal, anticipation.

“What a wasteful man.” He brought you down with a painfully slow speed, head just now meeting your sticky wet hole. “He never flooded your soft cunt?” He pressed in a little easier this time, but as you sank to take him all in you felt a sting where you’d slightly torn earlier. “When he dies, I’ll be sure to find him.” Cruel. “And make him watch me breed you.” You clenched, yet another betrayal by your body. 

You were reduced to gasps as he stayed stock still and moved you on and off his cock. “Am I bigger than he is?” You could feel his breath against your back as you were lifted and brought back down again slowly. 

You nodded. A terrible liar, you didn’t even try to fib.

He stopped with his head barely in you.

A squirm.

“I’m sure I just didn’t hear you. Try again.”

“Yes.” You were full again as he got his answer. A creaking sound you didn’t recognize startled you.

“Do I fuck you better than him?”

Ah you understood. Your hands held at his fingers digging into your body. “Yes.” Another creaking sound as he quickened your rise and fall.

Alastor’s antlers were wide and multi-pronged as your affirmations jostled around behind his eyes. Your ‘yes’ somehow made you tighter, wetter, hotter around him. His hips started moving again to meet yours. Perhaps he his dick grown a little during his shift to a more demonic form, or maybe you enjoyed the line of questions. All he knew was you were squeezing him like your body didn’t want him to ever pull out again.

Blood dripped from his lips as he cut his own skin, through gritted teeth a final question, “Do you want my fawns?”

Your legs pressed together, you knew there was only one answer and yet you asked yourself. Did you want that? To carry his children? A moan cut through your thinking, “Yes!”

The fire roared, a response to his own reaction.

Alastor felt his mind slip under again, noticing the wild way his shadow was dancing around the walls before his senses all dulled except touch.

The bed drifted away from under his knees and the walls melted like spent candles. Just sounds echoing off space as your moans deepened. As if learning, you began to whisper ‘yes’ to yourself as you felt a building pressure in your stomach. 

Every thrust into you further separated your brain from your body. Your eyes lost focus as you watched the door bounce. No, wait, you were bouncing, right? Bouncing up and down the stiff rail of Alastor’s arousal. Your head fell forward, gasping as you felt him harden further while buried deep in you. He was going to cum again, you could feel it, you would feel it. The thought made your body shake as a pressure grew steadily in you. 

Not a new sensation, but a different one. 

“Louder,” another thinly veiled demand from Alastor that seemed to come from somewhere else entirely. Your eyes noticed a small light on the floor near the wall. A radio, buzzing with the same crackle as his voice.

“Yes,” you ground out, his hands were slippery with sweat as his nails dug in to ensure he didn’t lose his grip on you. “Yes, yes, yes.” He brought you down entirely and only let you off a little, an unspoken fear he would release too close to your entrance and he’d lose precious seed he needed your body to receive. “Yes! Alastor!” You weren’t sure who was talking now, as it surely couldn’t be you. You’d never —

“You’re better than him. You’re bigger and stronger and and he never —- he could never…”

He was suddenly regretting the position, unable to watch you fall apart as he so lovingly spread you open. 

With a shriek, your back crashed into his chest as Alastor fell backward into his pillows. He didn’t miss a beat. He continued fucking up into you but let one hand reach your clit. When you whined, he breathed into your hair, “I need you to orgasm.” Other hand pressing down on your womb, “Many cultures believed a woman couldn’t get pregnant without finding her release first. Surely it’ll take. Cum for me my doe.”

You shook your head, “Alastor that isn’t possible.” Not that you were arguing against the way his finger was rubbing up and down on your swollen clit, you just felt the need to remind him of the obvious. Your eyes wandered up and back to see the hauntingly wide antlers now. His transformed face barely visible in the shadows.

“I thought you were a good girl.” His mouth kissed at the base of your ears, hand over your womb pressing in and exaggerating the feeling of his cock bulging from under your skin. “Darling,” he groaned, “Are you ready for my knot?”

You moaned at the words. No, of course not. 

“Yes,” you got quiet, embarrassed again. Your hand snaked up and behind to hold his shoulder for stability. 

“Relax,” he hissed, feeling your body tensing in anticipation.

You tried your best, but between his strumming finger and the sting still at your entrance you struggled to let things go limp.

This time you felt it growing beneath you. Alastor was ready as well, pushing it in before it was swollen so large he’d have to force it or just suffer with it outside.

Lubricated with the multiple loads already fucked into and then out of you, the knot pushed past your entrance with ease. But then you felt it expanding in you. Eyes crossing as they rolled back with the foreign sensation. It didn’t hurt, but a little alarm was going off in the back of your brain. How could something natural feel so unnatural? And how—

Your body locked up, muscles from thighs to neck tight. Alastor’s finger hadn’t stopped, and as the second knotted release flooded you with his feverish need, as his knot trapped every drop and forced it up past your cervix you tripped into your first orgasm. Different from your own hand and toys, the build up hadn’t been a slow ratcheting climb. No, you were rolling through waves of nearly pained pleasure. The spasming forced your body to feel him even more, pulling him deeper, triggering another wave to crash into you.

Alastor wanted to praise you, a rush of hormones and ego expanding his chest but the sensations had him so overwhelmed he was manually breathing. His hand didn’t want to stop, because then the way your pussy was positively sucking him in would also end. But your little cries and moans got increasingly choked and strained.

The calm briefly offered by knotting a mate during his rut came to your rescue, Alastor dragging a still barely moving finger up your body and going slack into the pillows.

Deep breaths, both of you fighting to slow them down. Alastor was experiencing another moment of clarity, only slightly upset he had doled out so much tenderness.

But for you, there was no deep fog of a heat to numb the sensations and let the more bothersome bits of consciousness turn off. Your mind was just as clear as normal. A little lusty, but nowhere near Alastor’s altered state. As you laid against his chest, waiting for him to be able to pull out, you could feel the pains and aches setting in.

Alastor summoned a minion, food set down on his desk under a silver cloche. Your eyes caught the black and white creature before it was whisked away.

Sitting up, you flinched but fought against the pain, “Alastor. What was that?”

His hands pulled you back down by the shoulders, skin on skin, “My minion. One of many.” 

 Exhausted, you could only sigh, “So, the errand.”

His hands went up defensively, “Oh come now, did you really think I was the good guy?” You didn’t reply. The silence began to bother him. Odd, given he usually didn’t give a fuck.

But he’d asked a lot of you, and you agreed willingly. You did as you were told. A little twinge of concern he had actually upset you wiggled between his ribs.

His hands slipped down your waist and settled over your stomach, “…Are you hungry? If you stay like this, I can help you eat.” You took a deep breath in, but didn’t even move to look at him. He squirmed ever so slightly, “I can only assume you’re… quite sore. Perhaps a bath? But I can’t guarantee we’ll make it out much cleaner than we are now.” His smile was smaller, just lips; no teeth. As his antlers withdrew and his limbs all returned to their proper places he could turn his head enough to look at your face.

Alastor felt relief wash over him to see you deeply asleep in his arms. It wasn’t a bad idea, to sleep before the next spell hit him and he was too far gone to think about baths or meals.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Alastor awoke in the dark. He found his hands and ankles tied behind his back, his body naked and sweating. He was on fire, pieces of himself lifting in the hot breeze and blowing away. He could feel his body fragmenting. You were just a little ways away and he tried desperately to reach out to you but as his eyes adjusted you were suddenly too far. If he could just get you to take a single piece of him, a shard of himself, he would live still. Even when the rest of him was dead and gone, he’d be alive in your hands. A raging stress, the fire now reaching his bones. It wasn’t too late. He still had time. Just a sliver of his existence was all he needed to get to you.

When you woke up, your body was at the foot of the bed. Looking over you saw Alastor lazily stroking his painfully hard erection. His gaze downcast, vision cloudy with unmet needs.

“Alastor?” With shaky arms you lifted yourself. You were hot. Was it the fire? No, before it had no heat. A little damp outline into the comforter formed where your body had been. 

“You’re awake.” He reached over and grabbed your ankle, pulling you towards him and rolling you onto your back. Hand still around your ankle, he pulled your leg against his chest.

“Alastor.”

He sunk into you without hesitation, hips rolling into you roughly. Your body was rocking against the bed, wood creaking against wood with the steady force of his thrusts.

It felt good. Better than before, your walls felt soft and puffy around him. Alastor’s head was low, groaning every time he bottomed out. You could see just enough past him to watch the bed canopy swaying above you both before he folded you in half and leaned fully over you.

His eyes were unfocused like his mind, staring into the bed. A large palm at either side of your head, his back curved as he angled his hips to reach deeper yet.

“I’m so hot.” You were struggling to get the words out. It felt so good, the deeper in you he reached the more you seemed to be melting away.

Your hips were lifted off the mattress, held up entirely by his cock as he continued to rut into you. He could feel the fever in you rising. 

Bent and tangled together, his head was nearly above yours. He was sweating, hair stuck down and ears folded back. A bead fell from his cheek and hit your forehead. He was working so hard. Such a strong man. A strong buck. 

Something in you snapped. Something twisted and burned in your belly. You brought the other leg up to let yourself be folded in half completely, and his eyes wandered to your face. Your frontal cortex was just static as the lights were shutting off in most parts of your more human faculties. 

Everything got quiet in you, a deep seated feeling of security creeping up your legs and sinking into your bones. With Alastor in you, nothing bad could happen to you. If you were carrying his offspring you’d be guaranteed a new level of protection. You needed it. You wouldn’t survive if you weren’t fucked and bred by the overlord. 

How could your body be wrong when the feeling was so natural? So intensely confident?

“Alastor!” Your nails dug into biceps, hands clamoring up his arms to cling onto him, “breed me, please.” 

He was caught alight, mind on ablaze with his raging fever. Your plea was a magnifying glass concentrating the sun into him and sparking a wildlife. Alastor was defenseless against the way your words affected him. 

He could feel it, he could smell it, your heat triggered finally. His lips caught yours as his hands slipped up the blanket with how he had to contort to reach your mouth. You moaned into him, teeth on teeth as neither of you had any ability to finesse things.

“On your knees,” he instructed. You scrambled to turn around as he briefly left your body. A desperate whine in the seconds that stretched on, the emptiness unbearable. It hurt to have him anywhere but balls deep in you.

His hands slipped around your tail that still tried to swish side to side. When he tugged you gasped, the closest sensation you had was having your hair pulled. Chills ran up your spine. You nearly fell forward, but a strong hand wrapped around your neck and pulled your head back. He lined up, adjusting his legs wider to get down to your level.

“Are you feeling it?” He nipped at your shoulder, “Your heat?”

You pushed your ass back and pressed his tip into you. The sound that tore through your chest was answer enough for him as you tried your best to move along his length all on your own.

“You’re okay,” he squeezed lightly around your neck, pussy twitching around him as lightning snapped through you. “I’ll take care of you.”

Words that made your head spin. His body on yours felt like security. Everywhere his skin touched yours was a gulp of cold water in a drought.

A cliche, as he began to move again and his cock hit your g-spot every couple thrusts, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. His fever was matched to yours, no heat exchanged as warm and wet flesh moved around warm and wet flesh. Was that your hand or his on your stomach? Both were searing, both soft and slick. One of your hands was reaching down to hold his arm for support.

Eyes slipping shut, you imagined this was what being high felt like. You were out of your body entirely, feeling his dick slipping in and out of you from a different plane of existence. There was a sense your mouth was moving but no awareness of what you were saying. Truly just babbling as Alastor’s speed hitched. A clawed hand on your hip cut into you as he pressed deeper with every thrust.

He guided you down onto your stomach, hand now resting on your right shoulder to keep you in place. You were entirely flat, his knees parting your legs so he could get flush against your core. 

His knot was in place as he began to swell. You felt it again, him flooding your womb as he released directly into your twitching cervix. A euphoria filled you so totally you were sure you could feel the cells of your body humming.

Like a cool breeze had blown down, your fevers broke nearly immediately.

“Oh,” you squeaked, Alastor’s hand releasing you as he lied on top of you. The weight of him was oddly arousing as it gave a clear comparison of your smaller size. “I think you’re right. Estrus.”

He nodded, rolling you both onto your sides, “Would you like the good news or bad news first?”

Resting your head on his extended arm, you tried getting comfortable despite the sticky feeling of your skin and the burning in your thighs, “bad news.”

“You won’t be walking straight for days.” He said it with a heavy tone of pride.

“Oh geez…,” you could feel his knot still throbbing between your hips, “The good news?”

“Your heat is going to make me even more desperate to fill you,” his free hand ran down your sides and slipped between your legs to feel where you two were connected. 

You turned your head the best you could, “That’s not good news, Alastor!”

He laughed, “I lied. Oh well!”

While the good news had been a lie, the way your body’s shift into meeting Alastor’s instincts upped his feral responses was not.  You nibbled on fruit and bread and cured meats in the small windows the clouds around your humanity parted.

But when they’d roll back in, a tempest of feral wants crashing into you both, you’d find yourself clinging to the deer demon.

You could have had an apple in one hand and be mid bite when his musk would reach you and your grip would loosen. With just a moan and a lifting of your hips Alastor would be dragging you closer, crawling over your body, mounting you wherever you two happened to be.

It wasn’t that you’d become confident by the end of the day, but that you’d lost all semblance of shame and embarrassment.

When Alastor pulled you onto his lap and placed your hands on his peach fuzz covered antlers, you didn’t need verbal instructions. It took all of your arm span to reach them, so you held tightly as he thrust up into you. None of his noises had been as intoxicating as the ones he made when you were leaning over him and squeezing his prongs with every jostle of your womb. Perhaps he’d lost his shame too, loud and long moans the other residents had to have heard spilling from his open mouth. 

The wet slap of your ass coming back down onto his thighs as he bounced you was barely registered. Head hung low to meet his black engulfed eyes, you didn’t notice his smile was gone for the first time since you’d met him. Pinhole red pupils were locked on your face and imperceptibly roamed around your lust filled expression. 

One hand reached up and rubbed the soft skin of your downturn rabbit’s ears between his thumb and index finger. Soft. Velvet. 

A sensation that was wholly pleasant, not sexual in any nature but feeding the comfort provided by Alastor’s cock buried to the hilt. He wanted to enjoy the smile it gave you but he could feel his orgasm climbing exponentially.

There it was again, the darkness of your combined heat and rut slinking in. Body to body, your own sounds harmonizing with his and losing distinction. “Alastor–,” eyes drifting shut, “Please. I feel empty.” His previous loads dripping down your thighs, then down his own, and soaking into the carpet. “Fill me up. Please, can you breed me?”

His hand pulled down on your ear, “That was never in question.”

You let go of his extended prongs, arching your back to take a kiss. More. His tongue in your mouth, another hole full of Alastor. His hands both reunited on your ass and used the flesh there like handles. He fucked up into you, withholding the growing at his base, until he felt you cumming around him again. As your body sucked him in with rolling spasms, he pressed you down on his upthrust. A pained moan as it was pushed in a little late. 

Lightning behind your eyelids, your mouths hanging open and pressed together. 

Both of you a pile on the floor, a cold blue flame and soft music playing from the still broken radio. Uncharacteristically, Alastor’s arms wrapped around your smaller form and clung to you. The sensations were popping up one by one. Sticky skin, sweat rolling down your face, hair sticking to your neck and forehead. You’d have to peel each other apart. Which you did, eventually. When Alastor could pull out, he followed through on the bath he’d been thinking about. 

You protested, reminding him you’d be soaking the floor with displaced bath water as soon as the next urge to mate came around. But he laughed, smile back in place as if it had never left, “Sweetheart if I do my job right you won’t even realize you’re not in bed until you’re knotted and knocked up.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He hadn’t been lying about the protective second day. But what he hadn’t anticipated was just how long that aggressive desire to keep others at a distance from you would last. While your deal had been in place for a little while before his rut, it wasn’t until after your time together in his room that it seemed to ever be used. 

But you didn’t need to call out for him, like he had said. No, anytime someone even looked at you with a nasty thought, you were graced with his presence. Most people figured it out quickly enough, but occasionally new and brave idiots would approach you with trouble. 

So when a tall and imposing creature cornered you in a shop, hand holding something sharp and shiny and asked, “Scared, little hare?", you could only smile as your face was lit up by a green glow and offer a little advice, “No, but you should be.”

deleted scene ˗ˏˋ Masterlist ˎˊ˗

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[holmsister]

Ok, my long delayed post about Kabru and the Winged Lion. This does not end here, I'm adding more in a reblog.

Heavy on spoilers. Taking the extra material from @dunmeshistash who I apologise to as usual

Let's start here:

I don't care if you're a wasp you owe him 22 years of alimony

Two important takeaways here:

1) Kabru's hatred of monsters is caused not just by the Utaya catastrophe, but also from the fact that even before that, his unusual eye color was connected to monsters in local lore, and this led to ostracisation and, we can imagine, violence or at least the threat of violence towards him and his mother, serious enough that she escaped to Utaya, aka the place where the dungeon would kill her.

Kabru crucially does not place the fault for this on his father's family, but on himself for being born with 'monstrous eyes'. This is a normal way of reacting to ostracization in children, interiorising instead of projecting the trauma. It's much easier to imagine a world in which there's actually something wrong with you than one in which others might make you suffer for no reason. Monsters are also much more likely to be offered as an explanation by the adults than the actual more realistic explanations (infidelity or rape), which would not be considered appropriate.

This means that indirectly, child Kabru feels that his own 'monstrosity' is responsible for his mother moving to Utaya to protect him and ultimately dying.

2) in the Dungeon Meshi world there are specifically legends about *demon* succubi and incubi (real world lore says succubi prey on men and incubi on women and I assume that's what Laios is referring to with the distinction, but besides that lets assume theyre one and the same), distinct from the *actual monsters* succubi. The demons and monsters have a similar MO of using a person's desires to capture them, but while monster succubi suck a person's vital force, the demons supposedly use the men for their seed and the women for their womb to reproduce (again, completing dungeon meshi lore with bits of real world lore here). Laios, our local monster expert, thinks those demons are just legend. He tells us there are monsters that do use people as incubators for their eggs but I highly doubt that's Kabru's case, uncanny resemblance to a wasp notwithstanding (Laios...)

From here we go to:

Kabru's incredible rizz

This is where the tumblr search function spat in my face and ran away with the rest of my references while giggling. Oh well.

It's noted over and over in canon and extra material that Kabru is charming. More than that: Kabru *will do anything to get someone to like him*.

Worth noting that Daya and Holm *like* Kabru. This is not them disparaging an acquaintance, this is them levelling a criticism at a good friend, a criticism that seems to have been levelled at him before even ("it's no surprise...").

So, important takeaway: Kabru isn't just charming in general, he VERY SPECIFICALLY makes an effort to be charming. He needs people to like him, to trust him, and in order to obtain this, he's willing to lie and pretend.

Like with the Canaries: he needs them to trust him so they will keep him privy to their plans. So he plays up the poor innocent baby orphan angle:

And with Laios? The what (pretending to like monsters) we know, but why?

Kabru thinks Laios is the only one who can conquer the dungeon without the elves or the dwarves intervening and taking control. He is however very worried about his motivation. He wants to know why Laios is going so deep into the dungeon - beyond wanting to save his sister. What motivates him? Can he be trusted?

In the Toshiro chapters we find out that he has been trying to get in contact with him for weeks, possibly months, but this is the first time he has had a real possibility to meet him, and in order to make sure to leave a positive memory and possibly be an influence in the future, he pretends to be aligned with Laios' as much as possible, including hiding his hatred of monsters. I have written tons on this that has now been lost to tumblr like tears in the rain, but: I do not joke when I say that I think Kabru is flirting with Laios before and after the harpy egg incident. Let's be clear: Kabru's intentions are not romantic at this point. But he has noticed how lovestruck Laios was with Toshiro before their confrontation, and he's thinking, well, if I can get him to develop a similar crush on me, I can probably get him to listen to me more easily. Like I can mince words and put things in scary quotes but that's straight up what's happening. Kabru is trying to establish a close bond that wasn't there before: it might not be necessarily sexual, but it's definitely a type of seduction.

It kinda works.

The rest in a reblog because I ran out of space.

[asterinthesiren]

THEORIES and THOUGHTS: AGATHA

This is the second part of my theories post, the first being about Billy! Again, this is going to be a three parter, because literally I have too many thoughts to contain in one post (I mean I can but that'll be entirely too long for y'all to read lmao)

Part 1 Billy | Part 2 Agatha | Part 3 Trial and Next Ep

Of course as always special mention to @justmonty because without her none of these theories would have been cooked at all! Hi queen ily

Alright HERE WE GO!

Next is our beloved problematic fave, middle-aged lesbian, Agatha Harkness. She is still shrouded in a lot of mystery, but the latest episode revealed a LOT about her.

So what we've learned is that Evanora Harkness is a bitch who never loved Agatha in the first place, the trial in the 1600s was way more layered than we thought, and that Nicky was at least 3 years old (remember the Ouija board instructions? ages 3 and up)(although that could also be a mention for the maiden, mother, crone thing, but it could be both! I digress)

Agatha cannot control her absorption magic, that is a fact. She begged Evanora to teach her how to control it, but she outright refused. And that's what she said in the trial too: "I cannot control it! If only you would teach me!" (Post here and amazing ass edit here). So we can conclude that this has been her struggle from the get-go. NOW, I POSIT:

WHAT IF the reason her mother hated her so much was because even in the womb she couldn't control her magic? What if instead of that power being her magic, it was a curse: to suck the power/life out of everyone who dares harm her? THEREFORE, knowing that Evanora was abusive from the start, what if Agatha's magic responded naturally to the abuse and started hurting whoever it was that tried to harm her--which in this case, is Evanora. Then, it was never a thirst for power; it was a curse.

Knowing Agatha, who internalizes so much trauma, what if the reason why she's so "evil" is because of her distorted thinking: "You think of me as a monster? Fine, I'll be one." Her love affair with Rio now fits the puzzle perfectly because Rio is the only one who can withstand that curse. This post sums it up perfectly: “Agatha is a soul who was meant to live but who everyone wanted dead - how could Death not fall in love with her?”

MORE THAN THAT, Death is so much like Agatha in this sense:

(thanks to @justmonty for sending me this!)

So knowing all this, that Agatha can't control her absorption magic...

What if that's how Nicky died?

Nicky, the young baby witch, still learning how to handle his magic, blasts Agatha with a small bit of his magic as she's trying to teach him...

And Agatha, fully knowing the consequences, but can't control herself otherwise (nor know how to give back the magic she absorbed)...

The rest is history.

AND THAT, my friends, is why Agatha was so hell-bent on finding the Darkhold, which from what we know of it so far, has resurrection spells. Beyond that, what if she wanted to try and break her curse, or learn how to control it, through the Darkhold?

Imagine: she had never once delved into dark magic ever, has already begged the most knowledgeable witch she knew to teach her how to control her magic, but not only does she get shunned by her, she gets shunned by her entire community and nearly gets executed from it. At this point, she accepts her fate: "If you think me evil, then let me be fucking evil."

Then she finally finds something to love and to live for--only for him to die at her hands through a curse that she has no control over.

AND THEN, she hears about the Darkhold. A sliver of hope against the bleakness of her existence--and still, it ended up turning her even more insane and cursed. Now, because of a witch who could have definitely helped her get her son back, all of her power and sense of self is gone.

Now here's a theory: what if Evanora got r*ped by a demon, and their offspring is Agatha?

I'm not saying Agatha is Mephisto's daughter, I'm just pointing out (with the help of @justmonty) that it would make a lot of sense why Evanora hated her so much. AND, going back to my first post about color theory, Agatha's magic colors would now make more sense: Evanora had blue magic, and let's say that whichever demon is her father had red magic.

What do red and blue make? PURPLE.

I rest my case.

[fluorynn]

What if…

Neteyam survived the bullet he received, yet it was Jake who lost his life in the conflict between Quaritch and the Sullys?

What if…

Neteyam gains a much more powerful and overprotective instinct to protect his family. Much more controlling, much more on the look out, much more like how Jake was with him.

“A father protects his own,” was what Jake, his father, the former leader of their fortress, always used to say. And it is set in the eldest son’s mind now to be the protector, to be the best example for his siblings. To help his mother guide them, to carry the duties of not only the eldest son but as a warrior, as son of Toruk Makto, and as now gaining a spot amongst the Metkayina as one of the best young warriors they’ve seen.

What if…

Metkayina’s Olo’eyktan, Tonowari, had a mate far before the current Tsahik, Ronal? That Tonowari once fell in love with another Metkayina female, Le’anu? Le’anu, who was not necessarily experienced in medicine or healing, not right for the role as Tsahik and yet he loved her anyway?

What if…

The eldest was not Ao’nung, but a girl, daughter of Le’anu? The little girl named Y/N, the future of the Metkayina clan. The little girl who was supposed to grow up with the immense love of both her parents, and bound to make them both proud.

What if…

The RDA conflict shown in ATWOW and brought to Awa’atlu isn’t the first Sky People conflict they’ve been involved in yet no other clan knew of it?

What if…

Because of this first conflict, Tonowari and 4 year Y/N end up losing the most important woman in their life, Le’anu in battle? Losing many good warriors and families in his clan because of these Sky demons and in return they lost as much, and keeps this conflict in secret for he made an agreement with the Sky demons, with one in particular who understood their language, a female; to not ever cross paths within their waters again, or this will repeat itself much more violently.

What if…

With a heavy, most devastating heart — one that had never experienced grief before — Tonowari re-mated just for little Y/N to grow up with the grown necessity of a mother’s love? She was little when it occurred, she needed a mother figure in her life because he clearly could not provide that, and he needed a life partner to help him take care of his daughter, to help him provide and bring hope to his clan.

What if…

This leads him to choose the next best healer, and most intriguing Metkayina female, Ronal? She was a good choice; she was a friend to Y/N’s mother, she was good to him, and most wonderful with Y/N as well. Firm but patient, attentive and caring. Yes. She would be good mate, good Tsahik, and most importantly, a good mother.

What if…

He does wound up falling in love with Ronal; the respectful and caring friendship becoming one of a very strong love, understanding, and admiration, and communication. And this love leads them into having their firstborn son, Ao’nung, and while Y/N is daughter to Ronal by heart, she has her first daughter by blood, little Tsireya.

What if…

Because Y/N’s mother was not Tsahik, she did not receive any training to become future one, and instead it was Tsireya who was chosen to become Tsahik both because her mother was one and because she was chosen by Eywa. Though Y/N did have experience, she learned from Ronal, she studied, but because she wanted her little sister to become this clan’s better future, she chose to guide her behind closed doors along with Ronal.

What if…

Tonowari grows fearful when Jakesully brings his family to Awa’atlu, seeking sanctuary from the Sky People’s war. While he was hesitant, he was not a cruel person. But Ronal, she showed her fear, showed her anger. She did not want her mate to suffer the pain he once did in losing Le’anu, she did not want neither of her children, including the one brewing in her womb, to suffer the way her eldest, her Y/N, did when losing her birth mother.

What if…

Because Neteyam is the oldest and was to be future Olo’eyktan back in the forest and held a promising future, the Metkayina’s Tsahik, Ronal has had a vision that he was to be promised to one of their People, and they assumed that he was to be mated to their youngest daughter, their future Tsahik, Tsireya.

What if…

This is why she chooses to provide sanctuary for this family — for the will of Eywa.

What if…

When this revelation comes to the surface the moment Neteyam hits the age of 18, Neytiri is willing for this to happen — to not disappoint their Great Mother, to let her son have this promising future he should have had back in the Forest, for him to ease his dense demeanor and find a happiness for himself?

What if…

Y/N was against this union, because she wants best for her sister, and she has seen the way Neteyam is towards other Metkayina women, the way he believes to only please the will of Eywa and nothing, not even love? And Neteyam is driven to try and court Tsireya to keep his high status, trying hard not to see the way his little brother may feel something for the Reef girl — because this is how Eywa wishes for it to be?

What if…

Y/N and Neteyam both find a way to torment one another within this union, irritating each other constantly, and yet it is clear to see that they clearly have a thing or more for one another?

————————————————

An idea is building up….

Neteyam x Eldest!Metkayina!Daughter!Reader

Friends to enemies to lovers maybe?

The concept to flesh out Neteyam into the eldest son who thinks he needs to constantly please everyone around him while he doesn’t exactly worry of himself being deserving of being pleased — and HEAR ME OUT, Jake, in my train of thought, may have to be deceased in this possible fic series—

And reader who sorta surrounds the idea of being undeserving of love if that makes sense? Of course, there’s still ideas to be thought out, more details, more world building but —

If this turns out well, if I continue debating and building it up….who would like to be tagged?

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: I for Incubus

Summary: You suppose the deal technically went correctly, but when the incubus said he required your life force, you thought he meant... well your life.

Notes: ~2.9k words. I don't know what I wanted to do with this fic, all I know was that Dream would rock an autonomous tail.

Warnings/Tags: MDNI - 18+, Incubus!Dream x Reader, dubious consent ngl, demons do not care for condoms or sex safety, Dream has a tail and it does things, does this count as ritual sex, size difference, belly bulge, womb tattoo hehe, his wiener is weeeeeird, his tongue is weeeeeeird

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

H for Heat ⇆ J for Joyride

“Hoc carmine, dae…daemo—erm, daemonium somno accerso qui vocatis respondeat meis. Quis mihi det quod quaero. Quis mercedem suam accipiet pro suo servitio?” You read out, stuttering on a few pronunciations.

The circle of candles flickers creating shadows over your kneeling, naked form. You frown at the old parchment still, looking between it and the chalk-drawn symbol in the middle of your basement floor. You are sure the symbol was drawn correctly and the candles were placed just like the diagram. So then… Why isn’t anything happening?

Maybe you read it wrong. You squint at the parchment again and begin to chant once more. “Hoc carmine—”

The candles went out and you suck your lips in to suppress the scream that tried to burst out. Your sick mother’s room was just above the basement that you find yourself in and you didn’t want to cause a scene. 

“What do you want?” A voice calls out, slow and seductive in the shadows. 

You blink a few times, trying to will your eyes to get used to the sudden darkness in the room. The creature didn’t speak again, waiting impatiently for your request. It has been years since the last time he was summoned, and he was positively starving for some human flesh. 

“My mother, she’s sick,” you explain, your own voice echoing back to you in the tense atmosphere. 

“How drab, how boring,” it tsks with a click of his tongue. “You wish for me to make her well and ‘you’ll do anything, I promise’,” the creature says mockingly. 

You don’t respond for a moment, the demon you summoned summarizing the speech you had spent the last week practicing to a mere few words. “Yeah… that’s pretty much it.”

“Very well, what do you have to give in return for my service?” It asks you, still veiled in the darkness. “But know this, I am quite indifferent to your human, materialistic objects. Money will have no benefit to you tonight, little one.”

“Well, what do you want then?” You ask in a shaky breath. You can’t see him, but you can feel his eyes raking over your naked form. 

“Your life force seems good enough for me,” it hums in thought. “Young… vital… yes…”

Your life force for your mother’s health? That was an easy decision, but when faced with the uncertainty of death do you hesitate. You still had so much of your life ahead of you. Friends to meet, foods to try, hell you haven’t even found a romantic partner yet. But, your life isn’t the one that’s dying right now. 

“Okay,” you breathe out shakily. 

“Then the deal is set.”

The candles flicker back one by one until the shadow reveals itself to you within the circle. His legs are crossed, his arms resting on his knees. He is every bit as the paper described him: hair as dark as midnight, skin pale as death, sullen black eyes with the stars within them.

The parchment fails to mention, however, the thin tail that was swaying back and forth within the barriers of the summoning circle. Or the horns that protruded out of his head. The demon smiles at you, a haunting image full of sharp teeth and a darting, long tongue that licked his lips. 

“Release me from my confines and we can set the plan in motion,” he whispers in a low growl to you, moving to stand on his haunches. His figure seems to grow with the one subtle movement, towering over you as you swallow.

“I release you,” you command with a tremble in your voice. 

Nothing physical changes around you but the shift is noticeable anyway. The candles blow outward from him as if trying to escape their own wicks. The smell he emits permeates your nose, something like soot and flames and a tinge of death.

You blink and he lunges at you, pining you to the ground and an unexpected scream leaves your lips. It didn’t hurt, not much, except for the wooden floor digging into your shoulder blades, but you still screamed. 

“If you want it to be easy, do not scream. Your fear makes you all the more tempting,” he purrs into your neck and you turn your head away. 

Your body trembles under his gaze, eyes roaming around the basement space of your childhood home. They lock onto a random water stain as you try to distract yourself from your imminent death. The stain looks like Elton John, you thought to yourself before squeezing your eyes shut. 

You feel his breath over your skin and you’re begging he’ll do it mercifully, straight for the neck and then you wouldn’t feel the pain of your body being eaten by all of those sharp teeth. But it doesn’t come.

Your eyes snap open as you feel the undeniable slimy and wet sensation of his forked tongue on your neck. It stops just over your jugular, feeling the erratic pulse through the vein. Thick, fast, so full of life and he groans at the rhythmic thump against his tongue. 

His tail moves along your leg, feeling the soft skin beneath its silky scales. The ticklish sensation makes you squirm in its grasp, kicking your legs fruitlessly against it as it crawls higher on your thigh. The point of it settles between the sensitive heat before your legs and you let out a broken gasp.

Oh, my god. He’s not going to kill you. He’s going to fuck you senseless!

“I thought you were going to kill me,” you pant as his tongue licks the hollow divot above your collarbone. 

He hums as he tastes the adrenaline in your sweat. “One does not kill off the lamb for meat when it can still provide wool.” He pauses for a moment, pulling away from your neck to look at you. “You thought I was going to kill you?”

You look back at him, your eyes meeting the endless void that is his. “Well, yeah. You said ‘life force.’ That seems pretty… death-y to me.”

“Why are humans so dreary?” He asks himself before he remembers that he is here to feast on your body and returns his lips to your body. 

You don’t bother with a response, not when your back was arching at the way his lips trailed down the valley between your breasts. His lips hover over your left breast, feeling the blistering speed at which your heart pounded in your chest. 

The ever so subtle thrum of life makes his eyes flutter in satisfaction, the feeling of life something he has missed the feeling of. Your body was so warm against his cold one, he just couldn’t help sealing his lips across the nipple. 

“Holy…fuck,” you curse out at the sensitive sensation.

The fork in his tongue lavishes around the peak, it meets the sensitive bud and then spreads out again as his mouth continues to suckle on your breast. The moans he manages to elicit from you are quiet and restrained and he needs more from you. 

“This deal is two sided,” he begins, whispering in a gruff voice as he moves over to your other breast. “If you want your mother to become well again, I need you to start making more noise.” 

The tail that was obediently nestled between your legs begins to move higher, the blunt point of it finding your enlarged clit easily. You couldn’t help the moan that escapes your lip when it slides across the sensitive nerve, using your own arousal to its benefit. 

“Yes, just like that,” the demon praises as he hears your broken gasps and moans. His own groan vibrates against the smooth skin of your breast as he indulges himself against the thrum of your heartbeat again. 

Your hips buck involuntarily against his tail, the sensation something you craved. Then you would squirm away with a whimper on your tongue as the sensation grows too much, too quick. The longer the tail swirled around your weeping cunt, the harsher you began to clench around nothing. It gives a rewarding slap down on your clit, eliciting another wonderous moan from your throat. 

The demon has returned to your neck, rekindling his fascination with your neck and the vein it housed. He bites into the skin, watching with sick satisfaction as the blood trails down the muscles of your neck. Pleasure succumbs to pain and pain to pleasure once again as he soothes over the bites with his tongue. The saliva is cool against the wounds, stopping the bleeding all the same. His lips ghost across your neck, satiating his own greed and biting down again just to taste the iron. 

“Red looks good on you,” he hums, his arms entrapping themselves around you as your back arches off the ground again. 

With ease, he rests you on his squatting lap and the obvious hard arousal he sports lays heavy against your stomach. The demon looks around the basement before he eyes landed on an abandoned work bench. In two strides he makes it there and unceremoniously drops you onto the table. The tools clatter as you're dropped down and even with your body on an elevated platform, he still towers over you. 

You looked absolutely ravishing in his gaze. Wide eyed with lust blown pupils, the ragged breathing from your dried lips, and the dried blood that ribbons down your neck like a gift just for him to open. His hands go to your hips again, lifting them to meet his. 

In the dim light, you notice his cock, or should you even call it that if it was as ribbed and as thick as it was? He paints himself with your wetness, using your own arousal to coat himself as he pushes the blunt of his head against your entrance. His tail finds itself wrapped around your thigh again, tightening on itself like a python upon its prey. Your thigh pudges against the bondage and it's the only grounding thing against your overheating body. 

He gives an experimental push forward, groaning at the way your arousal squelches around him.

"Breathe," he tells you.

You let go of the breath you were holding, taking in a shaky breath and allowing your body to grow limp in his hold. At the next exhale, he smiles, a disturbingly haunting and arousing image, and he gives into you the first two inches. 

Your breath stills in your lungs again, head snapping to the wooden table beneath you and you can see the stars dancing across your eyelids. The stretch was foreign, intrusive almost, as he takes you slowly. You need to breathe. Fuck, how do you breathe? Your body racks as it takes in a shaky breath and he stills within you. 

“Scream my name,” he commands in a growl above you. 

“Daemonium somno,” you simply moan. Your eyes meet him again in a desperate attempt at connection. 

“No,” he scowls, pushing a little further into your cunt. “That is my title. Say my name, little one.”

“I—I don’t know it!” You pant out, stuttering your answer. The further he pushed, the more of your ability to think seems to vanish into thin air. You’re sure you saw the name in passing somewhere, in the old leather bound book from which you ripped the ritual parchment from.

The incubus holds your hips down to sustain your squirming. He lets out a satisfied groan as he sees himself full in you, the defining shape of his cock bulging from your stomach. You were so warm, it enveloped him like the life you represented. He takes his hips back, eyes never leaving his own cock impression as it descends. When he pushes back in and your body trembles beneath him, his fingers trace the outline of his cock. 

“Repeat after me, little one,” the demon commands. “Mor-phe-us.”

“Mor…” you gasp as his hand trails under your breasts again. “Mor-phe…” the words get caught in your throat. 

“Yes, just like that. One more try, one more,” he coos above you, rutting his hip against your cunt again. 

“Morpheus!” You cry out, head thrown back as he pulls out and pushes in again, slowly and inch by thick inch. 

“Again,” he instructs. His cock warms itself in you, the coldness slowly ebbing away as it nests in there. Each pulse from your cunt conforms itself towards the shape that is so uniquely him. 

“Morpheus!” You scream again, your nails finding purchase against his arms and he hisses in pleasure as you draw black blood from his skin. 

Your back is arched like a taut bow, your thighs trembling as he lifts a leg above his hip, only to drive himself deeper into you. Only to satiate his own ego as he sees your belly bulge with himself. Your moans are nothing but a discordant symphony in his ears; so chaotic yet pleasing as he inserts himself over and over again. 

Morpheus’ tail unravels itself, wanting a taste of something other than the skin around your thigh. There is a wrapping imprint on your skin, something that will take months to heal and remind you of the incubus Morpheus for days to come. It teases the sensitive peak of your breasts, ghosting over your breasts, wrapping itself around the mound and squeezing tightly to massage them. 

“Oh god!” You jolt at the sensation. 

“There are no gods here.” Morpheus condemns your outburst with a particularly hard thrust, bruising your cervix and you cry out for him again. 

Morpheus continues you fuck you, his hands bringing your hips to meet his thrusts, spurred on by the sound of your babbling nonsense. Occasionally his name would fall from his lips amongst the pleas of ‘too much,’ or ‘so good,’ that he doesn’t really know or care if you want to stop. 

Each drag of Morpheus’ cock has you reeling in pleasure and the promise of the most earth shattering orgasm is just on the horizon of your grasp. You’re simply begging now—please, please, please, please!—the words barely heard above the erotic sound of slick squelching and the creek of the tool bench beneath you. 

His tail slithers away, and Morpheus smirks as you whimper at the lost sensation. Your whimper turns into another moan as it finds itself against your clit again, rubbing it in fast circles in sync with Morpheus’ thrusts. 

“Oh, fuck. I’m going to… going to…” you try to warn but it just comes out as a stuttering mess, again. 

“Come for me. Give me your vitality.” Morpheus’ voice penetrates the sex-numbing haze that your mind was in. 

Your walls clench around him like a vice, your orgasm taking over your entire body as it shakes each one of your muscles. Your mouth is gaping open as it tries to take in as much air as possible, your chest heaving with breath. The moment shakes you through your core, igniting your nerves with life at the sudden release. 

Morpheus spills himself into you and you groan at the sensation of his cold seed taking residence inside of your cunt. His hips stutter, indulgently giving away to a few more pumps just to feel your walls spasm around him as his cock pumps within you. 

“That was…” you swallow, resting your head on the table again and closing your eyes. You take a deep breath, feeling your heart start to slow down as Morpheus softens and pulls out of your now weeping cunt. A few large drops of your mixed orgasmic releases fall to the basement floor and you grimace at the thought of cleaning it.  “Do you do other deals? Like… what if I want a million dollars right now or something?”

“One deal per summon as per the old laws I’m afraid, little one,” Morpheus chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “But…”

A warm sensation spreads across your lower stomach and you prop yourself up on shaking arms to look. Morpheus’ nail draws an intricate rune on your lower stomach, just over where your womb is. The nail cuts at your skin, and you see the blood dewing on your skin but no pain follows. It glows for a moment before dying down into simple black ink. 

“If you wish to make another deal, this binds you to me. It will only be me that will come to answer your prayers,” he promises but it almost sounds like a threat with the way his tongue licks across his lips. “Your vitality is addictive on my body, little one.”

“And what about my side of the deal? My mother?” You ask.

As if on cue, you hear your mother calling your name in the kitchen above. She wasn’t even able to get out of bed a few moments ago, but the way the pots and pans were banging against each other was telling enough that Morpheus held up to his end of the bargain. 

“Thank you,” you sigh out with relief. 

“I will see you soon, little one.” One blink and he was gone already. 

The summoning circle has been erased from the floor and the candles look like they were never burned. But the tattoo over your womb remained, so did the bruises of his bites and tail that wrapped around you. They were the only signs that anything happened at all. 

“Are you going to come up here and help me or do I have to do everything by myself?” Your mother shouts at you. 

“Coming!” You reply back after another deep breath. 

Now, where did you put your clothes?

Having fun times in the basement sounds like tetanus waiting to happen.

So that's your lesson, get your tetanus shot before you go summoning demons. Be safe out there.

♡ Yours, Layla

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

H for Heat ⇆ J for Joyride

[ravneski]

Desecration

Kokushibo x Fem!Reader

They take what they can't have and bathe in the sacrilege.

this has also been uploaded to ao3 (kudos and comments there would be appreciated <3) link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46981597

warnings: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, menstrual sex, dubcon nearing the second half of the fic, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, religious imagery, sexual violence, strangling/choking, fisting

word count: 5.4k

Fate was a cruel thing.

Dragging her eyes from the floor, she cursed herself for not staying alert, for not paying attention to which room she had mindlessly entered. The Upper Moon One’s aura pervaded, thick as well-trained metal. She stared and he stared back, six eyes unreadable but nostrils flared, shark in water detecting what slicked her fukusa.

“One day.”

Since she had started bleeding. She tensed. “What of it?”

“It will… be painful.” Kokushibo’s golden gaze bored into her.

“There are worse pains,” she dismissed, face blank. She made to turn.

“Are you going to Doma?”

She graced him a near unnoticeable nod.

“Will you… spread your legs for him?”

Centimetres away from him in a flash too quick to be perceived, her veins frosted. “Doma tells me you opened your own for Daki.”

Their gazes swept one another, rising and falling as the moon did, but nothing as renewing as moonlight enveloped either. “Mourning her?” she drawled.

“I utilised her for… what her job dictated she do…”

Her upper lip curled in disdain.

“And you,” Kokushibo continued, knuckles white from the clasp on his sword’s tsuka, “are no different… from me. Go… to your whore.”

She laughed at that, but the mirth was dry sand, rigid as though hardened by unremitting waves. “Doma isn’t my whore.”

“Then what… is he? Your lover?” he replied, derisiveness worn like armour.

“You tell me,” she said after a moment, gathering herself. “You know his body as well as I, do you not, fornicator?”

A vein throbbed at the side of his neck. “You never hesitated… to run to me when you were bleeding… yet now you spare… time for aimless ambling…”

“Say what you mean.”

Even in the gentle light of the Infinity Castle, Kokushibo was but a shadow. The dark side of the sun, she thought. He knew only his shadows, and she found herself drawn to be engulfed by the same fate. His expression held solemnity it was never without, but by now she saw the veneer. As he inched closer, the fractures in his mask seemed ardent.

“Can Doma not taste… your flow?” he asked, interest sincere. “The one that follows the moon’s cycle… is it beyond his reach?”

“He likens it to wisteria,” she admitted, reluctant as she was, “and talks of the mere touch burning him.”

“One man’s bane… is another man’s ichor.” The suggestion in his voice rang sharper than any demon slayer’s blade. She made up for his mishap, his nerve to close their distance and his barely veiled want, by widening the space between them again.

“It’ll be such ichor to him if I allow him to draw blood from my womb,” she pointed out.

“Will you?”

“Will our lord let me?”

“Mutinous thing,” sneered Kokushibo. “When have you cared… for our lord’s boundaries and laws?”

“No more than you.”

His hand, wrapped around his sword’s tsuka, twitched. “I remain constant.”

“Then leave.”

After a second of hesitation, one he tried with fervour to conceal but seeped through to his countenance, the constriction of his pupils and the scorch in his irises, Kokushibo stayed where he was. “You bleed heavier than… last time,” he noted. 

“Do you observe through your Transparent World every time I shed?”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand… I smell it. It permeates.”

And he was the only one who could detect her moonblood. Besides herself, and their master, but Kibutsuji Muzan was swamped in more crimson than she could ever spill.

She pivoted, but Kokushibo grabbed her wrist, iron and impetuous. “He’s angry,” she said as her excuse to leave, searching the old samurai’s face. “The boy who bears your brother’s mark and wears your brother’s earrings is making mincemeat of the lesser Moons.”

The mention of his twin left him cold. “That person will… not miss you,” he wagered. “You have time spare.”

He melded, still, to her wrist, unyielding; the shock of his skin pressing hers reignited what she had long assumed abandoned, a stinging ache that rippled between them as waves in storms devastated ships, naked and exposed. Ghosting the pallid paper of her flesh, his nails were a parody of humanity, short and plates plain. Kokushibo coveted what he could not have. For one to receive, one had to give. The human body had to be sacrificed to exceed its feeble limits, its brittle mortality. His façade was flimsy, and with the right amount of force it would shatter and out would come the demon that he had sold his soul to become.

His gaze drifted to her abdomen, which she had clutched in fruitless instinct, before once more locking with her. “Let me,” he said.

It took little time to think over her answer, as much as the sour wrath in her stirred. She acquiesced, and his hands wandered beneath the silk of her clothes.

She was undignified in this bestial position, but Kokushibo lacked the temerity to penetrate her through his cock. She could not bear to meet his face; ignoble though the stance of coitus more ferarum was, it provided sanctity, a way to avoid the intense blaze of those six unblinking eyes. Wooden floor scraped and pricked at her elbows as she used them to support herself. She focused on the crevices of the floorboards, the cracks resembling abysses with their infinite black hollows, wondering how much hot red had rolled into them and festered over the centuries.

Her robes were hoisted up, impudently close to the tender swell of her breasts but secure enough to not reveal them, welcoming him, exposing more than flesh when her heart jumped from the warmth of his invasively close breath. Kokushibo explored her, parting her like petals; when her folds had become so wet she didn’t know, nor wanted to, but his fingers trailed them, tentative as though she were made of glass and he feared breaking her. Sticky with her flow, his digits climbed up to the flushed bud and grazed it with their course tips. Betraying her, her hips gave an involuntary buck. This was decadence, she mused. For the both of them. They would consume the other in every way but literal, the same way he had. Muzan was a blight impossible to efface and stained them even now.

His tongue skimmed the plush of her inner thighs, scraping at the dark cardinal smearing them. The organ roused an acute jolt from deep inside her as it slid in, blood and arousal mixing and gliding to form an easy lubricant. The electric reaction of her body wasn’t quite arisen from satisfaction, but neither was it spawned from pain; it curled and coiled as an endless serpent, a visceral sensation of a latent guilt and a repressed thrill.

Heat unfurled within her, a spark of life, but it wasn’t enough. Grinding her teeth together, she turned herself around, lying on her back. Their gazes tangled, a flash of resentment shared between them; overwhelming the cramps of her womb convulsed something keener, a wretched desire too close to impalement. She raised her thighs for him anyway, as easily as the gates of hell would open for them both, and let the mongrel feast.

The flat of his tongue pressed against the nub at the top of her sex. Long fingers, svelte and elegant enough that they seemed unfitting for a sword-wielder, moved inside her in a focused rhythm, the squelch of sloughed tissue and blood resonating as her body relaxed, sucking him in deeper. Kokushibo’s tongue carded the lips of her quim, dragging down to near his fingers then slithering back to her clitoris, which rose like the opening flowers under sunlight’s grace. Her hips played and rutted to the tempo he dipped in and out of her with, stomach crawling as much as it flipped as she thought of how he had arrogated her with such facileness. Raking the tatami, she searched for a modicum of anchorage over herself, some dose of stability.

She was pitiful, but so was he, and equally deviant. They were deformed, her kind. Demons were death, but they dreaded finality so. She was no exception. Was that widespread fear, lurking in the caliginous heart of every demon, an innate one? Did each of them know there was no salvation in death for their forsaken souls, but only the expecting flames, searing and everlasting?

Once, she had encountered a god, beautiful and bright and unequalled, and underneath layers of false flesh the scars from the conflict, eternal in their retribution, still burned like the sun. If the fires of hell were real, she had felt their touch already, and her cells had never forgotten it.

They were monsters unspeakably damned. Hideous and acrimonious, most couldn’t give reason for why they continued to live other than base instinct, that primal hunger that gnawed and gnawed, impossible to sate. They were greedy to their finest fibre. It was why they were territorial beasts. Sometimes they mated, the odd few, those who dared, foolish and tainted, but it never lasted. Eventually they cannibalised each other, skewing bones and mangling flesh until there was nothing left. The hunger grew too great, too indomitable. Demons could not kill demons through any other means. She summoned the guts to look down at the one on his knees, submerged betwixt her thighs, lapping at nutrition, lifeblood, that which symbolised renewal and viability, and thought there was something poetic about fucking functioning as death.

“He’ll never find the amaryllis,” for those six eyes saw so much, what others could not; she waited to see who those eyes belonged to, the samurai or his lord. “He—” then she stumbled, his two fingers pressed against a hard edge inside her. Drowned into silence by the waves of venereal indulgence.  

“A woman’s hatred… is a sort of devotion,” mused Kokushibo from between her legs.

She lowered her gaze to him, gripping his dark mane to lift his head away from the hot throb of her cunt, though his fingers stayed encased. Pliable, he made a pretty picture painted in her. “Devoted to you?” she ridiculed.

“To him.” His tone was dull.

“I would rather kneel to Ubuyashiki’s Pillars,” she growled. “Your nonsense is bovine. Hold your tongue.”

“Many of our kind would sacrifice themselves to… see our lord live, but you would… throw away your life to see him die.” When Kokushibo tilted his head, the thick, ropelike tendrils of his hair swayed, midnight black percolating into glossy crimson. Strands stuck to the viscous gore around his mouth and he pulled them back. “Do you not… think that is a form of devotion?”

Her jaw clenched in indignant ire.

“Your enmity for him will never… be enough for him to kill you.”

“Does this come from one traitor to another?” The gumption of him to look inquisitive, as though he understood nothing, persuaded her to continue, treading on dangerous grounds. “He was your enemy. And I know you became a slayer to imitate your brother, not out of integrity or duty, but did you never once feel the slightest antagonism towards that person? How can you serve a remorseless man who has slaughtered and devoured thousands after once claiming you would put an end to him?”

“Do you revile him for… his carnage?”

Kokushibo was a mess of slick red, a deceitful embodiment of the rivers of Sanzu. Besmirched by her, flaunting thick fluids and stringy sombre clumps, with the gleam of something darkly holy when her blood caught in the fortress’ ochre illumination, but his features were peeled back into a snarl, teeth whetted and splenetic. Claret dressed between them dribbled past his mouth and down the strong, arrogant angle of his jaw; he was too monstrous to be divine, the beast vespers was sung to ward against than to revere, closer to a wolf than a deity as half a dozen eyes narrowed in synchrony and she recalled the time when he had been her sword, and wondered if this blood was of a wound from where he had turned his weapon on her.

“It’s pointless to wage war against a calamity,” she conceded, then groaned as he stroked that spongy bump at the top of her wall in repeated, lazy beckons, the flick of his wrist and the hook of his fingers.

Grotesquely prurient, ichor in the tiny cracks of them, his lips flitted upwards. “Have you… capitulated to him?”

The question gave her pause. Did she submit? After a millennium chained to her lord, she knew she would never be free of him, that his grasp was indefinite and all-consuming, larger than she could fathom. The gods, if any existed, had surely abandoned her long ago, deserted her to his clemency. But Kibutsuji Muzan was not merciful. Cruelty was in his very appellation and thrived in his every word and action; under his dominance, even those who escaped him through his noxious curse perished in agony, humiliating and revolting, when they uttered his name.

“No.” Her finger smudged scarlet as it traced his jaw.

Riled by her answer, Kokushibo tasted the watery flow that clung to his own fingers. “So learn your place,” he chastised. “Besides, where was your… guilt when you feasted on the defenceless child that… carried rare blood in its body, which now… rests in your gut?”

She smiled, despite his nerve. If she was wilful, she was not alone.

“You bleed a constant rage…”

Waning as the moon did, jilted by the inimitable sun, the smile faltered.

“It ebbs and flows… endlessly in your veins. Are you… not weary?”

His bones trembled as her nail lengthened and sliced into his gristle-coated skin, which split with the proficiency of soft carcass under the butcher’s carving knife. Close to his left bottom eye that it seemed like a rose tear trickling, his blood mixed with hers, finer and more lurid. She lifted a rouge fingertip to her lips and gave a languid lick. With the thorn and bristle of marechi, he withered her, but he lacked its lure. She swallowed him, “And you taste of the storm,” and his fury mingled with hers.

Eyes dark, Kokushibo pulled back. “Your contumacy will not… kill you,” he warned, as if he hoped repeating his admonition would cause her to change. Though he was not a man to indulge in delusions.

Her hand snared in his hair. “Then what do I do with this anger?”

“He is your master,” and she loathed the reprimand of his tone, smooth and ugly.

“He is yours,” she corrected, defiant against his caution anyway, claws pricking at his scalp as her lips thinned. “Is there fulfilment for you in being his lapdog?”

“Akaza retains… that responsibility,” he responded dryly.

“Then what are you?”

“His servant.” The kanji in his eyes, indurated sable that whispered of unfaltering centuries of loyalty, fealty cut regal by the blade, gleamed in the flickering flaxen light of the lanterns. So are you, it rebuked.

She shifted, threading his locks between her fingers. “His ever-faithful Upper Moon One. The strongest of his subordinates, staunchly dutiful to our master,” the word was spat, but eased as she continued with a malicious lilt, “spread for him. Taken by him. Ravaged by him.”

Kokushibo’s eyes flashed. “Why does he allow a woman like you… to roam untethered?”

Oozing furrows were dragged out across his roots. “When did questioning that person become your position?”

“I... am his associate.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when he’s wedging his cock down your throat?”

Rivulets of red ran from his scalp where his hair lay matted, his beautiful strands spoiled by the knots they were weaved into. She reached out, a hand around the thick trunk of his neck, and wrenched him forward until their noses were near touching. Releasing its tight grip around his oesophagus, her hand crawled upwards, spiderlike, stopping its pilgrimage at a flame which befouled his pale flesh. The mark stretched from the right of his sharp jaw, down the side of that strong neck to his collarbone, her fingers descending beneath the white rim of his relic kimono. She brought her lips to his ear, fingertips dancing over the crimson crest as she felt his pulse, faster than it ought to be for a being of tenacious stoicism. Against the shell of his ear, as all his eyes shifted right to follow her, she crooned in a whisper, “Samurai-sama.”

Kokushibo turned to stone, scarlet trickling down his chin and splashing her naked calves. Then he recoiled, swift as a blade sheathed, pulse spiking further and noble face hardening. Her gaze dropped to between his legs, to where the carnal ache of him protruded through the obsidian layers of his hakama.

“A woman like you ought to have her tongue cut,” he snapped.

“Well,” as she began to play with herself, Kokushibo traced every movement with captivated attentiveness, the arch of her back, the heave of her breasts under her robes—with his Transparent World her clothing could be no obstacle, but, whether principle or that men like him preferred the notion of undressing those they lay with, unwrapping their prize, he never indulged in perversion of that kind—the glisten of arousal garnishing her, the cruor dripping out to nestle in the creases of her lips, “I’m certainly glad your tongue is intact.”

While he regarded her with contempt under long lashes, the heat of his groin did not dissipate, a rapt need to slide between her. His breaths were heavy, chest she knew was bedecked with fierce muscle rising under the affluent fabric of his clothing. She paused. “Doma…” she started.

The moment that name was out of her mouth, her curiosity, storm’s gale she had never been able to overcome, was assuaged as his expression soured like fruit gone grossly rotten. Nobody in the Moons would pull out the false diviner from under the sun if he were to be struck by it.

Kokushibo rested his chin atop her imbrued mons. “What kind of slut lies with… a man and speaks of another… male she’s bedded?”

“Don’t insult me if you lack virility where your subordinate doesn’t,” she hummed. “At least I’ve never been reamed open by our master. How much honour did you have, mighty swordsman, when he sodomised you against your will?”

Tapered teeth glistened as Kokushibo glowered.

“You’ve always been undeserving of what I gave you.”

“Perhaps, but… our blood still call to each other.”

Such was devastation’s path. In fleeting wonder, she pondered how many had died to their hands over the distorting centuries. “Then you defile me. We are contaminated by the other. We are filth.”

Kokushibo healed, each gash she had carved into him during irascible delectation repaired by regenerating skin, his hair smoothing out the knots from heady red.

“Filth resonates with filth,” she told him as he pushed her to the floor and tore apart the rest of her kimono with insolent dare, for though her womb had quietened it was not yet silent. “Our blood endure a murky stream,” as he left cochineal fingerprints across her breasts, exposed to him as he lowered his lips to one and suckled with neither care nor violence, but with a rhythm that had her racked in a feverish shiver.

“In a just world, I’d see you… swell and distend with… the weight of my seed,” Kokushibo murmured against her teat, flicking his tongue against it and watching it erect. She blanched.

When his fingers entered her this time, they were not kind, but curled with purpose. They buried deep within her, pumped in and out in time to how he toyed with her nipples, one clasped between the serrated ends of his canine teeth and the other caressed by the hand not thrust within her, rolling it as he kneaded the fullness of her breast on his palm. Stuttered breaths seeped from her open mouth as she smarted from him, yearned in earthquake-like shaking, the coil in her stomach tightening as she clenched around him. 

“We bleed sacrilege,” she gasped, and soaked him in her exhilaration.

Sudden warmth ensconced her as he withdrew from her breast, a string of vermilion saliva snapping, and hid his face in the crook of her neck in a jarring imitation of affection, but it came not from the abrupt facet of affinity and nor was it born of the gratification that had just flown through her, a gentle current now turbulent with terror. Her gaze sidled over the steel thew of Kokushibo to the figure in the corner of the small room. His aura was as weak as it had been when their paths had first met, devoid of killing intent or bloodlust. A chilling resemblance to the Upper Moon demon marked him, but he was distinctly human—and distinctly dead, she reminded herself; yet here he was, defying the laws of the universe once again, and that scared her more than those sixty years after coming across him—with his hanafuda earrings and his soft maroon eyes, connecting with her own.

Cold terror dredged upwards like the pull of limbs from seaweed’s shackles, a fear that had never been conquered despite the centuries separating that night and now. Kokushibo took notice of her stiffened limbs, but in his fatalistic arrogance assumed it was his doing and continued rubbing at her clit in concentrated circles, still resting at her neck.

The Sun Breather stepped forward, face resolute in its emptiness. Vacant gaze, hollow expression. In life, he had never smiled, so Kokushibo had told her. She wondered if a person like Tsugikuni Yoriichi had ever had anything to smile about.

“Leave now,” she whispered to the apparition’s brother. “You’ve fulfilled your purpose.”

Kokushibo’s fangs left her neck and he frowned down at her, bemused. “Stay,” he said, moving his hands up to the slope of her shoulders as if in preparation to hold her in place.

“Stay?” Humouring the lingering note in his request.

“Beneath me.”

“Would you have me like that?”

His hakama rustled with his movement, the grind of his hips, the hardness of him taut and desperate to break free as it rubbed against swollen lips hidden under a thatch of raven hair. “How many men have… had that pleasure?”

“Not Doma,” she confessed.

“Not Doma,” he agreed in pride, then, embittered, “feminised by your wiles… Let me take you as… you should be taken. Under me.”

“Will he kill me then?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Yoriichi ventured another step, only a centimetre but enough to make her skin smoulder with memory. No, she would not die. Not to her master’s cells, not to the Sun Breather’s ruby sword. Across a thousand years, a single opportunity had come to her, a scalding escape, but Yoriichi had failed to take her head.

Years upon years later, here she lay, a man aneled in her blood looming over her with hungry eyes and hungrier cock while a universe beyond her comprehension played games with her.

Although the unworldly dimension of the Infinity Castle protected them from day’s influence, she and the other demon suddenly tensed in unison nonetheless. All Kibutsuji’s mutant creations felt the surface of dawn, a knell within the fibre of their bones to warn them of their only predator. It came with a hounding instinct to run, even if one was safe from the sun’s culling reach. To run and run until the blest recitals of matins was inundated with unfolding nightlight.

As daybreak erupted in another realm, Amaterasu’s sacred child faded, though not before his lips opened and moved with the motion of talk. Nothing audible departed from him. Her heart pounded against the confinement of her chest. Kokushibo finally realised she was glaring past him and turned to follow, greeted by a void corner. When he looked back at her, he discovered no one under him and muttered her name beneath a churlish breath.

“What reason have you to remain? Leave,” she repeated, by the fusuma. Sweat mellowed her body, throbbing from the aftermath of multiple climaxes, but a darker heat piqued within her as she scrutinised his ensanguined form, the wet mess of his face and hands. “You won’t send me to the gallows, Kokushibo, but something worse. Go.”

He towered over her in the blink of an eye. “I don’t… understand you. Women—”

“You don’t need to.”

Bold, he outstretched his hand and splayed his palm in the valley between her breasts, feeling the hammer of her heart. “Do not think me cunt-struck,” the fingers there decayed from paramour’s caress to the scuttling perfidy of insect legs, straining for prey as they made way down a breast and sullied it shimmering cardinal. He groped at her, the roughness men didn’t care enough to reign in. Their teeth nipped and nails scratched. Always squeezing and grabbing. “You will not treat me… like one of your whores, disregarded… once I’ve made you come,” and he placed emphasis on those final words, conceit blatant.

Kokushibo was an animal. The closest of the Moons to Kibutsuji in terms of power. It was only natural, in all the unnaturalness of demons, that he should be so mutant and repulsive, so it puzzled her that she found him beautiful. It, she supposed, was the beauty of a thing ethereal, or perhaps transient; a sacrificed animal, immolated by an unknown force. He was the bleeding lamb, the shot and limping cur, that which was so harrowing it could not be turned away from, the morbid fascination that stirred delight in the sickest minds.

Still, as the lamb bolted from the hand that reached to console it, and bodies withered and mortified from the undertaker’s embrace, his beauty spilled into evanescence. Butterfly wings broke when touched. He mouldered and came to fester a violent, disturbing darkness. While she dwelled on this, he made his move. Pushing her down, mounted above her with the full weight of his strapping form, shoving three virulent fingers inside her.

She pelted him with a livid glare. “I’ll defer when that man dies.” For she would not submit now. That went unspoken, but he heard it. Perhaps his samurai teachings to adhere to greater strength was the only reason his cock remained clothed. 

“Do you… crave death so badly?” Covering her body with his own, he slotted a fourth finger in. The delicate lining of her womanhood stung, his nails nicking as they danced inside her.

“Are you killing me?” she mused. Viridian claws slashed at his violet-ebony kimono, finding purchase in his broad shoulders. Mordancy dripped from her tone like how blood trickled down the hard ridges of his torso.

“Death will not give you peace.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t, but this life was far from pleasant. Though she shook her head at him, Kokushibo drove into her with vigour, the scourge of a whip. She shoved at his chest, his moonlight skin sickly pale, but he did not budge and, in some irreligious depth of her where she ached for this, the intemperate madness of sinners who trod the thin line of destruction and endurance, she was glad for it.

“Stop this,” but her words sounded empty to even herself. He didn’t, because he was a man who took what he wanted and obeyed the whims of only one other beside himself. Audacious, apathetic, awful, he inserted his thumb, then pushed the entirety of his fist inside her. A snarl tore from her throat, and his other hand came to close around that. He did not squeeze, but the mere presence of him around her neck was the potent pressure of a noose. Wet slaps rebounded in her ears as he twisted his fist, drawing his knuckles against her. She burned as if ablaze as she stretched to accommodate the violation.

Why was he here? What had he come for beside the sweet, metallic taste of cunt and the clench of red insides? It was something born of a selfish motivation, she figured that. No different or better than her. Though someone of his station should not act on self-serving wants.

Farther Kokushibo breached. To her unease, her body did little to prevent him. “I thought this was altruism?” she hissed.

His thumb pressed against her jugular, some vile punishment for opening her mouth. It marked her with a hue of cerise, an eager bruise blossoming under the skin. “This is not amity.” By the drag of a craven’s fingertips, veneration was rescinded. “It is… contrition. Yours.”

Bellicose blood smeared her, slewed down the inside of her thigh, not her moonblood, but thinner, of a greater, brighter constitution. Venous, drawn from a wounded and maimed creature, dismal and writhing like a worm on a hook. The hardness of her cervix turned friable. There was a knife—or a sword, she thought wryly, and wondered if he would fuck her with his disgusting katana if he could—in her cunt and it stabbed its way to where no foreign intrusion should have. She spasmed, wrenched out the arm of the hand clasping her smarting neck and suddenly they were both bathed in sticky red, tepid as it gushed from Kokushibo’s socket. It reeked. Not of them, but of him, the laden scent of Kibutsuji. Vessels for his violence, clawing at each other like rabid dogs, fuelled by the instinct to tarnish and impair, the need to rip apart with teeth and talons. They were nothing if not that man’s vestigial reflection; as Kokushibo hollowed her out and the sordid point of his nails pricked at the firm, barred organ of her cervix, it was not the samurai that penetrated, but his lord. A maggot burrowing away, carrying a corrosive disease. There was sin in their veins and it ate at them.  

“Warm my bed,” said Kokushibo, too frustrated to be a growl, too stark to be a plead. A demand, one which she spat at him for, all noble airs abandoned. He flinched as if her saliva cauterised. She hoped it did, hoped that his patience was a manacle and not frangible thread. She had seen what monstrosities cultivated within sullied wombs; the devils seized out of broken hellmouths in downpours of black ichor; the thousand deaths endured in pregnancy, in childbed, in motherhood. That was not a desirable end. It was not true death, but something beyond it, worse and unending, and men were baleful enough to inflict it on any wench they deemed deserving.

Depraved in the way ruby tainted rare moons, Kokushibo gouged her in repeated blows, battering the closed pale-pink neck of her uterus. She wept as his cursed touch shed more of her flesh than her own body could. A malevolent torrent of something she couldn’t put a name to raged within the leaking fissures of her. Here, raising a hand that trembled as it pressed his cool cheek, she was close enough to delve out his awful eyes, to slit his neck, to divaricate his limbs. Close enough to devour him.

But she wouldn’t. An insidious weakness.

When she yanked his savage fist out of her, she freed herself of her cage as well as gaoler. Torn from her insides, the pear shape of her womb, hot and rosy, and aperture of her cervix. Arteries and veins fell like tears, burst like shattered mosaic. She threw the poison in her system to the floor, where it soaked the wood with her diseased red, and relished the surprise on his face.

Kokushibo scanned the consecrated blood daubing him, then his gaze scraped her, fibrous sclera and aureate irises glowing, pupils blown. All they were was blood. They rotted with it, congealed and decayed until there was no trace of who they had been, only the stench of who they had slaughtered. They were their victims’ legacies, harbouring so many ghosts.

Crucifying agony dulled with each passing second. Already her body was repairing itself, working against her as it always had, cancer regenerating within her. Kokushibo rose and she stepped back, bare before him like an offering, though she was not sure what virgin oblation she could be when she had already been eaten; she could not consume him when he had consumed her, and from that she knew he was desecration. Vitiated in the spoils of him, she fled to ensconce herself within the umbrage of endless slanting corridors, praying they would guttle her too.

[hydroj1ns]

onsen with mitsuri

cw: gn reader with cock, breeding, she picks up soap, uhh boobs, mentions of pregnancy but like twice, aftercare, cringe dialogue, NOT PROOFREAD (o god)

After an exhausting day working for the demon slayer corps, you were excited to finally retire for the night, but not before a nice, long soak in the hot springs.

What you didn’t expect was someone already in the water. You thought you’d be alone; after all, no one was normally awake during these hours. Uncaring and worn out, you stepped past the fence and into the warm water. The heat of it immediately relaxed your tired muscles, and you tilted your head back onto the stone behind you, closing your eyes.

That was until you were interrupted. “Oh! Hello! Are you also a demon slayer?” Opening your eyes, you were met with the love pillar of all people, with her signature pink and green braids just covering the peachy pink centers of her full breasts. Trying to maintain contact with her, you replied, “Y-yeah… long day, you know…”

“Ah! Same here!” she exclaimed cheerfully. How someone like this was a hashira, you hadn’t a clue. But how she could keep a good posture with those heavy jugs of hers was a more important question. The curve and shape of them was perfect, you doubt you had seen better ones before. Not only that, but her slender body and milky skin was begging to be touched.

Your gaze followed her body as she exited the hot spring. God, even her ass was perfect, round and voluptuous. She took a stool on the side and began scrubbing herself. That was until her bar of soap happened to slip out of her hand. Hurriedly, she got up to chase it, the fat of her behind recoiling with every stride. When it finally stopped sliding, she bent over to pick it up, displaying her juicy pussy from behind. Eyes widening at the erotic view of her pink folds, you felt yourself get aroused in the water.

As the hashira turned to walk back to her stool, you whipped your head away the sight, feigning ignorance.

“Ah.. excuse me! Do you think you could help me scrub my back? I cant quite seem to reach some spots.”

After muttering something about taking orders from a hashira, you crouched behind her sitting form, rubbing the bar of soap all over the expanse of her back, which was noticeably hard and toned. Surprising you, she suddenly stood up so that you were face to face with that glorious ass. Turning around so that you were now face to face with the lips of her cunt, she explained, “My arms are a bit sore right now, do you think you could also help me clean down there? I cant quite reach it.” She asked politely.

Of course, who were you to say no? You directed her to sit back on the stool and spread her legs around you. You first took your sudded hand to massage the inside of her thighs, drawing suppressed little moans from her. You moved onto her outer lips; your fingers were in a v-shape, rubbing up and down her lips teasingly. Then, using two fingers to spread her puffy folds, you were greeted by her tight hole. Using your other two fingers, you shoved them inside, stirring slowly and sensually. You watched as she arched her back and threw her head back, finally letting out loud moans. Her thick braids fell to the side of her large breasts, revealing the blushy pink nipples, which were hardened from the chilly night air. This only encouraged you to continue, so you started scissoring your fingers inside of her.

“Miss Mitsuri, I believe I can clean you deeper inside, if you would allow me.”

“P-please… I-ah! want to get clean…”

With her consent, you shoved your cock down to the hilt inside her convulsing cunt. Her warm walls felt so good spasming around you, so much so that you could cum right there, inside of her.

“Your cute little pussy is squeezing me so hard, what does it really want?” you asked teasingly.

She could only stutter, “G-give me your cum. Cum in my womb!”

“Dropping the act now? Wouldn’t that be the opposite of cleaning you inside?” You smirked. After all, this would most likely be your final and only chance to fuck a pillar.

“Give me your babies! I don’t care who you are! I’ve been celibate for months because of my duties! Give me anything!” She exclaimed passionately.

As per her request, you thrusted deep into her, and with every pull out and back in, she cried ecstatically, until she finally came, forming a white ring around the base of your cock. However, you kept abusing her throbbing pussy. While groping at her tits like your life depended on it, you could feel the head of your cock breach something inside of her.

“P-put it in my womb! Make me carry your child!”

Smirking, you wondered, “How heavily will these tits get once a make you round with my kids? They’re already quite heavy, are you sure you aren’t already pregnant? Am I fucking a pregnant woman?”

“I-I don’t kn-know!” She shouted, clearly drunk on your cock. You took the liberty to release inside her now-abused womb, filling the cavern inside of her with your white essence. Giving her nipples a few final pinches, you pulled out of her. She quickly used her well manicured fingers to stop to the cum dribbling out of her, desperate to keep every drop inside of her. God, she looked amazing, with her perky breasts shiny with sweat, pussy red after your fucking, and milky thighs shaking from it all.

While cleaning her, for real this time, you wondered how often the love pillar got fucked like this. It made sense when you really think about it, since her whole theme was love and lust. Also, why else was she the only one with a breast window anyway? And that short skirt? Her asscheeks practically hung out of those. Was her outfit really corps-approved?

Depositing her slumbering form at her inn-room, you thanked her before leaving, even though she probably couldn’t hear you. This was probably the last time you would see her, as you were just some low-rank, practically fodder for most demons.

You took your leave, trudging down the dirt path in search of your next assignment.

[im-ovulating]

I've been seeing in influx of people saying this shit again, so… rant time!

Jacob wasn't attracted to the egg inside of Bella and, subsequently shouldn't have also been attracted to Edward's glittery swimmers.

Reasoning?

How about because Smeyer herself has denied that claim, first and foremost.

But let's say she didn't:

The imprinting happens between the shifter and a person… An egg isn't a person. A sperm isn't a person. A zygote isn't a person. An embryo isn't a person. And, finally, a fetus isn't a person. Only the fully developed baby is a person. Therefore, nothing happening in Bella's womb or ovaries (and certainly not in Edward's ballsack) has anything to with Jacob liking Bella.

Jacob was in love with Bella way before he even shifted, too.

Take it up with biology.

Next order of buisness:

JACOB NEVER WANTED TO BE TIED TO THE DEMON CHILD!!

His direct line of thinking was, "I'm gonna kill that freaky thing because it killed the woman I love -> oh shit, my entire being is being stripped away, and my own feelings and thoughts are being rewritten against my own wishes -> God damn it, now i can't even force myself to hold onto my hatred for this thing because I just became its emotional (and physical) slave." He lost his free will in that moment, unable to control his own thoughts and feelings. Here's an excerpt:

"The murderer stared past Rosalie's shoulder at me, its gaze more focused than any newborn creature's gaze should be.

Warm brown eyes, the color of milk chocolate the exact same color that Bella's had been.

My shaking jerked to a stop; heat flooded through me, stronger than before, but it was a new kind of heat-not a burning.

It was a glowing.

Everything inside me came undone as I stared at the tiny porcelain face of the half-vampire, half-human baby. All the lines that held me to my life were sliced apart in swift cuts, like clipping the strings to a bunch of balloons. Everything that made me who I was - my love for the dead girl upstairs, my love for my father, my loyalty to my new pack, the love for my other brothers, my hatred for my enemies, my home, my name, my self - disconnected from me in that second -snip, snip, snip- and floated up into space." -Breaking Dawn, Chapter 18, page 306-307.

'Everything that made me who I was disconnected from me in that second and floated up into space.'

That is not something Jacob ever wanted. In fact, throughout the series, he doesn't hide that he hates the idea of imprinting... he lost his free will when he was forced to join the pack when he shifted (bc out of all the places in the world, the Cullens had to set up shop right where they knew their presence would cause a problem), so what makes you guys think that him hating his autonomy being compromised would suddenly go away when he was made to imprint on the thing that killed his childhood friend and love?

Even the official guide talks about how imprinting is completely out of the wolves' control.

"If the werewolf does imprint, he is forever changed. From the second he sees the object of his imprinting, he will do anything to please and protect her. All other commitments in his life become secondary, even his commitment to the pack." -The Twilight Saga The Official Illustrated Guide, page 310.

Also from the guide: "Once a werewolf transforms, his aging speeds up until he reaches the age of maturity, roughly twenty-five. At this point, as long as he continues to phase, he remains at that age. It's possible that a werewolf could choose to live this way forever and enjoy the same limited immortality as a vampire, but most Quileute werewolves give up phasing in order to grow old and die alongside their family and friends. Once a werewolf gives up phasing altogether, he slowly begins to age again until his aging reaches the normal human speed." -page 308

The wolves never age so long as they keep shifting... Renanameme is already clingy and possessive of Jacob. She's never going to let him stop phasing because she's going to want him around forever. So now, not only is he stuck with the creature that killed (yes, 'killed,' because vampires are dead) his love, but he is stuck living amongst the very creatures he was created to fight and kill. Forced to inhale their sickly sweet "almost rotten" scent for eternity as his baser instincts scream at him to eliminate them the way he was born to.

One last thing: Jacob never asked Edward if he should call him "Dad". That was a change they made for the movie. Originally, there was never a line even *close* to that in the books...

Okay... I could keep going, but I'm not sure anyone even read this far, so: rant over...

I'm just so sick of the Jacob slander coming from people who have either never fucking read the books or read them so long ago that they don't remember the integral parts of the thoughts and feelings of these characters.

Jacob is the victim here, not the perpetrator.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 9[***]

A/N: idk even know what to say about this one. I think I traumatise myself a little more with every chapter (in a good way…?)

Warnings: blood—like a lot of blood, obviously unsanitary but ✨magic✨, biting, blood play, smut, 5.7k words

-Part 8- -Part 10-

He’d breathed power into you. Power that your human body is not meant to carry. And while you can feel the tips of your fingers, the nails pressing onto your toes, and every tooth in your mouth, you know it won’t last. The sun is setting within you, and when the last ember of his magic dies in your womb, you’ll go with it.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, padding quietly over that stone floors of the dormitories, hidden deep within the temple’s nest. Crypt is more like it.

He’s still wreathed in shadow, appearing no clearer than a reflection in muddied waters. His form ripples as he moves, keeping his gaze ahead—knowing you’re following on his heel. He’s keeping an eye out for something—someone.

That someone is waiting for you at the steps that lead out from beneath the holy building.

Robed in white and pale blue, silver circlet perched on her brow, Elain watches you with hard eyes. No—she’s staring at Azriel. He stops a little way from her, just out of reach of the carved, wooden thyrsus. Slender, pale fingers tighten around the staff, knuckles pressing out beneath the constraint of skin. “You have made your choice, then.”

It’s no question, but you nod. Cold, hollow eyes flick to you, “remember what I told you,” she says quietly, that strange glow appearing about her again. Brown melts to cocoa, mouth softening from its hard line. “You will always have a place here, remember that,” she says to you, “no matter what form you take. Do not forget yourself. Do not forget the human woman inside of you.”

————

Elain’s words are little more than a low buzz in the back of your skull as Azriel brings you to an outcropping on a weathered mountain ledge.

There’s no light in the sky tonight, the stars seemingly taking shelter within the darkness. The air is still, humid, but you’re on the wrong side of tepid. Your temperature has been rising gradually, in almost unnoticeable increments, but sweat is dampening your hair, trickling down the notches of your spine.

Azriel prowls forward to the flat rock face, canines slipping out as you hear a distinct ripping sound. He presses his taloned hand to the hewn stone, and lightening crackles in the air, fizzling in your ears, sizzling your skin. The mountain rumbles in response—Ramiel, Elain had called it—and strange symbols glow on the stone, as if lit by the light of a forge. A mix of runes and sigils that are too old to be recognised by any of your kind—perhaps even by his.

Then the wall gives way. Simply disappears. Revealing a looming passageway, sinking downward.

He turns toward you, eyes the colour of the descent that’s patiently awaiting. Why would it be eager? It know you’re going into its mouth one way or another, there’s no need for hurry.

A warm breeze licks up your spine, reminding you how your night robe is sticking uncomfortably to your skin, suctioned on by sweat. A shiver wracks your stomach, muscles seizing and spasming in the night. You take a shaky step toward him, toward the cave mouth, waiting to step foot on its cold tongue, but he stops you.

Instead, he takes you by the jaw, a razor-sharp claw presses in your mouth, a metallic liquid flowing across your tongue followed by a dull warmth. His canines press into his thumb before he pushes its pad to the incision on your wet muscle, blood mixing in your mouth. Your senses go dim, the cold biting into your feet little more than a slight pressure, the sweat on your skin little more than a light brush of misty fog, the night a little more than varying inky splotches.

A deep shadow towers over you, leaning down as you’re lifted from your feet. “Hold your breath,” he orders, softly. You follow the command, rasping in a ragged huff of night-warmed air. He steps into the rock’s mouth, and the mountain seals.

Cocooned within the damp passages, you curl into yourself, keeping air tight in your lungs. The walls press in, smelling of mildew and tilled soil. You keep tucked into him, instinctually recoiling from the passage way, the darkest grabbing at your ankles; tugging at your hair. Shadowy nails rake down the bloody chambers of your heart, eyes squeezing shut as Azriel pulls you tighter to himself.

“Release it.”

You exhale softly, feeling dizzy with the strain, like your torso will collapse with the slightest breeze. Like your ribs are full of cobwebs and dust. You head pounds the deeper he takes you, the temperate dropping steadily until you’re shivering. “Azriel…” you whisper weakly. He shushes you, fingers gently squeezing your skin, “a little longer.”

You swallow down the whimper, nestling closer, delving into his warmth as silky shadows encase your bare legs, wrapping over your arms; flowing over your chest like a thin blanket. Elain had warned you of this, had told you what to expect; how to prepare yourself for the crushing intensity of Ramiel’s stomach. How to cope with the insane pressure that’s strangling your bones of life.

Taking in a breath, you cast your mind back to the conversation, recounting the description she’d given you of her own Ritual.

————

“What happens in the Ritual?”

The tea is piping hot, almost scalding your throat as you swallow your first gulp. You gasp for air to cool your mouth, and Elain smiles softly, offering a glass of water which you take gratefully.

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, eyes going a little cloudy with memory. “It wasn’t…I struggle to speak about it,” she begins, hands cupping her mug as she peers into the milky tea. The edges of her mouth droop, shoulders sloping, “even with Lucien, it’s difficult.” She raises her head a little, meeting your gaze, something sad and remorseful flitting through her cocoa eyes.

“I thought I loved him at the time. Azriel, I mean. And I think he thought he loved me, too.” Her brow wrinkles, lips pursing as she tightens her hold on the cup. “They have a sacred mountain. It’s the only place the Ritual will work, though I never learned why. Something about a build-up of power, every Ritual performed requires a small sacrifice which infuses the mountain with magic. I don’t— I don’t know much about it, nor do I have an interest in learning.

“Even under his thrall, I knew there was something wrong with it. Like Ramiel was rejecting the very essence of my humanity. It was a discomfort deep in my bones, like something ancient and unseen was pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.” She sucks in a deep breath, straightening, taking a sip of her tea. You don’t miss the shake to her delicate hand.

“I have no time frame to offer you; everything was so distorted I have no hope of untangling it. I’m not sure what happened, just that my mind was scrambled the second he took me inside. I can recall vague impressions: some runes on the passage walls, pathways leading away—deeper into the mountain, fractals spinning in the damp rock. What I’m trying to express, is it’s unlike anything created by man. Entirely other. As if fashioned with darkness in mind; forged for the occult.

“After the descent, the narrow passage opened into a vast cave that smelled damp. Musty and unused. I can’t remember the cave in great detail—it was very dark, you see. So dark only a creature like him would be able to navigate the chamber.

“I do, however, recall being set on a raised, stone platform. It was circular, and had no end I could feel within my immediate reach. That being said, I didn’t have much control left in my body at that point so my area of mobility was severely limited.” Her eyes are milky white.

You don’t dare speak, in case it washes away the last scraps of memory she’s dredging up.

“The Ritual… As I said before, it’s not something I care for. I have no interest in understanding how it works—I’m not entirely sure any of them know what happens, or how it was set up. I remember my younger sister telling me what she knew, but it was all rumour and myth passed on tongue, predating written language.

“He warned me it would be unpleasant. He gave me a choice of how it could happen, just two options.”

You hold your breath, tea forgotten.

“I could endure it as I was, experience the change on my own. Or I could…” she stammers, features becoming a little paler. A hint of colour dusts the crests of her cheek, though she refuses to lower her head. “Or he could relieve the intensity by taking it with me.”

Your brow furrows, “what do you mean, taking it with you? I thought the Ritual…” you trail off. You don’t really know what you thought. “You said something about becoming stronger? I thought that meant being changed into one of them,” you say, swallowing. “One of you.”

She nods. “The Ritual will make you immortal, so you can live like them; exist in the Underworld and the Holy Lands.”

“What’s…? That sounds…good.” You say, slowly, considering your words. “What’s the… I mean, I can’t see an obvious reason why not to take it?” Her brow narrows slightly, and you worry you’ve said something wrong. “Living forever is not as wondrous as you might think. Watching those you love grow old while you remain young? Watching their bones crumble with the weight of the world while yours stay strong? It is not a pleasant experience.” Her voice is sharper, terser than before, and you realise this might still be an open wound for her.

You open your mouth, “exactly how old are—”

“You’re getting off topic.”

You snap your mouth shut.

She releases her grip on her teacup to take a sip, drinking daintily. “He will most likely offer you a similar choice. It is up to you which path you take. I most certainly will not fault you for either.”

You wait, fingers fidgeting in your lap, but she doesn’t continue. You shift, “is there anything else?”

Milky eyes begin to darken, returning to their colourful state of warmth. Elain shakes her head, “as I said: I remember very little. Though I would advise you to take his offer, when he gives it to you.” She shivers, but there’s no breeze. “I imagine it would be quite unpleasant without the distraction.”

————

He takes you down further, runes decorating the rock wall.

He carries you by winding passages that seem to have breezes blowing inward, as if trying to suck in wanderers. He remains steady. Fractals spin at the edges of your vision, disappearing when you try to look directly at them.

Stairs wind down, going deeper into the mountain, until you’re surely below ground level. And still you go deeper.

He carries you down until the passage opens up, revealing a vast cave, a flat stone altar at its centre. The place Elain spoke about.

You’re here.

Azriel takes a step forward, then halts. Even with your poor eyesight, you can feel the weight of his gaze. Goosebumps prickle over your skin, and you nestle into him, greedily sucking in the warmth and power that’s humming around his person.

“Isn’t this it?” You croak, feeling like death. Sweat beads on your brow, perspiration slicking your already damp skin. His eyes narrow on you, judgement weighing heavily in your stomach.

Then he turns from the altar, grip tightening on you, lips pursing.

Desperation trickles down your spine, fingers trembling as you hold him tighter. “Azriel…” you rasp, “what…? Where are you…?” Breath catches in your throat and you manage a weak cough. Shadows swirl over your torso, wrapping tighter, as if keeping you together.

“You’re weaker than the others,” he says quietly, a soft growl dragging form his throat. Shame tightens in your gut at the reminder, and you look away from him. “You’re going deeper. Where it will be more concentrated.”

Darkness writhes at his back, building over his wings as they flare, magic crackling in the air. The rock trembles, then gives way, revealing another passageway. Leading down.

You whimper, pushing into him, away from the opening. “Azriel…” you pant, “please…I can’t—” Another round of wet coughs bubble from your throat, barely enough force to dislodge whatever’s getting stuck there.

His dark eyes flick down to you, then he shifts you in his arms, lifting and moving you so your legs are tucked around his waist, arms guided gently over his shoulders. If you had the energy, you could purr. Nestle closer into him, feeling the firm press of his chest against your own, the strong muscle lining his body, the soft, silky locks at the nape of his neck.

“Hold on,” he murmurs to you, one arm beneath you to keep you up, the other around your back, pressing between your shoulder blades then trailing down to grip your waist. Your spine arches, dipping as his forearm brushes the bone, holding just above your hip.

“I just want it to be over,” you whisper onto his skin, head resting on his shoulder, tears blurring your vision. “It will be,” he replies quietly. “Just a little longer.”

Tremors skitter over your skin, limbs going limp in his arms as you weigh onto him, relaxing into his strength. Feeling each smooth step as he takes you deeper. Darker still.

The air grows thicker; more stagnant. As if previously untouched.

You shiver in his arms, only focusing on where you’re connected, the shadows soothing your skin. “How much did she tell you about this?” He asks into the darkness. You know who he means.

“A little,” you rasp, feeling weakness sink into your muscles, turning them to mud.

He nods, probably for your benefit. “This is going to be different,” he murmurs, and his hands might have tightened on you just there. You have no energy to inquire, so you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“You’re going to be fine.”

It doesn’t reassure you like you had hoped.

Silence swallows your senses, and you’re pretty sure you pass out for a little, because when your eyes next open, things have changed.

No longer in the passageway, but within the mountain’s stomach—wide and cavernous. A quiet splash sounds as Azriel moves, a faint metallic smell wafting about, a suggestion of iron. Light flickers on the walls, dimly registering in your eyes as he continues forward. Carrying you to your end point.

“You’re doing this with me, right,” you whisper. Your voice breaks at the end, betraying your quiet terror. Muscle stiffens beneath you, but he continues moving.

“Yes,” he says at last, equally softly, coming to a stop. His hold lessens on you, giving you the chance to pull away. You try and sit a little straighter, weary and tired. A fatigue that’s settled into your very bones. Even sleeping forever wouldn’t get rid of it.

You peer at him through the darkness, his arms supporting you as you do so. “What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper again, tongue trembling in your mouth, feeling at once dry and like lead. Your lower lip wobbles, but you bite down, keeping it stiff. Eyes flick across his features, searching for a hint.

Something passes through his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to read. Instead, one of his hands cup your cheek, pushing away the damp hair that’s plastered itself to your skin. “I’ll make sure it feels good,” he says.

Then his mouth slants delicately over yours, and you recognise the feeling it brings in.

It’s like that first time with him all over again.

Heat sings in your blood, making it boil and bubble. Scorching your skin. His name whispers through your mind, lips forming shapes of letters you’ve forgotten.

The cave is vast, a dark liquid coating the floor, and he’s taking you deeper. Red washes the stone, fire burning in tall stacks at five different points within the chamber. Humid air washes down your throat, filling your lungs, smelling faintly metallic but everything’s so dim and dark it’s impossible to tell. How bright is the flame for your eyes to pick it out?

Heart pounds in your chest, and you curl into him, needing to feel his skin. Need to feel his touch, the soft dust of fur grazing your thighs and stomach, the scratch of claws through your hair. A small sound drags from your lips, sweat beading on your brow, head twisting to bury into him.

His hands tighten around your legs, pressing your shoulders closer, tucking you into his heat, his scent wrapping around you. If you had the energy, how wonderful it would be to have him. Taste, lick, swallow, gulp. Take, need, have, own.

“Azriel…” Letters rasp from your tongue and he’s doing something—moving you. “Azriel…I need you.”

Sweat slicks your robes, dampening further as he sets you down, breasts dragging over his chest, body dragging against his own, until your feet touch that wetness. Up to your ankles. Up to your calves. Metal and iron.

Blacked out eyes find yours and breath whooshes away at the raw sight of him. Some kind of veil has been ripped off, fire and shadow burning in his pitch black gaze, an intensity thrumming beneath his skin like a heart beat, loud and clear to your ears.

The flames burn hotter, glowing brighter, pale bones holding the massive fire bowls. Blood bubbles around your feet, the cave floor flooded with the dark liquid, the vastness of some past slaughter vaguely dawning in your mind. How much life is contained within the dark lagoon, the immense strain of power that’s glittering just beneath it.

“This isn’t…?” You look at him weakly, his hands on your hips, keeping your pressed to his front. “…where am I?” He blinks, and you catch the thin layer of film that slides across his eyes just before his eyelids snap shut, and open. “Undress.”

You stare at him, too sickly to muster up a reply. You just stare. “Where am I?”

When he leans down, fingers hooking in your robe, making to pull it off, you don’t have the will to protest. The scrape of his talons up the backs of your thighs setting the liquid heat in the pit of your belly bubbling. A reminder of his touch, how it feels to have his hands on you. How it feel to have him on you. It’s what you’re craving.

So you melt.

Eyes roll to the back of your skull and you stagger, shadows winding up your legs, sliding up your spine, bracing your torso as the arousal slams your mind into a stone wall. Hands grip onto him, nails stabbing at his tough skin as you cling for stability. “Azriel…” you pant, panic twining with your plead.

His eyes gleam in the ruby light, orange and gold flickering across his skin, “yes?” Fangs glint under the flame, catching the sparks on the white enamel. Grinning.

Your vision tilts, and your grip tightens, skin pressing onto him, arms winding around him, fingers dragging over him as you begin to push yourself into his body. You nose at him, taking in his scent and you can feel him shifting beneath your finger tips. Liquid arousal gathers between your thighs as leather dissolves to soft fur, the constraint of clothing turning to nothing. Warm, sturdy muscle surfacing. Should you look up you would be met with a beast. Fangs to slice into your throat, talons to dig into your flesh, eyes to pierce into your soul.

A moan spills from your lips, breaths becoming shallow as that incessant itch becomes deeper and deeper and you need him, need him, need him.

He laughs, deep and dark, tipping you upward by a hand to the throat. Feels you swallow. “Want me?” He asks. The ghostly brush of his lips over your own. Your brows curve upward at the cruel question.

Of course you want him. Can barely think of anything else.

Eyes flutter shut, tilting toward him. Elongated fangs graze your lips. Press closer, and they slice.

You tip over the edge.

Hands slide up over his shoulders, hooked talons wrap around your waist, trapping you against him. Mouth opens up, teeth slicing at your lips but blood tastes good. Thick and rich. Aches blossom on your tongue, stinging dulling and healing then reopening as his saliva heals and his canines create those delicious incisions as you kiss him. Tongue flicks out, pressing up the razor-sharp canine, hot, spiced liquid bursting between you, dripping down your chin.

You moan loudly into his mouth, his name playing on repeat in your head as you plead for him, arousal thrumming and humming and buzzing across your sin, zapping the sensitive space between your legs.

Nails drag through his hair, pressing up onto your tiptoes to be closer. His hands slide down over your rear and you moan into his mouth, blood and pleasure mixing and his claws rip through the white robe. Skin is bare and wonderfully free. Fur soft and silky and you could cry at the sweet sensation.

Azriel snarls into your mouth and you want to give him more, want him to bite into your flesh and take you apart in the most appetising way possible. With great control, you pull away, only in favour of moving his hot lips to the soft expanse of your throat. Urging him to bite, to drink, to feed.

The wet muscle laps out, pleasure and pain singing down your spine seconds later as he buries himself in you, hot, thick blood spilling down your shoulder, saturating the remains of your dress. Head tips back, lips parting in silent euphoria. He growls at the taste, pushing deeper, drinking more and more, until you’re swaying on your feet.

Hands release you, blood swallows you.

Falling back into the sanguine pool.

You moan as the rich liquid warms your skin, coating you, bathing you in power. Darkens your hair with wetness. Spine arches at the sheer immorality of the scene. The darkest depravity as you bathe yourself in blood. Gleams on your teeth, colouring your lips as you smile, tongue flicking out as you stare up at him.

His grin is like none other he’s given you. Pure beast, pure animal. Too wide, and too eager to be anything remotely human. You don’t care.

He steps forward, and you move back, pushing away from him slowly—teasingly. It’s never a good idea to taunt a wolf, but here you are, a lamb wandering into the butcher’s hands, trotting up and pleading for the carving knife. Bowing her neck for the severing slice.

The rock shifts beneath you, blood growing shallower, beast drawing closer. Herding you to the butchering block. You follow his guide, moving to be atop the hewn stone, where the hot liquid laps at your sides instead of swallowing you whole.

Dark lines pulse beneath his skin, veins of blackness thrumming beneath the fur lining his stomach, mapping a pathway down his abdomen. He reaches the foot of the slope, and begins prowling upward, slowly closing in on you. There’s not a single part of you that’s afraid of him, every inch of skin craving to be adored and devoured. Absolutely massacred.

His clawed hand encases your ankle roughly, pulling your leg toward him, blood dripping from your calves down into the pool. Teeth open over your flesh, bitting and kissing his way up as your spine arches at his own form of worship.

When you have fangs like his, you’ll return the favour.

Dark eyes pierce into you, your legs bend at the knees, flickering with interest. Your grin doesn’t belong to a lamb. He know that, too.

Starving hunger blazes in his gaze, a quiet moan exhaling from your lips as you open wider for him. Lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl, and he pounces. One hand slams down on your shoulder, rock biting into your back as he snarls, low and viciously. Blood drips off your chest, nipples peeking beneath his ravenous attention. Teeth bite into your neck, and you know he’s hitting that first scar mark, setting it deeper, making sure it sticks.

Rough stone slices into your skin, but you don’t care. The blood from the cave seeps into your skin, but you don’t care. Something powerful and wicked, ancient and entirely malevolent claws at your insides, rendering you anew, and you just. Don’t. Care.

You moan louder when you feel the weight of his length over your slick heat, a growl rumbling through his chest, and you could swear deep whispers fill the vast cave. Chanting, speaking in tongues. He pays them no mind, so neither do you. Not even as the blood really does begin to bubble, or as the fire drips from the golden bowls, beginning to form a ring.

Nails dig into his back, wings flaring in a display of dominance and ownership as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. Your hips wind against him, begging for him to push in, to fill you so full there’s no room for anything else. Until everything is out of you, and you’re left empty and gloriously silent.

Azriel’s fingers thread through your hair, thumb smearing the blood across your cheek, and you catch the tip of his talon on your tongue. He groans at the action, pressing the plushness of your lower lip, angling the digit so his claw can slide inside. The wet muscle flicks over the pad of him thumb, eyes latched onto his as you slice and carve yourself upon him.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your eyes roll back with pleasure, knowing what’s coming. So caught up in his web of sin you don’t notice as the sickness burrows deeper, curling within you, painting you in his self.

“Azriel…” you pant, “deeper.”

His eyes gleam with satisfaction and something far more sinister but you have no care to examine it in detail. All you care about is how big he is, how he’s filling you up as he presses in, keeping you pinned to the bloody floor of the dim chamber. His lips twist into a hellish smile, teeth slicked in red as they gleam with golden firelight. Fire that’s still spilling from the bowls, tightening the ring until it’s trapping you both inside.

Slowly, they begin to carve a five-pointed star through the pool.

The two of you at its epicentre.

His hips press tight against your own, and whimpers ebb from your lips, flowing to his ears as your iron-tinged scent wraps around him, keeping him locked in a haze of pleasure. He basks in the wet heat of your cunt, the soft press of your thighs tightening around his hips, urging him to move. He dips down once more, mouth opening over your own in a messy kiss—messy from the razor-like teeth. A mouth filled with tiny blades.

The world spins a little as his hips drawn back, then push in.

The dark cave pool heats, steam rising from its surface as the fire blazes brighter, finally completing its symbol. Trapping you within. No matter this is nothing like what Elain described. This is so much better.

He slams in to the hilt, and fire crackles in your heart. Lightening sizzling your bones, scorching your skin. Cooking you from the inside out. Pain blares in your marrow, inner lips stinging as your gums ache from tiny lacerations, splitting.

Splitting as fangs force their way through your flesh, ripping at tissue as teeth grow. Teeth matching his. Two canines protruding from your upper lip. You can hear his hearts beat, tripping in a triple rhythm of three.

You open your mouth over his shoulder, still pounding into you, and you bite.

He howls, the roar sending ripples through the bubbling blood, making the flames flicker. He coats your tongue, spilling into your mouth, filling your stomach as your bones and muscle shift. Tighten over one another, bonding to become stronger. Other.

The cave becomes lighter, snapping from blinding colour to pitch black, until they finally settle. The smell you’d be veiled from finally hits you, and you gag. The metallic stink shoves itself up your nostrils but magic crackles in the air and it’s gone. His magic.

Azriel pulls away, and pleasure tightens in your belly as you mark the puncture wounds stamped onto his shoulder. His hips slam up against yours and claws rake down his back.

His pupils dilate, and he’s shoving you down into the pool, one massive paw splaying across your chest, talons hooking you in place. A scream rips from your lips as the transformation passes over your lower body, unimaginable pleasure crashing into you, bludgeoning your brain as it’s sizzled and scorched. Vision blurs as euphoria rips at your skin, head tipping back, saturating your hair in the liquid magic.

There’s hardly time for breath before your muscles are acting for you, guiding you to what you need.

Claws dig into him, sinking into flesh as he’s flipped onto his back, allowing you to straddle his hips. You snarl down at him, revelling in the pulse of power that’s gliding through you, filling you with life and energy and anger.

So much fury that had the cave not been cast in red before, it would become bloodied to your eyes. All the repressed rage that had been slowly building, every snap of jealousy, every burn of envy. Everything gloriously sinful, awakens.

The mountain trembles as ire glitters in your blood, keeping Azriel trapped beneath you as you finally take. You take, and steal, and rob, just as he had done to you.

He snarls in fury but there’s so much power within you now, binding and raging at the sight of freedom he remains floored.

Your hips wind over his, cock buried deep inside of you, and the snarl cuts to a blissed out moan. Hands grip your hips, talons unable to slice your leathery skin as he helps lift you up to his tip, then slam you down. He bucks upward simultaneously, spurred on by the sharp jerk of your hips as you grind onto him. Pleasure sings and your head falls back, allowing him to use you—to give you the world.

Snarls and growls rumble in your chest, tongue flicking over your blood-coated teeth. His blood. And you smile.

Wild. Feral. Unhinged.

You look down at him, the red, toothy grin on your lips as claws slash out from your fingertips. Moans flow as you bring them down upon him, slicing into his skin, crimson droplets beading in their wake before the lacerations heal.

His eyes gleam with pride as you raise your nails to your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste him, pleasure buzzing in your head, fluttering between your legs. His satisfaction curls deep in your chest, sharpening the edge you’re riding.

Your hips swirl over his and it’ll only take a few more…

A few more and then—

You scream.

An otherworldly, beastly howl.

His eyes widen with hunger and awe as your head tips back, and you come on his cock, nails stabbing into the muscle of his stomach, burying in the soft fur that trails to his abdomen.

Words once again rip from your mind, leaving only feeling and wonder as he continues slamming up into you. Overstimulation wracks your body, but you can’t summon the will to order him to stop. Spasms tense your muscles, everything going taut then supple, Flashing so quickly between the two that it’s absolute heaven for him. Pounding up into your heat as you flutter and tighten around his cock, urging him to spill into you.

Your hips move of their own accord, as if able to sense how much he wants to fill you up, how desperately he needs to pump you full of is cum until you’re unable to move or breathe without some spilling.

You urge him on as you squeeze him, hips winding and bucking even as your mind goes blank, world spinning and tripping with the overload.

The pentagram flares with power, zapping your skin until you’re tingling all over and he roars. Hot, thick cum spurts into you and you moan. Vision blurs with pleasure, fangs biting into your lower lip until blood trickles down, dripping from your chin onto your breasts, splattering across his stomach.

The muscles flex as his hand slides into your hair, dragging your mouth to his as your fangs collide, carving up one another in the frenzy. You groan as his cock shifts inside of you from the movement, body answering as you grow, fur dusting the soft skin between your legs in luscious, thick swirls.

His lip pulls back from his teeth with pleasure, matching your shift, cock widening beneath the base as you continue roughly winding over him.

You’re still so dizzy and so dumbed out—tunnel vision leading you to the next high.

You grip him back, hands brutally gripping his silky, blood-slicked hair as you eagerly devour him, breasts dragging over his chest. Nipples grazing his skin, bodies pressed so tight against one another you could pass for one single, hellish creature.

Soft snarls bounce off the cave walls that had been previously untouched for centuries, smelling slightly damp but now filled with arousal.

Claws click together as you grip and grab.

Teeth and talons snap, biting and scraping over skin.

Humanity shredded to pieces.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @thekingravkadeserves

[a1tie]

𝙎𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙤 - 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞 𝙭 𝙂𝙉!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

scenario- You find yourself in Sanemi’s arms and oh my god he is so close…

word count- 1.3k

(AN: Im hella open for constructive criticism! Im thinking of making this into a pt. 2, where we do a time skip and get a little deeper into their relationship. Let me know what you guys think! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა )

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

“No way!” 

You sit on the porch of the Butterfly Mansion as you converse with your friend. You both start to laugh in hysterics. You have been in the Corps for a year and your comrade for 8 months. Even though it hasn’t been long since you guys have met, you both get along as if y’all have been friends since the womb. You just told her a story of a recent mission you went on with Zenitsu and a few other members and how constantly fearful he was. You resisted laughing every time he yelped at the slightest noise, even if it was just the creases of your uniform brushing against itself. Once you two finished having your moment, she gasped and smiled widely. 

“You know, I heard that Master Shinazugawa has a brother in the Corps.” She gossiped randomly. You cock your head to the side and give her a concerned face. “Is that so?” You ask for confirmation. She nods rapidly. “Yeah, but, like, Master Shinazugawa says he doesn’t have a brother..so I find it weird. Say, didn’t you claim you had a crush on Mas-”

“NowwhendidyouhearmesaythatIhaveneversaidsuchathingin mylifedontstartspreadingrumorsaboutmebecauseyouknowgoodandwellthatidontlikehimlikethat.” 

You were clearly in denial. Your friend couldn’t help but smile maliciously. “Oh, come on, don’t deny the ways you feel!” She nudges you. You look in front of you, deep in thought.

.          .         .

About 2 months ago, you could recall going on a short mission with him. You heard many things about the white-haired male, none of them positive. You kept yourself strolling behind him and stayed quiet to avoid getting struck upside your head for saying the wrong things. It was you, him and 2 other members. You stared at the ground for most of the time until you feel air brush against your neck. You turn around, hand on the handle of your sword as you stand your guard. Once you detected that it might have just been the wind, you turned back and took a breath. However, instead of finding yourself looking at the vast forest and the group of slayers in front of you, a shadow towers over you. Bright white eyes without an iris somehow pierce your soul. It was a demon, standing in front of you and ready to kill. Then, a flicker of the reflection of the moon on the demon’s weapon shines in your peripheral right near your neck. 

This is it. You would die any second right now, you might as well close your eyes and hope for the best.

That was until you felt a huge gust of wind rush past you and something making contact with your skin as if cradling you. You thought for a second that you might be in heaven, but you opened your eyes to see arms lifting your back and legs. You look up and find Sanemi holding you against his chest, and his eyes were set on you. It wasn’t just the way he was looking at you though. It was the way he was so cradling you so close that you can feel his faint breath on your cheek. His face gave no expression as he lifted his head in the direction of the figure. Suddenly, Sanemi drops you onto the ground without remorse and instantly beheads the demon. Sure, it seemed like he only came to save you because it was his job, but you admired him so deeply from that one action that you had no choice but to look up to him. 

Seeing him in the Mansions and across the field of the Corps after the incident didn’t help either, as eventually, your mind became more scrambled until all you could think about was him.  About week later, You trotted into your best friend's room and closed the door, locking it. She turns around and smiles.

“Hey! What’s going o-”

“Do you remember that mission I want on with Master Shinazugawa?”

“Ye-”

“Sobasicallyhesavedmefrombeingdecapitatedbyademonbuthewascarryingmebridalstyleandohmygodhewassoclosetomeandiliterallycannotstopthinkingabouthim.” You say, jumbling your words and speaking so rapidly your friend could only just sit and smile.

“....Yes.”

.          .         .

“Oh, I guess I still do…” You say, responding to your friend's statement and putting your hands up to your face and pinching the bridge of your nose. Your friend gives you a pat on the back. “You should talk to him more.” She says. Just that sentence makes you flinch. You felt like just saying hi to him could cause him to drag your face across the dirt. You give your friend a blank stare. 

“Have you lost your mind?”

She laughs. “What!? I mean, I’m sure he’s a nice guy if you get to know him. Maybe he’s misunderstood!” She shrugs.

She does have a good point. You remember overhearing two kakushi conversing about Sanemi’s backstory one day. Something about his mother turning into a demon and killing his siblings. Maybe Genya is his sibling, after all. Poor baby. You sigh and get up from the porch. “Well I got to get goi-” You start to turn to walk away, but as you lift your leg to pivot, your friend quickly swoops her foot under you, sweeping your grounded leg off of the wooden floor. You feel yourself falling, being caught off guard. She has never done this before. Does she hate you? Is she jealous? Will this turn into a love scandal? Are you gonna die? Thoughts fill your mind as air rushes against your back, bringing you down…down….

“Oh my fucking god.”

You feel rough hands grab your waist, bringing your drop to a halt. You look up to see Sanemi looking at you. Again. Your eyes go wide as you stare into his eyes, wondering what a coincidence it is that he shows up right as you were leaving from a conversation about him. It makes you flustered as blood rushes to your cheeks. Again, you find yourself insanely close to his face. Almost instantly, you’re lifted back to stable ground. You see Sanemi walk past you. “Stop falling. I’m not helping you next time.” He scoffs as he takes his leave. Your vision prolongs itself on Sanemi, taking in every lock of white hair on the back of his head, his arms covered in scars, big and without a doubt tight. Your friend snickers at you, and you shoot her a grimaced stare. “Oh, God! You looked so in love, I can’t!” You kept staring at her as she held her stomach in hysterics. You kiss your teeth, swearing to get her back when the time comes. 

After a few moments of recollecting, she gets up and plants her arm on your shoulder. “Goodness, you are so helpless. Also, I could’ve sworn he was looking you up and down as he was walking past you, oh my God and the fact that he remembers when you fell!…..I bet you wanna to-’

“Will you SHUT UP?” You turn and take your leave, overwhelmingly angry and flustered. She waves at you from behind. “We will talk later, Mrs. Shina-’

“NO!” You run faster.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

~ Mwah!

….why does he make my coochie tingly EHEHEHEHHHAHAHAHEHHEHHEEHEHE-

[a-certain-romance]

You’re my favorite kind of night

A/N: Ah we meet again anon! I hope this one is to your liking as well, I had a lot of fun with it

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, heats, toys, oral (r!giving), reader is gn! but reader has a cock, mention of womb tattoo

Regular heats are unbearable alone. But heats with the genetics of a god? Pure torture. In proper Ei fashion, her solution to dealing with this is isolation. When the time comes, she ventures into a secluded cave-converted-into-a-hideout and battles her demons there alone. Her advisors have warned her of the potential dangers, arguing that her Euthimiya is more secure and manageable. But something about being so close to nature sits perfectly right with Ei, and she hasn’t run into trouble yet.

It’s the perfect routine, leave and come back with a fresh mind. Except nowadays, the clean-up crew finds every hideout to be more and more damaged than the last. Ei feels something stirring within her. Her toys and fantasies and seclusion are no longer working like they used to. There’s this new, primal urge that Ei is discovering and she can’t seem to put a lid on it. Her face gets flushed more easily, her pupils becoming blown out to an alarmingly degree, and there’s this new urge to be bred…Eventually, all her usual spots are destroyed and are no longer “safe” to care for herself in.

Hunching breathlessly over a map, Ei finds one last place that she has yet to explore. High in the mountains, undisturbed almost entirely because of the superstitions surrounding it. Townsfolk will say it’s the place where a dragon resides, but according to reports, it hasn’t been seen in many years. Ei will take anything at this point. Assuming it’s safe, she hikes her needy body up the landscape and once inside, makes herself comfortable. Her heat makes her movements more ragged, the entire trek up she can feel herself dripping onto her panties.

She sets up camp at the mouth of the cave. By dusk, she looks through a bag that contains an assortment of vibrators and dildos. In preparation for what’s to come, she tease her entrance with the tip of a 7 inch dildo. The girth is thicker than many would buy, but Ei always needs something more to satisfy her. Before she can push the head in, a low growl emits from deep within the cave.

You emerge from the shadows. Your half dragon nature sensed Ei’s arousal from a while away. It’s been so long since you’ve indulged in pleasure with another, and her scent alone is sending you into a tailspin. Her gaze lands on you, surprised that, for the most part, you show resemblance to a human. Minus the horns, tail, and a few scales that line your skin. Her heat is fully setting in, and all she can ask of you is “please?”

You nod, understanding her situation. You carry her deeper into the cave where your makeshift home resides; it’s much more comfortable than outside you argue. You lay her down against some blankets and kneel between her legs. Ei spreads them apart and you dip your head to enter her with your tongue. You feel corrupted by her: her moans ring echo around the cave, her scent fills your nostrils, and the taste of her intensifies. You wait to double your efforts, eventually pushing in as far as you can with deliberate strokes.

She grips your horns, using your face to grind at a steady pace. The stimulation has never felt so good. You don’t really mind her grip, but it does fuel your arousal more. Her touch is firm and it makes you a bit more sensitive. The horns always are, but right now they’re practically being man-handled. With a gasp, you greedily lick up all that she has to release.

Ei is trembling. You’re on the path to satisfying her completely, but she still needs more. Pinning her hands above her head, you line up your cock between her folds. Perhaps a womb tattoo would be sufficient after you fill her? There’s plenty of time to explore all options.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Hello can i ask for a hcs artoria lancer with male or gn reader who haves alucard from hellsing powers? Also the reader was randomly transported to the fate universe from their own universe and everyone just thought the reader was a spirit who have amnesia and have made up a new identity from somewhere

Let me just say that I had a blast and a half while writing this.

NOW! YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!!!

A one in one hundred septillion chance brought you to Chaldea.

A flare of the ley line at the exact right moment allowed you to incarnate in this world.

And it was an event like no other.

Shadows grew long, the air dropped to the point where the world outside of the arctic base would be a boiling hot summer day, and the summoning circle flared black and red.

Then you appeared from the circle, dazed, lost, confused, barely able to speak, barely able to comprehend the world around you.

Guda and the others did their best to help you in the moment, but the storm of chaos that is Chaldea quickly brought their attention elsewhere.

That being said, Guda did assign someone to keep an eye on you.

Artoria Pendragon Lancer.

A regal woman with enchanting beauty and power to match it.

She was a kind woman, if a tad awkward and a bit of a glutton.

And something about her… called to you.

Like a breeze on a day where the weather is just right as you lay in the shade of a great tree.

Comforting, calming, gentle, kind, and wonderful.

These are all words you would use to describe Artoria.

She was all of those and more.

And so, as soon as you were stable enough, you were instantly at her side whenever she called for you.

It also helped that Da Vinci was all too happy to let you test run her weapons.

So the two of you would always be sent together.

Her lance to close the distance and destroy the enemy, your guns to cover her approach with ammunition that no mortal human could ever hope to use.

Over time the two of you grew close.

Closer than guardian and protectorate.

Closer than comrades..

Closer than friends.

The two of you became lovers.

And despite how little you knew of yourself, you were happy.

But then, on one fateful day, everything came crashing down.

You never once had used your Noble Phantasm in service of Chaldea, not because you couldn’t use it, but because you were afraid of it.

Of what it could mean for this life you had made.

Of what it could mean for the family you had in Chaldea.

It terrified you, but as all of Chaldea faced down the last of demon pillars, you knew what must be done.

And so, you told your master to do it, to use their command seal on you.

And as the command seal activated, darkness surrounded you, engulfing you. In all honesty, it would be more accurate to say, the darkness was emanating from you and swallowing the world around it whole like a ravenous hound.

Bugs, arachnids, gaping maws with dozens of sharp teeth, these and a hundred more horrible things made up your form and the swirling aether around you. A massive pitch black hound, lounged behind you, the closest thing Artoria had ever seen to human cruelty in the face of an animal in her entire life carved onto its face.

You raised your hand, the back of it pointing forward towards the massive creature as a burning flame ignited upon it to make a seal, and the world around you ignited in turn.

“You asked for my name once, and now, I will finally be able to answer you…” you stated before trailing off.

Then, an infinite number of eyes opened upon your body, upon the darkness, upon the shadows, upon every single dark place for a thousand miles as you spoke once more as all who bore witness to what was happening felt ice flood their veins.

In that moment, a universal truth was revealed to them all.

A glimpse into the realm of God.

The infinite sea at the heart of the world.

The Womb Of Creation.

In that moment, all who bore witness to this knew one thing.

You could not be allowed to begin speaking, much less finish what you were saying.

Alas, no one could make any semblance of a move to stop you, that is the power you commanded in this moment as everything became clear with each word you spoke.

“In the sea without lees, Standeth the bird of Hermes, Eating his wings variable, And maketh himself yet full stable, When all his feathers be from him gone, He standeth still here as a stone, Here is now both white and red, And all so the stone to quicken the dead, All and some without fable, Both hard and soft and malleable, Understand now well and right, And thank you God of this sight, The bird of Hermes is my name, and so I am found eating my wings to make me tame.”

You were not a saber nor archer, lancer nor caster, assassin nor rider nor berserker, nor were you a pretender or avenger or ruler.

You were a Foreigner, an existence that is completely incompatible with reality.

And You?

You.

Did.

Not.

Care.

The only thing that you cared about was this.

A single blemish upon her could not be allowed, you refused to even entertain the thought.

She was the king, she was the one whom you loved and was loved by in turn, she was the one who had put her trust in you.

No, if even a single scratch was to befall her…

Millions of cruel and sickening punishments shot through your mind like a swarm of locusts blotting out the sky to devour the crops in the field below.

Something like that could simply not be allowed.

The black aether that comprised your body opened its eyes.

And then all hell broke loose.

By the time the flames died, the dust settled, and the screams subsided, nothing remained on the battlefield aside from you and the soldiers of Chaldea.

After this, you would only stand in Artoria’s presence to slaughter her enemies with brutality that was unmatched.

You haunted the edges of her vision, her shadows, her every move.

And it broke her heart.

She wanted to laugh with you again.

To eat with you again.

To be merry with you again.

That was her one wish.

And eventually, after many nights of gazing into the shadows of her room, after many nights of silent prayers, you answered her call.

Because it broke your heart to be away from her as well.

You wanted to laugh with her again.

To eat with her again.

To be merry with her again.

That was your one wish.

A wish that, as “The Bird Of Hermes” was forever out of your grasp.

Even now, you were only running on sheer willpower to keep yourself tied to this world.

Your return to the world you come from was inevitable.

Or, that is what you thought.

But Chaldea doesn’t let one of its own go that easily.

They all fought tooth and nail to keep you around.

And they succeeded.

So then you and Artoria returned to the same way it was before.

The Master Of The Holy Lance and The Bird Of Hermes

Steel and gunsmoke.

Light and dark.

Laughing with each other.

Eating with each other.

Being merry with each other.

And loving one another.

[music-royal01]

Anxious heart

Neteyam x female human!reader

Reader suffers from anxiety because of experiments done to her by the RDA while she was in the womb and when she was young. Reader has an panic attack and Neteyam tries to comfort and help her

Ps reader doesn’t need to wear a mask because of the experiments

TRIGGER WARNING:PANIC ATTACK

The day had started just like any other, simple yet exhausting. Being a human and learning the Metkayina ways wasn’t simple. You couldn’t ride and ilu, no matter how hard you tried you could never spend as much time in the water as the Na’vi kids could. Ao’nung was poking you and taunting you for being short, not having a tail, and being slow in the water

“You’re just a demon like the rest of your people,you should go be where you belong” Ao’nung and his friends laughed.

But what the Metkayina boys had forgotten is that both Neteyam and Lo’ak where there at lesson and could hear them. Neteyam shoved the boy making him fall to the ground

“If I ever hear you talk about her like that again you’ll be worse off than a few scratches from falling” Neteyam hissed at the boys and was about to walk away when Ao’nung pushed him to the ground and punched him, the two boys wrestled around on the ground punching, kicking and then more punching.

At some point while watching the fight your shaky fingers started to tap each other, breathing becoming uneven as you trembled slightly. Kiri took one look at you and immediately knew what was happening. Wrapping her arms around you she looked back and fourth between the fight and you

“NETEYAM YOU CAN WORRY ABOUT HIM LATER Y/N NEEDS YOU”

Neteyam immediately drops Ao’nung and runs over to you. You were sitting on your knees, your trembling figure hunched over with your hands slightly pulling your hair. The tears that rolled down your cheeks broke Neteyam heart

“Hey princess it’s just me. Its gonna be ok baby, you’re going to get through this” Neteyam whisper praises and tries to comfort you. Neteyam succeeds at claiming you down after a few minutes. You just burry yourself into his chest trying to hide yourself from the others. Neteyam didn’t stop you from hiding, he knew you would be embarrassed and try to shield yourself from judge full eyes. So Neteyam picked you up and carried you to the marui

“Are you all right now my love” Neteyam says softly as you lay down on his chest “I’m alright now thank you Nete” he places a kiss on the top of your head. Neteyam began to hum songcords while running his fingers through your hair. his actions make you tired and soon your quietly sleeping on your boyfriend’s chest.

Neteyam enjoyed these moments with you because he knew the second his father found out about what happened he’d be grounded for eternity

[shadowscrybe]

Rayven's Revenge- Chapter 6

Summary: Rayven is the younger sister of Rhysand in the Night Court. She was banished 64 years ago for the murder of her sister. This is the story of Rayven earning her place in Prythian and finding out what it means to be family. We all know how her story ends...but how did she get there? I don't want to forget the demon princess with bat wings. Do you?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none-typical canon content

A/N: As promised. Six in one go. I'm sorry for a spam, but hopefully this forces me to post the rest. Lmk if I should stop while I'm ahead.

The Highlord and her mother were mated. 

Mates. 

What every fae craved and yearned for. The ultimate love match. Mated they may have been, but love was another question. The Highlord would boast stories of their great love. A great love indeed. So great her mother stayed up in the mountains most of the time barely attempting to play court with him. 

Rayven couldn't blame her after what happened. Maybe they did love each other. Until Rava. 

She was supposed to be Rayven’s twin. 

Twins, Madja eagerly told their mother. Rhys remembered when she announced her pregnancy with them. Rava and Maevan were to be their names. Fae offspring were rare, Illyrian offspring even more, so twin Illyrians were unheard of. When they got the news, as Rhys explained, they couldn't have been happier. Their mother was ecstatic every visit with Madja for progress details until one appointment when she had lost the heartbeat of one of the babes. Rava had been absorbed by Rayven and her power. Her first and most egregious crime that cascaded through her entire life. She would never live down having killed her sister. 

Madja said it happens sometimes. Her power grew, like Rhys’, inside their mother, but Rhys was alone in the womb, with no other fetus to compete with. As Rayven’s power swelled, Rava had not progressed at the same rate, so Madja said the stronger fetus absorbed the other. Only she was born, they didn't even have a corpse to bury. Rayven had taken that from them too. 

She was given the name Rayven by her father upon birth to serve as a reminder of the life she took, and the shame she would always carry because of it. They didn't think her mother was going to be able to deliver her through her grief and when Rayven came out they say she didn't touch her for several days. 

She couldn't blame her. Her body became a gravesite and it's Rayven’s fault. No one is more aware of the tragedy than her. 

Soon after her birth a single shadow appeared. Madja had cursed and spit seeing her next to her in her crib. Madja didn't take a liking to the shadows. 

Rahne was the first word she had said that Rayven could understand. Some speculated she was the soul of her dead sister, trapped by Rayven in silent servitude. 

Rahne had never been silent a day in her little life. She never spoke in more than a few syllables, but she loved to parrot.  

Rayven had put effort into separating Rahne from Rava, pleading her case that Rava had never appeared to her, but they were set on their truth. Rayven was the scary, violent Illyrian half-breed bitch so jealous of her sister she killed her in the veil before life. 

So scary she became. Having a kill under her belt before her first breath. No Illyrian male could say the same. 

Her parents had never been the same after that, Rhys told her. She blamed him, he blamed her, and Rayven blamed the cauldron. It was the real cruel one, giving and taking away a mother’s child. 

The night they would’ve turned ten, they gathered at the House of Wind for Rava’s vigil. Not Rayven’s birthday. He never allowed a celebration for her birth on Rava’s commemoration, though Rhys had found ways to make it more than a day of grief after the Highlord took his leave for the night. 

On that particular death day, he had been disturbed from first light. This anniversary was different to him, and bothered him more than she’d ever seen. He walked into the living room of the Town House, took one look at the modest decorations the boys had attempted, and snapped. 

She wasn't Rava, and she wasn’t Maevan. He didn't make Rava’s death about her or even Rayven, it was about him, and the heirs he lost that day. He was not consoling to her mother who had lived it more than any of them. He took their effort as a serious offense to his ‘loss.’ It was never about Rava. 

He pinned the boys in their place with his power. He wasn't daemati, or Illyrian, but he wasn't the Highlord for nothing. He was skilled in charms and spells. Incantations of another language they never learned. Rhys was powerful, more powerful than the Highlord, but he hadn't been as clever yet. The Highlord had binded the boys with his greeting when they entered the house. His twisted incantations kept them in place. They could only move upon being released by his word. 

Her father yoked her up from the couch next to Rhys, frozen. Their mother’s tears streamed down her face, pleading with her mate to let her daughter stay. By the hair, he dragged her out of the house and tossed her down the steps to the icy stone. 

“Go.” 

“Dad, please,” she begged on her knees. “I don't-”

“You may seek out Lord Devlon of Windhaven.” The only hint he’d given her. 

Windhaven. Leagues across the Night Court. A length the boys could traverse easily, but she could barely fly in the daylight and couldn't winnow yet. There was no way Rayven would’ve made it if Eris hadn't found her. 

“Rhys!” She cried over and over. Even before she called for her mother, she knew Rhys wasn't going to be held for long. Once he and the bastards were free they would come after her. 

“Silence.” His voice had that prenatural volume it took when he was speaking a spell. 

“Daddy, please,” She barely choked out. 

“You are no longer welcome in my court.” 

 His word was law when he spoke like that.  

It was the last time Rayven would ever be on her knees. 

And the last time she would call him dad.

The Highlord ordered Cassian and Azriel to not go after her, or he’d take their wings.  Rhys had to be bound with some threat he never revealed. 

It was the first time Rhys had manipulated the Highlord’s mind. Rhys wasn't as skilled at it as he is now. He couldn't rewrite everything without melting his brain, but he was slowly able to plant more and more ideas inside. After the first year of her banishment he had made progress. He was closer to convincing the Highlord he needed Rayven to keep up appearances in court. People would begin to question her sudden disappearance. He spun stories of her great power down the gossip of the court. She was away to train, he lied. 

The Highlord had come up with the idea to allow her at big events and important court councils. She was never allowed to speak and only ever seen long enough to count her attendance. Then, she was to return to Illyria until he called upon her again. 

Rhys had worked for over a year to get the Highlord to think it was his idea. It was what Rhys could manage to save her with his two brothers still trapped with the Highlord. He truly honed his daemati skills over that first year, gently persuading their father to lessen her banishment. 

The Highlord told them if she could find her way to the Illyrian camps and earn rank among the males in the frigid mountains then he would consider her coming back officially. It had been over six decades and she never touched a ring in her time up there. 

She rarely appreciated her cottage, but then she would remember where the boys were and wondered who really suffered that night. Her house wasn't enchanted with perfect temperature, or warded with magic locks, but it was entirely hers. 

It was nothing more than four walls when she found it. Not even a complete roof remained. 

Over the years, she had learned to make it her own. She eventually added more rooms and a second story that took her almost a decade to perfect. Rhys could only stay for short periods of time when the Highlord sent him. Every time he showed up and she collapsed another wall in anger he would give her shit for it. He said her real power was her affinity for demolitions. She swore at him and he helped her fix it. 

Rayven’s favorite spot had to be her crows nest. She fashioned a single, thin rail with one prong protruding from the tip for her to sit or stand. It was uncomfortable, but she was the only one who could balance on it. If someone wanted her they’d have to be able to fly and maintain a small hover area. Most males couldn't manage suspended flight for long. 

It was her perch she missed most sitting at the dining table in the Town House. 

The Highlord sat at the head of the table with her mother to his left and Rhys to his right. A few other highly placed council members sat between them. Cassian, Azriel, and Rayven sat at the opposite end. Today, she was no more than a bastard in his eyes. 

It could be excused, their separation. They had wings that needed extra room and Rhys usually kept his hidden.  

Cassian sat to her left shielding her from some reeking older fae. She was on the very end of the table, across from Azriel. 

He was the picture of disciplined boredom in this company while his shadows moved fluidly around his shoulders. Azriel wasn't going to participate here, but he never stopped watching. 

She shared a glance with Rhys as the Highlord stood to retell the catastrophic events of Rava’s death. 

Here he goes, he said. 

Rayven’s lips twisted to the side to keep from smiling. She decided to keep her sights on the shadowsinger across her. He was equally uninterested in hearing the Highlord drone on about his broken heart. 

For forcing all of them to mourn his loss with him, he rarely ever mentioned Rava. It was the same old speech about how his possession was taken from him and blah, blah, blah. 

It was sixty-four years to the day of her initial banishment. She was numb to his stale venom at this point. She just had to make it through the toasting and then she was free to disappear back to her mountains. 

Rahne wasn't paying attention either. She and one of Azriel’s shadows played by their feet under the table. Rayven ducked her chin to check on her shadow but she was shooting around her ankles. 

Shit.

She looked up to the Highlord with a glass raised and went to hold hers when the bastards froze. Going completely still on their own this time. 

The Highlord’s full voice lured her back in. “But this year we celebrate my daughter.” 

The eyes of every fae in the room cut to Rayven. She didn't dare try to look at Rhys. 

The Highlord’s cup was raised in the air. “Who has secured an alliance with the Spring Court,” he went on. “Strengthening the Night Court’s authority in the seasonal courts.” 

She realized he was waiting for her response. She had one heartbeat to decide, she wasted the rest with stunned blinking.

“Your will is mine,” She clipped out. Her voice rose slightly at the end, like a question. 

His eyes burned holes through her. 

I’m dead. It was a good seven decades. 

“To Rayven.” He spoke her name to me for the first time in years. 

Everyone tensely sipped their glasses. Rhys put his to his mouth, but didn't tip it back. Cassian raised his for the toast then put it back down without drinking. Azriel never touched his. 

Rayven drank hers for something to do. Her hands set the glass down too hard and it drew eyes back to her. 

Thankfully, she excused herself without having to argue. 

The Highlord wasn't daemati, but when his cold eyes seized hers, he didn't need to be. They were as loud as him speaking the words. 

Later, they said. 

[alastors-airwaves]

A week after Alastor and Husk welcomed their children, Lucifer found himself struggling more than he ever had. At only 10 weeks into his pregnancy, exhaustion clung to him with a heaviness that coffee, nor any kind of stimulant, could shake. He’d wake up each morning feeling drained, as if he hadn’t slept at all, and the nausea was relentless. Even trying to reach the restroom was a struggle as his stomach lurched, and more often than not, he’d barely make it to the sink in time.

He slumped at the edge of his bed one morning, gripping the sheets as he tried to summon enough energy just to stand. His skin was pale, his wings drooped, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.

Lucifer: *muttering to himself, voice weary* This is... impossible. I can barely keep myself together, let alone… deal with all of this. *clutches his stomach weakly* I’m Lucifer Morningstar, for Hell’s sake… I shouldn’t be… this weak.

Charlie noticed him struggling as she passed by his room and quickly rushed to his side, concern filling her eyes as she took in his appearance.

Charlie: Dad… you look terrible! How long have you been feeling this way?

Lucifer: *tries to brush it off with a dismissive wave, though he’s visibly trembling* It’s nothing, just a minor inconvenience. I’ll be fine once this passes.

Charlie: *frowns, crossing her arms* Minor? Dad, you look like you’re about to collapse. This isn’t normal. Let me take you to the doctor, please.

Lucifer hesitated, too proud to admit his vulnerability, but the moment he tried to stand, his legs wobbled, and he had to cling to Charlie for support. Reluctantly, he nodded, realizing he couldn’t keep this up on his own.

Lucifer: *sighs heavily* Fine… but only because you’re pestering me. And if they say this is all typical pregnancy misery, I’m blaming you for dragging me there.

Charlie: *smiles softly, helping him to his feet* Trust me, it’ll be worth it. Let’s get you checked out. You’ll feel better knowing for sure what’s going on.

—————

The examination room was uncomfortably quiet as Lucifer laid back on the sterile bed, struggling to stay alert. His gaze remained unfocused as the doctor—a tall, stoic demon with unnervingly steady hands—prepared the ultrasound equipment. Charlie sat close by, watching her father with concern as the doctor applied cool gel to Lucifer’s abdomen.

Doctor: *glancing over his clipboard* Now, Mr. Morningstar, we’ll just do a scan and a few standard tests. Given your symptoms—exhaustion, nausea beyond typical morning sickness—there could be several causes.

Lucifer: *forcing a tired smile* I’m not your typical case, doctor. Whatever’s happening is just an inconvenience.

The doctor raised a skeptical brow but continued, pressing the ultrasound probe gently to Lucifer’s stomach. The screen flickered, revealing the tiny form nestled within Lucifer’s womb, the faint rhythm of a heartbeat pulsing softly through the room. Charlie’s expression softened, momentarily forgetting her father’s weakened state as she stared at the screen.

Doctor: *noting the heartbeat and glancing back at his notes* Everything looks healthy here. But I have to ask about your mate.

Lucifer’s tired expression twisted into a scoff, and he waved a hand dismissively.

Lucifer: *shaking his head* There’s no mate. Just me. This child was—*he hesitated, choosing his words carefully*—conceived through… other means.

The doctor paused, looking up with a frown as his gaze shifted to Lucifer’s neck, where an unmistakable mark—an intricate, dark V shape—stood out against his skin.

Doctor: *inquisitively* No mate, you say? Yet, that mark is quite… distinctive. Not many omegas can sever a bond, especially one marked so strongly.

Lucifer’s smirk faded, replaced by a chill that crept up his spine as he reached up, fingers brushing against the mark on his neck. His eyes widened. He had removed that mark—painstakingly erased it in every way he knew how.

Lucifer: *voice barely above a whisper* This… shouldn’t be here. I destroyed it.

A cold sense of dread coiled in his stomach. How had it returned? Why now? He felt Charlie’s concerned eyes on him, but his mind was reeling too fast to meet her gaze.

Doctor: *oblivious to his shock, continuing in a clinical tone* It’s not unusual for omegas to feel weak or fatigued if separated from their alphas for extended periods. Your symptoms align perfectly with separation sickness. Some time spent with your… *he gestures vaguely to Lucifer’s neck* …mate could ease the exhaustion.

Lucifer’s stomach twisted at the suggestion, a visceral reaction to the idea of being near Vox again. Vox—the very alpha who had done this to him, who had claimed him without consent.

Lucifer: *muttering under his breath, teeth gritted* Vox is no mate of mine!

The doctor frowned but let the matter drop, unaware of the turmoil simmering within Lucifer. The scan finished, the doctor gave a few last instructions and noted the importance of staying in close contact with the “mate.”

Charlie watched her father silently as they left the hospital room. She sensed there was much more he wasn’t saying, but Lucifer’s rigid posture and tight-lipped expression told her it wasn’t the time to ask. As they exited the hospital, Lucifer felt the weight of the mark on his neck, burning like a brand he could never escape.