this is a side blog. my main shall never intentionally be revealed.
they/she. (cessair is pronounced like suh-SAIR). i am 19 and a college student who works in museums.
i like monsters, history, ancient ruins and artifacts, and i actually don't like the outdoors as much as i should--but i pretend i do for the aesthetic.
this account is for writing all the things in my head that don't belong on my other blog, and saving nice pictures for slightly niche aesthetics and films i enjoy. not sure what exactly you would want to request from me, but go ahead anyway if you wish.
original works:
i desire thee entirely (kinktober 2025 monster story)
even on your best days when people are noting how much you're smiling (which should be a sign, but you never look at signs when you drive forwards, only when you've already passed them).
something still lurks.
the times you see an imagined outline of a shadow in your room--sometimes it's human, sometimes it's not. flicking on the lights shows it's a hanging coat. a tilted book. a trinket. nothing to worry your pretty little head about.
it is not a creeping fear, nor in-and-out flashes, but a dull ache. like the one between your legs at night. or even when you first wake up, you slut.
it helps you, achingly slow and determined to keep your hips from bucking. shadows do not understand friction.
you have to be quiet, and it does understand that. suffocating your breaths, squeezing your throat with something that is not really a hand. sometimes even your vision suffocates, the time when you roll you eyes back in pleasure and the fuzzing at the edges of your eyes blurring together.
it feels so good.
it does not lurk every night, thankfully. sometimes tears or laughter are too loud, too much for it to sneak up on you properly. it feeds on silence, on shame.
despite reading that others know it lurks, you still feel shame. some of them want to lurk with it. some of them run. some of them do nothing, as you do.
it feels so good to do nothing.
hair tugging distracts you from the lurking, focusing on the pain it brings you or simply giving yourself something else to do than track your eyes through the darkness in hopes of glimpsing it. digging your nails into your skin doesn't provide quite the same feeling--after all, it feels the same as when it does it. plus, you've chewed away all your nails staying up waiting for it. skin is splitting at the crevice between keratin and flesh, sometimes a raw rosy pink is peeled away and you have to stick your fingers in your mouth to soothe the sting.
nothing works anymore. still, it lurks, it sinks into your mattress, into your thighs. sharper, deeper, than you could ever reach yourself, isn't that right?
sometimes you can imagine the ghost of a kiss on your lips, even pressed to your tongue, warm and drowning. it ends when you open your eyes. just your filthy imagination.
so you keep your eyes closed, of course. keep the fantasy going a little longer, keep the dark secret still a secret.
then it won't take its fingers away. it won't stop pressing its claws into your shoulders, your wrists.
sometimes there's more blood than you expect the next morning. must be an irregular period. that can happen. that happens. even when it happens again the next three months because you just don't want it to stop yet.
the days it doesn't lurk are few, and some part of your body sings in relief. that you aren't as addicted as you claim, even though you're crying for it the next night. it likes your tears almost as much as the blood (some days even more so).
you don't tell anyone about the lurking, of course. much too private. even for the anonymous internet. even if your friends are comfortable sharing similar things. it does not want you to, anyway. that's why it only lurks in the dark. when it can have you all to itself.
in the darkness your body is as formless as the other. one could be the other, if the shadows spoke of you so. the shadows do not speak of you because they do not want the light to hear.
if the light heard, it might never let the shadows be visited by your gasping forms ever again.
so you drown in darkness as you drown in it, dripping and clenching and soft little gasps swallowed by a shadow that looks like the other shadow. when it peaks and presses and pulls away, you are praying it comes back the next night. it does, of course.
perhaps you find another someday--a real, solid shadow who wants to melt with you in the darkness. and in light. and so you spend your time learning a new form in the night.
it does not look the same as the other shadow. it still lurks.
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream, and see the light…
contains: dubious consent and an abyssal maybe-parasite
today's daydream is being stuck inside a high pressure diving rig or a spacesuit or a suit of armor with something. feeling a warm sludgy shape wedged between the outer shell and your body. amorphous form gliding over yours, between membranes, like a parasite moving under your second skin, but it hasn't found its way into you yet. probing and exploring - - for an opening? a reaction? just out of curiosity? petrified in place because you can't take off your second skin without succumbing to the crushing depths or the frigid vacuum of space, but it's compromised, and there's no other way to get the intruder out. helplessly calling in on comms but nobody can let you past decontamination or back into your vessel. seeing it on the infrared sensors, feeling it settle in and contour itself to you... and piercing shock when it finds a nice warm and silky entrance into you. clawing fruitlessly at the armor plating as your guest takes shelter deep inside. and outside too, tendrils like suckering roots in every corner of your body. nobody can help, it's only you and the abyss now
a/n- I want my bones in my lover’s stomach. reposted from my main blog, originally for kinktober 2025
warnings: unspecified monster x reader, biting, blood, oral sex and stimulation, rough sex, cannibalism, cannibalism as a sex act, reader has a vagina
“You think I don’t want you?” He--he never actually said he was a he, but he didn’t seem to mind being called one--snarled. We sat on the patchy grass outside my cabin, watching the sunset. Most people wouldn’t be so relaxed with a creature of unknown terror sitting by them, but after weeks of avoiding his attempts to eat me, we had formed an odd sort of relationship involving several deaths of my neighbors’ chickens in exchange for my still-intact body.
"You want to eat me. There’s a difference.” I say calmly.
”Well, you’re the one whining about never being desired. I desire to eat you. Consume you. All of you.”
“I’m just saying that I’d like to experience being wanted that badly someday. My only friend is…whatever the hell you are. I’ve never even properly kissed.” I say quietly, spreading out my legs on the grass.
He is silent, looking at me. He probably isn’t sure what a kiss is, though he’s surprisingly knowledgeable about many aspects of human culture.
“Let’s make a deal.” He says seriously after a moment.
“That’s literally never once ever a good idea in regards to monsters.” I counter, crossing my arms.
“Just…” he growls briefly in frustration, a soft yet wild sound. He leans over and sinks his claws into my shoulders, pulling me against him more. I let him, but I tense.
“I kiss you, you let me eat you.” He says simply. His never-quite-right eyes are dark and serious.
“That…no, that’s not a good enough deal for me literally dying.”
“But isn’t it? You want to be desired. Entirely, as you are. That includes your flesh and blood and bones.” He licks his lips, his rows of sharp teeth visible for a second. I shudder.
“It would have to be a great deal more than a kiss.” I say softly.
He hums softly, then growls again. “What else do you have to live for?”
“I have the farm-“
“You don’t fucking care about your farm.” He’s grasping me harder now, and I feel my skin breaking beneath his nails.
“I…”
“Let me desire you,” he whispers before lightly kissing the corner of my mouth. I give a little shiver, pressing my face into his chest. He strokes my hair, his claws catching in the tangles with sharp yanks.
“Don’t you want to be consumed?” he murmurs into my hair, and I tilt my head back up to look at him. He looks at me softly, or as soft as possible for a monster.
So very softly, almost imperceptibly, I nod.
He breaks into the crooked, uncanny sharp grin, and moves his claws down to my thighs. He presses the tips into them, creating tiny pinpricks of blood that seep through my clothes. He smiles more, pulling my thighs apart and then setting to work to get my bottoms off, yanking them away in a smooth yet violent manner. He does the same to my shirt and then bra, even when I try to cover up myself. Everywhere he touches leaves tiny punctures that drop my blood. He looked at my panties for a moment, then back at me. I look embarrassed, flushed all over.
“I-“
“No. You look…you look beautiful. Delicious.” He tears off my panties with one claw.
I’m completely bare now, my clothes in a heap in the grass. The ferns tickle my skin, itching dreadfully, but I don’t mind. Not when he presses his mouth to mine.
It’s a rough, hard kiss; his teeth scraping against my lips and then my tongue as he yanks on my hair for me to open. I whine, and he shoves his tongue into my mouth. It’s cold, running over my own tongue in long strokes.
Just as suddenly the kiss ends, and he's pressing his face between my thighs, kissing and licking at my warmth. I whimper and he places a claw over my mouth, looking up at me with a cold ferocity in his eyes. His brows are furrowed with concentration, his teeth scraping my sensitive skin and teasing it to the point where I'm rolling my hips against his cruel mouth.
"Ah.." I whimper against his claw, my eyes rolling upwards in ecstasy despite the itchy grass and my hair hair all over my face. I watch with heavy breaths as he moves his sharp teeth to the sides of my thighs and then to my stomach. The claw covering my mouth moves down, one sharp and bony finger pressing all the way into my clit. I mewl, shaking even as he growls at me.
"Hold still." He murmurs as he pushes another claw in. It hurts, scratching at my walls, but I clench around the claws anyway. I bite back a moan as he pumps them in and out of me. I don't even realize I'm crying until he pulls his head up to lick at my tears. His tongue is like sandpaper, and his teeth scrape the edge of my cheek.
I feel myself being pushed to the edge, my thighs shuddering as his fingers pushing into me grow faster and rougher. There's blood staining his knuckles where they press into me--I'm bleeding. But I don't care. This is my penance, a confession in blood with each roll of my hips.
I finally get my release, and he lets me moan without complaint, licking his fingers happily after he pulls them out. I hurt all over, but my cheeks are pink and my heart is beating rapidly. He looks down at me, placing a soft little kiss on my forehead.
"Satisfied?" He murmurs, kissing both my cheeks.
"Mhm...." He kisses my lips softly, smiling at me as I come down from my high. His kisses trail down to my neck, then my collarbones. I reach up and thread my fingers through his tangled hair, and he looks at me for a moment.
"Thank you for your...sacrifice." He whispers.
"It's love." I murmur back, closing my eyes.
"Thank you for your love."
I feel his teeth sink into the flesh just under my throat, deep and slow as he carves a slice of my flesh out. It takes a moment until it begins to sting, and a moment more for the flood of blood to stream down my chest, tiny streams pooling in the curve of my breasts. He carves away another strip of me, and I let out a tiny cry.
"Shhh.." his voice is low and nearly reverent.
His next bite is higher, his teeth piercing the shallow of my throat. My cry is louder this time as the sensitive skin tears away in his mouth. The blood is all over my chest now, and I feel a little dizzy. One of his claws smears the blood around, painting the peaks of my breasts in it.
"So lovely." He hums, and I feel the vibrations of his words as he bites at more of me. More blood seeps over my body in crimson streams, and it faintly registers to me that it is beginning to hurt. He continues his patterns of stripping off pieces of my skin, moving up to work on my left shoulder. The creamy skin there soon turns just as red as my chest, the blood running down my arms. I begin to squirm and he growls, biting deeper as he moves to my other shoulder.
Eventually I feel the clouds start drifting across my vision. I make a pathetic whine, my eyes rolling back into my head.
"Go to sleep." He murmurs against my ear as he begins biting into my stomach. Perhaps he murmurs it again when my eyes flutter open and closed. Perhaps I am already too far gone to know when he has reached my heart.
When morning comes, all that's left of me is my clothes. My bones are in my lover's stomach, picked clean of all my meat. The patchy reeds are stained in rust, a lake of my blood warming my lover as he rests. He is so very full.
