Demon!Ghost who is a slumbering incubus. Awakened by a witch’s plea into the void, Ghost seals the agreement by appearing in her summoning circle. She thinks he’s under control, but she soon discovers the truth. With bargain struck, she is now Ghost’s to command. And witches make good pets.
Demon!Soap who is the son of Pestilence. Under his father’s watchful eye, he brews plagues and diseases of pandemic proportions. But one wayward soul assigned to an eternity of torment under Pestilence appears, and Soap decides in secret that he’d like to keep this little light all to himself.
Demon!Gaz is an agent of the Devil. He walks the mortal plane, appearing as a human, frequenting all places of vice. He lurks in dark corners and in boardrooms, offering wealth, beauty, and your deepest desire. All it takes is a few drops of blood, and the offering of your soul.
Demon!Price is a creature trapped in darkness. For millennia, he has been buried deep within the earth. Even underground, and contained within a warded cage, he can hear the whispers from above. There’s a curious stranger exploring where they shouldn’t. Just a bit further, and Price will finally feast.
thinking about demon!price with witch!reader. you summoned him for his power but he wants something in return—you. your body, your soul, your little heart that flutters when he calls you his magical girl. your families been casting spells and summoning the underworld for centuries—you knew what you were getting yourself into the second you lit the match. he agrees to keep coming back to help with your spells on one condition; he gets to touch you.
not just in passing. not just a brush of his clawed fingers or a hand on your lower back while you chant. he means really touch you. skin to skin. palms flat on your stomach while you call on ancient names. his chest pressed to your back when you cast sigils in blood. fingers under your chin and inside of you when you whisper your spells.
“it helps the bond,” he says, voice smooth as smoke. “makes the magic flow easier. that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
you try to act annoyed, but your breath hitches every time he drags a hand down your waist or strokes his thumb over your lips mid-ritual. and the more you let him in—let him touch—the stronger your magic becomes. you glow brighter. your spells are faster. your body thrums with power.
he coos at you afterward, when your legs are shaking and your throat is raw from chanting—
“see? look at my little magical girl. so powerful when she lets me take care of her.”
you should hate how good it feels. you should fight it. but then he wraps a clawed hand around your throat during your next summoning and says,
cw: 18+, choking, implied usage of sex magic, vaguely drugged sex but its consenual(?), fem!reader
Researcher!Reader who finds herself in the company of a handsome man. Rugged yet soft in the right places just enough to seem genuine.
You know it’s a ruse. A careful one, complex and intricate that started with too convenient food you scrounged in the panty and continued on to the still simmering fireplace nestled in the neglected library.
Traced with an almost discernible magic. Something to disarm the honest of their inhibitions and logic. You’re too experienced to not notice. But too curious to not play along, letting your head get spun into mush as the handsome stranger flickers in firelight.
Demon!Price that has you in his lap doing all the work. Leaned back in the armchair just watching you work yourself down on his girth. Hands tracing appreciatively over the lovely vessel you’ve sacrificed to him oh so willingly. Tail whipping lazily behind him as he watches those pretty tits jump with every movement.
Every ridge and vein was a tendril into your head, stirring up any possible hesistantion till you were bouncing yourself on his cock. An itching heat simmering in your belly just screaming for you to cum. Once isn’t enough. Nor is twice.
Your thighs are slick and sticky against his when you peel off. Hands clenched around his curled horns for leverage as you pry yourself up. Pussy squelching as you slammed back down again. Raise red crescents of blood line your hips as Price helps you move. While hand encompassing your hip as he fucks you on him. Your own personal dildo.
“You said you wanted to learn, explore the unknown yeah dovie?”
A smoke-laced chuckle left his mouth at how eagerly you nodded. So keen for his praise. Not even knowing what you were agreeing to.
Price is propping you up in his hands to give those soft legs of yours a break. Fucking up into your sopping cunt while his tail curls around your throat. Forcing your back to arch and pop those pretty tits out so he has something to drag his tongue over.
He can feel the way your pulse jumps, heart rabbiting in your chest as the cloying arousals cut with an undercurrent of fear. Of what if? For a moment he sees a crack, sees the young but naive researcher who is out of your depth. Nothing could prepare you for what you’ve set yourself up into. Why was a sweet thing like you out here in the first place? Curiosity? Something to prove?
Tears broke into your waterline as you panted, trying to keep going even as your muscles trembled and seized. Desperate eyes turned to him and who was he to say no?
The rough pad of his thumb pets at your clit while he croons at you, feeling you clamp up already.
“Are you going to write about this in that journal? Educate the world about what it’s like to fuck a demon? Hm?”
When you don’t answer, throat too stuffed with moans and gasps he fucks up into you. Tip bruising that soft cervix of yours. He keeps moving even as you cum, only stopping when you’re trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.
A forked tongue slicks over your ruddying cheek when fat tears start to spill from your waterline. Arms cradling over your body as he tucks you closer. Drinking in the storm of emotions swirling through your body. So strong it’s like they have a physical presence. It’s so easy to take a peak in your head as you twitch and melt through the after shocks.
Whatever Price finds has him pressing a kiss to your crown, thinking of how what he could say to let him place a sigil on you.
It rings like church bells in the back of your mind. A funeral toll for each damning decision that is killing your divinity.
Finding the ritual. Dong!
Drawing the circle. Dong!
Spilling your own golden essence over a twisting sigil. Dong!
Tongue tripping over unfamiliar vowels and consonants. A language you know but have never spoken. Dong!
“Well,” a low, rough voice drawls, “isn’t this something special.”
You close your eyes, steel your spine. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your nerves. Tilt your head just enough to watch him from the corner of your eye, a dark and hulking shape. You’re almost startled by the size of him. Have never seen a demon like this before.
His horns curve back from his head, rams horns. You jolt a bit. A higher demon than you expected - than you meant to summon.
“Such a pretty thing,” he coos, stalking closer. “I haven’t eaten an angel in millennia….”
You nearly gasp as rough hands brush your wings. It almost burns. You twist, find him suddenly much closer than you thought. A massive hand captures your chin, jerks your head up to look at you this way and that.
“And here you serve yourself to me on a silver platter.”
He smirks, a hint of viciously sharp fang peeking out. You gather your courage, smack his hand away. The bracelets around your wrist chime.
“You are the one who’s here to serve,” you remind.
He moves faster than you can ever hope to match, crushing you to the wall, your wings pinned beneath you. A clawed hand is around your throat, tight enough to threaten oxygen if you needed it. Still you gasp, squirming and struggling, frightened by his strength. Why is he so much stronger than you?
“Mind yourself, dove,” he growls, eyes glowing like hot coals. “You may have summoned me, but that does not entitle you to my power.”
You grunt softly as he flicks at your halo, eyes stinging a bit. You’re unfamiliar with pain; Heaven is soft and kind.
“Please,” you manage.
His eyes narrow, a smirk turn to his lips. “That’s more like it. Now tell me, why would one of the host call upon a demon.”
“T-to make a deal.”
His eyebrows arch, but there’s a flicker of genuine fascination in his eyes now. The grip on your throat loosens a little, but he presses closer just a quickly, one burning line of inhuman muscle along your front.
“A deal…” His voice has dropped even lower somehow, rumbling in his chest. “Oh dove, you have no soul to sell. What did you plan to bargain with?”
“I-I don’t know,” you admit. The desperation that brought you here, made you do all this, yawns open inside you. “You name the price, but please.”
His laughter fills the room, genuine amusement this time. “You’ve no idea what you’re offering.”
You frown. “I do. I know… I know what it means. But what I’m asking for…”
He tilts his head. “And what are you asking for, angel?”
“There’s a man, a human man. When his mother passed I brought her soul to Heaven and she asked - she asked me to watch over her son…”
He arches his eyebrows. “You’re no guardian.”
“No,” you agree. Guardian angels are fierce and beautiful, a balance of warrior strength and guiding patience. They carry swords and shields, iron in their feathers. “But… I couldn’t deny her.”
“Let me guess, he’s slated for death now.”
“Hes a soldier.” Death then damnation. He has made himself a machine of suffering and it has charred his soul.
The demon hums with understanding. “You want me to save him.”
“From death,” you clarify, “the rest.., the rest I will try to do myself.”
The demon makes a little “ah” noise. “And so you’ll offer me anything to defy death. For one mortal?”
You can hear the disdain in his voice and it sparks your ire. The scent of ozone seeps into the room as your feathers ruffle.
“I don’t need to explain myself. Will you take the deal or not?” You demand. “I need to know if I should summon another - ah!”
You flinch as your head is wrenched back, throat exposed. Hot hair brushes the skin as he looms over you, fangs so so close.
“Your Heavenly Father didn’t bend you over his knee enough,” he snarls. “We’ll have to correct that.”
You swallow down a whimper, sense that it’s best you don’t push your luck.
“Very well, dove. You have your deal. I will keep your precious mortal alive.”
“And in exchange?” you ask.
He chuckles. “That is not for you concern yourself with.”
And then white hot pain explodes through your shoulder, fangs sunk deep into your shoulder. He moans at the taste of your blood on his tongue, hips jerking roughly against your stomach. It feels like a small eternity that he bites into you, leaving his mark. The contract of your unholy deal. His tongue laves cruelly over the marks as he pulls away. Gold drips from his chin as he grins at you.
“Fly home now, dove,” he says. “I will see you very soon.”
Warnings: This series will contain scenes of a violent and sexual nature, I will be more specific as I write more parts.
Summary: Reader is a soldier hanging on to their last gasp of life, trying to summon a demon associated with soldiers and battlefields in order to aid them. Unluckily for you though, the demon isn't interested in a short term deal. He finds himself quite attached to you, and he doesn't want to let you go.
-🔥-
Disembodied hands shook wildly as they set about their terrible task. At least that’s how it seemed to you - appendages moving around a blurred screen, drawing dirtied red symbols with panicked uncertainty. You swiped another slick fingerful of your blood into the dusty concrete and clenched your aching teeth together, finishing off the last curve of the sigil with a snakish hiss.
“I call to you…with the blood of my battle wounds. Jo- Jotan, I will be your willing servant.”
You looked around, eyes darting wildly for movement or any sign that your ridiculous little saving grace had worked. Though nothing happened. You blinked feverishly, feeling your lip wobble at first and then your entire body shake as you absorbed the facts in front of you. You were actually going to die.
A cackle broke out into the room, competing with the baying gunshots outside to break the walls of the decaying shell of a building. It was you. You were finally losing your mind, absorbing the facts in front of you with detached horror.
Perhaps the ruins were an office before, but now it was the final resting place of a desperate lunatic who’d decided to decorate their sepulchre before laughing themselves into death’s arms. The cruelty of it burned in your throat and stang at your eyes, soon searing hot tears into the ruined flesh of your cheeks.
It was a foolish last ditch effort anyway, you mused, collapsing onto your back in the middle of the blood seal. A stupid myth you’d clung to in a final attempt to save your life, a ritual told to you by someone that was long dead themself. If they presumably hadn’t bothered to use it, then why would it do you any good?
“Oh dear…I’m not too late am I?” cooed a soft rumbling voice.
Your eyes opened wide, the owner of the call demanding to be seen. That murmur fizzled in your ears and vibrated in your blood, forcing your hands to scrabble at the ground and set you into a sitting position again.
When you finally rose, you were held in place by the stranger. His onyx black eyes pinned you into place, watching you twitching and panting like a caught mouse. Apparently you amused him with this. His lips pulled into a grin, revealing a row of white teeth that curved into points at the canines and outer incisors, it was the smile of a predator. As if he needed to advertise any more warning signs.
His body was big and broad, his chest a large plane of solid flesh dusted with soot and soft dark hair that matched his bristly beard and hickory hued hair. His large arms were decorated with similar etchings to the ones you’d messily painted, both of them circled in two iron bands at the bicep and forearms, they looked like they could crack teeth in a pinch. There were also a few bands on the thick dark tail that waved behind him too, a detail you only noticed as it seemed to lovingly caress the shadows around his legs.
It was what finally confirmed for you that this was him. The fabled demon of battlefields - Jotan.
“You came,” you whispered.
“You called,” he returned, tilting his head at you. “Surprised you managed to complete the circle. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Sergeant.”
“I…I have,” you replied, feeling another wave of nausea roll through you.
“And I suppose you want me to do something about that?” he said, mouth twisting into a wry half smile.
It was almost worse than when you’d seen his fanged teeth. He looked positively ready to devour you, his gleaming eyes fixed on you like a tiger. You were just waiting for him to pounce, breath catching in your dry throat as you anticipated the killing bite. Suddenly you’d forgotten that it was you that called the terrible entity here, that he was supposed to be serving you rather than terrifying you.
“C’mon now, Love. You clearly knew enough about the ritual to get me here…aren’t you going to follow through?” he prompted, leaning down to meet you at your level. “It’s rude to keep a demon waiting, you know.”
His arms folded over his dark trousers, crossing over each other at his lap as if he were asking you to do something so completely mundane. He tilted his head at you again, flicking his eyes up to the doorway on the other side of the room as it started to shudder and bang. Voices were worming their way through the debris, shouts blasting in through the cracks.
Bang, bang, bang.
You didn’t have much time. Not that your body would be able to hold on much longer anyway.
“I want you to- please…take me back to exfil. Get me the fuck out of here and safely back to base and I’ll do whatever you want,” you said, voice cracking as you made your plea. “Ask anything you want from me, Jotan. Just get me the fuck away from here.”
His eyes curved into shadowed moons, once again he beamed at you. It felt like the stifling room heated a few more degrees. To add insult to injury your lungs began to struggle, it felt like your body was in its last stages of failing.
You briefly wondered if all this just might be a delusion. Maybe your head was presenting you with him as a way to cope with being turned to pink mist by the men that still called from the door outside, as a way to forget about your torn up arms that’d been sliced open by the bombings, and the bullet hole that had been weeping silently in your leg.
Bang, bang, bang.
“I’ll tell you what…I’m feelin’ generous,” the demon murmured, reaching out and forcing your chin up with in his charred fingers. “I’ll take you back to base, just like you want. And now…I could ask for your soul in return, for you to be my eternal servant when you do meet your end, and I really could have you do anything for me. However I won’t do that. Instead, I want to lend you my power. Just for today. That is my only offer.”
You frowned, a million racing thoughts crashing through your mind all at the same time. You’d made peace with the fact he’d ask for something awful, known it even. This clearly had to be a trick. Nevertheless, your head throbbed perilously and the door and furniture you’d messily propped in front of it were going to give way.You didn't have much time.
Bang, bang, bang.
“What will I do with your power?” you asked desperately, looking from him and to the end of the room.
“Let me worry about that,” he chuckled. “I’ll guide you, Sergeant. All you have to do is agree…that or let them flood in and kill you.”
Bang, bang, bang.
He motioned to the thundering door and raised his brows at you. At that point his dark eyes were like vortexes, they dragged you into his orbit and had you falling under his spell. You knew logically that whatever was going to happen was going to change the course of your life forever - and not for the good. Even then, you couldn’t find the strength to deny him, couldn’t hold enough faith in a glorious next life to accept that you’d leave this one.
“Fine! I accept,” you said, eyes wet and heavy.
An animal growl rattled through your bones and shuddered throughout the skeleton remains of the office space. Your body flinched back, responding just as your instincts wanted, but the demon didn’t allow you to retreat. He was quick - arms lashing out and moving like a whip. He gripped your neck like a farmer does to his chickens come dinner time, and just when you were ready for the snap, your body jerked violently.
You forced yourself to your feet, no, you surged upwards like you were under possession. Your legs didn’t feel like they’d buckle anymore, they felt renewed. Your heartbeat was steady like a punctual train, and your breathing returned to normal, better than normal even. Everything in you felt like it was new, like someone had taken out your broken parts and given you an upgrade. You smiled, lips curling over your teeth unnaturally.
Wait- were those…fangs poking into your bottom lip?
Bang!
There was no time to wonder at the strange way your mouth felt. Your head jerked up and suddenly you were greeted with the second worst sight of the day. The enemy soldiers had you surrounded, they flooded into the room like a locust swarm and pointed their guns at you, faithfully looking toward their Captain for the authority to execute.
Normally you would’ve shuddered, or maybe even fallen to the floor, but you held fast. Your breathing remained calm, but your vision went dark. That’s not to say you passed out, but a thick hazy filter seemed to descend across your eyes. Then just when you were about to question it, your arms reached out as if you were being puppeteered and your entire body unwillingly shot forward.
There was no time to even think to connect your actions to the seemingly absent demon then. Instead you latched onto the soldier in front of you like a bear and sank your teeth into his neck. The man screamed, and yelped, and made all sorts of inhuman noises as he struggled to try and pull you off. Though there was no helping him. You continued to bite at his arteries and savage him until his screams were silent and overtaken by the men around him.
Gunshots rang out, but none pierced you. Men beat at your back and pulled at your arms, but you didn’t break your hold. Copper filled your mouth, but you didn’t spit. You smiled with glee and licked at your own salty tears, disengaging from your target only when you were ready.
Little did you know, this was only the beginning of the butchery.
-🔥-
“For fuck sake, get yersel’ to the sink ye riot!”
You jumped out of your thoughts and hazarded a quick look up to your worried manager, following that up by nodding silently and running off to the bathroom. Fuck. All that you could do was grimly stare down at the blood while it merged with the clean tap water and remind yourself that it was fine. You weren’t outside the wire anymore, you were just wait staff in a small restaurant, and you didn’t need to worry about bleeding out anymore because the biggest hazard you faced now was apparently picking up a dirty knife the wrong way.
“Fucking hell,” you chuckled, quietly facing yourself in the mirror and taking a pause from the gory scene below. “It’s just a tiny cut.”
For a second, so quick you only just registered it, black eyes flashed behind you. You jumped back and hyperventilated, doing everything you could to stop yourself from screaming. Though it couldn’t be helped. You forced your hands over your mouth and yelled a muffled cry into your palms instead and rode out your panicked heartbeats until you could be sure you wouldn’t collapse.
You did a double take, searching the mirror for those horrible eyes or any other signs of their proprietor. However, there was nothing else to see but a pathetic ex soldier, black tile and cheap imitation herringbone wood flooring. Suddenly you felt absolutely ridiculous.
You slipped your hands from your mouth and covered your eyes instead, rubbing at hideously embarrassing tears with anger. That stupid therapist you were going to was so wrong, you thought bitterly, you were never going to make progress. You constantly swore that you could see those demonic eyes wherever you went, and sometimes you even thought you saw him. Well not the demon exactly, but a man that so closely resembled him - just without the tail and black eyes.
It’d been a full year since you’d been honourably discharged from the military, and even in all that time, you still hadn’t healed. Sure, the cuts and bullet wounds had made miraculous progress and faded to tiny scars, but inside you may as well have been a shooting range dummy right at the end of target practice. While your superiors had seen fit to dedicate you with a medal for the miraculous fight you put up against the enemy, your head still hadn’t gotten to grips with just how you did it.
Multiple therapists had put it down to repressed memory. They told you that whatever had really happened must’ve been replaced with that accursed demon summoning ritual that you dreamed up in an adrenaline filled haze. They said you might remember it all eventually once you’d healed more, or even that you might never get the answers you sought. There was no footage from your vest cam, and no other eyewitnesses left alive to say what had happened. Just you and your janky, wacky memories.
“Hey, Riot! You gonna come back on shift anytime soon or do I have to explain to Marco why the big bad ex-soldier is dying over a little cut?”
You turned to the door and smiled to yourself, feeling your chest grow lighter the second you heard that voice. Emily always knew how to pull you out of a funk. With that in mind, you shook your head, felt your goosebumps retreat away and stepped out into the scorching warmth of the restaurant. Once more back into the fray.
“The big bad ex-soldier had a lot of blood coming out that little cut,” you shrugged, “can’t be creating a healthcode violation, you know that.”
Emily raised one of her thick dark eyebrows in question and put her hands on her hips. Oh no, this was the serious stance. In fairness, the tables were mobbed that night and she’d been run off her feet by two difficult tables that were ‘not getting acceptable service by any definition of the word’ as one of them had apparently said.
“Put a blue plaster on it and get back out here before I give you a real war wound,” she growled.
Your eyes widened, but you still smiled despite yourself.
“You’re the boss!”
You rushed off to do as she said, ready to come back out and assist her, and if necessary neutralise any threat to her sanity. Emily was one of the few people you’d reconnected with after coming back home, and anyone that messed with her henceforth, was now messing with you.
She’d seen you out and about at the park one day, taking one of your ‘haunted walks’ as she called them - only because you had trouble sleeping and would walk around in a black hoodie with the hood up. It was like something clicked, after being so reluctant to share anything with your family, or military buddies that tried to reach out, it was like you’d found your key. You’d babbled to her about how badly you were struggling to adjust to civilian life, leaking your frustrations like a bled radiator, and she accepted you. She listened without pity.
Now while you wound a plaster round your silly little cut, you watched her zoom round the tables with true gratitude. She was the only reason you’d gotten the job, and been able to integrate back into real life. As much as you had your moments of frustrations, and had brief run ins with your PTSD, you at least had something to distract yourself with. Something that grabbed your attention and set your breathing straight again, when before you would curl in the corner of your room and scream for many minutes at a time.
Once the plaster was affixed, you fiddled with the cracked old first aid box and wrangled it shut, stowing it back into place with a thud before rushing back out to the floor. The smell of garlic and pasta filled your senses, and the voices of the patrons roared rapturously in your ears again. The normal hustle and bustle of the place set you back into your rhythm and the ramped up tempo sent you hurtling toward the kitchen.
“Where’ve you fucking been?” one of the chefs groused, “we’ve got a million plates for table ten here that need serving! I can hear them bitching from here, get moving!”
“Had a little accident getting the plates to Frankie,” you said, motioning to the plaster and your fraught KP behind the pass. “Good to go now!”
Rather than stay to hear the chef's curses, you rushed off with the plates and delivered them to the table, plastering on a smile as the customers moaned up a storm to your face. After offering them your apologies and promises of free sides, they hushed up and all was good again. You tended to your other tables and resumed duty as normal, rotating around Emily and the other waiter, Michael, like little clockwork toys. You all ticked along perfectly, leaving full stomachs and mostly happy faces in your wake.
“Can you take this to table thirteen, please? I gotta piss like crazy!”Micheal ordered.
He handed you a steak that was positively dripping in blood, almost setting you off again were it not for the fact that you were so confused by his request. There’s potatoes and salad and sauce on that plate, you thought to yourself, its not a body, just a hunk of meat.
“There isn’t a table thir-” you started, soon trailing off.
Michael had long since dashed off before you could correct him and you sighed to yourself. Great, now who on earth could this be for? You knew every table in the restaurant of course, your knowledge on the place was near perfect with Emily acting like a drill sergeant during your probation stages. However, you didn’t know where thirteen could be, because it didn’t exist. Most people knew that restaurants skipped that number because it was unlucky. Apparently not Michael though.
“I believe that’s for me,” called a rumbling voice.
You frowned and looked down to the man before you, startling as you realised that a table had been placed where it shouldn’t have, and in turn you were standing right over a poor customer. No wonder Michael had made the mistake, you had no idea where the table had even come from. Though you were too embarrassed to worry very much about that in the moment, you needed to recover in front of the man before you made an idiot out of yourself.
“Apologies, sir,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a busy night. Can I get you anything else?”
You placed down the food in front of him and were glad for it after you’d made eye contact. There was something strange about the man that made you jump. His stunning blue eyes captured your gaze and made you feel like you were in the middle of a laser sight. You gulped and looked away for a second afterward, trying your best to compose yourself.
“Thank you,” the man said softly, still fixing his eyes on you. “This is perfect.”
His sly grin struck you as familiar, but when you studied the man more, you couldn’t place him. He had a dark peacoat draped over his chair and wore a black shirt and fitted jeans. His beard was trim and cut close to his jawline, and his hair was near perfect, combed back neatly over his head. Everything about him was perfectly ordinary, perhaps would’ve been completely innocuous if not for his eyes.
You could’ve sworn there was a little black band circling the pupil, but just as you thought you’d lost yourself in them he chuckled at you. Causing your face to flame up in burning shame.
“I’m so sorry for staring,” you apologised, holding your hands up in appeasement. “I don’t know what that was about, sorry. You just seemed familiar for a sec.”
“Oh really?” he laughed, “Don’t happen to know a Jonathan Price do you?”
“Jonathan Price?” you repeated questioningly.
“My name, sweetheart,” he grinned, showing off his pointy canines. “Though you can just call me John if you like.”
“Oh my god, my brain’s going tonight,” you laughed, trying to get yourself away from him and the bloody steak that seemed to ooze with every passing second. “I’ll stop bothering you now, Jonathan! Enjoy your steak.”
His name sat heavy on your tongue, as if a fizzy sweetie had stung at the nerves and left it swollen and red. Jonathan. There was something about it that didn’t fit right. An unnatural force wanted you to turn round and call him a liar, demand that he reveal himself for who he really was.
Though you didn’t put much credence in unnatural forces anymore. Not when unnatural forces tended to be symptoms of your mental illness. Instead you shook your head and kept working, making a note to yourself that you needed to get more sleep that night. Sleep and meds usually helped, and you were praying that they’d set you right again the next day.
Demon name: Jocnr Hpie
Born: Unknown
*Unlike the other Bloodthirsters in the group we managed to interview he is very tight lipped.* -Demonologist [REDACTED]
Notable feature: Bone growths around the sides of its head and mouth that give him a "beard" or facial hair type of appearance. Also the fact that smoke seems to billow out of his mouth just like that one hive noble that could never stop smoking. -Agent [REDACTED] who was reprimanded for gaining access to the Demonologists documents
*You're not saying that I'm wrong sir*
**FURTHER REPREMANDING**
*** He also liked wearing this weird hat I think it was Agent [REDACTED]'s old fishing hat?***
He has a habit of referring to the lower ranks under his care as his 'kids' or 'team'. Usually will help Handler [REDACTED] corral the Initiates to where they need to go which has caused confusion amongst the lower ranks as they think Jocnr is an Agent.
[AUDIO LOG]
+ Sound of bones popping and a deep inhale+
= You hurt one of my kids= Jocnr taking a drag of his cigar
=My lord we're simply trying to free you from the corpse worshipers!= Unknown cultist, groveling
+Annoyed huff+
=Do you believe me to be so weak I cannot break these bindings myself?= Jocnr clearly using his true voice. The groan in the background is Initiate [REDACTED] barely alive by this point but this is when the blood vessels in their nose and ears ruptured.
+Foot steps moving+
=My Lord wait! AUGH=
+Sounds of flesh against stone before the sounds of bone breaking and the wet slap of most likely viscera. Splatter and a sigh, at this time Initiate [REDACTED] groans again+
=Kiddo?=
+Feet moving rapidly+
=Hey there Kiddo you're gonna be alright I've got you!=
+A grunt as at this time cameras will show Jocnr carrying Initiate [REDACTED]+
[END AUDIO LOG]
*We need to study further why Jocnr so easily bonds to squads he's apart of* -Inquisitor [REDACTED]
**Granted** Lord Inquisitor [REDACTED]
Demonhost: Another that has lax host standards but hosts that are around 1.8 to 2 meter's tall are his preferred; 90+ kg; late 30's to early 40's; and prefers hosts with military backgrounds. If those standards are met he can inhabit a body for several months up to a year. They all shift in the same way they'll all grow a beard in the same pattern as his demonic one and their faces will shift to look similar which is how lower ranks have been confused as he appears the same in every body. Skin color will lighten and hair will turn to a greying brown. His eyes normally are a molten brass (as most other Khorne demons) but Initiates have said his eyes are blue. Keeps his hair short and his beard trimmed.
Demon!Price whom you make a deal with to escape a rather unpleasant character in your life, who then proceeds to follow you even after the deal is concluded and just watches…
You see him in flashes, in the mirror in the morning, leaning on lampposts, standing on the street while you’re driving past, all too quick to really be sure if that’s him or if it’s your overactive imagination. Sometimes the deal you made seems like a fever dream. You sometimes doubt any of it really happened at all.
Then one night you end up in some trouble and he decides to take some initiative, striking up a deal before you can think to call out for help, never mind call for him. His help in exchange for you. You don’t know what he means, what the parameters are for ‘you’, (mostly you think he just wants something quick from you) but you agree anyway to escape the danger you’re in… and that’s how you find yourself trapped in his realm, forever bound to be his plaything.
