*shakes treat bag* do the pookies want some high thots?
because I am wondering if we think demons go into heat? because I feel like that would just be the natural thing.
like, his heat doesn’t come often, but when it does, it’s like a wildfire tearing through him. his skin burns to the touch, pupils blown wide, breath ragged. he warns you, tells you he won’t be able to stop, that once he starts he’ll need to keep you under him until the frenzy breaks.
so he shackles you down, not out of cruelty but desperation, iron or enchanted chains that rattle every time you shift. it’s the only thing between you and his full, unrestrained violence, because he knows the second he’s inside you, instinct will take over.
and oh, when it hits?
his thrusts are relentless, just a mindless beast
claws score the mattress, the walls, your skin when he forgets himself.
he breeds you in waves, spilling again and again, snarling against your throat as if he could press the claim into your delicate little bones
the air itself thickens, humming with his magic, marking you inside and out
but through all that feral ruin, his voice still finds you,rasping, hoarse, trembling with obsession
“mine. my perfect vessel. no one else will ever take you. i’ll fuck you full until you carry my fire.”
when he finally comes down from it, he’s shaking devastated and tender, kissing your ruined body, unfastening your restraints with trembling hands, whispering reverent apologies and promises to worship every inch he bruised.
*kicking my feet and giggling*
( ꈍᴗꈍ)
