#demon fluff

It's genuinely not even a joke anymore, you've never seen a being so terrifying yet simultaneously so whipped..

this man (well, a demon technically, but you know..) is ancient, mighty, feared across realms! yet, when you so much as sniffle, he looks like he's two seconds away from declaring a war on pollen.

he could rule countries, humans, command legions, but when it comes to his mortal squishy lovebug, he will:

- carve your name into obsidian with the tip of his claw just to doodle little hearts around it

- wait patiently outside the shower with a towel warmed by hellfire because, in his own words, "your mortal towels are inferior, beloved."

- manipulate the weather because you said you missed the rain.

- and my personal favorite, make his eyes glow red when someone as much as gives you a funny look at the farmers market.

this man once vaporized a lesser demon just because he said "humans are fragile" because again, in his own words, "my human is a goddess in flesh! watch your tongue or get sent into the void."

if there's anything in the universe- no, the multiverse, he would get on his knees for, it's you. the other demons always whisper around about it, even call him names such as "mortal obsessed" & "lovestruck lord" but they don't get it, they don't get you.

they haven't seen the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, they haven't seen the way you look at him with so much love especially when he's on his true form, they haven't heard how you whisper his name like it's something sacred when he's making love to you, they haven't felt your smaller, softer hand reaching out to hold onto his clawed one, completely unafraid.

they don't know what it feels like to be loved fully for exactly who you are, to be looked at like you're more than just a monster you've always been told you're supposed to be.

Douma slips under the sheet, donned in a soft yukata, and he sits there beside you quietly, his eyes drooping as he analyses your sleeping figure. He lets out a sound that could almost be mistaken for a sigh before he lets his cold tips of his fingers trace a loose strand of hair away from your cheek as he finally slides beneath the covers next to you. 

The instant his body presses against yours, you twitch faintly, your body adjusting instinctively to his body close to yours. And he can't help but freeze up for just a moment, though he can't believe it himself, he is still not used to the way your warmth feels agasint his skin. Douma discards the feeling before wrapping an arm carefully around your waist. 

Your body heat seeps into his skin, and Douma feels it all the way into his marrow. You stir a little, a sleepy noise tumbling out of your throat, feeling the cold seep into your own skin—it wasn't unpleasant, it was something you actually liked.

"Douma?" you mumble, and you were so quiet you swore to yourself you didn't actually say anything, but thankfully, nothing can miss Douma's demon hearing, something of which you know of. 

"Shh," he hums quietly, and the sheer sound of his voice almost lulled you back to sleep. His lips brush the side of your temple, a content sigh leaving your lips at the comforting touch. "Don't wake, pretty."

But, you do, the best you could, at least, halfway. You turn around toward him, maneuvering to your other side within his arm. You didn't even bother opening your eyes, most likely not being able to see anything, or you would be too much in a hazy state, too, drowsed from sleep. Your upper leg moved over his own, and your hand on his chest as you pressed closer to him, head nuzzled up into his arm. 

"You're cold," you murmur, your hand curling the red fabric donned on his chest. 

A light chuckle leaves his mouth, a genuine one, not that theatrical laugh he gives to others. The sound, like before, almost had the ability to lull you back to slumber. "You're here to warm me up."

Your body shifts even closer, pressing into him. The movement makes him still, momentarily taken aback by how gentle it feels—no matter how many nights among nights he and both of you do this, it still feels like a new feeling to him. You nuzzle up higher into his neck, your voice soft and slurred from sleep, "Kiss?" you say sleepily.

"Of course, sweet thing," he replies as his lips meet yours in a delicate kiss, your body relaxing further into his, letting yourself melt agasint him completely. Before he can even think of something teasing to say to you in reply, you're asleep again, breathing softly agasint his throat. 

He doesn't dare to move after curling tighter around you, holding you up more against his body. Though he quickly decides against not moving, his opposite arm moves over to cradle your head, his cold fingers sliding through your hair, cradling you close.

"I'm going to tease you so much tomorrow, pretty thing," he murmurs contentedly, softly biting his bottom lip.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

“So, what do you do for fun?”

Zanri had been hanging around you for the last hour. Honeyed words from behind sharp teeth. You’d let him, everyone else at this party seemed to be giving you the third degree. If he hadn't been showering you with attention you probably would've left by now.

“Oh, this and that. I'm still trying to get my bearings” Not entirely true, but not a lie either. Demons can tell when you lie to them and while there weren't any rules against it, it was still rude.

“I'd love to show you some things… Make a night of it, perhaps”

Yeah. Right. Spending hours with you. You almost left right then. Maybe he picked up on you bristling

“Really!” he took your hand “You're fascinating…” His gaze met yours. Eyes like black pearls, shimmering with the lights of stars long dead, staring into your ice-blue ones “Thousands of Damned arrive on these benighted plains every day, and you may be the first one that's held my interest in a millennium. There's something special about you”

You blushed a little, hoping the pale white foundation covering your face hid it. His eyes didn't falter, not even as a clawed finger brushed your cheek.

“Do you want another drink? Maybe to go upstairs?”

You looked around at the party, “but everyone's down here, what's upstairs?”

“Bedrooms, for one” a wry smile parted deep red lips

You looked at him, brow furrowed “but I'm not tired?”

Zanri’s laughter made you wince, it sounded like trying to run a handful of gravel through a coffee grinder. An ugly, honest laugh. “Me neither, that's not why I suggested it”

A raised eyebrow, more laughter “Come on, you. Let me show you what I mean.”

He could have splintered every bone in your hand without even trying, nonetheless he barely held on at all as he led you to the stairs, then up away from the crowd and the music.

The facility you sped through was something between a hotel and halfway house, temporary lodgings for the newest denizens of this region of Hell. A reception and function room down below, endless stairs to endless rooms above. Every so often you’d be asked to move to another room to accommodate more people checking in, but despite being fully booked the place never seemed to stop having more and more space.

“Here's our stop” Zanri let go of your hand to pull out a keycard, swiping it against the door handle. Room 22/7e42. He gently shepherded you over the threshold “come in, come in, mi casa es tu casa’

The room wasn't particularly well appointed: a bed, a television, a desk and a minifridge. Exactly the same as yours, minus a folder of pamphlets advertising jobs and apartments.

“So, why did you want me to see your room?” You looked up at him, tilting your head slightly

He didn't voice a response, simply taking off your glasses

“Hey! I need them!”

“I know, I just don't want you to damage them”

“Doing wha- Mmph”

He kissed you. His skin was hot, so hot you feel like it would burn you if you still had flesh that burns. Instead you just put your hand on his face, feeling the soft skin speckled with steel wire stubble. Your other hand found the gleaming filament hair covering his scalp.

He wasn't idle either, clawed hands shaking around your back, gripping handfuls of your soft flesh in between tracing idle patterns across your skin. His claws pressed against you, the sharp points pressing in though they wouldn't break the skin. Not unless he wanted them to.

Your lips separated. His face next to yours. Breath like cinnamon, petrol, camphor and ozone. Wide-eyed you stared at one another.

“More?”

“More.”

The next kiss sent you both reeling, staggering to his bed while you tried to see who could get more of their tongue into the others’ mouth. A mess of limbs, kissing and tonguing, stripping clothes off yourselves and one another as efficiently as you could, not caring where things landed or what tore into ribbons in your haste.

Panting into one another, sharing hot breath, you perched on the edge of the bed. One hand on your shoulder, the other positioning his flared tip against your entrance. He looked at you. Starlight in void. You nodded. He pushed.

Angling your hips, you felt him enter. His thick, blunt tip stretching you open. You kept his gaze, eyes locked as his hips meshed with yours. Even through the grunting and sighing of your exertions he still stole kisses as he went. Your hands found his slender ibex-like horns, pushing your tongue into his mouth as you felt your toes pointing and your body start to tense up around him.

Slick drooled from your stretched-open slit, worked into a froth by his rhythmic motion. His breath was hot on your cheek, getting faster and faster. The slap-slap-slapping of his balls on your ass got quieter as they ascended, pulling taut against his crotch.

He was twitching in you, the rhythm of his thrusts breaking down as he chased his peak. He got more desperate as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in. You didn't think a demon could sweat, but he was.

Twitching became throbbing. The last few strokes drove him to his hilt, pressing against the back walls of your cunt. A moment, his focus slipping, droplets of your blood where the claws cut in.

He sucked on your tongue as he filled you up. Liquid demonseed painting your cunt, spurting in jet after white-hot jet. It didn't hurt, instead that heat flowed through you. Breathing fast, hips gyrating, you milked him for all you could. Your body coaxed every drop out of him, taking all you could.

He tugged on a strand of silky fine hair. Not harshly - he would not want to wake his wife.

His wife.

She had looked him in the eye and said,"I marry you," and he, dumb with greed for her, had said it back.

Now she quested across Sanctuary, speaking of her wheat stalk of a husband whom she loved dearly, but who was just too frail to go adventuring with her. Everyone from Scosglen to Hawezar knew his name and that he was exceptionally tall and just as exceptionally thin and a mediocre sorcerer at best, but his "equipment" was more than satisfactory and -

Well. His wife - his damned wife - was well known for having a big heart and perhaps a bigger mouth.

Yes, his dear wife had ruined his anonymity by traipsing from one corner of the continent to the other and making sure every party she joined and every ghost, demon and bandit she fought knew that she was happily wed to Kher of Kehjistan. Kher of Kehjistan who might be more than just a man, or not a man any longer.

He should be flattered, but he was annoyed instead. Anonymity was very important to a demon in hiding - especially one that would like to stay hidden.

Seven years ago, was it? He had possessed this mortal shell to disguise his demon origins for one single purpose: To plow this very woman. To take her in his hands and between his teeth and to ravage her until she lost her very mind to the sweet agonies he gifted her with. He recalled with great clarity the maddening lust that had had him chasing her. His cock had wept for want of her flesh.

As a buxom woman of overflowing physical qualities, his dear wife opted to wear chest wrappings to keep her breasts in place. She also despised tunics. This was true now and had been back then.

He, the demon he had been, had gone in for the killing blow on some hill near Gea Kul those seven years ago. His wicked claws had just managed to tear through her wrappings as she lunged away from him and, oh. Oh.

He had watched, transfixed, as her breasts had spilled free, bouncing and swaying and heaving, nipples, soft, a trickle of blood where his claws had scratched, his mouth was watering -

And then she shapeshifted into a werewolf and mauled him near to death. She got distracted by other demons that were actively trying to kill her, however, and left him clinging to existence with one thought snarling in his depraved mind: I will have her.

Matrimony had not been part of his plan at all, he recalled drily. No, he was sure he had planned to fuck her so stupid that she followed him back to Hell where her suffering was to be endless and beautiful. Demons fed off pain and hers was meant to nourish him until he grew bored of her.

Now he was Kher of Kehjistan and a joke in Hell. His sustenance came from cursed rings he sourced from an associate in Hawezar and the pleasure he inflicted on his dear wife.

His damned wife who had made him this way. He should be leading a contingent of minions for Mephisto, but now he kept house as if he was the wife while she trotted off to gather bounties and slay his own kind.

A joke indeed.

How quickly she had conquered him, and with practically no effort on her part.

He in his newly possessed body had requested her service as a bodyguard to such-and-such-a-place, believing that he would have her addicted to the heights and lows of agonies long before they got there.

How had it gone again?

Ah, yes.

Somehow, he kept remembering somewhere else he had to go. Just a little farther down the road, I swear. The next town over. Around the mountain. Along the coast. Just until we get out of this frozen wasteland. Just until we are out of the desert. Oh, we appear to be on a completely different continent, could you be my guide until I recognize where I am?

Pathetic creature. Not her, him. He panted after her like a needy beast and she was flattered enough by his attention to stay by his side, but she would not submit to his seductions no matter how sweetly poisoned words rolled off his tongue of promises that were true if not easily misunderstood.

Not until such a day a group of lycans had nearly gotten the best of her. In the process of pulling their insides outside, he revealed his true form.

That should have been the end of that, but she turned out to be full of surprises as well as stubbornness.

"I have a friend in Hawezar who is a man possessed by a demon. They get along quite well, actually." She tipped her head at him, eyes glittering with interest as she took him in from cloven feet to curving horns. "Are you the man or the demon?"

"The demon," he admitted. "The man has departed." In agony, he thought but did not say. She did not ask, though she should have.

She did not recognize him as the demon who had tried to kill her in the past, but instead accepted him as a "friendly" demon. Which was incorrect, but served him well. He could be "friendly" in a way, if the meaning of the word could be taken vaguely enough.

His human shell had been a tall and skinny thing- still was, actually. Not quite tall enough to be eye to eye with her, but almost thin enough for her hands to touch around his waist.

His disguise struck her as too delicate and breakable to handle her. His true self, he discovered, was far more appealing.

He was red skin and lean muscle stretched over a very long skeleton. There was a delicious ache in his bones that never went away due to his severe lack of padding. So, yes, he was "skinny". Horrifically so.

But he was also a head taller than her and she was an incredibly tall woman. He was strong enough to pick her up in his arms and carry her and she was an incredibly heavy woman.

His human guise had been successful in making her trust him, but it was his true self that caught her.

How sweet she had been, shaking and panting and sobbing beneath him, unwrapped breasts heaving and jiggling with every thrust, her thighs shaking and quivering as he had driven himself into her, soft everywhere he touched, plush, decadent, delicious -

He had her a number of different ways. He had made sure she had known it was all her fault, denying him for so long. Teasing him. He had so much to give her, just a little more, just one more time, and another and another...

He had felt so smug as he had laid there afterward, cock soft and wet where it rested, well serviced by a cunt that had definitely been worth the effort.

Still shaking and twitching, she had rolled on top of him - dense muscle padded with so many layers of fluff that it was like having a somewhat firm pillow on his chest. Her softness filled the places of himself that were missing and soothed his eternally aching bones. Warm and malleable.

He breathed easier with her on his chest. He remembered the oddness of that realization.

That was beginning of the end. He hadn't known that seven years ago, but it was obvious seven years later.

Her delicious womanhood had not been what destroyed him, but her weight on him, sinking into him. Her lips across his protruding ribcage, at the base of his neck, up his throat to the underside of his jaw.

"I didn't know it could be like that," she had said, full of wonder. "I didn't know my body could do that." And she had looked at him with something dangerous and impossible in her eyes.

They circled the continent a second time after that. Her as the main force of their party and him disguised as a mediocre sorcerer of no importance. By the time they were in Kehjistan again, his goals had changed completely and the future he had imagined for her had been wiped away.

He preferred Hell to Sanctuary, but he did not want Hell to touch this woman.

His woman.

His wife.

"I marry you," he had said at the entrance to the home he had carved out of a tree for them. It was the simplest marriage and yet he felt its binding in his core. No priest or devil - except for himself - had overseen it and still, somehow, those words had felt witnessed. Branded into his chest in a way he could not see them, but could always feel them.

"Marry" could almost be a different word, for all the weight it carried. Some dangerous and impossible word.

He caressed a red knuckle over her softly parted lips. She snuffled in her sleep. Tucker her face away and down even as she scooted closer and threw a leg over his protruding hip bone. He laid his hand over her thigh and squeezed just to watch her flesh dimple under his claws - not tear or bleed, but simply mold to his touch.

The heat of her core was pressed tantalizingly close. She preferred nudity in their bed over any kind of sleepwear and he simply preferred her nude.

As he admired his red hand splayed across her magnificent thigh, another hand came to rest on his. Not a small hand, but still shorter than his own wickedly clawed ones. She moved his hand to grope her voluptuous arse.

He rumbled deep in his bony chest.

She sighed, somewhere between awake and asleep, and kissed the dip of his collar bones. "My poor husband, alone for months without his wife to tend to him. How you must have suffered."

He gave her a little swat for that. She gasped and archer into him. Still needy even after the way he had welcomed her home.

"I didn't suffer alone, dear wife," he noted. "No lovers on the lonely road?"

"Only once," she said. "A real devil of a fella. You'd never believe the things he did to me."

He cackled. "Never?"

She wrapped a hand around one of his horns and tipped his head so that her mouth could touch his pointer ear.

"He was good." She kissed the just of his jaw. "Mayhaps even better than you."

She roared with laughter as he rolled them over.

"Damned wife," he growled. He hoisted her legs over his shoulders. "Teasing me, always. A brat of a woman."

"Dear husband," she cackled, eyes glittering with something dangerous and impossible.

He let his tongue slide out of his open maw, stretching and stretching more until it laid over her mound and toward her navel.

Her eyes got wide and dark at that. Her legs tried to splay wider, but he kept them in place, thighs clenched in his fists.

His tongue slithered back toward his mouth, but not before dipping down to lap at her cunt, still swollen and sticky from his earlier attention. "Will you beg for mercy?" He rumbled.

"No," she said, but she didn't sound strong about it. Her hands played with her bountiful chest. Rolling and pinching her nipples as she stared up her body at him.

"You will," he said. He flicked at the key to her pleasure, to her agony.

"I won't." She sounded incredibly eager.

He started to spell the alphabet with his tongue. He was barely halfway through when she started sobbing.

"Damned husband!"

He slurped messily. Rubbed his teeth against a blushing inner thigh. "Dear wife."

A joke in Hell, perhaps, but his wife would learn to take him seriously one way or another.

Her and the damned priests that kept showing up to exorcise him.

His dear wife with her heart big enough to love a demon, and a mouth big enough to talk about it.

Big enough for other purposes as well.