#soft ifrit

[iamthecomet]

COMET YOU ARE SPOILING US WITH THESE FICS IM IN LOVE

a needy mountain or ifrit, perhaps??

Ahhhh THANK YOU. Honestly, I’m the one being spoiled with all these insane and incredible, asks. I love you all so much.  Since I forgot Ifrit in a ficlet yesterday, I think it's time to show him some love.

Ifrit leans his head into Aether's warm thigh as Aether slips his fingers into his hair, and scratches his claws along his scalp lightly. He sinks into the feeling. He wants it to be enough. Of course, it isn't. He bites back a whine and presses even closer to Aether's leg. He hates that Aether's wearing pants. That he can't have the satisfaction of skin on skin. He wants--needs--more. And Aether’s intent dragging it out, like always. 

Aether's focused on the TV. Everyone else is too, sucked in by the movie. But Ifrit can't think. The movie is background noise, a drone. All he can think about is how Aether has been toying with him all day. Soft touches, the rake of his claws over the back of Ifrit's neck while he was washing dishes. Throwing his arm around Ifrit's shoulders and hauling him close during band practice to whisper filth in his ear. You're going to look so pretty stuffed full of my cock later.

And now it's later. And here Ifrit is, woefully unstuffed.

The waiting is torture. He’s bad at it, not used to it. He’s never had to beg for anything in his eternal life.  But right now, he wants to. He wants to climb up into Aether’s lap and beg for something. Anything more than these gentle touches. He wants something concrete, a grounding tough. Something that feels real. If you asked Ifrit, the movie is five hours long. When it eventually ends, and Aether stands, stretching his arms above his head and saying that he’s headed to bed. Ifrit tries his best to look unbothered, but he stands and follows, unable to do anything except appear like the lost puppy trying to follow Aether home. 

Aether smiles at him as they step into the hallway together. “What’s up, Fritter?”  It’s not a loaded question. Aether’s face is soft and open, and Ifrit wants to go to his knees and plead. Instead he crosses his arms.  “You promised.” 

Aether raises his eyebrows. “I--what?” 

“Don’t do this, Aeth.” Aether shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You said you’d fuck me, that you’d take care of me.” Ifrit says, grinding his teeth together in a bad attempt at keeping his voice down. 

“Did I?” 

Ifrit whines. The sound surprises both of them. Ifrit wants to gather it up and shove it back down his throat.  “Don’t make me do this, Aeth please. I just want-.” 

Aether slings his arm around Ifrit’s shoulder. “I know.” 

He steers them both down the hallway towards Aether’s room. 

“I’ve been so good. Patient.” 

“Have you been?” 

“Aeth--” Ifrit’s face is drawing down, into something that might be despair. Aether must notice it because he softens as he opens his bedroom door and ushers Ifrit inside.  “Don’t worry.” Aether says, sliding his hand up to rest gently in the hair at the back of Ifrit’s neck. He thumbs over the place where his spine meets his skull. “I’m going to give you exactly what you need.” 

[wrathofrats]

Aether comforting ifrit after he gets overwhelmed. Taking care of everyone else before himself. Can’t stop to ensure he’s doing alright because someone else needs him more. Zephyr has too much to deal with to stop and take of him, they don’t deserve that burden.

But it’s too much, it always is. Standing in the middle of the kitchen after promising to make lunch for the other ghouls, head feels like static, vision tunneled on the sandwich in front of him. And when he drops the butter knife on the floor it just becomes too much.

Ifrit tries to stop the tears before they come, hot and thick welling up at the corners of his eyes. But he can’t. His hand shakes as he picks up the butter knife, determined to finish his task.

And aether sees, can feel that ifrit was on the brink from a mile away. Just quietly takes the utensil from him, shushing him and telling him that it’s not important, that he can’t finish this in his current state, that the others will understand.

And ifrit just collapses into him. The floodgates opening once aether wraps his arms around him, pulling his head into his shoulder.

[merphv]

Saria with Ifrit vs Saria with everyone in Rhine Labs (except for Silence and Ptilopsis... I guess)

[the-moon-in-the-gutter]

Despite being a fire ghoul, and notoriously good with his hands, Ifrit is absolutely terrible at wrapping gifts. Each ghoul has a story of Ifrit's wrapping skills: Omega receiving a new Cross pen for his summoning day in wrinkled wrapping paper that is more tape than paper. Zephyr receiving a Christmas gift in a plastic bag because he was fighting against the clock to get gifts wrapped. Dewdrop receiving a gift in a box, that looked as if it went through Hell to get there, only to be duct taped closed and have a bow slapped on it. It's not that he's a poor gift giver, he's very much the opposite. He's just not very good with folding and taping and measuring.

So when Zephyr's hands begin to give him fits, no longer allowing him to do the intricate folds in wrapping paper or to create swans from gift tissue, Ifrit was the first to offer his services. He knew exactly what wrapping gifts meant to Zephyr, how he always wanted the wrapping to be as perfect as the gift. As to Zephyr, it was all an extension of the ghoul the gift was for, and he saw beauty and perfection in each of his fellow ghouls. Ifrit has spent many nights watching Zephyr wrap gifts, sat at the kitchen table for hours as he measured and folded and carefully trimmed. So when the following Christmas came around, Ifrit offered to help Zephyr wrap his gifts to the other ghouls. Ifrit sat in Zephyr's bedroom floor, wrestling boxes and managing to execute folds very similar to the ones Zephyr's elegant and masterful hands executed tirelessly. The fire ghoul didn't utter a complaint as he worked, face screwed in concentration, dark curls of hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over the boxes. When all was complete, he allowed Zephyr to place the handwritten gift tags on each gift. Something he could never replicate was that light airy script that was barely legible from the pain that consumed the air ghoul.

[thatfanfictionchick]

JESUS FUCK JUST PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY 😭

[ad-cn]

I forgot that Star Wars is so mainstream that people actually get vocally mad, on the internet, at the mere idea that the main characters can be perceived as gay/trans. I could scroll past art of Leon Kennedy getting his hole blasted or Cloud Strife crossdressing and holding the trans flag and people are supporting it but when you even imply Luke Skywalker might a be little fruity, that Leia could be bi, then there'll be some chud in the notes being like "ummmm proof? This is only a headcanon"

Like you never heard of using existing media as a vehicle to express ideas that are entertaining to you? Lol

[thegnomelord]

CH:2 You Were Made For This At Least You're Good For Something

CW: NSFW, blood, gore, scars, cannon typical violence, dissociating, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, survivor's guilt, military inaccuracies. Heavy description of reader having scars, reader gets called 'sir' once but overall GN.

AO3: 13.7k words. Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!

Magic is often described as a loaded gun, a double edged sword, a grenade with a missing pin, an unmarked minefield — and a thousand more little comparisons parents have come up with to frighten their children, to drill the dangers of magic into their heads. And, should their spawn unfortunately present with said aptitude, to teach them how to spend the rest of their lives vigilantly holding the leash on their emotions tight, lest the magic consume them the next time they throw a tantrum.

Your own parents spoke about magic like it was a beast sent by a vengeful God; a venomous insect hiding in your boots, a beautiful creature luring you to touch it's deadly skin, glowing eyes peering at you from the darkness, a handsome wolf stalking your red hood from the tree line. Something so desperate for a single chance to devour you. Famished. Ravenous.

What a load of shit.

—Ethereal mana rushes through your veins like water through a busted dam, your fingers forcing it to form into skin chafing ash. Large dark clouds swirl around you like a shield, stray cinders brush your feverish skin in a distorted attempt to mimic a lover's touch, smog curls around your head like blinders to focus your eyes forward so you don't need to notice if it's a combatant or a civilian your ash consumes—

If magic was half as unpredictable as people made it out to be, you would have never reached the heights you did.

—The thick disgusting scent of gas and burning human flesh tenderly presses down on your chest, sharp claws persuading you to breathe out by gently caressing the spaces between your ribs. Your breath fogs over the darkened lenses, steam rising from your chest as the generator inside churns out more mana—

What does that make you?

—Sparks nip at your heel when your body thinks of faltering, sharp needles pricking half dead nerves and commanding your limbs to move in order to evade obstacles and falling debris and whatever else is thrown at you, magic strengthening your muscles so you can rush through the streets like a forest fire—

A weapon? A fellow beast?

—Silent black flames devour the corpses your magic creates, leaving nothing behind. Stifling heat straddles your brainstem and burns away the weeds of empathy before they can spread the seeds of hesitation in your mind, isolating your heart so it remains too hot to harbor any mercy, regardless of how many lives you cut short—

Yeah, sounds about right.

—The roar of fire deafens the screams and sirens, the soft crackle of flames is indistinguishable to the crack! of breaking buildings and snapping bones. It makes it so easy to retain the single minded focus you were praised and cursed for. To remind yourself of what you are; a mage, a soldier, an Ifrit, a Red Right Hand—

What else are you good for?

You—

Breathe.

You need to breathe.

You need to think.

While you still can.

Your brain is a jumbled mess of puzzle pieces a frustrated child threw into the fireplace. Burnt edges and missing corners prevent your mind from its natural configuration and forces your thoughts into obtuse positions. It takes time and effort to open your eyes, needles of stagnated mana stabbing your irises and making what should be a pitch black room feel like you're staring into the sun. Your body feels light like you're falling, your vision swims with spots of blurriness and sharpness, the back of your throat tight in an attempt to get you to puke up your empty stomach. You only manage to cough, but the vestigial impulse gets some other thoughts to trickle from your mind.

You focus your eyes to one point and stare until the blurriness retreats to the edges of your vision and the tripling shapes solidify into one. It takes more time for your brain to understand what your eyes are seeing through the steam, but you manage to make out. . . your glowing hands. . . your knees. . . dark ash, muddied water, bathroom tiles.

Your vision improves the longer you keep your eyes open, the room steadily darkening and becoming more bearable as the stagnated mana is forced to recede.

You concentrate on what you feel; water pelts your naked body, only to sizzle and turn into steam after rolling an inch down your skin. Cool ceramic tiles brush against your spine every time you shift, rapidly warming up to your body temperature. A drizzle of discomfort nibbles on your nerves when the hot air you breathe out burns the corners of your dry lips. Your fingers feel like rusted pistons as you intertwine them and numbly watch your 'skin' bubble, and those bubbles 'pop', giving you a grim glimpse of your blackened muscle and sinew and bone before the surrounding lava covers them up.

You don't even notice the ringing in your ears until your slowly sharpening mind forces it to go away, replacing it with the sound of running water, of the ventilation fan uselessly trying to suck up the steam, of your own heart beating like a hummingbird against your ribs, woodpeckers drilling into your skull from all angles as the world becomes so fucking—

—Loud. The world is Loud. Nothing like the calm and quiet brought to you by the battlefield, nothing like the sense of safety that comes from familiarity. No. Now the world feels like a swarm of angry wasps are burrowing into your ears to build a nest in your skull, sharp pincers gnawing on your bones and flesh and nerves and—

No.

You got this far.

You're not allowed to fall back into panic.

You force your chest to expand and take in a deep, unfiltered, unrestricted, breath. Ash with the disgusting undertone of rotten eggs curls inside your nose and doesn't let anything else pass. But a small hint of you manages to register in your brain, light and calming; your body’s lackluster attempt at incense to cover up the stench of rot.

And you taste. . . a lot. Too much; morning breath, ash, smoke, blood, the peppery battery acid quality of your blood — all blended together into a disgusting cocktail tailor made for you by what's left of the butchered angel sitting on your shoulder.

You don't think when you reach out to grab the glass of whatever shit liquor past you had bought. 'Glass' is far too kind a word for the tin can you're using, but metal doesn't shatter in your burning hands like ceramic or glass.

Your head thunks against the wall as you throw it back to gulp down the alcohol before it can boil, swallowing in big gulps like it's water. Your stomach cramps, the devil's finest piss would taste better going down your throat than the booze, but it's as effective as it is disgusting and bleaches your mouth until it's the only thing you can taste — sweet relief wrapped in thorns.

You don't revel in it.

The tin can bends like playdoh as you squeeze your burning hand, quickly reddening metal molding to your palm before you crumple it into a small ball. You flick it into the corner where it becomes another piece of the small pile that's been steadily growing there over the months.

Breathing in deep makes your ribs creak and groan like rusted hinges, your lungs burn and complain as you keep the air trapped in them until they're forced to function properly and a shuddered breath escapes your parted lips. The water feels nice and a part of you wants to stay under the stream forever, a part of you would be content growing moss and listening to the soft apologies your mana murmurs as it nibbles on your blood vessels.

You would hit that part of yourself if you could.

The thinning steam urges you to move. Shifting to your knees is difficult with Atlas's burden weighing on your shoulders, forcing your fingers to find purchase in the scorched grooves previously melted in the wall. Pulling yourself to your feet causes them to grow a few inches deeper, your burning hands leaving singed handprints on the ceramic walls.

The weakness in your knees forces you to spend a few seconds just standing, watching your magic slowly start to slumber. The once runny lava consistency of your 'skin' shifts to that of cooling magma, the vast excess of loose mana still in your blood slowly coagulating atop your 'skin' in the form of large chunks of volcanic rock, little cracks remaining between them to simulate blood vessels.

Washing yourself isn't a relaxing affair in general, but it's made worse by the heavy duty soap and rough sponge you have to use in order to scrub away the grime and ash stubbornly clinging to your skin. You try not to look at your body more than you have to, your eyes transfixed on the way the dirty water carries the signs of your violence down the drain. You never get any blood on you, your fires burn too hot for that, and you don’t know if seeing the water turn red instead of black would make you feel better or worse.

The most painful place to wash is the sharp transition between mage marks and living tissue at your shoulders; magic cares little for appearances, volcanic rock abruptly transitioning to soft skin that boasts spiderweb cracks — a tell tale sign of your mana intending to spread further. The nerves there are partially eaten away too, turning your skin into a minefield of zero sensation and absolute hell when one of those nerves is prodded.

You get out when the water runs clear, the residual droplets turning to steam the second you turn off the shower. You stumble as take a few steps, bracing against the small sink next to the shower, staring at the tap to keep your gaze from doubling again.

Something gnaws on your heart as you recognize that you're standing naked in your small safehouse. You should have recovered by now, gotten your shit together and went off to carry out whatever other massacre your employer wanted to commit. Your mind, ever the problematic thing, chimes in: How improper.

Your eyes skirt to the dog tags sitting on the sink, those little plates of steel chastising you "Fuck's sake firebug, this isn't a nudist beach!" like their owners did before. . . before.

Just thinking about it gives you the phantom taste of blood and something acidic, makes you feel a ghostly ache in your bones as if your chest had been ripped open one rib at a time. Invisible glass digs into your throat as you swallow, fish hooks tug on your skin. The mirror hanging above the sink calls for you, mocks you, dares you, orders you to look at the horrid thing that replaced a sweet young child.

Burning flames greet your gaze, swallowing up every last bit of natural color in your eyes just as the hungering beast devours those stupid enough to enter its woods. And you were that fool. The raised bumps of veins and arteries snaking across your chest and throat like creeping ivy attest to that, each inch of your blood vessels meticulously, painfully, pulled from the safe depths of skin and bone to heal on the surface of your skin (or bleed and rot. You could never tell when torture turned into intended murder.)

Your body tells a tale of your survival (for whatever that's good for), most of your scars old and healed, created at a time when you didn't know how to heal yourself. Dimly glowing lines of hardened mana occasionally stretch across your skin, spiderwebs of deep cyan peek beneath your hair on one side of your head and pulse across your throat, glittering amber swirls across your side — small and pretty testaments of wounds so horrendous only magic could keep you in one piece.

An eternal flame burns in your chest, its steady unfaltering glow outlining your sternum and each rib in such clarity it's like you're a cadaver in a morgue, a textbook example of a person slowly spiraling towards lichdom. The light emanating from within you makes the jagged dark ink curving along the space of your ribs stand out like a sore thumb, D.O.D. 2016.01.01. Your fingers ache to trace the little shaky messages of not Today, Guess again, yuo wish, NO, just one more day that circle it, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

You can't sully the last few things you have left of them, you can't, you can't you can't—

Crack!

You realize you've broken the mirror when you pull your hand back and see large shards stick out between your knuckles. Little reflections of yourself continue to mock you as you pull the pieces out. It doesn't hurt, it hasn't hurt since the mage marks first cracked the pads of your fingers, though you're still unsure if it's a gift or a curse —"leave it for the scholars to bicker about" as your Commander loved to say.

A shadow flickers in the corner of your eye, almost like a silhouette of someone you think you knew. Glowing lines of a magic circle burst into the air before you can physically react, mana simmering beneath your skin as magic comes to you easier than breathing.

The hallway lights up to reveal nothing. The thing you saw was just the shadow of a tree branch moving in the wind. You unsummon your magic before it can burn anything, the dwindling sparks nipping your fingers before they’re snuffed out as a way to show your mana is not pleased by the false alarm.

There is nothing there.

You are alone.

Again.

Your phone rings, the factory setting music grating on your ears. The phone is a piece of shit Nokia brick that belongs in a museum, but it works fine as far as burner phones go. Archaic technology like this plays better with magic than the flashy electronics people use nowadays, and the fact it doesn't connect to wifi helps make you harder to track.

You use the back of your knuckle to answer the phone, luckily not needing to pick it up as your mana enhanced hearing is a lot better than human. You manage to force a rough "Yes?" out of your throat.

"Nicely done my friend." Khaled sounds pleased with the death you brought, "You put on a very nice show." The eloquent Arabic he speaks makes the praise sound even nicer to your ears, like a balm of milk and honey to soothe your mind after what you went through. You can see how he's amassed as many men as he has, you could see yourself joining him full time if you were younger and dumber.

Your thoughts sit on your tongue like hot coals, but you swallow them down. "Thank you sir." You say instead, politely. Respect for your superiors was beaten into you years ago, yet exhaustion makes your words sound far rougher than his. Thankfully you're able to keep the accent of your mother tongue from deforming the fragile vowels.

"Ever the modest one." Khaled's chuckle is deep and just at the edge of mean, the subtle change in tone making the fine hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. "I need to pick up some more toys." And by 'I' he means you.

Toys — guns, bombs, other weapons intended for mass destruction; you're not surprised he's using slang instead of saying it outright. Your employer may be an overgrown murderous warlord, but he's not dumb, there's no doubt heavy surveillance has been put on both of you and Al-Qatala as a whole after your stunt.

It makes sense why he'd want to send you for the weapon's deal instead of going himself, there's no telling when some military group or pmc will try to bushwhack them in hopes of body bagging Khaled. Hell, you'd be disappointed if the CIA wasn't already in the final stages of planning a counter terrorism measure. Nosy fucks.

"Understood sir. Send me the shopping list." You feel your brow twitch with irritation when Khaled abruptly cuts the call. A sigh escapes you; your stomach feels like a witch is using it for a cauldron, all sorts of nastiness bubbling into a disgusting brew — your body's trying to warn you of something you can't see.

Not like you listen.

Dropping the last of the mirror shards into the sink you reach over to grab the dog tags and slip the cold chain around your neck. The metal warms up quickly, becoming indistinguishable from your skin. You rest your hand over them. If you try hard enough, you can just about sense the last remaining dregs of their magic— cool water, nibbling ice, soft soil — but the rest blend together into senseless mana, nothing but whispers of the past.

16 other tags rest against your skin, your own nestled somewhere between the dead.

You should have died instead.

You tear your hand away with a scoff, shaking those thoughts off and go get dressed. You slip on your helmet last, the tension in your shoulders evaporating when your face is hidden. Your lungs stutter for a second before adapting to breathe normally. You throw a glance at the shattered mirror and this time it's the helmet that greets you; just another soldier, just a mage.

Yeah. . . that's you alright.

Your phone vibrates, telling you you've received a message.

Right. You have a job to do. Here's to hoping this one isn't your last.

You're not holding your beath.

. . .

The briefing room is silent as Laswell goes over the census: 200 confirmed dead, hundreds in serious condition, thousands more who will be affected in the coming weeks and months when the seasonal storms wash the toxins into water sources and pollute the earth. And that's not talking about the long term effects, who knows how many will be lost in the coming years trying to neutralize the poisonous magic and rebuild.

Toxic gas itself is problematic when they don't know what specific kind it is, but when it binds with loose particle magic like ash or sand it can linger for decades, eroding concrete and skin alike. A whole generation will be born in hazmat suits.

Kate finishes speaking. A minute of silence follows.

Soap takes the time to try and visualize the dead as people rather than just a statistic, but his mind falls short. His tail twitches with irritation, fists clenching by his sides; he just can't understand how one person could do all of that without rockets or explosives.

His brain births a grim thought — fire hot enough to burn through concrete wouldn't leave behind any bodies, so he can tack on several more hundred deaths to the census, ones that have no way of being confirmed, leaving families without a body to grieve over.

"As far as we know." Kate begins again, her face grim, deep dark shadows stretching beneath her eyes. Only caffeine and determination have helped chase away her exhaustion. "This was a terrorist attack organized by Khaled Al-Asad," She pulls up two pictures on the interactive board, one of Khaled, the other — the same featureless helmet they'd seen on the news. "And carried out by a mage mercenary called Ifrit. True identity unknown."

Soap's ear twitches and he tilts his head at Ghost. "Bet yeh he's an ugly focker."

Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him. "Didn't think that 'bout me did you?" He mutters, eyes returning to the screen, staring at your picture as if it'll reveal some deeper meaning; an insight into a murderer's mind. Soap holds off on doing the same, he doesn't want any of the sludge on him.

“Could also be a ‘her’.”

Their gazes turn to the two women sitting at the front, the captain and lieutenant of another pmc the US has contracted to help them deal with this problem.

The one who spoke is a woman in her late 30's, brown hair pulled in a tight bun, green eyes occasionally flickering with whisps of unnatural blue; Captain Roberts – if Johnny remembered her name correctly from orientation – continues. “Women are better at using magic, and control it with the finesse required for more complex spells.” She explains with a dismissive look, absentmindedly waving her gloved hand like they’re just insects buzzing around her head.

Yeah, Johnny doesn't like her. And it's not because she smells like sweet lotus mixed with the stench of rancid fish rotting under the sun. It's because she's as hoity-toity as every other mage he's met (thankfully he's only met a few).

The shorter woman sitting next to Captain Roberts shrugs, black hair pulled into a similarly tight bun. "A little biased there captain." Lieutenant Martinez says, her black eyes flickering to look at the monsters. "Though, I can't say it's unwarranted." He hears her mutter.

Johnny notices striped patches velcroed to their arms, 2 icy blue ones on Martinez, 3 deep blue on Roberts. Distantly he remembers them to signal the power level of a mage on the international power scale, though he's blurry on the finer details.

Johnny’s ears twitch as he hears Ghost mutter a “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” under his breath before the wraith gruffly speaks up loud enough for all to hear. “Nail Ifrit and you’ll get the chance to check for bollocks.”

Roberts turns her head to look at Ghost. Her eyes look him over and the initial scowl (which Johnny's sure she was born with) turns into something that makes Johnny's fur stand on end and gums itch with the need to bare his teeth. She opens her mouth to speak—

A low rumble wafts through the air as Price blows out a puff of cigar smoke, the soft cloud escaping through the open window but the strong scent remains. "Hush." Price's pupils are thin like needles, shutting up Roberts with one look before he looks at Kate. "What do we know about 'em?"

Kate frowns, "Not enough." She pulls up a map of the world, a red dot placed somewhere in Libya. “Ifrit first appeared on our radars 2 years ago under the employment of a Libyan warlord called Ahmed Saleh.” Next she pulls up a video, playing it. The camera work is shaky, but Soap's able to make out said warlord speaking in a language he doesn't know, Ifrit standing by his side like some freaky statue. The camera shifts to focus on the row of men behind them, all bound on their knees with bags over their heads.

Johnny knows immediately what this is.

He still flinches when glowing circles spring beneath the mens knees, violent flames shooting high up into the sky as if Ifrit just used their personal key to open Satan's backyard. The camera flickers like an old TV, catching the last few seconds of glitched dying screams and magic burning away skin and muscle before the the video ends.

"Jesus." Kyle mutters next to Soap, his clawed fingers carding through the black feathers on his other forearm in a self soothing motion. "Just. . . Jesus."

"Ah dinnae think he’ll help." Soap mutters back, nose wrinkling as if he can already smell the burning bodies.

"A few weeks after this video was taken, Ifrit went into hiding before resurfacing again under a different employer." If Kate's bothered by the public execution, she doesn't show it. "Cross referencing the attack in Uzrikstan we’ve found over 50 arson attacks with the same M.O.” More red dots spread across the world map haphazardly, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. “As well as indication of Ifrit's involvement in numerous organized crime groups. Khaled is just their latest employer.”

Ghost lets out a low whistle. "Our arsonist's been busy."

"So what?" Soap's fur bristles even more, "The torcher just pop oot like a weed aw o'a sudden an' immediately jump intae terrorism?"

"Maybe?" Kyle scratches the back of his neck. "If they're a late bloomer and unbound then it makes sense why some crime rings would want them," He turns his head to look at Captain Roberts, "Right?"

She doesn't spare him a look, chewing on her words like Kyle had put something foul in her mouth. "I suppose developing strong magic after adolescence is possible." She begrudgingly says, "And unbound magic is stronger than bound, making Ifrit look like an appealing attack dog." She crosses her arms over her chest, stroking her chin in thought.

"But unbound magic also damages to the body." Lieutenant Martinez pipes up. "And that type of mage marks would take more than just 2 years to develop even if they used magic 24/7."

"You're correct." Captain Roberts finally glances at Kyle, giving him a look as if he had asked the difference between a pug and a werewolf. "It's more likely they had magic for a while. Not to mention received training for it."

Another low rumble escapes Price's chest, the sound reminiscent of construction machinery. "How come we didn't know about the firebug earlier?" His voice is calm, making the sharp edge underneath it cut deeper.

Kate sighs, "I hate to say it, but Ifrit is good." She says solemnly. "Their magic destroys electronics, they never show their face or leave witnesses, and they manage to cover their tracks up so well that we can't find even a partial mana-cule signature on the arson attacks, the most recent one included."

Her words make little sense to him, entering Johnny's ear and exiting through the other. He remembers taking a few classes on the types of magic that can mimic explosive materials when he was doing his demolition course, but all the jargons had made his head hurt and wasn't needed in the end. His tail tucks closer to his leg. "A what?"

Captain Roberts scoffs, but her Lieutenant speaks up. "A mana-cule detector picks up the way magic that's left in a victim's body refracts light. It's specific to every mage, so, like a magical fingerprint." She holds up her gloved hand to give visual to her comparison.

Soap feels Gaz's feathers brush against him as the man folds his wings closer to his body, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at the screen. Kyle's eyes wander back to the starting image of the video where you're standing behind the warlord, mentally comparing it with the brief glimpse of you he got on the news. Something about you screams 'professional' to him, like you've done this so many times you got used to it the same way he got used to pulling the trigger of his gun.

"Ifrit doesn't look like some gang banger Khaled or some warlord picked off the street." Kyle finally says, and though he knows Laswell probably had the same thought, he still asks. "Could they be ex military or part of some pmc?"

"We're operating under this assumption, but we can't confirm anything." Kate frowns. "We're still trying to find any personal information about them."

"Getting to the important information." Captain Roberts says, giving them a pointed look. "What even is Ifrit’s level? With destruction like that I can’t imagine anything beneath L3. L4 if they’re 3 seconds away from becoming a lich or just high on Magnus dust."

"Fuck what dust?" Soap asks, but Captain Roberts just waves him off like his question is too stupid for her to answer.

"Magical crack." Ghost shrugs. "Makes the magic stronger, but also turns the mage into a firecracker."

Kate rubs her brows, a headache starting to pound behind her eyes. "By our calculations Ifrit falls into the L5 category." Her words make the rest of them go silent, but Soap just looks around confused.

"Preposterous." Captain Roberts huffs, "I can count on my fingers how many L5's there have been since Christ was born. Ifrit being one is just impossible." A deep scowl etches across her face. "At best, Ifrit is just an L3 high on Magnus dust with no regard for their body. They'll be a lich in a couple months."

"Regardless of what Ifrit is," Price speaks up, stubbing the cigar butt on the window sill and throwing it out the window. "What do we do about them?" A small bit of smoke escapes the corner of his lip, dragon fire burning hot in his chest in response to his well masked anger.

"An insider in Al-Qatala claims a weapon deal will be going down in a day." Kate swipes away the previous pictures, putting on a bird’s eye-view map of a shipping dock. 5 large warehouses circle an empty concrete space bordering the ocean, clearly long abandoned. "From what we know, Khaled has Ifrit secure most of his weapons because they’re careful. If a buyer’s even a minute late they call it all off."

"So punctual and paranoid?" Gaz sumarrises.

Ghost hums to himself. "Quite the work ethic." He side-eyes Johnny. "You could lean som'thin' from 'em."

Soap just huffs, his tail bumping against Ghost's leg in retaliation, his snagglefang showing as his lip quirks up into a small smirk when Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him.

"You’ll need to be tight, there's no telling when this opportunity will present itself again." Kate continues, ignoring them. "Team Alfa," A dot pops up on one side of the docks, Price's and Lieutenant Martinez's faces beneath it. "you'll be going in from the north. Bravo—" Another dot appears on the opposite side with Ghost's and Captain Robert's faces. "—the south."

The dots move to indicate how they're supposed to approach the position, ending up with them completely surrounding the docks. "We don't know Ifrit's full battle capabilities, so you'll need to be careful. Isolate and tire them out before attempting capture, but kill if you must." Laswell looks at them all. "We can only assume ifrit's magic is short ranged so under no circumstances do you get close to them, understood?"

"Crystal ma'am." Captain Roberts shrugs, throwing a look at the monsters at Taskforce 141. "Just let us take care of the mage and keep out of the way so you don't become collateral. I would hate to waste my time healing you." Her eyes linger on Ghost, bits of bright blue mana flickering in her eyes. "Well, most of you." Soap feels Ghost subtly stiffen next to him.

That woman's charming as a train wreck; Soap can feel himself prickle with irritation, more and more strands of fur rising to stand straight on his tail the longer he has to stay near Roberts.

Luckily they're let go early to go rest up and prepare while the two mages stay with Price and Kate to iron out the finer details of which mages which team is taking and what spells to use. Apparently everyone but Price and Kate are too stupid to understand the 'complexity' of their spells.

Soap would be insulted, but he takes the opportunity offered to him. He glues himself to Ghost's side as much as he can 'professionally', his tail curling around his leg as Johnny throws a smug look over his shoulder at Captain Roberts.

Johnny catches her looking back at him like he’s a flea ridden mutt and that just makes his tail wag. He forgets about her the moment the door of the briefing room closes, busying himself by subtly rubbing his arm against Ghost's, spreading a bit of his scent on the wraith's jacket. It's one of the few times he's glad wraith's don't have a scent — makes it easy to smell himself on Ghost.

"Someone's territorial." Gaz chirps as he joins them on Ghost's other side, feathers brushing against their backs to throw his own scent into the mix.

Ghost just looks at Soap bemused, his thick paw of a hand coming up to cradle the back of Johnny's head, gloved fingers gripping his skin like he's a puppy. "You bettah not piss on me."

Gaz breaks out into laughter and Johnny feels his cheeks grow warm. "Dirty bastard." He huffs, but stores the idea for later. "Are all mages like that?" He tilts his head back at the door.

"Uptight?" Gaz asks. "Snotty?"

"Wankers with their heads shoved up their arse?" Ghost helpfully adds.

"That's putting it brawly," Soap lets out a breath, amusement tugging at his lips as his tail wags.

"Yeah, I think it's like a requirement to be a military mage." Kyle chuckles, holding up his hand like he's judging someone's height. "You've got to be this much of a twat to join." He grins, passing them as he goes to get ready.

Soap wants to say more but Ghost's hand on his neck demands his attention, tilting his head up. His breath catches in his throat as Ghost bends down until their foreheads bonk together softly, the cool metal of the mask tickling Soap's skin. "Don't go doing anything dumb pup, olright?"

Dark eyes meet his own, a shiver runs down Soap's spine, his mouth dry as a desert when he tries to swallow the rock in his throat; Soap can't even begin to define the strange thing that was born between them on that one night in Las Almas, he can still remember the way Ghost's deep voice had kept him sane and his wolf's demands to blindly rush the enemy and get back to his pack quiet.

Johnny certainly can't define the late nights spent sharing that dog piss Simon likes drinking, nor the rough touches and hickeys they leave on the other, though they never have time to get further than that.

This feels nice too.

His hands sneak to Ghost's hips, thumbs hooking under his belt loops to pull their bodies closer, pressing his chest against Ghost's. "When have I ever done that?" He smirks, lips ghosting over Simon's masked ones.

He feels Ghost's chest rumble as the man chuckles, his other hand roughly gripping Johnny's arse. "You want a list?"

Johnny's tail wags more, "Well, I reckon I'd be up fer-"

"Oi, I’d hate to break the snogfest but we’ve got things to do!" Kyle’s chuckle breaks them up before they can do anything else. Soap turns to flip the bird to the bird, but Kyle's tail feathers have already disappeared into the changing room.

. . .

 The night is calm.

Mellow waves break against the well worn concrete walls of the docks, tree leaves softly flutter in the mild breeze, crickets and frogs sing their songs into the night air. The world itself doesn't care about you or the soldiers guarding the docks. Absentmindedly you track the movements of the men Khaled gave you, the barely noticeable crumbs of magic you stuck on them flickering at the back of your mind like dwindling coals.

All are accounted for. The night is calm. There is nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet your nerves are on a razor's edge. The relative silence scratches down your spine with long crooked claws, the calmness crackles beneath your skin like electricity. Your fingers itch with the need to tap them against your thigh, to do something; waiting has always been your least refined quality regardless of how often you needed to use it. Your body, your magic, Hell — the very essence of what you are — craves the heat of battle, the sweet lull of adrenaline's song to put your nerves at ease.

You resist moving too much. Years of training make hiding the signs of unease and nervousness easy as breathing, your body so still you could be mistaken for a statue if your chest didn't steadily rise and fall.

Taim doesn't possess your abilities. You can feel his nervousness on your tongue, like licking an old battery. His hands shift to re-adjust the hold on his gun for the 6th time in the past 10 minutes. You doubt he knows you're watching him from the corner of your eye, so the tenseness of his shoulders must be from you just being near him.

It doesn't surprise you — many countries that have had Russian or Soviet influence consider mages more monstrous than actual monsters. Mages like you are perversions of God's template, thieves who possess power not intended for you. Urzikstan is no different.

You don't point out how Taim flinches when you raise your hand to look at the time, the watch face strapped to the inside of your wrist; some habits are hard to break.

The deal is supposed to happen at 3AM, and it's 02:57 already. "The seller's taking their sweet time." You say under your breath, lowering your hand. You have half the mind to call it off and tell Khaled to teach his suppliers punctuality. Hell, you've done it before when you had less surveillance on yourself and your employer. This just feels like tempting luck.

Taim looks at his own watch and glances your way. "I understand your frustration sir, but- but we just need to wait a bit more." He absentmindedly holds up three fingers to indicate the minutes left, starting the count from his thumb.

It wouldn't be so odd if middle eastern countries such as Urzikstan didn't start counting with the pinky finger. Americans count with the index. That just leaves the entirety of Europe. You hum a low sound at the back of your throat.

"They-" Taim quickly puts his hand down and grips his gun in both hands, apparently thinking you hadn't noticed his blunder. "They should be here any min- minuta." Another slipup; the hint of a different accent softens and shortens the last vowel of the Arabic word. It narrows down a couple countries, but nothing specific.

Taurus would have made you run around the base for days if you had ever made the same mistakes, provided you survived the consequences of getting caught.

What a fucking amateur.

But Khaled isn't paying you to get rid of vermin, so you let it slide. You catalogue this moment in case you'll need it later, concentrating on the present.

The radio inside your helmet sputters to life, a rough voice speaking quickly in Arabic. "Ship incoming."

Your gaze falls on the dark ocean, mana flowing to your eyes without even having to cast a spell. It's not the same as using a mana sensing spell, those leave your head feeling like you'd volunteered it to be used as a church bell in exchange for perfect clarity of the world around you. But your sight becomes significantly brighter and sharper, enough to see the ship sailing towards the docks. It's a medium sized fishing vessel, the lights inside turned off so as not to attract too much attention, but it meets the specifications Khaled had given you.

You reach up to activate the voice receiver of your radio, pressing the button hidden on the inside of your helmet just behind the gas mask portion. "Our seller's incoming. Get the truck, secure the perimeter and keep tight." You order into the radio, cutting it off again.

You motion for Taim to follow as you walk out from your cover. You had hidden yourselves between two warehouses, their roofs extending to the sides enough to hide you from the sight of drones.

You stop a few feet from the edge of the docks, listening to the truck back up behind you as the boat slowly sails up to the edge of the dock and drops it's anchor.

You don't recognize most of the men on the boat, except for one. "Ah, Ifrit, long time no see," Victor Zakhaev greets you in Russian as he steps off the boat first. You notice a new scar across his face, but otherwise he looks good considering last you've heard of him he'd gotten himself shot and left for dead by some monster taskforce. "I am not late, yes?" He asks in English, offering you his hand.

"Right on time." You say and take his hand in a firm handshake. You try to ignore the way the touch of another human, regardless of the fact you can't really feel his touch, makes your skin crawl.

"Good, good, from you, that is a compliment." He smirks and steps to your side, giving room for his men to unload the heavy weapon crates from the bowels of the ship onto the dock. "I assure you, you'll find the garden hoses and other peashooters are all accounted for." Zakhaev makes a motion with his hand, making his workers put a heavy box onto the ground beside you. "But I know you well, you want to check the goods, yes?"

Needles prick your skin and your mind kicks itself for becoming so predictable. But Zakhaev has known you since your stint with that warlord in Libya, it's only natural he would learn a few of your habits after so long. "You would be correct." You say, your voice betraying nothing.

Zakhaev just chuckles, his workers undoing the crate's top board with his company logo printed on top of it. Inside, nestled between a sea of white packing peanuts, lies one of many M134 miniguns Khaled has been keen on getting — people of your ilk call it the garden hose for the ridiculous amount of ammunition it can spit out in a minute.

Say what you want about the yankees, but their weapons are top notch. Having once been on the receiving end of that weapon, you know first had how useful it can be; both for tearing enemy combatants to shreds and for decimating their morale.

You look over the weapon, unable to find anything wrong with it. Zakhaev takes pride in the guns he sells, you've never had any problem with them. "Looks good." You nod your head at Khaled's men and stand up. "Load them up."

You reach into your pocket and pull out a flash drive. Khaled had paid half of the price up front, leaving you to deliver the second half. Inside the flash drive are wallets with thousands of dollars worth of crypto currency. This is a smart play on your employer's part; you don't need to lug around suspicious briefcases full of cash, and there's no wire transfer some nosy agent can trace back to Khaled.

"Rest of your payment." You say simply, handing the inconspicuous flash drive to Zakhaev.

"Thank you kindly." Zakhaev slips the drive into his pocket. You watch the men carry the heavy weapon crates and put them in the truck.

Zakhaev shuffles through his pockets and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, some Russian brand. He taps the bottom of the carton on the back of his hand, offering you the stick that partially sticks out of the box. "Care to join me?" He asks, taking it in stride when you don't react. With a shrug, he puts the cigarette between his teeth. "Help an old friend, yes?"

You don't particularly like being the personal lighter for anyone, but you acquiesce — powerful and resourceful men with fragile prides are better as friends than foes; The task is so simple you don't even need to form a magic circle, a single thought making the end of the cigarette smolder before vestigial flames spark up from nothing, catching on the tightly packed dried leaves and setting them alight.

"Impressive trick." Zakhaev compliments and breathes in the nicotine, unbothered when he receives your silence again. You expect the rest of the weapons exchange to pass quietly, you and him watching from the sidelines as the men load heavy crates into the back of a truck. Your presence here is only as a guard dog.

Zakhaev surprises you by speaking up again. "Ah, there was another thing I wanted to speak to you about."

Another crate is set by your feet. You tilt your head to look at Zakhaev before your gaze flickers to the worker who pries the top board open. Inside isn't a minigun or an automatic rifle Khaled had ordered, but a sniper rifle.

"What is this?" You ask, just about keeping yourself from tensing; This is unexpected, a surprise, and surprises can get you killed faster than playing patty cake with a landmine.

Zakhaev, as if sensing your unease, waves you off. "A gift, my friend." He says in Russian, the words easy to understand. "And a. . . taste, shall we say, of what I can offer you in the event you decide to seek other employment opportunities."

Ah. So that's what this is about — he's trying to bribe you.

Now that you think about it, it isn't too surprising. He knows what you're capable of, and mages of your abilities don't grow on trees. "Is that so?" You ask in Russian, playing along as you kneel down and pick up the gun.

Your fingers move with life of their own, gliding smoothly and confidently over the metal as if you'd been born with it. The barrel is straight as an arrow, the butt fits comfortably against your shoulder, the magazine locks into place with a soft 'click', the bolt moves back with buttery smoothness and gives you sight of the live round before it's loaded into place with a second satisfying sound. It tickles your brain, that violent thing in your chest stirs with interest.

"You like it, yes?" Zakhaev chuckles, the sharpness in his eyes momentarily lost as he observes you as one does a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. "It’s a .50BMG, semi-auto, 5 rounds every 1.6 seconds, 1,800mile range, 1,319 m/s velocity, and has a 5-round detachable box mag with a muzzle brake." He details, and you mentally whistle to yourself; guns like these cost a fortune. "It's a nice gun, no?"

It is a very nice gun.

Something at the back of your mind tingles; a smoldering coal is quenched, a string snaps and sends a single needle through your amygdala. Foreign mana, as subtle as a tank, traipses at the edge of your consciousness — a fly unknowingly vibrates the threads of a spider's nest.

It is a very nice gun.

And you just found a target to practice on.

. . .

"What is Zakhaev doing here? I thought we buried him in Verdansk?" Sergeant Garrick’s voice chatters quietly over the coms as Captain Roberts makes her way through the swamp, muddy water up to her knees and insects buzzing around her head. A few of her best mages trail behind her, the rest of her team mingled between the monsters on the other side of the docks.

"Turns out our matchstick's just a magnet for wankers." Sergeant MacTavish’s voice crackles. She doesn’t stop the scoff that comes to her lips. He just has a voice that’s easy to dislike, then again she never did like mutts.

"Our mission remains the same, get Zakhaev if you can but Ifrit’s a more dangerous target." Captain Roberts wants to argue with Price. Hell, she did for nearly an hour after the briefing was done just on the subject why everyone but him and the wraith had to wear gas masks. Captain Price is too paranoid in her opinion; after the terrorist attack there's no way their target's mana reserves aren't depleted to shit, Ifrit probably couldn't put up a fight tougher than wet tissue paper but nooo, Laswell just had to pick that lizard over her own kind.

"Took care of a straggler." The deep rumble of Lieutenant Ghost’s voice sends a nice shiver down her spine. He had broken off to go ahead, briefly giving her a nice look at his ass. At least there’s one sideshow in that freakshow of a taskforce that’s easy on the eyes. She bets he would look even better without that ugly mask, all those big muscles on display and quivering beneath her…

"Alfa team in position." Price speaks into the radio.

Roberts shakes her head, refocusing on the task as she kneels in the dark water. She's partially hidden behind a rotten tree stump, but the night is dark and there's enough critters and insects in the swamp to make sensing them with mana difficult. "Team Bravo in position." She says.

"Good, stand by, we only get one chance at this." That's probably the only thing she and Price agree on. Opportunities like this don't fall into their laps often, maybe she can even nab herself a promotion if she captures both Ifrit and Zakhaev.

Curiosity tugs on her mind as she watches the weapons deal go down. She doesn’t know what she expected but this isn’t it; The last time she had seen someone capable of similar destruction, it had been a teenager in the late stages of lichdom— mind eroded, body nothing but skin and bones, magic rotting the poor girl from the inside out until all that was left was an animal in human skin.

She expected something similar, maybe worse, not for Ifrit to look no different than every other criminal piece of shit she's seen.

Unable to hold back her curiosity she hunches her shoulders and takes off her gloves. Her mage marks are extensive and ugly; reach to the first knuckle of each finger, the dried coral like texture scratching her skin as she places one hand on her face to peer between her fingers, another resting over her chest.

Captain Roberts can at least feel proud for being so magically gifted she can shorten a 40 something word incantation to just 13 measly words: "Sister of steams, daughter of oceans, give me sight to see the hidden." She can feel her mana leisurely crawl through her veins as she murmurs the spell, like squeezing honey through a cheesecloth.

The world lights up in an array of colors like a broken kaleidoscope, shapes and outlines flickering in and out as the mana inside every living creature mixes and twirls with the dark backdrop of dead mana without rhyme or reason. The sight is something humans were never meant to see, and it stabs at her eyes for even daring to look, but she can stomach it long enough to catch sight of Ifrit's mana.

Captain Roberts is disappointed to see the mana surrounding you is nothing to write home about; orange mana cleanly outlines your entire frame, barely a couple of inches thick, not too bright and not even the barest flicker in the even surface to indicate mana suppression.

The disappointment morphs into relief as she deactivates her spell — at the very least she won't need to waste her time with this monster and terrorist nonsense longer than she has to. Shame, she had been looking for a challenge—

A violent shiver runs down her spine, her heart lurches and bashes against her ribs with the feral panic of a prey animal trying to escape, cold sweat breaks out across her skin and pain blooming in her arteries as mana rushes to her fingers—

A bullet strikes the rotten stump she's hiding behind.

Magic explodes on contact.

Violent flames race to devour those still living.

. . .

You count 5 seconds between the bullet hitting it's target, the magic you imbued it with exploding, and it all going to shit.

You throw a hand over Zakhaev's shoulder and force him to the ground as the first hail of bullets comes your way. You drop to your knee just in time to avoid receiving a lead injection, the concrete behind you exploding in small puffs of dust as the high caliber bullets hit the ground or bounce off Zakhaev's boat to tear through the meat shields that are Khaled's men. You try to take a few potshots, but your position is bad and you can't tell where the shots are coming from.

You catch large elongated sticks fall from the sky and clatter to the ground. You immediately screw your eyes shut, bending at the waist to put your face parallel with the ground and pressing your hands to your ears. You avoid the flash as the stun grenades go off, but the following bang! rattles inside your ears and makes you stumble as you straighten out.

But you know this is just a distraction: beneath the whizzing bullets and echoing shots you can feel the world groan, the air shivering with disgust as magic slowly gathers at the fingertips of enemy mages. They take every precious second given to them to build and strengthen their spells, the average cast time around a minute.

You need no such preparation.

The moment you feel their spells release, like a rubber band snapping against your skin, you summon your own magic. You have neither the time nor space to produce a proper counter spell when you haven't seen your enemies casting circles, so your offence becomes your best defense — glowing circles spark across the air to shoot out violent flames, burning heat and freezing cold colliding in the crisp night air. Your magic is far superior, turning the balls of ice and water into steam.

The boundless steam floods the area and rushes at you like a stampede of frantic beasts. You pull Zakhaev close to you, shielding his fragile body from the blistering mist as it washes over you, nothing but a mild inconvenience. Your stomach feels tight, as if mocking you for not listening to your body.

At least you can be certain this isn't just some group of Khaled's enemies or gangsters that stumbled on you. The fact they're using water and ice spells means this was preplanned, they have a specific target — you.

The thought makes something inside you stir. You feel your heart begin to beat a little faster, a little harder, a little louder, banging against your ribs in the slow start of a war march to rouse the slumbering beast in your veins. Enticing it with what it you craves.

You hear Zakhaev say something but his words fail to reach your ears, not that you'd be able to respond with how your tongue feels like it's made of lead. Your body always does this; jaw tensing to keep you quiet, muscles relaxing in preparation, the lingering vestiges of nervousness evaporating to clear your mind so you can focus. Something in that fucked up brain of yours makes you switch to the first language you ever learned — violence.

Your grip is ironclad as you throw Zakhaev over your shoulder like he's a sack of potatoes, summoning more spells for cover instead of listening to his cursing. Even more steam blankets the ground, joining alongside gunfire and magic to create a disorientating shroud you're very familiar with. You easily duck and weave through Khaled's men, catching glimpses of enemy bodies moving beyond the steam as you head to the truck, hoping to use it for momentary cover.

Throwing Zakhaev into the back of the truck with the weapon boxes you skirt to the front of the vehicle, the sharp bang! of your fist knocking against the metal door scaring the shit out of the driver. You meet the man's eyes through the darkened lenses of your helmet, giving a hand gesture for him to drive.

Hummingbirds peck at the back of your skull, giving you ample warning to jump out of the way even before a circle spreads beneath your feet. A shard of ice erupts from the ground where you'd just stood, thankfully avoiding the car and giving the driver further incentive to get the fuck out. Ants crawl down your spine in another warning, and you saw enough of the previous circle to disrupt the one that appears behind you, a few orange lines springing up in the neat blue circle to make it fizzle out and send the half built spell right back at the caster.

With the primary targets secured you can turn your full attention on the attackers, your gloves smoldering as hot mana rushes to your fingertips. You hear pebbles crunch under a boot while you summon your own magic circles, the return of that tight feeling in your stomach making you break concentration just enough to catch sight of one of Khaled's men in your periphery.

You notice the gun aimed at you a second too late.

Bang!

Pain flares through your shoulder, your body moving on its own as you throw yourself to the side to avoid another round. You don't need to think for your flames to burst beneath the feet of your attacker, using the distraction to retreat into the space between two warehouses, giving yourself better cover. Mana rushes to the hole in your shoulder, drops of molten metal leaking from your wound when you lean forward, your clothing greedily drinking up your mana saturated blood and sticking to your skin.

Your magic repairs your body as quickly as you're injured, pain rapidly fading away until only the dull sting of betrayal remains. Like a sacrificial lamb, it catches the deadly attention of the thing slumbering in your heart.

It wakes up angry and feral and oh so hungry.

Fangs of freezing heat tenderly grip your heart, ravenous nothingness once birthed by your desperation now begs and demands for your will to give it shape. How can you refuse?

Flames spark at your palms, burning away the thick material of your gloves to free your hands. A freezing chill gnaws on your burning fingers and harkens the arrival of something that slinks out of your heart like crude oil, bulging and molding itself to your veins as it crawls to your palms. Darkness consumes the orange glow of your magic, leaving behind little pitch black candlelight flames burning at your fingertips. 'Flames' is a bad word to describe them when they suck the light around them; it's like looking at black silhouettes in the approximation of fire, painted straight onto reality by a child's hand.

A magic circle spirals beneath you, glowing bright blue and stinking of enemy magic. You can just about hear the chanting of spells near you, more circles appearing on either side of you, trapping you.

"Beelzebub," You mutter under your breath, not out of need — you've long since mastered the art of wordless magic — but out of respect. "Devour."

2 measly words is all it takes for the black fires to shoot straight up like the fangs of a beast, leaping off your fingers in wide arcs and creating a quickly expanding perimeter around you, circling like sharks as they rush outwards. The meticulously crafted circles shatter like glass, hundreds of little shards of visible mana fluttering around you for a second before they're swallowed up by the black fires.

Beelzebub is a ravenous spell, lashing out at everything around you with the sole intent to consume, to devour every little bit of mana in an endlessly fruitless attempt to sate its hunger. Regardless, if said mana has already been made into a spell, of it's still inside a person.

You don't see it, but you know the exact moment Beelzebub finds the enemy mages, screams of horror and pain filling the air as black flames descend on them like bloodhounds. You can feel Beelzebub's freezing claws tear into them, leaving the flesh unharmed but tearing their mana out bit by bit, devouring it, syphoning the power back to you.

Once, long ago, the acrid rush of foreign mana through your system would have knocked you on your ass, now it just forces you to sway and lean against the warehouse wall. Long ago, the way stolen mana gnaws on your veins and claws at your chest for escape would have left you writhing on the floor, but now you can barely feel it. Your stomach cramps, the urge to vomit still as strong as it was back then, your senses registering all the rot; people don't think about how many forms rot can take — decaying kelp, festering flesh, acid rain, gangrene, moldy wall paper — hundreds of little deaths making up the very essence mages depend on.

Your body begs to use magic before you explode, muscles tensing, chest fluttering, ribs squeezing down on your lungs in an attempt to keep the stolen mana imprisoned. Sweet relief floods your mind as the searing heat of your own magic pushes the stolen mana through your veins, herding it into your palms where you can easily reshape it into something familiar to you: Ash.

Pushing off the wall you rush into the open, using Beelzebub's flames to burn the lines of the attack circle into the ground. The thinning steam lets you catch sight of enemies rounding the warehouses in front of you, likely human or monster since Beelzebub would have taken mages closest to you out of commission. You don't ponder this further, the second the final line is drawn you use Beelzebub as a transition point and push all the stolen mana out.

The docks erupt in a puff of disorientating ash. You don't waste time waiting for someone to fire the shot needed to ignite your magic, falling to your knee as you punch the ground. All it takes is for the chips of volcanic rock along your knuckles to scrape against the concrete for a spark to form.

The resulting explosion is never pleasant.

The sudden surge of light and the loud bang! leaves you disorientated for a few seconds, your skin dry yet clammy as if you has just got sprayed by a flash flood of boiling water. Tiny chisels pick at your bones as you stumble to your feet, trying to sculpt you into something holier than what you are.

But you can't complain when the same explosion tears through soldiers like they're paper, not even leaving behind blood to stain you when the harsh heat cremates the bodies closest to you. Your lungs struggle to get in a good breath, the stench of smog and burning meat passing through the filter and clinging to your tongue. You can hear your enemies coughing, you can feel them moving through the smog in search for you, but your ash is so thick it completely hides you, giving you a few seconds to think.

Thousands of thoughts roll around your skull, but one stands out — Khaled finally betrayed you.

Fire shoots out from beyond the ash at you. Your body moves instinctively as you throw your hand up to guard your head and turn away. The hot flames lick harmlessly over your skin, too similar to the heat inside you to harm you, so all it can do is burn your outer clothes until your shirt and bulletproof vest peek out beneath the large smoldering holes.

You get a second to catch sight of sharp curving horns and predatory blue eyes staring at you from the ash, the smog shifting around a rapidly approaching figure. Next thing you know something hard hits you right in the stomach, fast and unyielding like a truck.

Your skin and muscles ripple under the fist, you feel and hear your ribs crack! under the immense strength right before the punch flings you back like a ragdoll.

You crash into a warehouse wall, the metal denting in the shape of your back as more bones crack. Pain flares through your body, your tongue, caught between your teeth, bleeds peppery acrid blood into your mouth. You gasp for breath as much as you're able to, chest weakly fluttering like a butterfly's wing as you find yourself unable to take in a deep breath.

Then a sickening crack! rings right behind your eardrums as your magic pulls out the rib piercing your lung, pushing on it until it fully expands and you can breathe again. Heat slithers through your body to glue together broken bones and torn muscles, repairing you as if nothing ever happened. You're on your feet in seconds, the ripple in the ash giving you enough warning to lunge out of the way before another stream of flames can wash over you. You send your own in return, a magic circle forming in front of you before spewing out a beam of concentrated flame. The force behind it causes the lingering ash to disperse, giving you better sight of your opponent—

Dragon.

Of course your luck has to be so dogshit you'd get a fucking dragon sicked on you. What's next, a damn stone-skinned goliath? Maybe a leviathan to really fuck you over?

You bend your knees as you summon a magic circle beneath your feet. The ash erupts with such force it sends you careening through the air, launching you into the ash free air above you. You're close enough to a warehouse to grasp the jutting out metal sheet of the steel roof, your muscles tensing as you haul yourself up.

Quickly wiping away the ash stuck to your helmet lenses your eyes instinctively look up to search the sky, the bright spotlights of the docks making the night so much darker. If a dragon's after you then there's a high likelihood there are more monsters, and those rarely come without at least one flyer in their team.

The subtle, unnatural, flutter of distant stars across the dark sky gives you enough incentive to throw up a fiery shield, retreating further back onto the roof. Feathers sharp as knives burn to cinders in your flames, some stragglers imbedding themselves near your feet, easily slicing through the steel roof; Harpy.

You can't tell what kind it is, probably a common variety, but it doesn't really matter so long as you can clip the bird's wings.

Mana floods into your eyes as you use a mana sensing spell. The sky lights up like an aurora borealis, the ground below explodes in all sorts of nauseating colors that makes a headache pound against your skull. But it's worth it when the body of the harpy lights up like a lightbulb, contrasting sharply against the sky, it's wings making for the perfect target.

You know harpies are fast fliers. It forces you to give up some firepower in exchange for a homing ability. Changing a spell is an easy thing to do, mentally erasing and adding a couple of lines in your circle before you summon it. You disable your mana sight so you don't blind yourself and let your magic loose, firing off 4 tightly packed balls of fire in rapid order.

You don't stick around to see it try to dodge your magic, turning to your heel to race across the roof after you flood the earth bellow with even more ash. You need to escape; you could try to kill the monsters, you doubt they have anything worse than that dragon, but you have bigger problems — you can't let an enemy like Khaled live.

Something catches your leg like you're a rabbit in a snare, an unforgettable cold creeping up your skin to gnaw on your brain. Ethereal shadows curl like ropes around your ankle and pull you down before you can burn them away. You tumble to the steel roof and blindly summon flames around you, rolling to your side the moment you get yourself free and just barely managing to avoid your own shadow trying to skewer you.

You burn away the shadowy spikes sticking out from the ground, flames flaring up around you to momentarily distract your opponent as you get to your feet. Your eyes settle on the one that tripped you; big fucker, tall and wide, half wreathed in shadows, a skull mask peering at your from the darkness. Your spine feels like it wants to crawl out of your back, the silence of the grave ringing in your ears when you go to sense his magic and pick up nothing.

The same nothing that makes up Beelzebub. Furious. Hungry. Dead.

Wraith. You are facing a Wraith.

Not a goliath, not a leviathan. Worse. Much, much worse.

You have no shot at outrunning that thing when your own shadow can betray you, not to mention the wraith's range is far larger than yours in the dead of night. You have no choice but to charge at him, a circle forming beneath your heel and ash bursting out to launch you forward, your magic burning hot and bright to produce as much light as you can in an attempt to limit the shadows he can use.

Flames wreathe your fist as you throw a punch to his side, your sudden advance taking him off guard just enough for you to hit him, fire eating away at tactical gear to gnaw on the dead flesh. It forces a grunt out of him before shadows spew out from where you hit him to engulf your arm, leaving you open for a sharp knee to the gut. Your hands flare up, volcanic stone melting into active lava to burn away the shadows holding you. A pillar of flame erupts between you two to force him back, but whips of shadow shoot through the fire in quick retaliation. You duck and roll, adrenaline rushing through your veins like a feral hound as you charge at him again.

Shadows and flames are both volatile and taxing, making you two employ similar tactics: rush and overwhelm your opponent. You have to admit, the wraith is fucking good; he's not an oaf despite his size, using it to his advantage and giving you no reprieve from the constant jabs, trying to bully you into a position where you'd be open for his shadows to pierce your flesh.

But you're faster, ducking and weaving between his blows, mana pulsing through your blood and strengthening your muscles when they think of failing you down. You can almost hear Jackal shouting at you for being too slow.

Your flames are an extension of you, you trust them to clash with his shadows so you can focus purely on the Wraith. You can tell he's getting annoyed when you duck under another swing and jab your elbow into his ribs, the un-melted rocks covering your joint much more painful than actual bone. And that's before magic shoots out from your elbow, flames burning away both of your clothes and creating a sizable blistering wound on his side.

"Fucker," His shadows flare out to put out your flames, "Stay still." You catch a hind of a British accent in his rough voice, unable to get any more as liquid shadows roll of his shoulders and shoot out at you. You're forced to stumble back in an attempt to avoid the shadows trying to claw your face off, your heel ending right on the edge of the roof.

There's a small space between the edge you're standing on and the start of the roof of the warehouse adjacent to this one, the space big enough for you to fall through if you're not careful. The fall itself wouldn't be pleasant either. Your jaw clenches harder and you swing your arm down in an arch, summoning dozens of palm sized circles and shooting out bolts of concentrated flame through the shroud of darkness. Some of them hit him and force black smoke to fizzle out from the wounds you inflict on him, his shadows repairing the walking corpse the same way your magic does to you.

That's not good. While you could go hours, you'll run out of the mana you'll need to take out Khaled if you continue this attempt to put the wraith down. Beelzebub's cold flame simmers in your heart, begging to be set free. You'd rather not use it again when the closest mana source is a wraith — a dead thing full of unfiltered rot — god forbid it triggers the only spell you've sworn not to use, but you don't think you have many other options.

Just as Beelzebub readies to crawl from your heart something else grabs your foot, sharp claws digging into your skin and jerking you down. You buck forward and nearly fall face first, throwing your head to look at the thing that's caught you. A man has half hoisted himself up on the roof, clothes torn and barely hanging on to his frame, a gas mask obscuring his face, one clawed hand gripping the steel to keep himself up as the other has your leg in an iron grip that leaves your bones groaning.

You notice the man's elongated ears and gleaming blue eyes as those of a werewolf. Those blue eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you summon a magic circle point black with his head, the reflective orange glow of your magic swallowing up all the color his eyes.

Shadows shoot out into the space between his head and your circle, devouring the ball of flames you shoot out so the worst the wolf gets is a face full of smoke and singed hair. You turn your body back to face the wrath, throwing up both hands to summon different circles to take both out, but you're too slow. Whips of shadow shoot out and hit you dead center in the chest. The force sends you crashing back, the dumb wolf holding onto your leg pulled down with you.

You crash through the window of the other warehouse and straight down to the ground. The fall forces a loud wheeze from your lungs as large glass shards embed themselves into your back and shoulders where the bulletproof vest doesn't reach. Your ribs crackle like popcorn as magic heals them, but the pain from constantly getting them broken and repaired is starting to linger.

Dark brown fur flickers in the periphery of your vision, the sensation of a heavy body bearing down on your own snapping you back to action. You throw your arm up, the sharp fangs meant for your throat biting down on your forearm. You don't feel pain there, but a sick sense of satisfaction bubbles in your stomach as you get the first row view of your assailant registering the blistering head of your mage marks against the tender flesh of his mouth.

He yelps like a kicked dog as he releases your forearm. With a grunt you grip his shoulders, the patches of fur there smoldering the few brief seconds it takes you to gather enough strength to throw the heavy mutt off you. You stumble to your knees quickly, forced to dampen your healing abilities. The glass shards dig deeper into your muscles as you move, but the threat of them exploding from the heat of your magic prevents you from doing healing your wounds; the best you can do is dull the pain.

The warehouse is dark, but the mana in your eyes gives you a rudimentary night vision, letting you see the werewolf scramble to his own feet, spitting saliva and curses at you, "Aw ye fockin' bawbag! I-"

The rest of his words fail to reach your brain as you register the ignited remains of your ash blanketing the ground, making it impossible to see your feet bellow your knees. The scent of melting steel and smoke invades your nose, your mind taking this as the most opportune time to replace the metal ceiling high above you with hundreds of feet of rubble. Your chest tightens, the wide walls of the warehouse closing in until you feel like there's no space to move.

You're trapped. Again.

Your eyes flicker around in search for an escape, flames sparking from your fingers to burn all the way up to your shoulders, your mage marks burning hot and bright in the darkness. There! — at the very back of the warehouse you spy a motorcycle, your way out. Only a werewolf stands between it and you. It's true what Taurus used to tell you: freedom is a rope and God wants you to hang from it.

Steeling yourself, your hands reach out to grasp the knives you keep strapped to your shins, a subtle shift of the handles in your palms letting your magic flow freely into the steel.

Let him try to stop you.

. . .

Soap 's hackles raise, his fur feeling like it wants to leap off his tail. Such a deep and strong stench of rot permeates his senses his mind thinks he's the one decaying for a second. His eyes focuse on you as flames coat the knives in your hands and artificially extend the blades to give you better reach. Laswell's voice replays in his mind, telling him not to get close. Hell, he swears he can he can hear his ma's voice call him a bloody idjit for thinking of rushing at the fucking demon.

But his body still shifts further, bones snapping and reforming, muscles growing and the tattered remains of his shirt snapping off his torso as his body doubles in size. He can see his glowing eyes reflect in the tinted lenses of your mask before he rushes at you, body low to the ground before he leaps, claws bared.

You sidestep at the last second and raise your arm, the artificial blade of flames licking a blistering cut across his side. Pain shoots up his spine, his blood literally boiling as the fire both cuts him and cautarizes the wound.

"Focker-" He yelps and drops to all fours to dodge a second slash, leaping up and swinging his arm in an uppercut. His claws cut into the Kevlar as they scrape against the bulletproof vest instead of your skin, snagging on something around your neck and pulling it with him as you lean down and duck back to create distance.

Johnny doesn't get to check what it is when you immediately retaliate by throwing your knife at him. He quickly pockets what he got off you and tries to avoid the weapon but it still hits him in the shoulder, hot flames burning at his skin to let the metal slide in deeper. "Bastard-" He snarls but before he can do anything you're next to him, ripping the knife from his shoulder as you duck past him to slash at the back of his knee.

Soap yelps from the pain as he tumbles forward, turning his body as he falls to roughly swipe at you with his superior reach. The force behind his swing makes you stumble, giving his body the few seconds it needs to regenerate. He rolls to all fours, muscles tensing to lunge again— a sense of wrongness shoots down his spine, forcing him to pause.

A pillar of flames erupts from the ground where he would have been had he lunged at you, the bright light blinding him. When he can see again, he catches your form on top of one of the shipping containers, magical circles appearing as you run across the container to pelt him with balls of concentrated ash. The balls explode in large puffballs of ash as they hit the ground, his mind urging him to move to avoid getting a face full of ash. "Aw no yer fockin' not." He mutters under his breath, taking a few quick and wide steps before he leaps onto the shipping container to escape the suffocating smog, racing after you on all fours.

This proves to be a mistake as you suddenly turn around, thrusting your hand out to cast a giant circle right in front of his eyes. Claws digging into the metal Soap throws himself to his side just as a beam of flames shoots out, singeing his furry tail and forcing a strangled gasp out of his lips as a bit of his thigh gets caught in the blast of fire.

He crashes to the concrete ground, the scent rot curling in his nose as the ash swirls over him, but can't reach his lungs thanks to the gas mask. Johnny's leg muscles twitch, his though skin blistered and red like a tomato, the tattered remains of his pants partially burned into his skin. He struggles to get to his knees, pain stabbing his skin as his body tries to heal, watching through blurry eyes as you reach your target — the motorcycle.

The engine revs to life and you get on it without wasting a second. A violent sensation rushes down his spine as you summon another circle, this one so big it stretches across the entire back wall of the warehouse. In a second the metal heats up to the point it's glowing, solid steel turning into molten slag and dropping to the ground like melting snow. Soap's mind stutters when you flip him off before racing away, shouting and gunfire audible but quickly growing quiet as you get away.

Fucking Bastard.

"So- Soap! H-ghr!- ow co-kghr-ppy?" Price's voice crackles through the radio, barely understandable thanks to how much magic is floating around him.

He groans, sucking in a sharp breath. "Still alive." He grinds out. Rapidly approaching footsteps make him stumble to stand, a threatening growl erupting from his throat.

"Just me." Ghost's voice makes him instantly calm down. His body presses against Johnny's and Soap lets himself put his weight on Ghost. "You broken?" Ghost asks, slipping Johnny's arm over his shoulder and gripping his waist, easily holding him up despite Johnny being nearly twice his size currently.

Johnny tries to breathe in deep with the gas mask restricting his lungs, "Just me pride." He glances down to his leg, the wound glistening with clear fluid and still blistered, his healing factor not even making a dent in it. "Fucker got me good." His ears twitch,

"We'll track 'em down." Ghost grunts as he helps Soap limp out of the ash filled warehouse, safe from the magic as he doesn't need to breathe. "I stuck a tracker, they're not getting far."

"Fockin' hope so, ah got a score to settle an' the bawbag flipped me off for fuck—" A thought comes to him. The tattered remains of his pants have pockets high up so he doesn't tear them when he transforms. He reaches into the pocket and pulls the thing he'd accidentally nicked off you. Johnny lifts it up so both of them can see the chain hanging off his fingers, a little more than a dozen dog tags dangling from it.

Even with the gas mask obscuring part of his face, Ghost knows Johnny's smirking. "Bet you Laswell will love this."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt @lilpothoscuttings @krystiannng @crankyweasel @ashy-kit @fyolaizs @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @aldis-nuts @whoislucas @birdiiiiiiiiiii

Masterlist; Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2(you are here) -> Chapter 3

[animelovelover123]

DMC Boys - Devil Trigger Sex

DMC Boys  - Devil Trigger Sex

Parings: Dante (All Main Line Game Versions), Reboot Dante, Vergil (All Main Line Game Versions), Reboot Vergil, Nero (DMC4 & 5 Versions), V, Sparda, Credo, Nelo Angelo x Reader

Synopsis: Monster fucking. Need I say more?

Seriously though, this is a sexy little thought experiment that I had and am doing for fun. What would it be like to have sex with the DMC boys while they are in Devil Trigger? Some notes: 1. Some characters will have multiple entries since Devil Trigger designs change every game and sometimes multiple in the same game (except for Sparda who is always the same). 2. Some characters don’t have a basic ‘body turns into demon’ Devil Trigger so I take the equivalent and work with that.

Disclaimer: Don’t actually fuck a demon, it will probably hurt, lol. But if you're into that then I ain’t gonna stop you from gettin’ that sinner tail. ¬‿¬

Trigger Warnings: aggressive lovemaking, claiming, blood, interspecies sex

DMC1 Dante

Something to note is that at this point Dante is not using his own Devil Trigger, he is harnessing the power and appearance of the demon spirits in his weapons. This results in some interesting qualities.

When Dante DTs he does not need to stay in the demon form and can freely switch back to a human body while still having the improved speed, strength, and elemental power. This means that if taking his demon body gets a bit hard for you partway through, he can switch to his human body to give you a break without pausing the lovemaking.

A negative, however, is that because he is getting his power from the demon spirits in his weapons, he has to be at least touching his weapons to DT for you. Having a big sword strapped to his back makes positioning hard. Wearing Ifrit, though it is less of a gauntlet and more like gloves with large dragon-shaped safeguards surrounding it, makes it hard for him to touch and grab things.

Although, if you are down to do some foreplay with the weapons, whether it be a thrill of perceived danger or some provocative allusion, then their presence might just be a positive.

Another thing to keep in mind is the elemental effects his DTs have. Alastor is lightning and Ifrit is fire. And this is real lightning and fire coming off him. Dante can minimize the elemental effects and focus the power away from you. However, expect to receive little zaps and licks of fire at random when Dante’s focus falters.

As for his body while in DT, he has two forms.

The Alastor DT has wings, but they are thick and small, really only meant to fly himself, so no blanketing or flying with you.

He doesn’t have any claws, just rounded fingers, so no accidental or purposeful scratching.

He has shoulder horns that point forward so if he is getting closer you have to be right in front of him, though they are good for holding onto to brace yourself. Or, if you are on top you can lean down or lay on top of him and slot yourself between them or under them, helping to lock you in place.

His eyes are covered in a helmet-like protection so no gazing into his eyes, though it does give a layer of mystique. His mouth is still free for kisses thankfully.

His hair is gone, now replaced with hedgehog-like spikes that are surprisingly soft, flexible, and pleasant to touch for both of you if you go with the grain. Slotting your fingers through them is hard, especially the closer you get to the base, but because of how solidly and directly connected they are to his head, when you grab them he really feels it and pulling them is more of an order than a suggestion for him to move his head.

The Ifrit DT has no wings and doesn’t move as fast, but he is beefier and more powerful. Pinning you to the wall with his arms hooked under your legs just got a lot easier.

He has curved spikes on his heels which may not seem like they have utility outside of more painful kicks, but when you are ridding him while he lays on the air or over most anything regardless of shape because he has hooked his feet into the ground, then you will realize the possibilities of them.

His thighs are thicker and the inside of his legs are smooth so wrapping his legs around you is just as good, if not better, than usual. Though he now has curved spikes around his waist so you doing the same to him won’t work anymore.

He has curved, ram-like horns on his head which make great handlebars, especially when he is working his mouth on you.

The hedgehog spikes on his head are shorter, harder to grab, and he now has them protruding from his wrist to cover the top of his hands. So, even without claws, you will probably still get poked and scratched. These spikes are just as sensitive so doing things like sliding your hand, palm down, along the back of his hand gives him the most delightful of shivers up his arms and down his back.

So this is the first part I wrote so it will probably be a bit weird as I try to figure out what I want to do for these. Anyway, DMC1 Dante is the first to have multiple DT designs in one game. This one only has two (he technically has one more but it is just Sparda so you will see my thoughts when you get to Sparda), so it isn't too bad. I fear 3 though.

A big issue I had with DMC1 DTs is that there are not that many good, high-quality images and videos of the DT so it is a bit hard to make out the details. And some details aren’t shared between the one official image of each DT and the in-game model. For example, you can’t see the hedgehog spikes around Ifrit’s DT hands in the official art, but you can see it in-game. And in these games, since you only turn into a demon when attacking or flying, you can’t just look at him from all angles while he stands still. SO annoying. I tried though.

Nelo Angelo (Spoilers for DMC1)

To start, you need to understand how large this man is. We are talking around 8 feet tall and 3 feet wide. He will tower over you in every circumstance. Things like being able to wrap your arms around his neck or kiss him will have to happen upon request, especially if he is standing or you are already impaled on him.

It also means that the stretching you will have to go through will be rough. With just a single finger of his being equivalent to the average size, you are in for some serious training if you don’t want to feel the burn. ‘If’ being the operative word.

Stomach bulge inbound.

His strength is also impressive, able to lift even large men like Dante up by the neck singlehandedly, and he will do the same to you if you want it.

What YOU want is the focus as, with how warped his mind is to be subservient, his agency is low and his will to follow your requests and orders is high.

He is covered in thick armour that he cannot fully remove as it is magically fused to his body, but he can remove and shift some choice pieces. For example, he can remove his helmet, revealing his human head, though it is larger than most just like the rest of his body.

Nelo Angelo’s face under the helmet may be that of a human man, but it was cold, stoic, and pale, like a statue. Yet it reacts when you manipulate it, whether through pulling his hair, opening his mouth, or kissing him. He moves with you, molding himself to receive your affection and mirror it, hinting at the heart still hidden away inside of him.

His armour is thick and cold but can become warm over time thanks to your body heat. It also has strips of pulsating, glowing colour which change depending on his status. These strips also create a ‘V’ over his crotch which almost gives an underwear illusion and also offers quick and easy visual feedback when your mouth is on him. So, despite his physical reaction being minimal, the deepening of the coloured strips will be the best tell to know how good he is feeling, along with his wordless noises.

Nelo Angelo cannot speak, that right has been taken from him by his master, but his groans of exertion and pleasure are loud and clear.

Nelo Angelo’s armour is surprisingly smooth, lacking in sharp claws or spikes. Even the horns on his helmet are curved downward so the chances of getting sudden jabs in low. The only points you have to watch out for are his knee guards which are tall and sharp. Although they can be used as spots to place your feet to get a bit of height or as something you can push against to force yourself back into him harder.

Is Nelo Angelo a Devil Trigger? Yes and no. It is technically Vergil’s natural state while under Mundus’ control. However, in DMC3, if Vergil is wearing the ‘Corrupted Vergil’ costume, Nelo Angelo is his Devil Trigger form. Is the appearance in DMC3 cannon? No. Did I do this just because there is something hot about the idea of being with someone/something 2-3 feet bigger than me? Yes.

DMC2 Dante

Dante has the Amulet, a magical item that, when you place devil hearts into it, gives his Devil Trigger different attributes and abilities, meaning you can customize and tailor your sexual experience.

You want him to move fast? Slam into you with more power? Fly? Slow down time? He can do that.

You want some temperature play with fire or ice? Or receive some little shocks? Your desire is his command.

Though he can only have so many demon hearts active at once so if you wanna switch there will be a few-second pause to change his loadout.

Dante here has two DT’s, his base Devil Trigger and his desperation Majin/Sin Devil Trigger.

In his base DT, his face is still mostly human. His skin is rougher and he has some veins that distend, but he has eyes to gaze into, a nose to rub against yours, and lips to kiss.

His wings are longer, though the height and thickness are the same so they can’t offer you the blanket effect but they can wrap around you and hold you close.

He has hair for you to play with! It is not as silky smooth as him in his human form and a bit more solid than normal hair but nowhere near horn level. So, you can run your hands through it, twirl it, and grab it all you want.

He has claws so prepare for some scratches.

He also can produce gun barrels from his hands so if you are into the illusion of danger or force in your play, he has that going for you.

He also has flaps of leather armour that will drape over you like the tails of his leather coat.

Being able to make love while Dante is in his Majin DT is a rarity since he has to be greatly physically weakened. The only times you can get this form is if he is extremely sick and you convince him to do it or when he just finished a battle. While still buzzing with adrenaline and an animalistic/demonic frame of mind he may just jump you of his own volition to let out his energy and claim you as his and him as yours.

Dante grows over a foot when going into Majin DT so he will tower over you more than usual. And with his wider frame and four wings, be prepared to be fully encompassed by him, trapped in a cocoon of heat and passion.

His edges are sharper and his skin is a lot harder. He is also less human-shaped. For example, instead of his waist, hips, and legs all flowing into each other, his hip consists of a thick plate to which half of the top of his legs attach and his torso thins to a V shape that attaches to the plate, leaving a flat surface to his hips that you could place a cup on. It is unnatural and might take some time to get used to. And if you were to wrap your legs around his hips, placing them into the crevices between his torso and hip plate, they with be squeezed and firmly held in place.

He has horns on top of his head, a bit short but still enough to grasp, and horns that start on the side of his head and curve to the front. This means that if you try to deny him kisses by turning your head, you will get poked in the cheek for your trouble.

He has growths under his forearms that are sharp and produce laser blades. They get in the way sometimes when he tries to hold you, but again, if you are into the illusion of danger he can always hold a blade up to your body to get your heart pumping faster.

His face is no longer human. Majin DT is a true demon so when you look into his eyes you will see piercing red lights and when you kiss him you will feel rough, textured lips.

I’m surprised by how many better-quality images of DMC2’s Devil Triggers I found. I assumed, after looking at the DMC1 options, that DMC2 would be the hardest since it is generally the least liked in the series. It also helped that in this game you stay in the demon form so I could see pics/videos of them just standing, turning, and walking.

DMC2 Dante had an interesting dichotomy in that one Devil Trigger is the most human-looking of original cannon DTs (especially in the face) while his other DT is one of the least human-like DTs. It honestly a cool design choice (assuming they did it on purpose) to have Dante’s normal DT be human-like but when he gets desperate he loses his humanity and becomes more demonic.

DMC3 Dante

Though Dante’s Devil Trigger appearance does change depending on the weapon he is wielding, his power is not dependent on them so he can trigger without touching a weapon. So no awkward strapping of weapons to the body to have some fun in demon mode, though the variations may be some trouble.

All of his DTs create a glowing aura with a rippling, sparking energy so there is no way for you to shyly veil your body in the darkness. He will always be able to see your beautiful body, just how he likes it.

All forms have some sort of cranial tusk-like crest. The basic/Rebellion DT has the crest curled open so going in for kisses is possible. On the other end of the spectrum, Nevan DT’s face is almost completely covered by the crests like a helmet, so you are locked out of face touches. However, in all other forms the head guards make it hard to hold his face and kiss him but it also protects you from being bit by his pointy teeth unless you purposely stick something in there like your fingers, toes, tongue, or…

The crest is also solid, so no hair to play with but some of them make good handlebars.

His arms and wings are covered in scales, and with his muscles underneath it gives a similar sensation to touching a snake.

His legs have a smoother texture so feel more slick to the touch when they wrap around you, though some of his DTs have spikes on the back so be careful.

His chest has a rib design and texture so running your hands over it and having it pressed against you gives a unique, uneven feeling.

His eyes are a sharp golden glow that don’t blink, and his lips are always twisted upward into a smile so, if you face each other, there is an odd mix of excited enthusiasm and an intense watching aura present.

Clawed hands again, though with all the sharp points with these DTs, surviving a night without being left with red marks everywhere is but a dream. Also, Beowulf's gauntlets will get in the way, though the greaves can grab things so that can be used for retrieval or interesting positions.

The Rebellion and Nevan have wings that can either fold down, giving the illusion of him wearing his red trench coat, or be open. However, unlike most winged creatures, his wings start at his lower back so instead of them blocking out the world around you as they wrap around your shoulders and head, these wings will wrap around your hips and pull you closer.

Cerberus DT also has wings, though they are more so just protrusions that don’t move, so all they do is get in the way if he tries to lay down or you want to take him from behind.

The combination of the cranial crests, coat illusion, and glove-like hands, it never feels quite like you are touching him directly. There is always a feeling of separation. Although, with how talkative and energetic Dante is, hopped up on a relatively new feeling of power and primal urges, this is compensated for.

This fucker. I was dreading this because of him. Every other character and every other Dante in this series has 1-2 DTs per game, EXCEPT DMC3 Dante. He has five. Fuckin’ FIVE! Like its honestly really cool that his design and abilities change depending on his weapon, but in this specific circumstance it makes things so much more tedious. I could have gone into separate descriptions for each like in the other characters with multiple DTs but there are just too many to do that. I already have 15 to do, I don’t want the extra work.

Also, something I noticed while staring at DMC3 Dante’s DT for so long, in my personal opinion, with no intention of offending anyone… he got a goofy face.

He looks like he is constantly on the brink of doing an evil little gremlin laugh.

DMC3&4 Vergil

Vergil has a base Devil Trigger and then an altered one for the brief time he wielded Beowulf.

His layers of scales, plates, and leathery skin give the illusion of clothing, even more so than Dante’s. Vergil’s layers fold and bend over each other to not only mimic his coat and vest under it but also cufflinks and a high collar. A collar so high that it goes halfway up his cheeks. They flow and bend though so sliding your hands under them is very much possible.

The sheath for his Yamato, or whatever sword he is wielding at the moment, is part of his left arm. And this isn’t simply the metal/wooden sheath fused to him, no. This sheath is made of his own leathery skin and scales. Even if he takes the weapon out of it, it is hard, long, warm, and frankly gets in the way when lovemaking. Although he does have nerves in it, so it is possibly another shaft and hole to stimulate.

Vergil has a cranial crest that sits on the top of his head, meaning it is up and out of the way. Although the shape is not really suited for grabbing, it can be used as a panel to turn his head away or towards you.

In his Beowulf DT, his coat, or the illusion of his coat, is shortened into a crop top length and instead, he has wings that are sadly too thin to actually fly with or even drape over you in a blanketing effect. However, they are flexible and flowing so you can use them a bit like leashes to either yank him away or pull him closer, though more from the core of his body than his neck. That is, if you catch him off guard as his strength is superior and he does not like being at anyone’s mercy.

His crest has sharpened making them more dangerous but better to grab while still having the panel effect to twist his head.

His chest scales have also hardened and become more defined in comparison to his basic DT, giving a rib effect. They don’t distend much but when you press your hand against his chest, or it is pressed up against yours then it becomes more apparent.

He has thick gauntlets now so more delicate caresses are harder but grabbing you is just as easy, if not easier as it is harder for you to escape his hold when you can’t claw at his hands.

In this form Vergil creates a distorting, sparking aura that obscures your view of him and can give you sharp little zaps if you aren’t careful. Although Vergil has had a lot more training in this form and so can control this aura better, giving you both a clearer view of each other. However, it also means that Vergil can consciously give you little shocks when you, in his view, misbehave and don’t listen.

Vergil technically has three DTs in DMC3 but one of them is just Nelo Angelo who has how own section.

As for combining DMC3 and DMC4 Vergil, I don’t know what you want me to do. It’s the same. It’s literally the same. At least between DMC4 and DMC5, Dante’s DT had some differences to point out and there was a whole new DT to talk about. But there is nothing for DMC4. I couldn’t even really explore how differently Vergil can control his DT since it is implied that DMC3 and Vergil’s appearance in Fortuna happened at roughly the same time. So I am sorry for the cop-out but this is what I got.

DMC4 Nero

Nero can’t really control his demonic powers yet, which can be seen in a few ways.

First off, instead of shifting his body the energy manifests as blue phantom flames and glowing red eyes, giving him a feral or rabid look, and a demonic blue astral figure manifests and infects his mind.

This figure is large, demonic, and comes out when he asserts energy. So when he is thrusting into you or does something like grab your hair suddenly, the figure may just appear. If you are an exhibitionist this may be great for you. If you get uncomfortable being watched then Nero will have to do some training before he can take you like this.

It also does not simply hover behind or above Nero. It can also encompass his torso, so in the middle of an intimate moment you may just open your eyes to find that the face above you is different than before.

It does not speak to you, but Nero can hear it and it is determined to gain more power. And one of many ways to gain and assert power is for Nero to dominate you during sex. So, with Nero being more aggressive in DT, be ready for some rougher treatment. He loves you and would never intentionally harm you, but you may have to point out when your legs are about to give out or that the bites he is leaving all over you are bleeding a bit.

Another thing to keep in mind is that Nero does not have full control over when he goes into his DT. If he is high on adrenalin, from joy or anger, or you tease him just a bit too much, he will most likely trigger and pin you to whatever surface is nearby.

It doesn’t matter if you are alone at home, out in the forest, or on some side street, you may just find yourself with your face pressed against a cold surface with his human hand holding your hair while his Devil Bringer is already ripping your clothes to ribbons and his distorted voice growling in your ear about how badly he needs to fill you up and mark you as his.

Another non-traditional DT, wooo~…

The whole part about the astral figure having its own thoughts to some extent may be totally wrong, but I got the impression that the voice that Nero hears demanding “give me more power” is it. My headcannon is that it is his more animalistic demonic nature that has been repressed manifesting as a separate entity as Nero can’t handle it until DMC5. Then again, in one of the pachinko games (weird topic I know) the figure takes on the form of Vergil and seems to teach Nero a move so IDK what the fuck is going on with it.

Credo

Though he would deny it being a ‘Devil’ Trigger, Credo does obtain the ability to harness supernatural power to change his form into something no longer human.

This transformation is a lot softer than others, consisting of smoother lines, rounded points, and lots of feathers.

He has soft white feathers along most of his body, giving you something to really sink your hands and face into. There are exceptionally thick plumes around his thighs, so when you sit on his lap its like sitting on a soft feather comforter.

His tail is also covered with feathers, though has a bare underside showing off the muscles in it. It is more like a cat tail than anything, not having the conscious ability to grab things but unconsciously draping over you when pleased.

Thankfully it doesn’t whip around when excited, so when you take him from behind it will either wrap around your waist or drape over your shoulder.

The feathers of his singular wing are separated into three sections, offering three tactile pleasures to experience. A soft upper part, a muscular lower part, and slick blade-shaped feathers with smooth edges.

Though the feathers do not cover the crotch, they line either side so no sensory slapping sounds of skin hitting skin, but also no painful jabs of hipbones so there are pros and cons.

Speaking of the crotch, he has a chastity belt-looking protective plating that opened up like a little double door.

The plume on his head can get in the way a bit when you go in for kisses, but there is no structure to it so you can just push it aside.

There is, sadly, a rather big elephant in the room that will impede your loving making, at least until you figure out how to work with it or around it. In this form, one of Credo’s arms is attached to a large shield. It is 2/3s his body height, solid as steel, and a constant. His other arm does end in a hand with rounded fingers that can hold and caress you. His other though, will be in the way. Though it does offer good cover if either of you want to sneak in a tantalizing touch in public (not that Credo would ever condone such a thing but he hasn’t pushed you away either) and it offers a surprisingly comforting and secure nesting spot for when you are settling down after. And with how he can fly, even with only one wing, it can be like a little basket to carry you around in.

Atop his head are two sets of horns, one that creates an incomplete loop which makes a great handle and another set that points backwards quite a ways and has a layer of feathers on top. The latter set is long enough that even if you are average human height, compared to Credo who is 6’4”ish and grows a few inches when transforming, you can easily grab one and use it to yank his head up and back while you slam into him from behind.

Another oddity not often seen is how the claws on his toes and heels stick straight up. It may take some ingenuity to use them but there is potential there, especially those who have a particular liking to feet.

Unfortunately, the human-looking face he has is a façade, nothing but a solid mask. Like a sculpture of the gods, it is hard and unmoving. The golden hairs making up his beard are like strands of golden thread, his red eyes do not blink, and his lips stay curved in the slightest of a closed-mouth smile, even when he speaks. It truly gives the feeling of an angle taking on a more conceivable form for you so it may bestow upon you a gift. Though the ‘gift’ in this case is rather sinful.

This is one of those things that is not actually labelled as a Devil Trigger but could be argued as one.

One thing that people may not agree with me on is the idea that Credo’s shield in DT is part of his body and I admit, it is kind of unclear. I argue it is because we never see him not with it (unlike his sword and spear which he can throw and drop) and his in-game module does not have a left hand, his arm just melds into the back of the shield (see pic if it works).

After the fight, Nero gets an item (as he does after every boss fight) that is stated to be Credo’s shield. However, the Aegis Shield (what the item is officially called) does not look like Credo’s shield and when we see Credo later, he still has his shield. And, unlike how in other post-boss battle cutscenes we see Nero holding the ripped off item and it disappears as he absorbs it’s power, Nero grabs Credo’s shield, absorbs power, then throws the shield and Credo aside rather than ripping it off.

DMC4 Dante

Dante has two Devil Triggers, though one can’t be held for more than a minute so it is more for brief moments of passion or something to spice up the already spicy moment.

Dante’s DT here gives the illusion of a more human appearance.

The colouring and positioning of his scales and plates mimicking his red trench coat, gloves, chaps, and boots. He has lips and a nose, and there are white layers on his head and chin that look like his hair at a glance. However, the heat radiating off of him and the reptilian-like textures always remind you of the demonic nature of the thing currently spreading your legs.

His eyes are also a dead giveaway as there is nothing human about them.

The glowing spot on his chest that looks like a hole with cracks spreading out from it is a sensitive spot for him. Run your fingers along it, kiss it, or lick it and you can feel the vibration of his pleased growls and purrs.

He has more faux coattails this time, 4 to be exact, they are a lot more flexible and flowing than those before so moving them to take him from behind is easy.

Though he does get a bit faster, Dante’s DT offers much more strength this time around so be prepared to not walk the next day.

In this DT you don’t just have to watch out for his clawed hands, but also around his chin so the usual playful scratchy sensation of his stubble is now hard, and potentially painful, spikes.

He has spikes that start on his chest and go up past his shoulders. These are okay handlebars, though only work for leading his torso rather than his head. They can also get in the way when trying to go down on you or face sitting, but if you guys take the time to slot your legs between his face and the spikes, then no matter how much you squirm and jerk, you can’t escape his ravenous tongue.

His foot claws are longer now, unlocking the potential of Dante hanging upside-down down for some spider-man kisses or standing 69ing.

Also, first of Dante’s DTs to have a bulge so that means there is something to grind on for a bit for foreplay. And who knows, maybe the sudden appearance of a bulge means he has more packing down there this time.

Dante’s Dreadnaught DT does not last that long, a minute or two max, and he has to build up power and anger to even trigger it.

When he does pull it off though, there is an intense darkness about him in this form. Not just visually as his whole body is veiled in a deep black shadow-like fog with only the ripples of power along his spikes and helmet-like guard offering colour and light. But there is also a foreboding darkness with how his movement is slowed.

When he approaches you, he doesn’t run, he walks as his power is weighing him down. Yet his steps are silent, as if he isn’t touching the ground. When he touches you, it is cold and has an airy feeling, like little puffs of smoke are brushing against your skin. He is invulnerable in this state so he never truly feels anything like this. He can’t feel your touch or your warmth. He has to focus to register your attempt to push and pull him. He can’t even clearly see you, at least not in detail.

This all creates a feeling of separation, detachment you could say. Yet it also has a mystique and dread, as if an omnipotent supernatural being had chosen you to pursue.

I have honestly never heard of Dreadnaught DT before doing research for this. It isn't even listed on the DMC Fandom Wiki Devil Trigger page! I only found out about it because I was watching { DANTE }‘s videos of showing off Dante’s DTs to see their in-game models and movement and it is featured there. There isn't that much info on it online aside from people talking about its lack of use and the fandom wiki has a single tiny paragraph about it on the Royal Guard page.

Reboot Dante

For Dante to go into Devil Trigger he has to have his mother's amulet and be in Limbo, or the worlds have to be merged by now, so there is a dissociative aspect to making love here and like this. The world isn’t quite right here, and neither is Dante when he is triggered.

When he triggers, every living being except for himself is lifted into the air as if gravity had been turned off. You become floaty and dazed, your mind and body slowing down until Dante grabs you and pulls you back to land. The fog in your brain never fully disappears but things become clearer as his mouth aggressively kisses and bites at any open skin he can get to and his hands start clawing at your clothes.

If you touch the ground and focus you can find gravity again. But if Dante keeps you elevated and keeps your mind scrambled with pleasure then you are left in anti-gravity, at the mercy of Dante who can easily flip you around and lift you. It also means that his grip on you is all the stronger as he is responsible for holding you in place.

The colours of the already distorted world distort further, draining into white and black and all the shades in between. Even his dark hair bleaches into white during this time. The only splashes of colour are on Dante himself through his clothes and eyes, making it so you always look at him.

Though his body remains human, his eyes turn from pale blue, to the point they could be called grey, to a striking black and red, which match his more aggressive, demonic nature in this form.

When Devil Triggered, Dante is tapping into his demonic half and the longer he stays in it the more humanity escapes him. If your foreplay takes too long or by the time you reach your peak he may be too far gone to hear or care about your need for a break.

Thankfully Kat has created a spray that can knock Dante out of his DT if you need it.

But if you choose not to use it and let Dante’s DT run its course, Dante’s sense of concern for your exhaustion and boundries slip away as he loses himself to demonic urges of claiming and, if he has even the slightest interest in starting a family while in the right mind, breeding you.

It doesn’t matter if you’re in tears, if you’re twitching from overstimulation, or if you have gone limp in exhaustion, Dante needs to do this. To fill you, to mark you, to get rid of this burning sensation in his body and quench his hunger.

Advance warning (or post warning depending on if I reorganize these); any person without an actual demon form will usually have shorter parts since the majority of the other parts are about explaining how touching them would work when their body is so different. Without a different body shape, I am left to focus on something unique about the DT. In this case, I focused on how blinded Dante gets when in DT. In the game, we see how he is so blinded by betrayal and pain that he almost kills Vergil. So I tried to translate that tunnel vision of intense reaction to emotions into sexual desire. I think it came across well, though I feel that this might just inch into possible non-con with how aggressive and primal they become. I know some people aren't into that so I want to write it in a way that gives you an out if you want while leaving the possibility open if you are into that.

Reboot Vergil

Vergil has been training with his demonic power for a long time and chooses to focus the power outside of himself, so he is not as animalistic when DTing as others.

Even visually he can choose not to change, but if you want the pale skin, glowing eyes, and veiny look he can certainly do that for you.

The only visual change that he might let slip when in the heat of the moment are the flecks of demonic energy that hover around him and fly off in wild directions with more intense movement.

His DT consists of him creating a doppelganger that can work in tandem with him or act on its own. Meaning you have two Vergil’s to work with.

Two voices telling you how good you look and feel, and how he couldn’t focus on work when all he could think about was you.

Two sets of lips and teeth to kiss and mark every part of your body.

Two sets of hands sliding your clothes off and leading you into position.

Two tongues lapping at you and preparing you.

And two dicks searching to slide into you and be wrapped in your warmth.

The doppelganger does pose some differences though. The most obvious being that visually he is not consistently there, like a body you can get glimpses of through a thick mist.

He can also change colour if that does anything for you.

The doppelganger can also choose when it is corporeal and incorporeal, so even if you have clothes on or are wrapped up in a blanket, he can move through it and touch your skin directly anyway.

The doppelganger can also act as a surrogate. So while Vergil is busy with a meeting, his attention may be split as half of his mind is focusing on controlling his double as it takes you in the next room over. Call it prep for when the meeting finishes and Vergil can take over or join the fun.

This was another one where there is no physical change into a different body so I have to work with what I’ve got, which is not much.

DMC5 Nero

Nero has finally unlocked his full DT transformation and he can even control it better than before, meaning your intimacy can be more controlled and sensual. Unless you want him to be a wild beast because he would happily oblige.

His DT is more on the human side, with a navel, abs, pecks, and a mostly human-shaped face with warm lips that actually mold to yours rather than are stiff and just follow along like many other DTs.

His butt in DT is like a human’s rather than covered in scales or plating, meaning it can be grabbed, can jiggle and tense, and can be smacked with that satisfying sharp sound ringing out, though it is usually drowned out by the sounds that slip from his lips when you do land a good hit on his rear end.

His eyes are lizard-like and glow, making them more piercing. The kind that you can see track your movements from across the room like a hunter waiting for its prey.

His hair grows exponentially, going a third down his back. It is silky smooth to the touch, tough enough for you to yank on, and thick enough to block out the light when Nero hovers above you and his hair drapes over you just right.

He does have some spikes and plating, such as his calves which are covered in sharp spikes and his shoulder guards which are made for a particular set of astral hands that are not yours so they are hard to hold. Although if you slot your arms between the shoulder lines just right, they can become wedged and all you can do is grab and claw at Nero’s back while you are held open and helpless for him.

He also has a couple of chin spikes so no chin nuzzling.

The rest of his plating, scales, and skin are smooth so wrapping yourself around him, being wrapped up in him, sitting, straddling, and all the rest can be done comfortably.

The plating around his side leads down his torso, making a sort of happy trail leading your hand to just the right place.

He also has a bulge, though, like a lot of him, it is more human in proportion compared to his dad or uncle. Don’t tell him that though because he will simply have to show you how he is a grower rather than a shower.

His hands are clawed now, claws that are really long but not razor sharp. Perfect for dragging across your skin to give you those pleasant tingles without actually causing harm. Again, unless you want that.

Speaking of claws, he has a second set now… kind of. His wings act more like arms with claws rather than wings. They have the full range of a normal hand, and arguably more, so can grab and lift and pull you around as he desires.

Although these clawed wings are not exclusive to his TD and can come out whenever. They tend to get integrated into all of your intimate moments, whether intentionally or not. And they are even occasionally involved with the lead-up as he keeps his real hands somewhere tame while his Bringer Claws sneak over to and grab something a bit spicier.

He has a pair of horns on his head but they are not really shaped well for holding. They are more like head guards with a feather-like scaling pattern that is quite pleasing to the touch for both of you.

They do make the space a bit tight when you go in for a kiss. Though he likes this as once he has you pinned down and brings his face nice and close, there is no escaping from his lips for you. As for the rest of your body? Trust me, he will find a way to leave his sharp little teeth marks all over you.

His voice becomes distorted when in DT, making it deeper and more gravely to the point of pretty much having reverb.

Holding his DT does take some effort, so he pants and breaths a bit harder and more often. And with how his voice is affected those sighs and sharp intakes ring out through the room.

I’m surprised with how little I had to say for this one, but I guess that is because his DT is rather tame in regard to representing a demon. Also, a lot of little things I have said have already been said for the other guys. And I am losing steam. I’m almost done though, so close…

V

V was a human, he did not have the same demonic energy as his kin, not from his own being at least.

That doesn’t mean you and he can’t have some demonic fun, he just requires some assistance. If you are up for it, of course.

For the most powerful demonic force V has under his control is mindless, lacking a true will of its own, and does not exactly have a solid form. It is flexible, moldable, one could even say like a thick liquid.

Nightmare, under V’s command, can change its body at will.

It could be like a large drop of warm water gliding around your skin, pinpointing your sensitive areas under your clothes as you try to do something else.

It can be like a thin snake, sliding around your body, squeezing you just enough to make your heart pound.

It can lay thin across your skin like clothing or even closer, contouring perfectly to your body, while heating, vibrating and shifting around.

It can surround you in intertwined and knotted tendrils that poke, prod, slide, writhe, and thrust around you.

Or it can fully encompass you, like you are submerged in water with every bit of your skin coated yet everything is dark, warm, and relentlessly stimulating you.

And all the while V is sitting nearby, watching and controlling the moment carefully.

His primary focus is on you, making sure you are safe and satisfied, occasionally slipping in for a moment to surprise you with a sudden texture shift before disappearing again.

But if you were to call out to him, asking him to join, well he could multitask.

So this is the most different of any of these Devil Triggers to the point that I was debating not putting it in. But I decided, why not. We are already going crazy with these things, why not get some slime/tentacle hentai in here. I still chose to keep it really short though since this may be uncomfortable/a step too far for some people.

DMC5 Dante

Again, Dante has two DTs, with his first one being very similar to the one he used during the Fortuna incident. So a lot of the points mentioned there carry over. There are a couple of new things to mention though.

For one, he has more control over his demonic power now, meaning he can control the heat radiating off him better and, more importantly, his eyes are no longer just glowing orbs of power. Though more reptilian than human, you can see Dante’s eyes, gaze into them, and see how they darken with lust and then shine with love as you cuddle after.

His feet have actually shrunk so, no more upside-down fun, but that is made up for by his wings.

What looks like the tails of his coat can lift and open into a pair of wings that he can fly with or wrap around you. With 2 wings, even with each wing having 2 segments, he can’t quite encompass you like in his Majin form but with the glowing, circular pattern on the inside it offers a visual effect that is hypnotizing to watch. This dazzling visual is enhanced when ripples of sensation and energy surge through Dante causing the lights to flicker and waver.

His wings also have hooks on the top which he can use to hold you, in particular your shoulders, in place so you don’t slide away from him as he slams into you.

Now on to his Sin Devil Trigger.

He does have to stab himself to get into this form which could be a turn-off or turn-on for you. It has happened to him so many times that it does not faze him all that much, though he does let out some deep groans and growls as he feels the rush of power take him over.

This is the farthest from human-like he has looked since his brief time being able to hold Majin form. No nose, eyes back to being simple glowing slits of energy, and not even lips to kiss.

His skin is like rock and if he doesn’t focus, he could burn you with how hot his body becomes.

And there are spikes everywhere. Head, shoulders, arms, chest, legs, nowhere is truly safe. Even his waist, though having a similar thinness and flatness to his Majin DT, has spikes pointed at it so it is a risky idea to slot your legs around them.

But if you can brave the danger and you both are able to keep safety in mind, or not if you like some pain, this will be the most intense night you will ever have. Each thrust takes your breath away and the weight of his body almost makes you feel trapped, a true feeling of being taken by a wild beast.

Add in the fact that the hooks on his wings, of which he has four now, have become more like appendages so they can bend and twist at will, which means he can scoop up and manipulate your body, counting his arms too, in six ways now, making you feel surrounded and at the mercy of this titan.

Also, Sin DT has a bigger bulge, so we all know what that means…

The bulge is even shaped a bit like it and it has a cracked, lit slit separating the protecting scales as if it is so big that it is almost forcing its way out.

Also, his ass is surprisingly round and big, covered in small scales which means you can feel the muscles move under them. But there is a spine-like structure between his cheeks so no hotdogging but gripping and caressing are still on the table.

Some sensitive places are along the glowing spots of his inner forearm and on the glowing inside of his horns. Not the long ones on top of his head, but the ones wrapping around the sides of his head. Because of how rough and hard his skin is, just touching them isn't enough. You have to claw and dig into them. When you do though you get this interesting sound. This crackling, sizzling sound along with his warped, deep growl and snap of his jaw.

It’s the most sensation he can feel in this form while making love, aside from finishing of course. Dante feels so powerful, so invulnerable in this state that when you do it suddenly it's like his brain shuts down for a minute. He twitches and may even crumble down onto you for a second before bouncing back. And though it may be stifled by the distortion, you can also hear him whimper. Quite the contrast from his intimidating form, but this is a power only you are privy to and can exploit out of him.

Unlike most people who joked about/did not consider the Devil Triggers being sexy until the first clear shot of Dante’s Sin DT was of his beautifully sculpted booty, I have always been curious about the weirder, more creative side of fantasy sex, and so have occasionally imagined scenarios like these. I used to shy away from writing/sharing fanfiction ideas about crazier things as I feared the possible onslaught of hate. Now though, I wonder how different the reception for these will be since the immaculate rear ends of DMC5’s DTs are a meme and normalized?

DMC5 Vergil

Vergil’s Devil Trigger has lost practically all of its clothing illusions and is overall less human-like.

He is a lot more ridged and sharp now, with pointed protective scales and plating along his chest, limbs, and head. There is a soft spot, however, right over his stomach. The scales are smaller and thinner to the point where you can feel his ab muscles flex and contract due to choice or as a reaction to stimulation. Everywhere else though you must take caution.

This caution should also extend to his bulge of all things. The shape is a bit odd as it both curves up and down. The up curve is relatively smooth and if he leans back enough, you could even sit on it while he is standing. The downward curve is where the danger lies.

The protective plating and scales form a dragon head with glowing eyes and everything. Does it move? Probably not, but the little fangs and curved snout of the crotch dragon may just rip into your clothing.

His arm sheathes make a return and is both less and more obstructive. On the positive, they are shorter now and open, acting more as pipes that exude demonic energy that form into blades than a place to store a physical sword. On the other hand, he has them on both forearms now.

Speaking of pipes, his cranial crests have opened and become exhaust pipes for demonic energy that burst forth like blue flames. Vergil does have enough control over his demonic blood to choose when and if he creates these flames and how hot they are. He can actually make them cool to the touch, allowing you to run your hands through them without risk of injury. Even if you are not that interested in them, he likes to have at least a small flame going as the way the light reflects in your eyes makes you even more dazzling than usual.

He has horns and spikes that protect his face but there is enough room for you to slot your head in there for kisses, though he has no lips to kiss with.

He does, however, have a lightly barbed tongue that, with careful control of his demonic energy, he can also choose to make hot or cold as it explores your mouth or drags across your skin.

He has wings that he uses this time, able to fly you around so he may abscond with you to a more private area when the need arises. They have a glowing ripple pattern on the inside that, along with the energy flames of his head and arms, can create quite a flashy light show. Now whether he uses that to entertain or distract you is something for him to decide.

He also has a tail, and quite a long and strong one at that. Unlike most tails, his attaches to his upper back, making it start closer to your head level. This makes capturing you by the shoulders or wrists and lifting you off the ground, suspending you and leaving you helpless in front of him while both his hands are free, easy.

The main length of the tail has large, flat scales that come to softer points, so even if it slithers over you against the grain, it won’t hurt as long as it is going slow.

The end of the tail is barbed, but the actual tip is thin, smooth, and around a foot long. This means it can act as a good replacement, or additional, rod to play with.

And with the fact that Vergil can create a doppelganger in the image of his demon form while in his human form, well you can have the best of both worlds at the same time.

Now, some people may think that me not expanding on Vergil’s doppelganger ability is a waste, but all of that detail had to be used for Reboot Vergil because that is all Vergil’s DT is in that game. I guess I could copy and paste a handful of points to this section but that would be a waste and cheap. Besides, this might encourage those who skip parts to go back and actually read Reboot Vergil’s part, lol.

Sparda

Sparda is very comfortable in his demon form, more so than his human form, so he knows exactly how to use it.

He has a lot of protruding bits that mimic armour. For example, he has plating that acts as shoulder guards and scaling on his legs that go up to his hips. It gives ‘a man in uniform’ type of vibe but it can get in the way.

The biggest hinderance is the protective ring around his chest that comes to a point in the front. Chest to chest contact just won’t happen. It isn’t even big enough for you to sit in for easier eating out. The only possible positive is its ability to capture liquids, so if you are into puddles of various things you have that going for you.

At least his knee guard-like protrusions, the ones on his legs, and the ones on his shoulders can help you hang on. Whether it be planting your feet on his knee guards to get a bit higher, using his leg guards for hooking your legs around his surprisingly thin waist, or having your legs sit between his shoulder guards and head for the aforementioned easier sitting for licking.

Speaking of his legs though, they, and his arms, have this interesting ripple texture that is flat enough to his body that they don’t cause discomfort but make a pleasing ticking sound when you drag your nails across them.

He has spikes on the tops (closest to the elbow) of his forearms, so fisting can only go so far.

His horns go out to the side and curve downward so they stay out of the way for kisses and, though thick at the base, thin out at the tips so you can grasp them. One function that Sparda had never considered before though is how, when facing away from you, you can hook your arms under his horns and rear his head up.

His fingers are clawed but surprisingly not his toes. Instead, his feet are hoofed with the split like a goat. Not much utility during sex but the sound they make when he walks around is a surprisingly soft yet satisfying ‘clop’.

His lips are upturned, unlike humans, so he does not quite smile and looks as if he is frowning, or scowling with how his head armour shapes his eyes. It may take some time for you to get the more subtle signs signalling his true feelings. Or, if you train him right, you can weaponize your concern of not being able to read his face into making him be more vocal during lovemaking.

His wings are bug-like, having a harder protective shell and 4 sheer wings that shimmer in the light. When he flaps them they beat quickly, creating a decent amount of wind which can be used to either manipulate temperature, for comfort or excitement, and to make the parts of you already wet tingle as the chilly breeze hits them.

So a couple of interesting notes about this one. First off, would you count this as a Devil Trigger? It’s not really clear if Sparda’s demon form is his natural state and he just chooses to have a human form to fit in better with humans or if his human looking form is equally his natural state and he just switches form depending on the situation. The only beings we have seen that take on a drastically different look when DTing are demon/human crossbreeds, which Sparda is not, and Lucia who (spoilers) is an artificial demon created by Arius made to look human so she, and others like her, can act as his bodyguards in the human world without drawing suspicion. (spoiler end). So jury is out on that one.

Second point which causes some problems when making this is the fact that the details for Sparda’s demon form are vague. We knew the general idea but because most of our looks at Sparda are through different characters channeling his power, the DT changes to fit that character. For example, when Vergil DTs into Sparda’s form he still has the skin sheath thing on his arm, which Sparda definitely didn’t have. The only time, as far as I know, that we have seen Sparda’s demon form in a main game, the REAL Sparda, is in the opening of DMC1 but that is obscured. I did the best I could, but it may not be accurate.

[ratsummer]

Something I've been thinking about is cozy, fleecy ghoul hammocks... You know, like the ones for ferrets??

They're strung up in various parts of the abbey, like the library, sunny corridors, and the ghoul dens. All ghouls are welcome to use them: some are hanging high up in the rafters for nimble air ghouls, others are under skylights for quint ghouls to stargaze. Generally, water and earth ghouls are only tempted in by promises of cuddles from other types of ghouls, as they're more inclined to keeping their feet on the ground.

All this to say, I think Dew LOVES to be up in a hammock. He liked it fine when he was a water ghoul - he'd clamber up with Ifrit or Zephyr, rocking them gently by letting his tail drape over the side and swishing it about. But now that he's fire, he simply can't get enough hammock time.

His favorite hammock is in a quiet, south corridor, strung up high in front of two-story windows. It's not as lofted as the ones the air ghouls favor, but high enough that most of the larger ghouls don't bother with it - perfect for when he needs to hide away. This particular hammock is almost sleeping bag style, with soft, fleecy pockets he can tuck himself into. He's stashed a couple pillows and multiple soft blankets up there too, just for extra coziness.

When Phantom comes along, shy and touch-starved, Dew can't help but immediately introduce him to his favorite hammock. At first, he lets Phantom hide away there by himself when he needs some quiet time to adjust, or when he needs to feel wrapped up and safe with pack smell but he's a little too overstimulated for ghoul cuddles. But before long, Phantom is dragging Dew up for hammock cuddles almost daily.

Poor Swiss has on many occasions gone looking for his sweet little bug, hoping for a cuddle, only to discover he's been secreted away to Dew's hammock - soft purrs and tails poking out the only things giving them away from floor-level. He can't get in there with them: it's a little too awkward of an angle for him to get in without feeling like he's going to plummet to his untimely death, and it also can't support all three of them without ripping off the wall.

Once, Swiss was feeling particularly bummed that they were up there without him - he was feeling needy for his little ghouls, and they'd been up there for hours. Admittedly, he was feeling a little vindictive, so he climbed up the little access ladder to shake them around a bit and whine. Once he got up there though... Well, it was hard to snap a picture with the way his heart was melting, but it's now pinned up on the wall over his nest.

It was hard to see where one ghoul ended and the other began, the way they were pretzeled around each other, dead to the world. Dew was stretched and contorted so that more than half of his limbs stuck out over the sides of the hammock. His hair was loose, tangled up around his horns instead of neatly braided down his back, and his clothes were tangled and bunched up in a way that simply couldn't be comfortable.

Phantom was koalaed around Dew's middle, half underneath him, but somehow wormed around to have his head pressed dead-center on Dew's chest. Their sweet bug is happiest sleeping when he can have an ear pressed over someone's heart, the steady beat and purrs soothing him all the way through.

Dew doesn't really sweat much anymore unless he's actively running around wreaking havoc... but poor Phantom was drenched. He looked like a toddling kit gone down for a hard nap - his hairline was damp and shining, hair curling up where it wasn't plastered to his skin. His cheek was mushed hard against Dew's shirt - when he got up he'd have crease and wrinkle marks impressed on his face for hours. He also had his mouth hanging wide open, a puddle of drool steadily soaking into Dew's shirt.

Swiss couldn't help but purr and stare fondly at them for a few minutes. When Phantom's brow started to scrunch up like it does when he's having a nightmare, Swiss started gently, gently rocking the hammock to soothe him. Almost instantly, the little ghoul's face was smooth and peaceful once more, hands clutching at Dew's waist and squeezing him tighter as he snuggled down. Dew made little grunting sounds as he wiggled too, scooching and squirming until he got Phantom tucked up under his chin.

Accepting that he'd just have to wait until after dinner to get Dew and Phantom snuggles, Swiss sighed and skulked back toward the ghoul den. Maybe he could snatch up Rory for some little ghoul snugs...

Anyway... yeah... ghoul hammocks <3 <3 <3 Thoughts??

[iamthecomet]

Hi Comet! I’m sorry things are not thinging, I’m sending you hugs and trying very hard to manifest some good snacks.

Imagine if you will,

Zeph with very angry swollen joints. His thumb is practically locked in place, as though the cartilage cushioning his bones has dissolved and his fingers are fused in the 36251 progression position.

He doesn’t play nearly as much as he used to. Only Sundays, forgoing the weekday morning and evening mass. He isn’t that pious. But the weak heat being pumped into that old building seems to be desperate to escape the cracks in the vaulted ceiling as soon as it’s released.

Ever the stoic ghoul, he never complains. He just retreats to his quarters and soaks his aching hands in hot water, massages salves made by Ivy into his skin.

He thinks no one notices. But his pack would notice a single hair on his head out of place, and they certainly notice the way his spine favors leaning to the left when he plays, and the way his hand shakes when he grips his fork at dinner.

This particular Sunday was the coldest yet. He could be seen shivering in between psalms. And most shocking, his timing was off. Maybe not to the pedestrian ear of the siblings, but certainly to the trained ones of Ifrit and Omega.

As soon as his part in the service was complete he snuck away through the concealed door normally reserved for Sister and Papa.

He would’ve ran to his room, if he was capable of more than anything but a lopsided hobble.

He told himself he wasn’t going to break but as soon as he closed the door, ever so softly as if he didn’t even want to alert the mice to his presence, he slumped against it and the dam broke.

They were right. He just needed to stop. Or at least he would, if he continued to politely balk at the help offered.

Before his body could touch the ground, he found himself being lifted back up by two sets of strong arms. Arms belonging to Ifrit and Omega.

“Oh, I’m fine - “ the countenance of bravery was essentially transparent and he was hushed with a single finger to his lips.

“Not now, we can talk later. Let us take care of you.”

He wasn’t sure if it was defeat or surrender, but he just let them.

Let Ifrit force warmth into his body, let Omega pull the pain away, offering soft grunts of concern at the sheer amount of it. Omega himself would need to be cleansed after this.

As they continued their ministrations, he felt some mobility return to his hands, he was able to straighter his spine where he lay in the warm cove of Ifrit’s chest.

He gave his fingers an exploratory wiggle, and if he were sobbing from pain before, now he was sobbing from relief. He forgot what the absence of pain felt like, had become the default.

“Thank you,” two small words that meant something big when it came to Zephyr, at least when it came to this. This acknowledgment that he needed their help. He needed them.

“Think nothing of it, until next time, when you need not wait until we all have to watch you suffer, and force ourselves on you.” Omega’s lecture sounded severe, but he lighted the mood when he gave Zeph a peck on the cheek. For good measure, Ifrit added, “Yeah, you stubborn old goat.”

Oh my god. OH MOTH. On this is THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS WITH ME. It's beautiful and so soft and so sweet and I love them all so much. No matter what, they have him, they'll catch him, they'll help him. Even when he's too stubborn to ask--especially then. This is perfection and exactly what I needed. ♥

[wrathofrats]

Zephyr using Ifrit as a heating pad for their hips by sitting the ghoul on their cock.

Once the pain is gone, then they give such a helpful boyfriend a treat for being so patient :3

Dom Zeph objectifying their sweet boyfriend to get him out of his head for a bit. Idk I think ifrit tries to take charge of things a lot, be a very dominant personality and sometimes he just wants to be stupid and used so he doesn’t have to think!! Luckily Zeph is right there to take care of him

Make him sit on their cock and lean against their chest, be a nice little cockwarmer, soothe zephs joints while he’s at it.

And when Zeph is done, thinks he’s had enough, they’ll fuck him nice and sweet the way ifrit loves it

[genderlessghoul]

Okay there's too much elemental transition Dew angst on this app. And I mean that in the most affectionate way possible, I swear to god y'all who write it always manage to make my heart ache in the worst/best possible ways. But I am a simple, soft creature so I present to you : Dew who actually accepts and recieves well his elemental transition.

Dew who's skeptical of the idea at first because water is all he's ever known. He turns the idea in his head over and over again until he realizes how tempting the offer feels to him. Yes, water is all he's ever known but he doesn't really feel attached to it like he should. The more he thinks it over, the more it feels like a blessing. A new start.

Dew who talks about it beforehand to the rest of the pack. They're worried, rightfully so, but they listen to his explanation. And they agree with him in the end, he should do it if he feels like the right thing for him.

Dew who goes throught with the transformation, and it hurts like a bitch and he's sick for a good two weeks after. But his pack is there to take care of him. He doesn't like depending on others but he lets them, secretly loving how everyone offers to carry him everywhere, how it feels to have people wash his hair and bring him food.

Dew who connects with fire as soon as he's better. The element truly calls to him, pulls him in, welcomes him. It's warm and intense and it's home. Finally home. He learns his fire ghoul duty in no time under Ifrit's teaching.

Dew who doesn't resent Rain at first for being the new water ghoul, quite the opposite. Aether's the one who was supposed to be in charge of putting a cloak over him, charming and comforting as ever. But the second Dew saw that water ghoul, folded in on himself in the middle of that summoning circle, he took that cloak out of Aether's hand faster than he could think about it. Walked up to the shaking Rain, wrapped him up tight and told him it would all be okay, that he's safe. Dew takes him under his wing, teaches him all about being a water ghoul, as well as he can without being one himself anymore.

Something in Rain calls to him, he knows it's the water. It's not mad at him for pulling it out of his body, it knows it was the best decision for him. But it still misses him. And Rain shows him all the love that water ever had for Dew, a love that was never meant to be in him but rather with him. (And also sometimes in him, if you catch my drift.)

Dew who learns to love his scars, to accept them as a part of his story and his journey, rather than a heavy anchor to his past. He doesn't shy away when Phantom sees them for the first time. Doesn't try to hide or to make up stories. They're a part of him. And they're beautiful.

Aight that's my self service for the night, good byyyyye

[serene-sun]

Just a funny idea I had the other day; how do you think the ghouls would react to finding (g/n) reader curled up with their tail in their mouth; like one of those habits you get from childhood that you still can’t shake

This is sweet :)

OUR GHOST DISCORD SERVER INFO

Swiss

He stops for a moment and just stares at you before grinning big and petting you for a moment.

“Well aren’t you just sleepy,” 👁️🦷🦷👁️

Mountain

He gives you a soft hug to not wake you up before softly moving it out of your mouth, he doesn’t want your tail to go bald like his did when he was a kit and everyone sucked on his tail.

“Oh dear…” he smiles, setting his cup of tea down.

Sodo

He stares at you for 30 minutes

“I did that.”

Aether

He fixes the blanket on you and kisses your forehead like a little baby, “little bug, little sleeps.” He is also cuteness aggression.

Rain

He really just climbs in and starts to cuddle you.

“Go back to sleep, I was never here.”

Phantom

Stares at you for an hour and a half

“I do that.”

Omega

“Oh my…well doesn’t this bring back memories,” he says as he tucked you in and swishes your hair to the side to kiss you as well

Ifrit

Stares at you for ten minutes

“I wish I could still do that.”

Papa copia

“Aww well just look at the little bambino hm?” Cuteness aggression he is…..

[emeritus-fuckers]

Hewlloww could you do the “a kink for every Papa” just with the ghouls? So a “kink for every ghoul?”

Have an amazing day you sweet human being. The papas love you <4

Decided to combine these two asks to make it easier on us because there's like thirty ghouls and we'd die if we tried this separately. there's a lot of color because i'm autistic and i deserve to color the post, that's a whole 30 ghouls. - rat

A kink for every Ghoul

CW: CNC for Chain.

Fire Ghouls

Alpha (he/him)

Alpha may not seem like it, but the threat of a knife in bed turns him on. The Fire Ghoul will fight you a bit, but just give in once he feels the bite of the blade in his skin. If you don’t slice him up like swiss cheese he won’t be happy.

Ifrit (he/him)

Ifrit has beautiful tits. Seriously, he’s about to bust out of that uniform of his. Because of those large tits... he is extremely fond of getting on his knees and letting someone fuck them. He loves fucking a nice pair of tits, sure…but it hits different when he’s the one covered in cum.

Sodo (he/him)

Sodo is a big enthusiast of making you bleed. It doesn't matter if it's with his teeth or claws. Obsessively eating you out on your period is also fair game. Just about anything that has to do with blood.

Blaze (he/him; Papa Nihil's Ghoul)

His name didn't come from nowhere. Blaze is a big fan of weed. And other drugs. Of course his favorite kind of sex is high sex. But, if you've got any aphrodisiac on hand, he's not gonna be fussy about that. He'll take it like a good boy.

Water Ghouls

Chain (it/ghoul)

Just by looking at it, you can tell that Chain is the kind of ghoul that loves CNC. Ghoul loves being the victim of it, or doing it to someone else. It prefers doing it to someone, though... It loves chasing you through the woods. Smelling your fear and excitement. Shoves you down and uses you as much as ghoul pleases.

Lake (he/him)

Lake might not seem like it at first, but he's actually surprisingly fond of making you squirm in pain. Biting, scratching, some light choking or using toys that will hurt you so good... Yup, you guessed it. Lake is a sadist. And a proud one, at that.

River (they/them)

They’re a whore. Plain and simple. Plenty of dirty dreams in that head of theirs... though they love when those dreams are made worse by someone fucking them in their sleep. Consensually, of course... enthusiastic consent, really. They return the favor as well... watching their partner wake up screaming in pleasure is always fun.

Cowbell (they/it)

They love seeing you in a blindfold. And other forms of sensory depravation, of course, but its favorite is taking your sight. They love watching you tremble and jump whenever it does anything. They loves seeing you squirm from the softest touches. After all, when you can't see, everything else is so much stronger.

Mist (he/she)

Tentacles, plain and simple. Fucking Mist is straight up monsterfucking, since he has tentacles coming out of her cunt. Wanna be egged with those tentacles of hers? All you have to do is ask and he'll stuff you full. Sleeping with Mist is an experience in itself. A rollercoaster of an experience, actually.

Rain (she/he/ve)

She's a very soft person in bed. He can get mean, yes, but ver preference is soft and loving. So soft and so loving, actually, that he wants you to cry from it. There's something so pretty in your tears that she can't resist overstimulating you just a little bit to see those tears again. Rain is definitely a dacryphiliac, though ve'll never admit it.

Storm (they/he; Papa Nihil's Ghoul)

Storm is generally very calm. That is, until they're in pain. Then he turns into a whimpering mess, begging for more, like a whore. C'mon. You know you wanna hurt them a little, don't you? Treat this masochistic slut the way he needs to be treated.

Earth Ghouls

Cliff (they/he)

Cliff is a very relaxed, pleasant dude. You'd think he'd be a nice, soft partner in bed, too, but in reality... They love having you tied up. Or cuffed, preferably. Just for a little, so he can rail you stupid enough to not be able to move in general. And then they take care of you, like the loving boyfriend that he is.

Pebble (he/him)

He doesn't really get bothered by his height, especially since it makes bottoming easier and Pebble is an absolute bottom. A cute one. He loves it when his partner (especially if it's the love of his life!) takes care of him. Certified pillow prince.

Ivy (he/xe)

Xe is likely the biggest fan of edging in the world. It's almost a necessity at this point. If it's a cock ring or just shoving him down and sucking him off until xe's whimpering so beautifully. Over and over. And over. Until those pretty eyes are overflowing with tears and just can't anymore.

Mountain (he/him)

Oh, such a innocent little lamb, isn't he? He just loves to be coaxed and taken by someone oh, so dangerous... loves to be corrupted. To be ruined. In both ways. He is the biggest squirmer. Will not stop moving until he's just too fucked out and too filthy. Ruin him and make this little lamb dirty.

Quake (they/them; Papa Nihil's Ghoul)

Quake is a very goofy, cheerful and energetic person, who very often just can't stay in one place for too long. That is, of course, unless you're on their lap, keeping their cock inside you. Then they just melt completely and stay put until you decide it's over. They will beg for just a few more minutes, though.

Air Ghouls

Eurus (they/she)

We all know she likes to stare. We've seen them in Year Zero and the studio recordings. Eurus loves to watch and stare. So of course, if you want to fuck someone else (which she's never opposed to, of course!), they'll request to watch. Won't even blink. She wants to see everything you do. Might jerk off in her seat as they observe their pretty darling railing someone else... or getting railed, preferably.

Zephyr (they/he)

Zephyr is possessive. Not just a little. They claim it’s instinct. However, nothing gets them riled up more than seeing the marks he left on your skin from your passionate late night sex. Though they get even more insistent on marking if someone else left their marks behind. Just as a reminder who you really belong to... and those bruises and bitemarks look so good on his lover.

Cirrus (she/ze)

Ze's a big enthusiast of using both her dick and her cunt (as well as mouth and those really well trained fingers) just to make you completely stupid. No matter what genitals you have, she'll fuck you brainless. And then ze's gonna coo at you, fawning over how cute you are when you're such a blabbering mess like that, and all of it just for her! Cirrus absolutely adores having you overstimulated.

Cumulus (she/her)

We all (well me) love her chest. So it's a very pleasant surprise to find out that they lactate with just a smallest bit of stimulation. If you really wanna drive her crazy, have your fingers or a strap inside her as you suck on her tits. Bonus points if you team up with Cirrus and then take care of our dearest Cumulus.

Tornado (ze/zir; Papa Nihil's Ghoul)

We can't talk about Air Ghouls and not have at least one of them mess around with your breathing abilities, now can we? Fortunately for us, Tornado loves breath play. Sometimes it's just a light squeeze. Sometimes you almost think this maniac will actually suffocate you. Ze knows your limits, though, so it never gets out of control. The thrill is a very nice bonus to fucking zir, though.

Quintessence Ghouls

Omega (he/him)

Look at him. Look at this huge motherfucker. Pretty much anyone is tiny compared to him. And he loves that. He loves seeing your stomach bulge when you're full of him. He loves seeing how you struggle to take as much of him as you can. He loves how your face ends up stuffed in his chest as you straddle him because of his stupid huge cock. The size kink is strong with this one.

Delta (they/it)

Delta admittedly jokes about their missing limbs. One of said jokes was how easy it’d be to tie it up... the day it goes from joke to reality? Oh they’re on cloud nine. Turns out it was very into doing shibari on others before the limb loss... turning the tables on them? Well... it has a very pleasant night tied up all pretty with nowhere to go.

Aether (he/him)

Listen. I've always said he's got arms made for hugging, hands made for choking and a cock made for warming. I stand by that. His hands look and feel like they were meant for your throat. And you love it. It's best while he's got you in a reverse cowgirl position in front of a mirror, riding yourself stupid as he lightly squeezes your throat. But he's not picky. As long as you let him choke you a little.

Phantom (he/they/xey/it)

Spiritually, Phantom is a bit like a puppy when it comes to excitement. He gets really excited and it shows. They usually show it through playful nibbles. But... you wanna know what absolutely makes xem lose its mind? Praise. Phantom can die happily after being praised for how good he's doing for you. Praise them and it'll do absolutely everything for you. Xey can probably be praised into a happy, tearful orgasm like this.

Chaos (he/she/they/it; Papa Nihil's Ghoul)

If you've read the Papa Nihil's Ghouls post, you know she was dragged around on a leash a few times. The issue is, he actually loved that and now they demand to be kept on a leash... So yup, that evolved into a pet play kink. It will bark at you completely unprovoked for completely no reason and will continue being a menace until you handle it. So there's a pet play and brat taming combo here.

Multi Ghoul

Swiss (he/xey/it)

This bitch. Bully it. Swiss loves being bullied and degraded. It always makes both xeir cunt and cock drip with pre-cum. Keep him on his knees. Keep xem on a leash. Mock it for being so fucking eager to be pretty much verbally abused. You can probably get xem to cum untouched if you're mean enough.

Phil (he/him)

Phil is not a kinky guy, honestly. He's just... very vanilla. If you're with him long enough, you finally get to hear him mumble out the word mommy... And you absolutely fucking lose it with him. You don't let him live it down, obviously. He gets absolutely flustered every time you use his mommy kink against him.

Sunshine (she/her)

Sunshine's favorite thing about having a penis is having it buried inside their partner (she especially likes people with cunts since it shows really nicely), having them in her lap in a reverse cowgirl position and just... watching it all in the mirror in front of you both. Obligatory bites while she's at it, of course.

Aurora (she/they/fae)

While she doesn't mind being a pillow princess when bottoming, faer absolutely favorite thing is disinterest. She loves playing with your body and then scoffing and telling you to keep quiet. They absolutely love having you ride their thigh or rutting against it while she does other things. Fae just absolutely adores when you get whiney and start pleading for just a bit of her attention, even if you know they'll shame and degrade you for it.

~

Alpha, Ifrit, River, Zephyr and Delta written by Death.

Sodo, Blaze, Lake, Rain, Mist, Storm, Cliff, Pebble, Quake, Eurus, Cirrus, Cumulus, Tornado, Omega, Aether, Chaos, Phantom, Swiss, Sunshine, Phil and Aurora by Nosferatu.

Chain, Cowbell, Ivy and Mountain written by Zenith/Jasper.

Edited by Nosferatu.

Taglist: @charlie-is-a-menace @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @randominstake @callmeicaro @thecuriouss @dio-niisio @the-fem1n1ne-urge @mybotanicaldemise @igodownjustlikeholymary @natoncesaid @bloodmoon-bites @plaquerat

[divine-misfortune]

Dew loves being the stress relief Zephyr doesn't know they need sometimes.

They're not often a heavy handed dom, preferring to order rather than force, but sometimes there's that itch they struggle to scratch. Can't push Mountain around like they can with Dew. Can't manhandle Ifrit the way they can with Dew. Can't take Aether over their knee like Dew. But that little water ghoul eagerly submits to their more sadistic side without question, eager to feel the brunt of their frustrations like no one else can.

He's mostly good, they know he truly only acts like a brat when Aether's around, but sometimes he seems to delight in riling them up. Poking the beast until he spends the next day wincing when he walks and nearly yelping when he sits down, the backs of his thighs and his ass bruised dark as a plum - the thin marks of a whip still visible in the muddy array.

It isn't all punishment, because Dew often proves himself good. He looks beautiful and delicate above them, hands braced on their chest, working those narrow hips like the only thing he knew was pleasing them. Small and fragile enough they can take him in their hands and bounce them on their cock with ease, and Dew takes it. His head falling back, flush creeping down his chest, little cock dripping as he's moved like a doll. Rewarded for his submission by being used for their pleasure.

And when Zephyr finally cums, the irritation and annoyance seemingly vanishing from their body, they can drag Dew down against their chest, slowly softening cock held in the warm clutch of his body still. He's limp against them, thighs trembling on either side of their hips, face squished into their collarbones. They stay there, nose buried in his hair, knuckles dancing lazily up and down his spine, Dew purring sweetly all the while.

Zephyr's appreciation is hushed, whispered into him like a secret. Soft thanks breathed close to his ear until they can look down and see those pale blue eyes staring up at them, still a touch glassy, a little wet around the lashes. Silent gratitude and adoration in the way he looks at them, 'I love you and I trust you' without words every time.

[endless-weightless]

Nameless Ghoul NSFW headcanons

Got Ghost tickets and now I’m gonna be autistic about this band. Also kinda on the shorter side because I’m SO BUSY rn but the autism will pull me through 💪

CHARACTERS: Swiss, Rain, Sodo, Aether, Mountain, Phantom, Omega, Ifrit

TAGS: Smut, reader insert, BDSM, monsterfucking?, afab and amab!reader, lingerie, marking, switch!reader I guess?, switch!Swiss, soft dom!Mountain, mean dom!Omega

🌙Swiss

Kinky. We know this. He’s willing to try just about anything you’re comfortable with.

His personal favourite kinky things include bondage, spanking, gags, some dynamic play, marking and a sprinkle of dacryphilia.

He’s such a power switch and I will not listen to anyone who disagrees. Sometimes he wants to dick you down and sometimes he wants to be dicked down. Is that too much to ask for?

REALLY FUCKING LOUD. If you’re making him feel good he’s letting everyone know.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck~ baby if you don’t slow down I’ll cum- fuck!”

Has absolutely no shame walking around covered in hickeys, bite marks and scratches.

Swiss gets unbelievably horny when you touch his horns, like something in him snaps when you touch them.

Prefers cumming on you rather than inside you, like you’re a canvas and he’s the painter.

Don’t bully him he’ll cum :(

Nah but seriously, if you call him a slut at least once and pull his hair he’ll absolutely melt.

🌙Rain

Pretty vanilla compared to Swiss, but has his kinky moments.

Prefers sex to be romantic, so expect lots of kisses and hand holding.

Speaking of hand holding, he squeezes your hand when he cums. He just loves you so much and you’re making him feel so good.

Has cried on one or more occasions. It could be because he’s so in love or maybe because he just has a really sensitive cock-

Absolutely adores fucking in the shower or even outside in the rain. He loves it when you two are both in tune with his element and it just makes him feel safe being in water.

Doesn’t let out pornographic moans but rather soft gasps and grunts and if you’re really fucking him good then he’ll start whimpering the closer he gets to cumming.

Speaking of cum, he loves cumming in you and just having you cockwarm him (or the other way around). He also moans an “I love you” when he does so.

“I love you so much darling- oh satan.”

Always looks so goddamn pretty when he’s all fucked out and exhausted.

🌙Mountain

My fav ghoul 💜

Gives me soft dom vibes, but not crazy on kink or bdsm.

He’s fucking huge and uses it to his advantage.

Likes watching you squirm when taking him. The bastard will just watch you struggle as you try to fit all of his length in you while he just sits there doing fuck all.

Loves watching you ride him. If you have tits he’s automatically hypnotised by then jiggling as you bounce on his cock.

If you get too tired or overstimulated to keep riding him he’ll instantly flip you over so he’s on top of you and he’ll just pound into you at whatever pace you need.

Mostly grunts when you two are fucking, but he isn’t shy about moaning in your ear when he cums.

So much praise. Like a fuck ton of it.

“Look at you, taking me so well. You’re doing such a good job.

If you’re ever stressed he’ll instantly suggest a solution that involves his face buried between your thighs for the next hour or so.

Endless cuddles when you two are finished. He’ll have you wrapped in his arms until you’ve fallen asleep.

🌙Omega

Good LORD those fingers.

Mean dom. So mean :( (but very rewarding when he thinks you’ve been on your best behaviour)

I reckon he’s pretty well versed in the bdsm and kink world. Maybe even to the point where bdsm is part of his actual lifestyle outside of sex.

Fucks you absolutely silly and then mocks you when you’re too overstimulated to say a full coherent sentence.

If he’s feeling too lazy to actually fuck you or he’s busy he’ll beckon you over to him and have you sit on his lap while he fingers you into oblivion or jacks you off until you’re shooting blanks.

Goes feral when you moan his name, or just say anything along the lines of you belonging to him.

Cums where he wants, as long as you’re comfortable with it.

Not incredibly loud unless you’re sucking him off, then he’s getting a little slutty because he knows how turned on it gets you.

“Oh yeah~ use your tongue just like that darling. Fuck .”

He LOVES bending you over and pounding into you until you’re crying. He’ll even give your ass the occasional slap and moan an “atta girl/boy”.

🌙Sodo

Every time you moan his full name “Sodomiser” he instantly starts panting like a fucking dog.

Gets progressively hornier the more you feed his ego.

Likes nipping at your neck and wrapping his tail around your thigh when you’re fucking.

He tries stay quiet but ultimately ends up a whimpering mess when he cums. He doesn’t even have to be subbing, he just kinda whimpers regardless 🤷‍♀️

I feel like if you were about to suck him off he’d lightly slap you in the face with his dick because he thinks it’s hot 😭

Let you use a vibrator on him one time and he came so hard he was scared to let you use it on him again. He uses it on himself occasionally though.

“Nonono wait don’t turn it up I’ll- ngh~”

Like Swiss he loves cumming on you, bonus points if it’s your chest, ass or face.

One time you pulled his tail during sex and he let out such a load and sinful moan you had to pause before going back to fucking and then teasing him because of it.

🌙Aether

He’s hot and he knows it, the cheeky bastard.

Likes it when you caress his muscles. Fair enough though, if I was that buff I’d want everyone to touch my big strong biceps-

He loves just randomly picking you up and manhandling you.

If you’re a pillow princess or prince you’re in luck because he’ll do all of the work as long as he gets to hear you whimper his name and look at your pretty face.

His favourite thing to do is to buy you lingerie and the rip it off hours later. Sometimes if he’s feeling a bit silly n goofy he’ll buy it one or two sizes too small so he gets to see your tits and/or ass spill out.

Prefers cumming in you but doesn’t mind, as long as you’re satisfied.

Can and will fuck you standing up and it’s very scary because WHO THE FUCK HAS SEX STANDING-

He’s mostly quiet, but still very verbal if that makes sense. He moans a lil and also lets out these like sighs? Idk how to explain it but just know he’s enjoying himself 😭.

“Mm you look so- fuck, good like this.”

🌙Phantom

He’s like a very excited puppy when it comes to sex. Probably would be into puppy play too tbh.

Very easy to overstimulate. Just go for a second or third round with some edging thrown in and he’s putty in your hands.

He whines, moans, whimpers, cries, you name it.

“Please, I’ll be good, I just need to cum, please.”

Doesn’t understand his size or strength sometimes. You couldn’t convince him he had a massive dick until one time when you were riding him you put his hand to your stomach where he could literally feel himself moving inside you.

Doesn’t mind whatsoever where he has to cum, just as long as he actually gets to.

He has the most sensitive tail and horns ever it’s not even funny. He could probably cum untouched if you played with them enough.

Bites a fucking lot, like damn boy calm down.

Needs praise or he might go a little coocoo.

🌙Ifrit

This man is a SWITCH WITH A BREEDING KINK.

So obviously he loves cumming in you.

Gets so unbelievably worked up when he smells you.

Likes fucking you while your in his lap, like something similar to the lotus. He needs to be close to you.

(Afab hc) for some reason he can tell when you’re ovulating and it just sends him spiralling. He’s practically on his knees rutting into the floor and begging you to let him fuck you.

This when he gets the most vocal.

“Please let me fuck a baby into you. Mm~ I’ll do anything”

Bites hard. Like it’s a problem.

(Half afab) Insists on carrying you everywhere once you two are finished. His reasoning is because he might’ve hurt your silly little human body with his massive ghoul dick (his words not mine) and because you might be pregnant!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

That's all, thanks for reading my lovelies!