You are small. You are green. Your black mane is tangled with dust and old blood, your teal eyes always scanning for the next threat. The wasteland doesn’t care that you used to be something else—something taller, softer, with hands that spent hours wrapped around a cock while staring at glowing screens full of drawn ponies doing filthy, impossible things. Here, you are just a blank-flank earth filly, no cutie mark, no horn, no wings. Just hooves, hunger, and the constant ache of a body that isn’t yours.

You never tell anypony where you came from. They wouldn’t believe you. And even if they did, what could they do? There is no way back.

The sun is a bruised smear behind the clouds when you spot her.

White coat untouched by radstorms. Black stockings pristine, hugging plump thighs all the way to polished hooves. Crimson mane with black streaks, tied back with an oversized black bow. Piercings glint in both ears. Magenta pupils rimmed with thick mascara, wide and lost. A few freckles dust her muzzle like someone scattered cinnamon on fresh snow. And floating beside her—chattering in a voice like dry leaves—is a little skull familiar wearing a tiny pink ribbon.

Bubbles.

Your stomach drops.

You know this mare. You know her teats, the exact shade of her black cock when she wills it into existence, the way her ink magic brings filthy doodles to writhing life. You’ve come to sketches of her more times than you can count, back when coming was easy and the world wasn’t on fire.

Lilith. A succubus unicorn plucked straight out of someone’s porn thread and dropped into the real hell of the Equestrian Wasteland.

She looks around, trembling. “This isn’t Canterlot,” she whispers to Bubbles. “This isn’t anywhere.”

You should walk away. You’re a filly. You’re alone. You have half a canteen and a rusty knife.

But you remember the threads. How clean she always was. How wanted. Out here, clean means prey.

Hoofbeats. Laughter—rough, drunk, hungry.

Three slavers crest the ridge. Earth ponies in spiked barding, chains rattling at their sides. One licks his lips when he sees her.

“Fresh meat,” he says. “Look at those stockings. Bet she’s never even seen a radroach.”

You move before you think.

You dart out from cover, small body low to the ground, and slam your shoulder into the nearest slaver’s foreleg. He stumbles, swears. You bite the strap of his saddlebag and yank—a flare gun clatters out. You kick it hard into a thornbush and bolt.

“Hey! Get back here, you little shit!”

They chase you instead of her.

You lead them through twisted rebar and collapsed overpasses, tiny hooves skidding on loose gravel. A bullet whines past your ear. Another scorches the tip of your tail. You dive into a drainage pipe barely wide enough for your body, heart hammering, and wait until their cursing fades.

When you crawl out the other side, shaking, she’s waiting.

Lilith stands in the shadow of a half-buried billboard, Bubbles hovering nervously. Her magenta eyes are soft with something between fear and wonder.

“You saved me,” she says, voice like velvet soaked in honey. “A little green heroine.”

You try to shrug. It comes out shaky.

She steps closer. The scent of her—ink, old parchment, and something darker—fills your nose. Her stocking-clad leg brushes yours.

“You’re trembling,” she murmurs. A faint glow of magenta magic flickers around her horn. “Let me repay you.”

Bubbles snickers. “Mistress, she’s dripping already. Smells like heat and desperation.”

You freeze. You hadn’t noticed the slick warmth between your hind legs, the way your filly pussy has started to wink traitorously.

Lilith’s smile curves, slow and wicked. “Is that true, sweet thing?”

You should say no. You should run.

Instead you nod, small and ashamed and starving for touch.

She lowers herself gracefully, plump body settling onto the dusty ground. Her tail lifts, revealing the soft black teats nestled beneath, already slightly swollen. Her marehood glistens—pink hidden inside dark lips.

But then the magic flares brighter.

Between her hind legs, flesh shifts, stretches. A thick black cock slides free of its magical sheath, heavy and veined, already beading at the flared tip. Her pussy remains below it, open and wet, dual offerings.

Your breath catches. You remember this exact cock from countless drawings. Now it’s warm, real, twitching in the dead air.

Lilith reaches out with a forehoof and gently pulls you closer until your muzzle presses against one soft teat. You latch on without thinking—suckling like a starved foal. Sweet, thin milk touches your tongue; succubus magic, feeding something deeper than hunger.

She moans, low and filthy. “Good girl.”

Her other foreleg guides you up, until you’re straddling her barrel, small green body against plush white. Your dripping filly slit slides along the underside of her shaft, coating it in your slick.

You rock instinctively. The flare bumps your tiny clit with every motion. Pleasure spikes sharp and overwhelming.

Lilith’s horn glows again. A thin tendril of ink rises from a small bottle at her side, forming delicate black lines in the air—then solidifying into soft, warm tendrils that wrap gently around your barrel, holding you steady.

Another tendril teases your tail aside.

You feel the blunt head press against your entrance.

“Relax,” she whispers. “Let me in.”

You do.

The stretch burns, then melts into blinding fullness. Inch after thick inch sinks into your filly pussy until you’re seated flush against her, belly distended slightly around her shape. You can feel every vein, every pulse.

She thrusts up slowly, savoring your whimpers. The tendrils stroke your teats, your clit, your blank flank. Bubbles floats closer, whispering filthy encouragement you barely hear over the wet sounds and your own broken moans.

You come first—hard, squirting down her shaft, walls clenching in frantic waves. She follows moments later, hot seed flooding deep, spilling out around the seal of your bodies to drip down her black teats.

When she finally slips free, you collapse against her chest, trembling.

Lilith kisses your forehead, gentle now. “Stay with me, little green savior. The wasteland is big, and I’m… very generous with my heroes.”

Bubbles giggles. “And very, very hungry.”

You close your teal eyes against her warm coat.

For the first time since you woke up small and green and lost, you don’t feel alone.

===

You’re still draped over her plush barrel, small green chest rising and falling in shaky breaths. Her black cock has softened and slipped back into nothing, leaving only the warm, sticky mess between your hind legs and the slow drip of her seed down your inner thighs. Your filly pussy throbs with pleasant ache, stretched and full in a way that makes your teal eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Lilith’s foreleg strokes lazy circles along your blank flank, her magenta gaze soft and sated, mascara slightly smudged from the heat.

Bubbles floats in lazy figure-eights overhead, humming a lewd little tune.

You find your voice first—hoarse, dry, but edged with that old human sarcasm that never quite died.

“Wow,” you mutter against her neck, words muffled by crimson mane. “First thing you do after a filly drags slavers off your tail is stuff her full of succubus cock. Real classy gratitude, princess.”

There’s no venom in it. You’re too boneless, too flooded with lazy warmth to manage anything sharper than a dull poke. Your tail twitches, flicking a drop of mixed fluids onto the dust.

Lilith chuckles, low and rich, the sound vibrating through her chest into yours. One stocking-clad hind leg shifts, brushing your sensitive teats and making you shiver.

“Mm. And yet you took it so eagerly, little savior.” Her horn glows faintly; a soft ink tendril wipes gently at the mess on your thighs, almost tender. “I thought it only fair to reward heroism properly.”

You huff, ears flicking back. “Just… be careful who you shove that thing into out here.” Your voice drops, quieter now, the sarcasm thinning into something rawer. “Wasteland doesn’t hand out love. Barely lets you share lust. Mostly it just takes.”

Lilith stills beneath you. Even Bubbles pauses mid-loop, ribbon drooping.

For a long moment there’s only the distant howl of wind through ruined buildings and the soft drip of spent pleasure cooling on both your coats.

Then Lilith’s forehooves tighten around your small frame, pulling you closer until your muzzle tucks under her chin.

“I know,” she whispers, breath warm against your ear. “I felt it the moment I arrived—the hunger in the air, the way everything wants to devour everything else.” Her voice hardens, just a little. “But I am a succubus, sweet thing. Devouring is what I do. The difference is… I prefer consent. And I prefer it mutual.”

She nuzzles the top of your head, bow rustling against your black mane.

“Stay with me,” she says again, softer. “Let me devour you gently. Let me keep the ones who’d take from you… entertained.”

Bubbles snickers. “Permanently, if needed.”

You don’t answer right away. You just press closer, letting her warmth chase the wasteland chill from your bones, letting the steady beat of her heart drown out the distant gunfire on the horizon.

For now, it’s enough.