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Summary
A buck had one primary duty to his doe, and that was to provide her with fawn, fawn, fawn.
“You’ll be such a good fucking mother,” he snarled, copious amounts of saliva running down his maw as he spoke. “You’ll look so beautiful with your belly full of me.”
Showing him your bright white teeth, fangs gleaming, you nodded.
In which Alastor goes through his seasonal ruts and you are to be the sole bearer of his spawn.