#I have so much world build up in my head

[princeofuchiha]

I just got the final results for a commision I bought a bit ago and I'm So In Love with my boy in this art style.

Art by @/7angeltrumpets

[allastoredeer]

THAT MOMENT YOU REALIZE ALASTOR IS ACTUALLY WAY SCARIER THAN WE GIVE HIM CREDIT FOR

So, in the throes of doing world-building for my Hazbin fics and analyzing characters and how they fit into Pentagram's political system, I realized not only how powerful Alastor actually is, but how fucking scary.

Now, yes, in the grand scheme of things, Alastor is far from the most powerful person in Hell. Far from it. The Royal Family (Lucifer, Lilith, and Charlie), and the Goetia are way above the Overlords. Our twinky, angsty, galaxy bird, Stolas, could 100% body Alastor. I'm sorry, Al. I love you, babe. But in terms of the hierarchal system, you and the other Overlords aren't influential to the rest of Hell, at all.

But, it's an entirely different story if we stick exclusively to the Pride Ring.

I'm not trying to do a big, essay-length analysis, that's a lot of work and I'm tired, so I'll try to make it as brief as possible.

We know three crucial things: 1) sinners aren't allowed to leave the Pride Ring, 2) they've built a semi-functional society for themselves that is exclusive to their specific ring (with a political system that they've molded just for them), and 3) sinners can't kill other sinners.

So, what we have here is a big piece of land stuffed with people who can't leave it, in a society they've built specifically for themselves, with an amassing population that is constantly growing because they have no way of dying/or killing each other. (Honestly, it's like Heaven was setting them up for an Exterminations - THOUGH I'VE ACTUALLY COME UP WITH A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, COMPLETELY FANON BASED THEORY/WORLD BUILDING IDEA ABOUT HOW HELL HAD KEPT THE POPULATION DENSISTY CONTROLLED FOR THE MILLENIA OF COLLECTING HUMAN SOULS, HOW THE POPLUATION STILL GOT TOO LARGE AND THUS RESULTED IN THE EXTERMINATIONS, AND HOW IT WAS ROSIE WHO HAD A HUGE HAND IN IT ALL.

Anyway, back on topic, so the Overlords essentially control this Ring. We know Stolas lives in the Pride Ring (judging by the red sky we see when he's at his house), so its possible more Goetia live there too (and imps, and succubi; the Pride Ring is known for being the most diverse of the Rings), but we haven't seen any evidence of the Goetia, or any of the other Hellborn, interact or influencE Pentragram City in a political way--outside of the Goetia being above the Overlords in the hierarchal system). I headcanon that they do have some involvement in Pentagram City, as they do live there, but for the most part, the Pride Ring is left completely to the sinners and how they run things.

Lillith got involved, obviously (but she's been missing for years in the beginning of the show), Lucifer hasn't been involved for who knows how long, and Charlie obviously doesn't have a lot of sway, nor did she have any previous influence given how she's treated by the very people she rules over. Her status is known, but there's no actual respect for her or her title as the literal Princess of Hell.

The royal family may the the strongest beings in all of the 7 Rings, but outside of Lillith, it seems they had very little involvement (in Charlie's case) or interest (in Lucifer's case) in ingratiating themselves into Pentagram City.

The entire Ring is being run by the Overlords. They cannot leave it. The Pride Ring is their domain. This is their new home. This is their world.

And in this world, the Overlords are the top dogs.

So, Alastor is powerful just in the sense that he is one of the Overlords. Like them, he is essentially one of the rulers of their personal, caged-off little world. He has power and political sway. He joined the other Overlords for Carmilla's meeting, where they were going to discuss the aftermath of the Extermination and what they can do about the loss in the population (and thus, their power, given that owning souls is how they get it).

It's implied that this isn't the first time they've had meetings like this, and if they get together to discuss the best ways to recover from the Exterminations and make up for their mutual losses (literally working together when they could've all just been rivals trying to undermine the others to get more souls), who knows what else they've discussed in their efforts to keep Pentagram City running (especially considering that the best way to maintain their power IS by maintaining the city, it's people, and keeping it from falling apart at the seams. Taking care of the city is in their best interests - I use "taking care of" very, very loosely, considering this is still Hell and it's hardly the gold standard of utopia's). They're essentially a Board of Leadership with mutually shared power.

The Overlords have all the power. All the sway. In their established world, THEY are at the top of the food chain.

BUT then, you take into account that sinners can't kill each other (a rule that extends even to the Overlords), and that's when things get interesting.

In episode 4, "Masquerade" Valentino told Angel that he's "killed people for less" during the scene in the dressing room. But, in episode 2, after Valentino had torn apart one of Velvette's models, she wasn't upset in the way an Overlord would be if they lost someone under contract, especially considering that owning souls is what gives them power (and I assume that they own the souls of most, if not all, of the people they employ). She said that she can't sit and wait for "that bitch to pull herself back together," so, yeah, the implication is that sinners can literally be torn apart (even by the Overlords, who are the strongest among them) but won't die is immense. No matter what you do, a sinner will reform, or heal, or whatever, but they will come back.

So, consider, that there is only one person who's been able to kill sinners, permanently, and that person is Alastor.

Not only that, he killed Overlords.

In a realm where death is impossible, Alastor had cheated the system. And as far as we know, he's the only one who's been able to do it.

The only person I can think of who has something similar is Carmilla, but that's because she'd integrated angelic steel into her apparel. (Though, there's something to be said about her selling angelic weapons to the masses, as she is a manufacturer and distributor of them not only in Pentagram city, but all of the 7 Rings, (as Stryker had gotten his hands on a "Carmine blessing tipped rifle" to kill off Stolas, who's a Goetia), thus, sinners killing other sinners can still be possible, but that's only if they get you're hands on a weapon with angelic steel, or they're wealthy enough to buy onr, and I imagine Carmilla doesn't sell those cheap.

But Alastor didn't use angelic steel. He found a way to tear souls apart, where otherwise they were only able to be owned. Considering how terrified Husk (who is one of the most calm and collected people in the Hazbin crew; who had once been an Overlord, himself) was when AIastor threatened to do they same to him, like, that goes to show just how serious it is. He was literally full-body shaking. Ears-pinned back. Flight-fight-or freeze. Pressing himself down into the carpet.

We've never seen him like that at any other time during the show, even during the Extermination when they were all about to die.

Alastor's threat had scared him more than literally getting killed my an army of Exorcist's.

And like, yeah???? I get it????

That shit has to be terrifying. Not only for those that Alastor threatens, but for every single sinner in Pentagram City.

This random guy cheated the system, killed without any outside means, and if he can topple Overlords (the strongest and most powerful of them) almost over night, there's no saying what he can do to regular sinners. (Or what they think he can do, I have more thoughts surrounding whether Alastor would be able to tear apart a soul that is owned by someone else, but this is already getting long).

And, presumably, the only reason he stopped is because he decided to.

Like???? Do you guys understand what I'm saying???? For someone to have that kind of power??? In a system where that power SHOULD NOT be possible??? A power that gives him this massive advantage over everyone else???? That no one else can do???? And the only reason he doesn't use it is because he decides not to????

It's no wonder Alastor was so feared. Why he still is feared (by those who know of him at least LOL he has been gone for 7 years). And, like, yeah we see him be all creepy and scary during the show. We see him use his magic and grow into his demon form, and he is intimidating in that right, but I think the true horror of his character comes from this ability to kill the unkillable in a system where it never should've been possible in the first place.

That's where the true terror of the Radio Demon lies. That's where the visceral fear comes from. And it's why he's someone you wouldn't want to mess with, even for the other Overlords (especially for the other Overlords).

Like, it makes sense why he has such a massive ego. Why he thinks he can take on anyone. It's because he has. He's powerful, even by Overlord standards, and he knows it. And it makes further sense why him now being on a leash is making him unravel at the seams.

Am I making sense??? Is this all just meaningless rambling to you guys??? Idk! Idk. It's just been tumbling through my head, and it made me realize just how scary Alastor is, especially from an outside perspective.

I have SO many headcanons T.T I've done so much world-building, and I am have so much fucking fun. I feel like a kid in a sandbox. My brain hasn't stopped buzzing since this show came out.

Anyway, I'm off to outline more wips and work on the fics I'm writing. Happy Hazbin-ing to the rest of you.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EDYN TIDESTRIDER, CHALLENGER OF THE UNDERSEA, RIVAL OF THE DEEP. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOUR BROTHER WAS CHOSEN TO BE A WEAPON OF THE GODS? HOW WILL YOU UNDO WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO HIM?

[floorpancakes]

ok but im rly into the idea of till having a new era that brings the light back to his eyes and drives him forward if he gets to escape the arena. idk where he'd go from there but i want to see ivans sacrifice both haunt him and drive him to actually live his damn life after being the captured bird refusing freedom cause of mizi. once he knows she's alive with the resistance he might be able to actually experience other things and widen his world and if that happens and he puts his personal sense of rebellion towards the human cause OR settles into finding some other way to feel fulfilment that isn't a single person that could be deeply fascinating to me i think

[arowrath]

that post has actually shifted my perception of stupid fucking PrObLeMaTiC MeDiA discourse forever i think i need to chew on the topic for like 8 hours and decide how i feel about it then

[maraczeks]

+

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: January 16

"Coast of Carolina" by Jimmy Buffett

[daforged]

there’s a lot of things im not enjoying about my life right now but i think the worst one is that i don’t have anything to talk about other than how miserable and tired and unmotivated i am

[whumpitisthen]

Next chapter of Auden's story is written!!!! Once i edit it you will get to see just how powerful His Majesty is, a tiny bit of how humanity survives through literal Hell

and a little bit of Grim being a nuisance, as per usual, because he is important to me and a bastard

We'll get back to Auden after this it's kinda weird how it's his story and he hasn't been here for two chapters............ Dont you worry the angel boi will continue being harmed and traumatised :3 i just had to introduce our whumpers properly

[peapod20001]

I actually do have very complex thoughts about many different things, it’s just a bit challenging to connect the inner voice to the outer voice sometimes </3

[floral-hex]

no see I WILL write something eventually, I haven’t been putting it off, I’ve just been uhhhhh cultivating the story for a couple of years yeah yeah

[springcatalyst]

*banging on your door* I'D LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT JULIAN, LILIANA, UND BROOKE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

What are their final thoughts in the dark silence of night before they sleep? How do they sleep?

How do they choose their clothes when purchasing and dressing?

What is a fear that they cannot pull themselves away from? They need it, and they hate it.

OMG HELLO HI HELLOOOOOOOO i am taking ur coat like a victorian gentleman and inviting u inside.  These are so specific and dramatic i love

AHEM

-

Sleep, rather, the moments right before it, is when a person is at their truest.  You can’t really hide from it.  So those final thoughts are typically a lens into the basal forms that make up a character.

Liliana is a character that’s very true, very genuine, so her sleeping mind doesn’t show much that you wouldn’t expect, because there’s not a lot that she hides, at least not from herself.  She’s obsessive: stuck (though ‘stuck’ implies that she’s here by some force other than her own) in this quest that she’s been trailing for years, getting closer but not in any way that’s tangible.  She goes to sleep with ‘what next’ floating around in her skull, and dreams of a goal reached.  And she sleeps like the dead, but only because she puts it off for as long as she can.  Not that she avoids sleep itself, though, rather she stays up and works until she can’t stay upright anymore.  She is laser-focused, set on her task.  It can benefit her, in certain conditions, but mostly it leaves her running on so little sleep she has trouble functioning. Her being a satyr means her sleep schedule doesn’t quite align with a ‘typical’ one anyway, but she definitely fucks it more and also that’s not set in stone atm.

Julian, on the other hand, is a liar and he hides just about everything about himself, including from himself.  Julian and Liliana are similar in a lot of ways but this is not one of them.  So his unconscious truth doesn’t always align with what he appears to be.  It’s careful.  It’s somatic: a sort of ‘is the door locked is the knife within reach is the cane by the bed,’ but it’s also theoretical: more a ‘who here do I trust (in the most basic sense of the word) or who do I watch out for.’  He absolutely is the impulsive asshole he looks like, but the little bit of careful caution that remains beneath plays a role in his continued safety (relatively speaking).  Julian is also a pretty light sleeper, growing up with five siblings (lmao) there’s a good amount of noise in the mornings or if something is wrong at night, so he’s just kind of grown accustomed to waking up, even if it’s that barely-awake state, to evaluate the noise.  And he rises with the sun- mostly old habit, but it’s also convenient for guaranteeing some time unobserved, for safety or just for some quiet.

Brooke is different in that the thing that follows her into sleep isn’t as much a thought as it is a feeling.  Brooke spends a lot of time busy, not necessarily with the intent of keeping her mind securely in the present, but that’s the effect it has, no matter.  So when she isn’t doing something- following or fighting or helping or hurting -she gets that little moment of quiet calm and it’s occupied by guilt.  The weight of it kind of lingers above her, the knowledge of what she was a part of, the remembrance of what she’s constantly trying to undo.  Brooke lives in the shadow of a debt to repay, and it catches up to her when she has a moment of still.  She is an uneasy sleeper, heavy to the ongoings of the waking world, but she rarely sleeps straight through the night, nevertheless.  She doesn’t dream, just wakes with the feeling that she did, even as it evades her. 

-

I feel like this is already so long and that’s just the first thing but like, you gave me the opportunity so I’m taking it <3.  Choice of fashion is a little less dramatic but I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it anyway.  Clothing basically serves three functions: utility, expression, and comfort.  For the sake of character designs I usually focus on the first two unless it’s particularly relevant, which it isn’t for these three so much. 

Brooke is mostly utility.  She has casualwear, of course, but honestly I haven’t really designed much of it and usually just draw her in her armor.  Which is pretty obviously utile, but it’s also familiar.  She keeps this leather armor, embossed around the edges (that I’ll actually design and make mean something eventually but... not yet apparently) and either similar or just the same to the kind she wore with her family, their guild.  Familiar isn’t always a good thing, but it’s all she knows.  If I’m being real she’s still being developed, especially storyline specifics, so not a lot is decided.  I’ve thought about switching around the colors, the blue I typically give her can be a changed version, removed from its ties to before, which was maybe a gold or a purple, something more implicative of importance.  Or of having her rid herself of the armor completely, so caught up in breaking her bonds that she makes herself vulnerable... but I’m a little too attached to how the armor looks... basically, she’s just balancing the safety of utility with the unrest of something recognizably hunter. 

Liliana is mostly expression.  She doesn’t need anything particular from her clothes, so chooses what makes her feel good.  Nothing too extravagant, because she is still wrecking shit and needs to not be hindered by what she’s wearing, but she dresses to look good and be scary, when the need arises.  She wears dresses and skirts despite the fact that, as a satyr, she really doesn’t... need to?  Because satyrs, post-cataclysm, live closely tied with humans in particular, though fauns as well, depending on locale, and as such have absorbed some social elements of theirs- like clothing and gender norms.  She abides by those norms, gender in particular (to a certain degree), not because she has to but because she wants to- because, you know, trans.  She carries a good amount of things with her on average- swords and knives and lockpicks and money and various other whathaveyous -but rarely carries them all at once, taking them on or off her person whenever she thinks she may or may not need them, but her belt remains on no matter, because that’s what she needs to have any of them at all.  Her compass, too, stays on her at all times, but that’s more sentimentality than use. 

Julian is a bit of both, but with him, a lot of the expression melts over into utility.  The puffy shirts, while inherently pirate out-of-universe, are conveniently the opposite of form-fitting.  They make him look bigger than he is like a cat puffing out, but also hide, you know, trans.  Typically they’re white or otherwise lightly colored, because it’s cheap and function-over-form, but later era when he’s particularly full of himself he trends towards darker colors and black.  Black, as a dye, is expensive to make, so wearing it is a way of making it clear that he is either important or dangerous or both- he strives to command respect or fear and it doesn’t always matter which.  Julian, like Liliana, also carries some stuff with him, but the difference is that he has less, and so almost always has all of them.  The exception is his sword, which is bulky enough to always have that unless he for sure needs it, he’ll leave it in favor of a knife (or two, counting the one in his cane).  And because his right hand is typically occupied by his cane, his things are all strapped to his left, another reason he doesn’t always carry the sword- it gets in the way.  Finally, depending where storyline-wise he is, he wears a couple little gold earrings- mark of a pirate.  Been considering having it be a status thing, too: one for crewmate, two for first mate, three for captain, or something similar. 

-

Fear is a really interesting one.  I dig where you’re going with it, and I’m sure I’m about to exhibit some mental illness, but like, fear is possibly one of the most important things in a character, because it’s what’s really behind at least 90% of a characters’ motivations, isn’t it?

Gotta start with Julian for this one.  He is afraid of a thousand entwined things in a way he will never admit and might not even be aware of.  The way he is perceived is so important to him that he lives with the constant threat of what he’s built for himself being taken away.  He’s so... I can’t call him exactly fake, because it’s not all false... he’s so constructed.  Everything he is, is exaggerated.  He is angry, and impulsive, and fast and rude and detached, but the way those things are presented is curated to be viewed in the way that he wants it to be.  And because of that, because everything he is is built on a not-quite-lie not-quite-truth, he runs the risk of having it all crash down around him.  That’s what follows him: the fear of being seen past it all, because he thinks that with that, he’ll end up right back where he was before.  Not to be too insane but in my silly little character.doc that I have for fun there’s this segment that’s pretty much what I just said:

He is afraid of no longer being taken seriously

He is afraid of losing the image he has created

He is afraid of trust being broken and secrets getting out

He is afraid of being patronized or the subject of pity

He would have you believe he is afraid of nothing

Liliana, now that I’m thinking about it, is actually pretty similar to him.  I didn’t even do this one on purpose oops.  Her difference, though, is that what she is isn’t fake.  She has this legacy, this name, that she reigns- people know of her, she commands that same respect or fear that Julian has to try so hard to.  Part of that, though, is taken from her.  She has her... I don’t want to call it a birthright, because that sounds entitled, but she has her birthright, then it’s stolen from her, and she rebuilds it even as she is on a hunt to reclaim it.  And so her fear stems from the possibility of failure.  If she never reaches her goal, if she truly loses what should never have been taken in the first place, then it’s all been for nothing, not only her work, but her father’s.  And the longer she goes without reaching that finish line, the more she is afraid of ‘what if it’s too late’ and ‘maybe it’s already over.’  Because her failure is also his, what she’d lose is also his, and that’s worse than if she just failed herself, because she feels the need to honor what he built, what he left, and what he was, in his absence.

Brooke is afraid of exactly what you’d expect.  A thousand what you’ve done’s follow her.  She terrified of never making it right, of the possibility of her wrongs being something that she never can make right.  She made a vow and she intends with all her being to keep it, but there is no endgoal, there is no ‘finished.’  It’s constant, and as such the constant threat of failure, of breaking that promise, whether by action or inaction, stays with her.  She lives with it for so long that it begins to leech into her, more than it already was, so it becomes what drives her.  But also... it’s what’s always driven her.  For a long time, she’s driven more by what’s behind her than what’s before her, and all that does is make her steep in this guilt and fear, fighting for a repentance that she doesn’t even know if she deserves. 

-

Okay I’m done being insane now, I hope my fucked up little guys provide enrichment to your enclosure but either way you’ve given me the GIFT of LETTING ME BE ANNOYING so THANK U AGAIN BESTIE. KISSING U KISSING U KISSING U KISSING U K

[termagax]

sighs. yk i dont think it was anything they were ever planning on but i do think they would at least have had a conversation like "do you ever think about getting married" and i wonder how that would go for them

[webism]

pornstar!satoru and pornstar!suguru managing to talk you into letting them both fuck you at the same time on film—a double penetration scene.

apparently, after a few... lewd images of the three of you together were leaked by a blue-eyed attention whore who swears he didn't mean to edit, upload and caption them before posting them on his main twitter, your combined audiences have started begging for video content of the three of you. and what better than a filthy threesome to spark the flame of your three-way-affairs?

it's how you end up riding suguru, feeling his cock so deep inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach. your hands find purchase on his muscled pecs as you ride him to the brink of orgasm; sweat coats your skin, his too, and as it is with suguru, your moans aren't played up for the sake of porn: they're raw and real and so loud as he encourages your sounds with a finger circling over your clit.

those at home watching the pair of you, only one hand free as they stroke or finger or rub themselves in time with each thrust of Suguru's hips up into you, are all met with the sight of satoru walking into frame. cock hard and big and at attention as he climbs onto the bed behind you and takes a few moments to kiss at your neck, reach around and play with your bouncing tits.

how he teases you with his words, whispers them into you ear with full knowledge that the cameras microphone wont pick up on his words. there's no production crew this time around, no directors forcing a position or calling for breaks and ruining the building tension in your already coiled stomach.

"gonna fuck this pretty ass so deep, see if i can feel sugu through you hm? you want that?"

and his word already have you on edge, all you think you can manage is a moan of approval and the slightest nod of your head, but satoru grabs your chin and guides your gaze to the camera. "say you want it, say you want me."

"i—fuck—i want you, toru. want you to fuck my ass while i ride suguru."

the domesticity, the sweet nicknames you wouldn't have said on film if you were half as aware of the world around you—it's a lot for poor satoru to handle, what with how hard his cock is, how it's already leaking so much precum onto the sheets beneath you. he can barely still your hips for long enough to work himself into your ass, and the stretch of him is enough to push you forward and on top of suguru.

you're given a moment to adjust, a full minute of stillness to catch your breath and acclimate to the overwhelming fullness you feel—the weird way you feel whole, and the inevitable loss you'll feel once this is over. the moment is also given to stop the poor boys from cumming all too quickly. suguru can feel satoru pulsing inside of you, and satoru swears he can feel suguru's cock twitch. you squeeze around the both of them, test their resolve with a simple roll of the hips, and then choke on your spit when they both start thrusting in tandem with each other. hard and fast and mean and all at once.

it's blinding, the pleasure you feel all of a sudden.

suguru is strong and domineering with his hands on your hips and his cock nestled deep in your pussy—he thrusts his hips up, matches satoru's unkind pace in such a way you're sure you'll be unable to walk the next way. gorgeous praise slips from his lips as you hold eye contact with him—you're surely a mess, fucked stupid by two men at once.

satoru is eager and manic in the way he takes your ass. his hands perched on suguru's thighs as he ruts into you over and over in chase of a climax he knows is going to be unearthly. he'd praise you if he could, but all that spills from his mouth are incoherent babbles of pleasure that would make anyone listening think that he's the one being impaled on his almost too-large cock.

they work so well together—your pleasure seems to be the one thing they consistently agree on. you don't even have the mind to worry about the video length with how fast you're reaching orgasm, dragging the boys with you as you shake between them, wracked with pleasure so overwhelming you're nearly in tears.

it's a clip that gets shared on every porn site and blog known to man. of you, a fucked out mess between two lust-struck men each cumming inside of you at the exact same time your own orgasm crests.

the clenching of suguru's stomach as he bucks up into you, natural instincts rolling his cock as deep as possible as he empties his balls inside of you.

the way satoru tilits his head back, jaw tight and hair a mess as he forgets how to breathe when he paints the inside of your ass with his cum.

and you, impaled on both cocks at the same time, overstimulated and shaking with the remnants of the strongest orgasm you've had in a long time, and still rolling your hips in hopes of more. another round or three, as long as you stay this full.

@medusamara5 @echodead @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh @lotties-ashwagandha

@veraiku @niinistudies @jexx233 @logoleptic-since-06 @kirishimasboobs

@samaraxmorgan @sweetsformysoul @uranosbaaee @angeleen777

@xixflower @dilfdicks

[theunderthecover]

(hi its the anon from earlier, now clearly not an anon. im sending this before I fold into myself. <3)

Scar has been tempted to fold the towel for the past half hour, no matter how safe and lucrative this scheme is. 

Doing anything in front of a crowd for 5 hours nonstop is a tiring task by itself, but singing on top of that could make the most experienced performer want to keel over.

But, a group of powerful and wealthy adventurers entered the tavern 30 minutes ago, and Grian's eyes narrowed in their direction. It's a look the Aarakocra only has when a bigger fish (a bigger prize) unexpectedly appears on the job. It's a look that leads to some of their biggest catches. So, Scar will sing and entertain the party til they're blackout drunk and his throat dies so Grian can snatch whatever caught his eye. 

The energy in the tavern has long since died down, as most rowdy tavern goers are either off to bed or too tired to be loud anymore. The only thing that fills the room now is quiet chatter, the barkeep's everlasting service, Scar's continued performance. He concludes yet another song and basks in another round of faint applause. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see a faint bird-like footprint appear in a small puddle of cheap alcohol near the extremely drunk targets.

With Grian so close, Scar needs to have an iron grip on the room's attention again despite the itch in his throat and the room's energy being at an all-time low. There are too many drifting eyes that could see something being stolen. 

After staring at the puddle for a moment too long, he gets an idea. 

"You've been a delight tonight, kind folks! It'll be just one more song to wrap up the night." Scar declares to the whole tavern from his stage, "Though I'll be sure to leave you all filled with wonder and awe! As a treat, for being such an Amazin' audience tonight." He finishes the segway with an exaggerated wink, causing some patrons to giggle. 

He casts minor illusions with a flourish, making the sound of soft instruments echo around the room. As a viol begins to play, the quiet conversation amongst patrons lulls as every eye--curious, confused, excited--turns to the stage once more.

Scar's eyes close, and he relaxes as he takes in the music the magic creates. He thinks of the song with intent, pulls upon vivid memories to inspire emotion, and lets the feeling consume every movement. He takes one more breath, then, at the cue, begins to sing with a slightly rough voice.

"In a perfect world… one we’ve never known…” 

The tone is jarringly different from the previous songs of the night.

"We would never need to face the world alone…."

The instrument choice, low soothing energy, a soft romantic sway, and the bard's renewed life- all combined- make a near-perfect hook for everyone within the tavern. 

"They can have the world…" 

All Scar has to do is follow through with the catch and reel in the hook enough to let Grian catch the fish before anyone in the pond suspects a thing.

"We'll create our own."

He opens his eyes slightly, half-lidded to obscure where he looks but wide enough to see one of the wealthy adventurer's satchels be swiped off the table and quickly replaced by an identical copy. A bit of panic wells up inside him at the precarious move, but he swallows and trusts his partner knows what he's doing.

"I may not be brave, strong, or smart, but somewhere in my secret heart-" His voice slightly cracks at the rise, but he breathes through it and tries not to let it go completely off-pitch. Scar looks at the ceiling and tries to force his movements make it look intentional, stretching out the ache in his throat. 

"I know, love will find a way… anywhere I go…" Scar lowers his head in time to catch a now visible Grian acting like he just walked in the room, "I'm home if you are there beside me…"

He lets the music breathe, in a tune he knows by heart, as he watches his partner-in-crime casually head for the exit.  

Grian turns around and leans against the wall by the door, a stolen bag tucked under a wing. He signals to leave. They make eye contact.

The warm tavern lights again, and Aarakocra's red tones make Grian look like a painted sunrise. Scar, despite knowing he should be focused on finishing this scheme, doesn't look away. Doesn't stop to think about causing glorious chaos in their victorious exit.

Scar continues to sing, holding Grian's eyes within his own all the while. 

"Like dark, turning into day…"

Grian subtly pauses, confused but suddenly seeming as spellbound as the partner-in-crime in the metaphorical spotlight.

Still, their eyes hold.

 "… somehow we'll come through…"

Grian's incredulously mouthed words, which he fondly knows are along the lines of 'Scar, what are you doing?!'

Still, their eyes hold. 

"… now that I've found you..."

Scar's posture slightly sags with the exhaustion of this performance. He feels the cantrip near its minute end, but the violins swell into an off-script crescendo anyway.

Their eyes still hold.

"… love will find a way..."

The music cuts off abruptly as the spell ends.

He sees Grian suddenly look rather lost, but Scar is not sure why.

The whole tavern is bathed in silence.

He feels compelled to make the song at least sound finished. So…

"Now that I've found you..."

… he repeats himself, even with nothing else to support the song. 

(Scar doesn't admit that, at that moment, as he and his partner swim in each other's eyes, he didn't only repeat it for the performance.)

"… love will find a way."

The room roars into one of the loudest applause at night despite the smaller number of people.

And their eyes still hold.

bard scar singing a little love song at the crastle tavern and making direct eye contact with warlock grian

i think i just got murdered by my own thought what the fuck

[satorena]

#BUILD-A-BLOB !?

bad ☆ summary. good news? your nephew’s birthday gift to you definitely works. bad news? turns out to be a cranky four armed creature that nags at everything you do. good / bad news? he’s smokin’ hot and you wanna fuck him nasty. seriously, what the fuck.

cw. explicit content. foul language. monsterfūcking. blobkuna to true form!kuna. double penetration. anāl. deepthroăting. cunningūlus. pūssy slapping. bāckshots. belly bulge. creāmpie. degradation (he calls you mean things) overstimulation. dumbification. mentions of drug usage. sukuna speaks like he has a stick up his ass. pōrn without plot. 4.4k words.

rena’s ☆ note. guys i’m giggling so hard at the gif HELP

“the fuck are ya starin’ at?”

technically speaking, you think you’re looking at a seven foot monster with more arms than you can count, more mouths than necessary and much more tattoos than you can see. just a minute ago, this entity had been an ugly formless blob with a singular eye and bucked teeth that sat against your window, forming incoherent sentences as “me want water”, “me need light” or your personal favorite, “me want you to fuck off”.

you’d left to check on your plants momentarily, coming back to your living space to find that the blob had transformed into a . . . human? something along the word that you use very loosely.

he stands tall and proud and very naked— though unimpressed, toned arms crossed and ass cheeks facing the world outside. you can see the reflection of his clenched buns through the glass and— is that a fucking tramp stamp?

“i’m thinking. . . what used to be my birthday gift,” you answer slowly, brows pinched in confusion as your head tilts. it’s below you, sure, but you can’t help staring at what’s below him. surely it’s the weed catching up to you because there’s no way that, “is that— holy shit, is that two dicks?”

“perverted woman,” the man (question mark) clicks his tongue, as if he isn’t the one dressed in his birthday suit, asshole bearing for pedestrians outside to file public indecency on you. “your reaction suggests you’ve never witnessed the presence of two at once.”

“well. . . no,” he stares at you as if you’re the one with four arms and abnormally long legs. you crouch down, index finger scratching at the corner of your mouth to analyze it some more. you were curious, nothing more! you feel the multitude of his eyes trailing your movements, daring you to proceed forward. he truly doesn’t know you.

they stack atop one another, though both sizes are nothing to scoff at. packing in both girth and length, they stand tall and semi hardened, with curves to the right. he’s got prominent veins running all over his skin, mushroom tips an angry shade of reddish brown. frowning, you peek your head lower to confirm following suspicions,

his tone is rough along the edges, “i do not possess four testicles.” damn it.

“boo, you suck,” you sigh, indeed disappointed by the confirmation. you’d think a monster with monstrous limbs and monstrous cocks would own monstrous balls. “whatever.” you stand back up on your feet, though you’re met with hard ripples of glistening abs.

“so like,” you pause, now shamelessly staring at his torso with shimmering eyes. he’s ripped with an eight pack, waist snatched like a motherfucker and skin inked like a colouring book. “what do i call you?”

you think you hear him chuckle, “how foolish,” a mouth then appears on his stomach, to which you jerk back from how sudden it was. your brows jump to your hairline, eyes widening as teeth bare at you menacingly. “it is common decency to introduce yourself firsthand. have you no manners in the presence of a king?”

“a who?” you squawk, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. this four-armed freak was a king? from where exactly? you shake your head, as if to turn off your inner monologues and quiet the voices down, “right, right. erm, you can call me y/n.”

he repeats your name slowly, followed by a deep chuckle. the rumble of your name against his voice sends a weird tingle down your gut, as you crane your neck upwards to finally look him in the face.

you gulp. damn it, he was attractive all around. though morally questionable, you found his features dashing. sure, there was the weird thing stuck in the side of his face that resembled a mixture of flesh and wood. and yeah, he had an additional set of slender eyes. however, his facial harmony somehow blended perfectly. his facial structure was sharp all around, from his nose bridge to his jawline, and his ears with pierced.

what more could anybody want?

blame it on the sativa or the fact you hadn’t been fucked in a while, but it was your birthday and you want your birthday gift, damn it. there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that— the pulsing at your core had your thighs rubbing together subtly (you hoped) (he smirked when he noticed your legs shifting) (fuck, he already knows).

“you will address me as sukuna, mortal.” he says instead, one of his arms mounting to grasp at a piece of your hair. he’s beefy, big biceps surrounding your peripherals as they flex hard. he twirls your hair between his fingers, and shit, you’re gonna need his nail technician’s reference.

“you talk like you have a stick up your ass,” your voice sounds distant, as distracted as you are, perverted eyes trailing to follow the bulging of his muscles. even his forearm is sexy, a large vein running course beneath his skin amongst others. “you ask for my name and choose to call me mortal? corny.”

“i am not a product of this time,” he riddles, tugging at the strand in his hold. the searing pain of his tug at your hair has you moaning— in agony or pleasure, who truly knows— and before you know it, he spreads the rest of his large fingers at your scalp, “you say i speak as if i have a stick up my ass,” shivers run down your spine when his fingernails scratch at your head, “but really it is you who wants my stick up yours, huh?”

you blink. how the fuck did he know? “th-that’s not even remotely true—”

“do not lie,” another arm lifts to cup at your face. his index rests beneath your jaw as his thumb sits at your chin. you feel the sharp edges of his nails grazing at your skin, “your scent is rather . . . pungent.”

you feel heat quickly spread to your cheeks and your panties effortlessly dampening. he smirks, dipping his thumb into your parted mouth, before scrunching his nose into a whiff, “ah, there it is again.”

the pad of his thumb swipes against your bottom lip, skin collecting your saliva before rubbing the fluid all over your mouth. you feel the tip of his nail poking into the flesh, and your brows furrow, “and you called me the perverted one.”

“that remains true.” another— jeez, how many more— arm snakes at your waist. it creeps below your shirt and sits at your bare skin, a touch so warm it sends jolts of electricity across your limbs. his hand rests at your lower belly, and when a wet tongue drags itself across your sensitive skin, you clamp your lips down around his thumb in a whimper, “you’re an obedient one. i think i’ll have fun with you.”

your brows furrow as your cunt clenches. his smirk deepens and, fuck you really need to stop doing that, “have fun with me?”

“it has been a while since i’ve fooled around with a mortal,” he hums, slipping his thumb out of your mouth. there’s a thin string of saliva connecting from your lips to his fingertip, and you hate how you already crave the salty flesh back in your mouth. “let us see just how weak the human body truly is.”

somewhere along the lines, you find yourself on your knees in your living room, carpet digging into your kneecaps as your fingers interlock at your back. your jaw aches, to the point of snapping as two fat cocks shove themselves down your throat. you breathe through your nostrils as your mouth is clearly occupied, fat tears dotting at your lash line and dribbles of saliva slipping past your lips and down his cocks.

two of his hands grasp at your head as leverage, hips thrusting up and down your throat. the gags that escape you are pornographic, throat muscles clenching around the intrusion. fuck, the strong musk of his pubic hairs cloud your senses and overwhelm your mind— driving you dizzy in arousal.

“loosen up yer throat,” sukuna commands, though you find it contradictory as another one of his abnormally large hands wrap themselves around your throat. he presses just lightly, as if to trace over the bulge of his dicks inside of you, but the lack of oxygen has your body liquifying in heat. you think you see stars, and your pupils start to dilate. “c’mon mortal, don’t pass out on me now— we’ve only just begun.”

easy for you to say, you roll your eyes, though complying to his orders. shit, it’s really hard to breathe but you can’t deny you love how objectifying all of this feels. bounding your own hands back, kneeled in front of this king, hair grouped up in one hand to tug onto. he was using you as if you were merely a toy for his own pleasure, mushroom tips repeatedly abusing the walls of your throat.

your cunt clenches around air, gushing more of your essence against the flimsy material of your panties. his stomach clenches tightly, as do his thigh muscles, the embodiment of man in front of you, destroying your throat.

fuck, your clit throbs.

the king coos at you degradingly, ruby eyes narrowing down at your figure, “awnn, ‘s it too much for ya?” you feel a wad of spit land on your cheek, and despite the nastiness of the actions, the filthiness has you clenching your thighs together. of course he finds pleasure in your desperation, leaning back further into the couch to cock his head at you, “humpin’ on yerself like a desperate slut beggin’ for a proper dicking. how pathetic,”

you nod your head eagerly, as your mouth fails to express just how badly you do want him. he’s so deep down your throat, you swear you feel him near your heart. the sting at your scalp plus the lack of oxygen and your need to have him stuff you full drives you wild with want— so desperate that tears leak through your eyes, stream down your cheeks and land right at his dicks.

“mhm, i’ll take care of ya,” sukuna cuts himself off with a deep groan, sliding further down into his seat. he shifts his hips deeper down your throat, and you gag terribly loud, “you hungry, mortal? open wide and, fuck, take what i give ya—” another grunt leaves him, and as does thick ropes of cum do.

your eyes widen as you’re greeted with hot cum shooting down your throat. it’s creamy, thick and so, so much of it that you’re certain swallowing it all would be impossible. your cheeks hollow as you attempt in your best efforts to gulp him down, the flavour of salty semen bursting at your taste buds.

“greedy bitch,” he chuckles through a moan, grinding his hips in rotations as he rides down the high. sweat dribbles down the crevices of his abs, stomach clenching hard as he empties his balls in you. “thaaat’s it—shit, not fuckin’ bad.”

when he finally pulls out, you gasp loudly for the sweet air you had been deprived of. your body trembles as you release your own hold, hands flying up to grasp at his thick thighs. your fingernails scrape at his skin as your chest heaves.

“y’re so,” you pant, and you can barely register how broken your voice sounds. did his cocks destroy your vocal chords already? “y’re so fuckin’. . . mean.”

“too much?” sukuna cackles, though he’s nowhere near sounding apologetic. his fingers cupping your face swipe at fallen tears on your cheeks. at the feel of a wet tongue licking at your damp skin, you pout in retaliation, brows furrowed and swollen lips puckered, “better get it together, ‘m gonna stretch that pussy out.”

damn it— he had such a way with words. you subconsciously lean your cheek further into his touch, and the grin he gives you is barbaric, “face down, ass up.”

so yeah, you find yourself with your cheek pressed into the softness of your couch, hips pulled up and thighs spread as sukuna feasts. the panties you once wore stuffed in your mouth, they muffle the wanton sounds that rip out your abused throat.

you feel his tongue lap at your folds hungrily, fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for better access. he tongue fucks into your hole, lips sucking and nibbling at your clit with precision. wet heat intrudes your insides and have your stomach tightening.

fingernails scratching at the couch, your back arches as you grasp at anything for support. having multiple mouths should be illegal— you feel tongues trailing all over your thighs and the dip in your back, you feel them rimming at your backside. you even think you feel one diving into your ass.

“mmph, m‘kunaaa!” you wail, toes curling as you push your hips further into his face. you’d never been eaten out as good as he is, nose deep in your cunt as your insides get devoured. you’re so overwhelmed— your puffy clit secreting essence as a slick tongue flicks at the bean.

a hand slaps once, twice at your ass as another pair of hands grip at your plush flesh. “shut th’fuck up,” he speaks into you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers up your spine. you roll your eyes to the back of your skull, foot shaking uncontrollably. when the hands cupping at your breast begin tugging at your nipples, tongues flicking the stiff bud, you feel your dam erupt.

“mmfuuuuckkk!” you whine, as your cunt gushes in his face. he never lets up, tongue repeatedly scissoring your hole as he swallows your juices. you’re squirting so much it drips all over his face and down the suede couch, down your thighs. you think your soul had been taken by this damn near succubus with how long it takes for you to come back to your senses.

he pulls back with a nasty smack from his lips to your lower ones, using the back of his hand to wipe at any excess fluids, “sweet cunt,” he praises you, and you weakly whine, body drained of energy as you fall limp into the soaked couch. you’re out of it, bottom lip quivering as your limbs tingle in bliss— you feel your lids growing heavier by the second but sukuna is having none of that, “aht aht— where the fuck d’you think yer goin’?”

you feel pair of hands pull your hips back up and another grab a handful of your hair in a steady hold. you’re immediately pulled up on all fours, and you whimper at the firm blows he lands yet again on your ass.

he lifts himself on his knees, and you feel his hardnesses rub against the curve of your booty, “told you i was gon’ stretch this pussy out— ‘m a man of my fuckin’ word.” and shit, you think you push your ass back against his leaking cocks, dragging the beady fluids all over the softness of your skin.

your back arches sinfully as you spit out the soaked panties from your mouth and onto the floor. the slide of his dicks in between your thighs has your stomach heating in lust, the drags of his tips at your clit reenergizing you faster than you’d like to admit.

“mmhm, that’s it,” he grumbles into the supple skin at your neck, grazing his fangs teasingly at the flesh and his warm breath further dampening your skin. the large hands that cupped at your waist now lean you forwards against the arm of the couch, and you suddenly feel a lot of blood rushing to your brain. your arms feel weak as they support your body weight, your back arches like a cat and legs stretched out—

holy shit, are you hanging off the fucking couch?

“give up and you fall face first onto the damn floor,” the king cackles, as if the funniest joke in the world, as if your cunt wasn’t gushing your essence— begging to be filled and tore apart. your eyes widen comically as your knees buckle just slightly at the feel of his cock rubbing at your clenching hole, “try and keep up, mortal.”

sukuna grips at the base of his first dick, aligning it to your entrance. you hear him hiss as he collects your cum around the circumference of his tip, fingernails digging deep into your waist. fuck, that hurts so good. any further deeper and you’re certain he’d draw blood.

now, you were definitely no athlete the way he took his sweet time teasing you both. you had barely finished coming down from your previous orgasm, and with the excessive blood seeping into your brain, you felt yourself dizzying quicker than you’d anticipated, “kunaaa— hurry, i can’t hold out any longer— ngh fuuuck!”

your nails claw at the wooden floor when you felt him finally bottom out. holy fuck— how many inches was he packing? you could physically feel your pussy stretching out to his size, to accommodate to the intrusion of his ruthless cock into your tight hole. the sudden penetration hurt in a way that had your clit tingling, walls clamping down as if to seize him from moving any further.

“mortal,” he groans deeply, and there goes another spank at your ass. naturally, you clamp down harder. “quit— fuck, squeezin’ so tight. how the fuck am i s’posed to dick you down when you’re grippin’ me like a damn vice?”

“‘s too much!” you argue, though your hips roll around as if to adjust to his unreasonable size. you feel more tears flooding your eyes, and your core aches for a mean pounding. “just. . . gimme a minute,”

“a minute?” he repeats, though his tone is far from understanding. there’s a hint of mischievous dripping from words, and shit, he’s already pulling out. your cunt negates your words, desperately latching onto his length as if to reprimand him from exiting any more. he notices your contradiction, “doesn’t seem like yer pussy needs a minute. gotta tell you baby, i don’t like liars.”

your toes curl as he fucks himself back into you. the moan that rips from your throat is far beneath your ability to stop, and you squeeze your eyes shut. he repeatedly pounds into your cunt, the more the strokes, the deeper it goes. he may as well create an indent in your guts with how intense his thrusts are.

“hnng, ohmyfuckkk,” your back only arches further, the delicious burn of his dick stretching your velvet walls driving your mind delirious. his pace is insane— with every meet of his hips at your ass, you jerk forward, tits jiggling in the process. you feel hands spreading your cheeks for better access, alongside a wad of spit land at your cunt, sealed by a nice slap on your reddened ass.

he’s crushing your cervix. it hurts but you don’t want him to stop. it’s all too overwhelming— the repetitive slaps of his heavy balls at your sensitive clit, the way he digs himself deep into you, rolling his hips to reach all sensitive spots inside your spongy self. god, you can hear how sinful the point of contact between both your bodies as it echoes in the living room.

“creamy fuckin’ pussy,” sukuna grunts, tone so low you assumed he was more so speaking to himself. your wetness had submerged into a thick essence of cream around the base of his shaft, further easing the ruthless slides of his dick into your cunt. you don’t ignore how his second cock twitches against your asshole. “you tryna snatch my damn soul? tsk, greedy slut.”

your arms are giving out. your thighs burn and furthermore— your cunt aches, badly. he’s giving and giving, pounding so mercilessly into your pussy it was as if he were mad at you. you’d never been fucked so profoundly, his tip bullying into you so meanly with the additional mix of blood rushing into your head— fuck, you need a break.

still, sukuna seems two steps ahead of you, slithering an extra arm to your nape and gripping at your hair. two other hands drag your hips backwards in place, simultaneously pushing himself back where he’d once been— snug in the comfort of your warm pussy. “nah, nah, don’t you fuckin’ run away. fuckin’ take what i give you—” he holds you by the hips and lifts you up and down on his cock. you feel your feet leave the couch as a majority of the weight you held onto your palms were lifted. “this is what you wanted. mhm, be a good bitch and own up to your consequences.”

you’re babbling, the idea of you being a toy again for his use, the new angle of his cock protruding inside has drool dribbling down your chin and your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. “too d-deep, feel you in my— nghhh, h-heart.”

“‘s that so?” he chuckles heartily, and your mind is too numb to register the weird sting that grows at your forbidden zone. you’re too fucked out to notice what he has in store for you, “let’s double that shit. pierce right through yer mortal heart and mark it my territory.”

a sharp wail erupts, as you’re now filled to the brim with two girthy cocks. it’s an uncomfortable stretch in an area you were far from accustomed to, but in your current position, you’re nowhere near able to stop him. you’re not too sure you want him too— his cocks rubbing against the thin linen that separates your cunt to your ass.

holy fuck, your brain is turning into mush. he’s fucking into you like a madman— both your holes abused by the same pair of hips diving deep into your insides. your limbs feel numb, despite now being lifted into the air. he’s fucking manhandling you, hands holding all regions of your body still as he grinds his cocks in. what an out of body experience— head and tits jerking to the rhythm his hips set.

your guts are on fire, and you recognize this feeling all too well. the same one that has your eyes crossing to the centre of your face and your wet tongue lolling out of your mouth. your breaths are cut short, your tummy bulging into the shape of the king that’s taken control of your entire being.

holy shit.

“atta girl,” sukuna whistles when you spray him unexpectedly. your muscles clench as does your cunt and ass around his dicks, body trembling from an outwardly orgasm racking over you. sukuna never lets up, your crying only spurring him on more, “oh yeahhh, now that’s an ugly face. hah! turns me on.”

you’re snivelling, and you think you feel snot dripping down your nose. through the window where this creature was once an ugly form on nothingness, you watch your reflection. my goodness— how is he not stopping? you feel like you’re gonna die, your soul getting snatched from various regions, the repetitive strokes of his dicks at your most sensitive areas. holy shit, you’re gonna die.

“c’mon, entertain me some more,” he accentuates each word with powerful thrusts, and in return, receives splutters of more juices. you’re leaking like a damn faucet, dripping down your thighs and soaking your soiled couch. your fluids leak down to meet his pair of balls, now lubricated as they slap more intensely at your abused clit.

you’re left wordless. seriously, arms as limp as noodles as they hang to your side, head lolled forward. your mind feels so empty yet so full, the familiar pain of overstimulation now taking over your body. your muscles spasm violently around him, uncontrollably as sukuna takes and takes more of you.

“thankyouthankyouthankyou,” although not entirely sure what you’re thanking him for, the words slip past your kiss-bitten lips and into the thick air. you feel him press his own mouth at the column of your sweaty back, and your chants continue, “thankyouthankyou—”

“what an obedient lil thing,” sukuna coos, and you feel an extra tongue flick greedily at your tight bundle of nerve. your body begins to seize, stomach caving deeply in as you succumb to the pressure, “who’s my good bitch, hmm?”

“m-me.” you answer so weakly that it unsatisfies him. the tongue torturing your clit now bites down onto the bud and you cry out loudly. shit, you’re squirting again.

“i said,” he repeats himself with more finality. the wet squelching sounds of his cocks bullying at your holes overpower his own voice, and you can’t stop the shaking of your body. and with every pause, his cocks slam further and further in, “who’s. my. good. bitch.”

“meeee!” you hic, drool be damned as it seeps past parted mouth and down your throat. god, this was so above you and yet, here you were, getting fucked like your life depended on it. it hurts, hurts so good that you simultaneously want to push and pull from his embrace.

he holds you up higher, and your legs wrap around his waist with your back tucked into his chest. his hands slide from your waist to your inner thighs, now holding you tight against him. your head falls back onto his shoulder and in the midst of your daze, you feel a fingernail trailing down the slope of your neck.

“yeahhh,” he chuckles darkly, eyes narrowing onto your fucked out figure. his eyes then flick to the imprint of his cock penetrating at your belly, followed by the inconsistent tremors of your body. “‘s what i fuckin’ thought.”

somewhere along the line, you’re left boneless in his strong hold as he fucks and fucks and fucks. he’s everywhere at once, a presence so dominating that you’re left as if you have no other choice but to surrender. but that’s exactly all there is to it, no? a king using his pussy to his satisfaction.

“‘m gonna breed this slutty body full of my cum, make you mine. cause that’s all yer good for— ain’t that right baby?” you nod, because of course you do. he’s pounding some more and more, and the warmth that fills your belly to the brim is anything but surprising. he’s grunting in your ear, a string of profanities flowing into the air. he’s cumming so much from both cocks that it leaks past your bruised holes.

his hips roll some more, and both your cunt and ass clench around him greedily, milking him out for every drop he’s worth. he hums against your damp face, dragging the tip of nose through a multitude of fluids. you have a weak smile gracing your lips, and his arms tighten possessively around your tinier frame, “happy birthday indeed, mortal.”

oh my god, you’re gonna die.

. . .what the fuck did i just write.