#does this count as monster fuckery

[bagelcatattack]

How to be hip with the kids

[eldritchwh0rror]

🆅 🅴 🆂 🆂 🅴 🅻

pairing: True Form Sukuna x Reader

content / warnings: 18+, MDNI, !afab reader, !true form Sukuna, !submissive reader, !dominant Sukuna, general monster fuckery, size difference / size kink, degradation (Sukuna is meaaaan), (forced) intoxication, elements of non-con, asphyxiation, breath play, choking, hair pulling, spit / spitting, blood / blood play, thigh riding, throat fucking, cunnilingus, analingus, PiV, PiA, double penetration, rough sex, breeding kink, unprotected sex

synopsis: News that the King of Curses was seeking a new concubine had spread throughout the kingdom and even you couldn’t resist the temptation of finding out if the rumours were true.

word count: 6.1k

a/n: So... this is my first time writing in a long while and I'm pretty happy with how this came out - it is remarkably depraved. I hope you have just as much fun reading this as I did writing it! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated <3

You had sought a private audience with the King of Curses, and a private audience you were granted. Whilst you were thankful for the opportunity, you could never have anticipated the position you now found yourself in. If anyone were to enter the grand chamber, they would be faced with an outrageously sinful scene, one enough to make even the devil blush - had it not been the devil himself orchestrating things, of course. 

Ryomen Sukuna relaxed atop his throne, his broad upper arms crossed above his head with the lower set reaching down to anchor your trembling form in place. He had you straddling one of his thighs, your own thighs spread achingly wide to accommodate him, with your core flush against him. His grip was like a vice on your hips, jagged nails threatening to pierce the delicate skin barely covered by what tatters remained of your robe. Your far inferior size and strength made it pointless to even entertain the idea of trying to wiggle out of his grasp, so there you stayed.

Sukuna rocked your hips against him at an almost maddening pace, d r a g g i n g your cunt relentlessly against his leg over and over and over and…

“P-Please.” The word passed your lips as nothing more than a breathy whimper, but the desperation it carried seemed to echo throughout the throne room. 

“What was that, brat?” The Disgraced One chuckled harshly, a low rumble rising from his chest. “You will speak clearly when addressing me.”

“I, hnghh, wan’-” 

Smack!

Sukuna’s large hands had left their resting place behind his head, coming down to strike your ass - hard. The sound of the impact reverberates throughout the chamber, harmonising with your pained cry to form a sickening crescendo. The pain itself was instant, manifesting as a raw heat which tore through you to ignite each nerve in its path and set your body ablaze. Despite your almost palpable fear, your body had betrayed you. You were wet - soaking wet, in fact - your juices dripping from your cunt, rolling down Sukuna’s leg and pooling on the cold throne below. It was embarrassing, really.

“I said, speak clearly!” You feel his hot breath on your cheek as he practically growls the words in your ear. The sensation from the impact begins to subside as Sukuna kneads your cheeks, spreading them apart to expose you so obscenely. “Oh! Oh, I see.” Now aware of the mess you had created, he smirks. “Does this little brat want more from their King, hm?”

Despite his question, Sukuna didn't need a verbal response from you. Tellingly, your eyes trailed down his torso to focus on the throbbing bulge scarcely concealed by his robe.

“Please, m-my Lord, I need-”

“You don't need anything, mortal,” he hisses through gritted teeth. One hand snakes its way up your back to settle at the base of your skull, long fingers tangling in your hair, whilst the others move to continue the brutal grind of your hips. Sukuna manipulates your head backwards with a rough tug of your hair, fully exposing your neck to him. “As your Lord, if I tell you that you no longer need to breathe - that you no longer need to live - I would expect you to believe as such and act in accordance.”  Hovering over your jugular as he speaks, he punctuates his sentence by clamping down, the tips of his sharp canines penetrating the flesh with an excruciating sting. A deep groan escapes his throat as your scream rings in his ears. Humming against your skin, he drags his forked tongue languidly over the wound, his saliva mingling with the blood and slowly trickling down your neck.

You raise a shaky hand from its place on Sukuna’s chest up to your neck protectively, pushing his head away to assess the injury with your fingertips. “M-my Lord, y-you… bit me?” 

“It was necessary.” He nods to himself. “My saliva has properties similar to your human opium, you see. You will soon find yourself in a more… relaxed… state.” Sukuna flashes you a wry grin, his teeth stained with your blood. 

Panicked, your hands return to Sukuna’s chest to push yourself away from the curse.

“Now, now, y/n! Let’s just give it a moment to take, shall we? After all, you were the one who wanted to copulate with me, correct?” He shrugs. “I’m doing you a kindness.”

Your protests grow weaker as the seconds pass, firm shoves turning to dismal attempts at freedom. Sukuna’s cruel laugh echoes in your ears as your body fails you. 

_________________________________________

Disoriented and dazed, you wake from your drug-induced sleep to find yourself in an unfamiliar environment. As your eyes adjust to the dim candlelight of the bedchamber, you examine your surroundings. Laid atop a grandiose four-poster bed, lavish satin sheets were draped over your body and plush feather pillows supported your head. A rich and heady incense was burning somewhere, distributing thick plumes of its smoke into the air. It was the epitome of luxury and far from the servant’s quarters you were accustomed to. Was this Sukuna’s--? No, surely not! 

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” 

The voice startles you, tearing you from your thoughts, and your eyes dart around the room to find its source. Sukuna occupied a place in the far corner of the chamber, sprawling his large form across an armchair upholstered with fabric the same rouge as the sheets hugging your body. His features were illuminated so wickedly by the candlelight, shadows exaggerating the sharp contours of his face and exposed torso. He was such a beautiful monster. The sight alone was almost enough to make you forget all of the heinous crimes your Master had committed over the centuries - almost. 

“You were out for much longer than I anticipated you would be, y/n. I nearly readied Uraume to have you disposed of.” Sukuna shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, running a hand through his hair to slick back a few stray stands. “It seems my essence is particularly potent for you. I’ve not known anyone to have such a dramatic reaction - unconsciousness is certainly a first. You humans really are so amusing!” He laughs dryly, rising from the chair slowly to stalk across the room towards the bed - towards you - a hunter closing the distance between his prey.

“What was the point?” You scoff, clutching the sheets against your chest in an attempt to shield yourself from his predatory four-eyed stare. “As you said, I wanted this. You didn’t have to drug me to get me in your bed. I would have gone willingly, my Lord.” you admit, lowering your head to hide your shame. 

“Hah! Such a bratty mouth on this one!” He reaches down to your face, his thumb and forefinger gripping your chin firmly, craning your neck so that your eyes meet his gaze. Another pair of hands grab at your forearms, throwing them down to your sides and moving swiftly to cup your now-exposed breasts. “As I said, if we are to copulate, then it is necessary. Your puny mortal body could not withstand me, no matter how much you claim to want it, without the effects of the solution.” As he continues to explain, he pinches your nipples and toys with the supple flesh of your breasts, earning the occasional yelp from you. “My saliva contains my essence, you see, and soon you won’t be able to resist it. It exerts properties similar to opiates, including muscle relaxation and euphoria. It was not intended to render you unconscious, only prepare you for what is to come.” 

Your cheeks flush as Sukuna words register with you. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed!” He grins. “Now… Say ‘ah’!” 

The curse’s thumb moves with haste from your chin to your mouth, sparing a moment to trace the outline of your lips before forcefully parting them. He hooks your lower jaw, applying pressure to prise open your mouth for him. A sneer spreads wide across his face and his crimson eyes burn into yours as he spits once, twice, onto your unsuspecting tongue. He spits once more for good measure, this time deliberately missing to paint your lips and chin with his saliva. In the same instant, before you have a chance to protest, he withdraws his thumb and clamps your jaw shut with the brisk upward motion of his open palm. Leaving your breasts, a second hand reaches to pinch your nostrils closed and a third moves to cover your mouth. 

“Now, be a good pet and swallow for me, won’t you? Either that or die, I don’t care.” As he speaks, his free fourth hand caresses your cheek in a way which causes you to shudder in reaction. The touch was a complete juxtaposition to the words he hissed and the powerful position his other hands had taken - it was nothing more than a gentle graze sweeping down the left side of your face.  

You swallow hard, blinking away the tears forming as you struggle for your breath. Though you were expecting relief, Sukuna does not relinquish his grasp when you obey. Instead, he tightens it and uses the hold to manoeuvre you both further onto the bed. As he looms above you, your nails claw at his hands in a desperate attempt to remove them and take your breath back. Only once he had you positioned as he wished, pinned between his body and the headboard, did he allow your lungs the luxury of oxygen. You sputter as he withdraws and your breath returns to you in ragged huffs, your lungs burning at the sudden influx of air. 

Not wasting any further time, Sukuna swipes a clawed finger across your collarbone, causing a steady stream of blood to flow down your chest and drip off of your nipples to stain the sheets below. Sukuna laps up the blood greedily, already addicted to your sweet metallic taste, depositing more of the toxin into your bloodstream in the hopes of its effects taking hold quicker. 

Since the first exposure, your body seemed to have adjusted to Sukuna’s poison and you were already forming somewhat of a tolerance to it. With your body no longer wanting to shut down as a response, you feel more alive than ever. A strong euphoria courses through your veins as the substance electrifies every cell it infiltrates. 

With your pupils blown wide, you gaze up at the Disgraced One. Your yearning eyes study the handsome features of his face, pausing to focus on the strong arch of his lips. The drug had taken its effect and it was clear that you wanted - needed - more, a pout forming as you silently pleaded with the King of Curses. You tilt your head to rest against the headboard and Sukuna chases you back, his lips colliding with yours in a painfully lustful kiss. He snakes his forked tongue past your lips, angling your chin upwards with a bruising grip so that he can access more of your mouth. His tongue duels with yours, alternating between languid, sloppy licks and rough prods which are rewarded with your breathy moans into his open mouth. Maintaining the kiss, his upper arms move to pin your hands above your head whilst the lower set pulls you further down the bed, spreading your legs apart to better accommodate his size before resting either side of you to support his weight. 

So entranced by the kiss, at first you don’t realise when his second mouth, located just above his navel, awakens. Its tongue slithers out to pepper your stomach with wet licks and kisses, the pace matching that of the lip-lock above. You jolt at the unfamiliar sensation. Despite being caught off guard by Sukuna’s unique anatomy, you can’t help the whimper which falls from your mouth as you melt further into the demon, arching your back to raise your core up to him. Your hips instinctively begin circling as your lust deepens, thighs squeezing together to generate some of the friction you craved undeniably. 

“Feeling needy, are we?” His voice is low and husky against your lips. “Too bad.” He retreats from you abruptly, leaning back on his knees to observe as you begin to come undone, finally succumbing to him. 

“P-please, Sukuna,” you moan, honorifics forgotten as desire clouds your mind.

“Hah! That’s bold! My name does not belong on your tongue, brat.” He pauses, raising a hand to his jaw, the corner of his mouth curling upward into an lascivious smirk. “Though, I can think of at least two things which do.”

With that, he pushes himself off from the bed and stands to loosen the belt of his robe. The silk garment drops to the floor to reveal two handsome cocks standing erect and throbbing with need. One was situated an inch or so above the other and each boasted at least 10 inches. Both shafts were decorated with Sukuna’s signature tattooed bands. Their girth was unmatched and unlike anything you’d ever previously encountered. Fear was the first emotion evoked, followed closely by pure admiration, and your pussy clenches reflexively at the thought of its impending abuse. Your jaw slackens and your eyes widen to fully comprehend the image of Sukuna basking in the candleglow before you, his muscles rippling with each slight movement made. He was magnificent. 

Holding your gaze with his, he trails a hand down his torso, continuing lower to wrap his hand around and squeeze the base of his uppermost dick. He drags his white-knuckled grasp slowly along the shaft, precum leaking and falling from the tip to coat the cock below. After a few steady pumps of his fist, he brushes his thumb over the weeping tip to gather as much of the slick as possible, using it as lubricant to stroke each of his cocks in turn. His head lulls backwards as he begins to lose himself to the rising pleasure, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip to trap the groan emerging from his throat. 

Regaining control, his head snaps forwards, his eyes burning into yours.

“Now do you understand?” 

It was more of a warning than a question and all you could do was nod your head in response, bewitched by the show he was putting on for you.

Snapping you out of your trance, Sukuna raises two fingers and gestures to you in a come hither motion. “Crawl for me.” 

You move quickly to obey the command, crawling across the bed to the edge where you settle on your knees in front of your King. Though sat fully upright, you found yourself having to stretch further to be level with Sukuna’s hips. From your position below him, you glance upwards as you present him your tongue, eyes laden with lust and cheeks flushed. He recognises the offering, slowly dragging the tip of his lower cock across your flattened tongue and allowing the upper to rest against your face. One of Sukuna’s hands cradles the base of your skull and another guides his cock further into your mouth, whilst your own hands brace against his hips. You wrap your lips around his tip, applying a firm pressure as you begin to suck. Sukuna lets out a low hiss as you swirl your tongue around his tip, allowing yourself to taste the precum gathering there. With interlocking fingers, you clasp your hands around his cock, needing both to fully encircle his girth. You glide your palms along his shaft as an extension of your mouth with the excess saliva drooling from your lips acting as a lubricant. It was messy and it was hot.

Your hands and mouth work tirelessly to pleasure Sukuna but despite your best efforts, the King of Curses was getting impatient. He swats your hands away from his dick and shoves himself further into your mouth, pressing until his tip is met with resistance at the back of your throat. He makes small, quick circles with his hips, repeatedly prodding the back of your throat with his cock. You gag at each of his movements, coughing and sputtering in response to the invasion in an attempt to expel it. The lewd sounds spilling out of you only act to spur him on and Sukuna begins to buck wildly, pushing past the fluttering rings of muscle to fuck your throat relentlessly, each of his thrusts accompanied by a deep grunt. 

You are spared a moment to collect yourself as he withdraws from your throat, though your relief is short-lived. As the first cock leaves your mouth, Sukuna’s second cock immediately takes its place - ramming into your throat and almost bottoming out in one harsh thrust. Allowing no time for you to adjust, he continues to fuck your face, switching between each of his dicks at a frenzied tempo as he chases his high.

Tears which had collected finally spilled, rolling down your cheeks as you choke around him, your throat unable to tolerate the abuse. In an attempt to lessen the havoc being unleashed, you clench your jaw, forcing him to slow his movements.

In response to the act of defiance, Sukunas fingers twist in your hair, pulling your head away and ripping his cock from its position in your throat. With the same grip, he lifts you from your knees to bring your face up to his, your body dangling above the bed. “You ungrateful bitch!” He strikes your cheek with the back of his hand to emphasise the insult, his lower lip drooping to form a mocking pout. “I grace your mouth with my cocks and this is what I get, hm? Such a disappointment!”

Between ragged breaths, you plead with him - “Ss-sorry... I c-can’t-” 

“What’s that, brat? Oh, you can’t take any more?!” A sneer contorts Sukuna’s face and he tosses you onto the bed below as if you were nothing more than a discarded toy. “But we were only just getting started!”

You scramble to regain your composure, shifting into a position to easily flee the bedchamber. “I am sorry, my Lord. Please spare me.” You bow your head deeply in reverence, in the hopes that it won’t be separated from your shoulders. “I don’t intend to occupy any more of your time, my Lord. Please, dismiss me and I shall return to my usual duties.”

“Dismiss you? Hah!” Sukuna chortles and reaches a hand up to soothe his furrowed brow, pondering his next words. “Your duties can wait. At present, I have a much better use for you. You see, with the sorcerers of the modern age closing in, I must act quickly.”

“I’m sorry, Master, but I don’t follow.” 

“As a means to preserve my bloodline and my image, you will provide me with an heir.”

“W-what?” Your jaw drops in awe at his statement, the intoxicant previously clouding your judgement beginning to fade from your system.

“Do not make me repeat myself, mortal.” He warns, his expression hardening. 

“You-- I can’t! It’s not possible!” You panic, shaking your head violently in protest of his crude instruction as logic returns to you. “Why - why me?”

“Shhh, y/n.” Recognising your ebbing compliance, Sukuna coos manipulatively and caresses the side of your face in an attempt to calm you. Guiding you to lay back on the bed, he cages you underneath him. “This will work. We are compatible.” A dark mischief flashes in his eyes and he chuckles to himself - “Think of it as a promotion!” 

Pressing his mouth firmly to yours, he shoves his tongue past your resistant lips. Despite your initial repulsion to the kiss, your logical mind retreats once again as the endorphins rush in and force you back into a more pliable mindset. 

Sukuna’s lips leave yours to plant a bruising trail of kisses down your neck. He pauses when he reaches your collarbone, sucking along the wound he had made earlier. “Your scent, your taste - it’s intoxicating, y/n. The very moment you presented yourself to me, I knew I had to have you. I knew that I had to make you mine.” The King’s words are snarled against the crook of your neck in a deep baritone, raising goosebumps and causing you to tremble in exchange. Moving further down your body, the kisses transition into painful bites with bloodied indentations of the curse’s teeth left in your skin to serve as a reminder of his route. Forcing your legs open, he leans his head against your thigh to admire the view of your pussy, swollen and glistening with need.

“I am going to devour you, my dear.” 

Peppering kisses and nibbling along the inside of your thighs, Sukuna leans in closer for a taste of you. He drags his forked tongue along your cunt, licking a long stripe from the bottom to the top. Your lips form a lustful little “oh” as a breathy moan leaves you in response to his actions. He repeats this motion - this time parting your folds with his tongue, darting between them to tease your clit with a quick swipe. The stimulation causes your hips to jolt away from him involuntarily which displeases the King. To keep you from further escaping his mouth, Sukuna moves two arms to press your body down into the mattress and hold you firmly in place. Preventing you from closing your legs and depriving him of his nourishment, he pushes your knees apart with his elbows, keeping them there to pin your legs uncomfortably wide as he continues his meal. He proceeds to alternate between lapping up the entire length of your pussy and slipping between your labia to prod at your already sensitive clit. Sensing your pleasure building quickly, the tips of his tongue now move independently to each torment the bundle of nerves and drive you closer towards the edge. Moving a hand to work alongside his mouth, Sukuna presses a digit against your entrance, working it in small circles and spitting on your hole before sliding it inside you. After allowing you a moment to adjust - albeit barely - to the new sensation, Sukuna plunges another finger into you, curling his fingers upwards to repeatedly stroke your G-spot as his mouth continues to ravage your clit. 

“Ohh, f-fuck!” You find yourself driven into a carnal frenzy, bucking and grinding your hips in time with the curse’s movements to obtain your release. 

“That’s it, brat. Fuck yourself on my fingers.” 

With that, his lips return to your cunt to resume their brutal feast and the mounting tension finally snaps. You cry out your Lord’s name as you cum, your fingers wound tightly in his hair as you ride the waves of pleasure. You continue to grind yourself against his tongue and fingers until the orgasm dissipates. 

“Mmm. Just as I thought - you are delicious.” Sukuna lifts his head from between your legs, tongue lolling out to clean up the remnants of your arousal dripping from his chin. “Want a taste?” 

After you nod your reply down to him, Sukuna stretches a hand up to your mouth from his position below to trace your lips with his sodden fingers. Maintaining eye contact with the demon between your legs, you part your lips to accept his digits willingly, tongue lapping at his calloused pads to savour yourself.

“You’re being so compliant, look at you,” he praises as you eagerly suck his fingers clean. “I think you might just be ready for me.” 

Departing from your cunt with a chaste kiss, Sukuna scales your body to mount you. His four hands roam your flesh with a ravenous need, nails leaving a trail of bloodied crescents in their wake. His lower arms scoop underneath you to cradle your waist as he lifts your lower half from the mattress. The disparity between the positions of your upper and lower body causes your torso to contort painfully - not that he cared, of course. As long as Sukuna had full access to your sweetest spots and could fully drain his seed into you, nothing else mattered. 

Hunched over you, with two of his hands planted against the headboard, the King of Curses manipulates you into a tight mating press, practically folding you in half underneath him. His free hands had captured your wrists, planting them firmly either side of your head to both ensnare you further beneath him and to support his weight. 

You were completely at his mercy - and the great Ryomen Sukuna was not known for being merciful.

“I am going to enjoy this.”

With your hips aligned with his and his forehead coming down to press against yours, you sense something hot and wet unfurling between your legs. You let out a whimper, quivering in anticipation as Sukuna’s abdominal tongue rises and falls at your core, panting with need against your pussy. Slowly, so agonisingly slowly, the tongue licks the length of your cunt with the pressure increasing as it travels towards your clit. Moving without thought, your mind dripping with desire, you buck your hips in an attempt to press yourself harder against Sukuna’s tongue and claim your pleasure. Working itself between your folds as you grind feverishly against it, it slathers you with more of Sukuna’s sedative and works to prepare you for the oncoming intercourse. It clears away the remaining evidence of your previous orgasm in short, desperate licks. Each brush of the tongue against your sensitive bud earns an array of profanities and moans from you in equal measure.

Sukuna’s eyes burrow into yours as the tongue travels downwards, past your quivering pussy, to delve between your asscheeks and make its first contact with your anus. Much to Sukuna’s amusement, you jolt at the unexpected sensation and move to try and protect your dignity. 

“My dear,” he drawls as he pins your knees back into place. A wicked smile graces his face, perversity flickering in his crimson gaze as he stares down at you. “Did you already forget that I promised I would devour you, brat? I think we are long past the point of modesty, hmm? I never did care much for it anyway.” 

As he speaks, the tongue saturates your hole with more of Sukuna’s potency. Your body slowly moulds into his as you begin to relax and the endorphins take control. The pressure against your entrance increases and Sukuna’s tongue pushes inside with a lewd squelch, moving past any remaining resistance with ease thanks to the saliva’s relaxant effects. It was unlike anything you had felt previously and, although you were ashamed to admit it, it excited you. A pleasured moan drops from your lips which is met with a satisfied grunt from Sukuna as he continues to explore you. His second tongue moves in quick thrusts to fuck your hole and Sukuna kisses you hard - passionately, even. He kisses you with such an urgency it causes you to gasp into his open mouth. With coordination long forgotten as his lust deepens, his teeth clash against yours and your tongues tangle with each other in a sloppy dance. It doesn’t take long before you are faltering to his hungry mouths and falling apart once again. His arms tighten around your waist, steadying you as he guides you through your climax. Your empty cunt flutters as your orgasm surges through you, clenching at nothing as your sweet juices leak out to coat Sukuna’s abdomen.

Shifting his grip on your wrists to encircle both of them with one hand, he reaches down with the other to line his lower cock up with your entrance. Using the bliss from your ongoing climax to distract from the pain bound to accompany his size, Sukuna wastes no time in pushing his bulbous tip past the first ring of resistance and into your cunt. As he enters you, his upper cock nestles itself between your pussylips, laying there to throb against your clit. 

“Fffuuuck,” he rasps through gritted teeth, shuddering at the intensity as he penetrates you for the first time.

“Please, hnngh, it’s t-too much,” you whine. Though only Sukuna’s tip had entered you thus far, it felt as if you were being split apart. Pain and pleasure mingle confusedly together as the curse continues to navigate deeper inside you with no regard for your protests.

“Quiet,” he snarls. His tone turns to one of mocking: “I’m not even halfway in yet and it’s already too much for you to handle, slut? Hah, how pathetic!”

With the pressure and stretch increasing to an almost intolerable level, you thrash about underneath your King in an effort to lessen the ache, only worsening things for yourself in the process. 

“Quit moving, brat!” A hand wraps itself around your throat as a silent warning, a firm pressure being applied to your windpipe. He cocks his head to one side menacingly as he sneers down at you. “Or do you want me to give you something to really complain about, hm?”

You halt your movements in obedience, submitting to him. 

“There’s a good slut!”

Sukuna thrusts into you with sharp, shallow movements of his hips, each thrust more confident than the last, to bury his first cock inside of you. At this angle, as he slides himself into you, the dick pressed between your folds twitches against and prods at your sensitive bud. The pleasure generated is enough for you to persevere through the agony and please your King. Sinking deeper, Sukuna’s eyes widen with fascination as he watches the tattooed bands adorning his shaft disappear as your pussy bows and adjusts to swallow his length. Sukuna continues to press until his pelvis is flush against yours and his heavy balls are pressed against the fat of your ass. 

“Ooh f-fuuck, S-Sukuna-” It’s all you can manage as his tip plants a bruising kiss on your cervix, the sting causing your breath to hitch in your throat. 

Sukuna chuckles at the remark as he reels his hips back, dragging his thick cock along your tight walls until it is almost fully unsheathed from you. Although you were grateful that the stretch was somewhat alleviated, you found yourself immediately pining for the sensation of being full with your King once more. As if in agreement, your pussy flutters around him to try and drag him back further inside you. 

“P-please, ‘Kuna… Please fu--”

Sukuna slams back into you before you can even finish your request, pushing past the convulsing rings of muscle to fully seat himself inside. Bottoming out, his toned pelvis crashes against your own as he impales you on the full length of his cock. He takes a moment to admire your beauty as you writhe underneath him.

“You’re such a mess, my dear. If only you could see yourself as I see you now.” 

With that, he sets his brutal pace. He fucks you into the mattress relentlessly, his hand still clasped around your throat whilst holding his weight over you to maintain the cruel mating press. The chamber air grows heady, filled with the lewd sounds of sweat-soaked skin slapping, Sukuna’s guttural grunting and your unabashed yelps of pleasure. 

The curse’s merciless pace eventually begins to wane, his momentum faltering and his thrusts growing sloppier as he approaches the cusp of his climax. Realising and refusing to be bested after a meagre few minutes, he takes a moment to regain his composure. Sukuna withdraws from you in order to force down his orgasm and you are spared from the back-breaking position. You shift into a comfier position, leaning back on your elbows to see Sukuna leant back on his knees. Two of his hands were planted on his thighs, one crossed over his broad chest and the other moved to swipe away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. 

“My, my, y/n. You really are perfect for me, aren’t you?” Sweeping back the strands of hair which had fallen over his eyes, he continues. “The way your tight cunt clenches around me is just… heavenly.” 

Flipping you over onto your front, his arms snake around your waist to lift you up and place you back down on your hands and knees. With his grip still present on your waist, he pulls your body closer to his so that his cocks are pressed against your slit from behind, twitching wildly with need. Rutting his hips like a beast in heat, he positions his lower cock to delve between your pussylips and the upper to move between your asscheeks to rub against each of your holes. He continues this until nothing but whimpers and almost incomprehensible begging for more leave you. Only then, when he deems you needy enough - undeniably cock-drunk, does he re-enter you. 

He stuffs his dick back inside your cunt and resumes the same maddening thrusts as before, as if he had never stopped. Sukuna's second cock drags itself along your ass, nestled between your cheeks, as he relentlessly drives into you from behind. Precum leaks from the upper cock’s tip in a steady stream to coat your rim, dripping lower to provide more lubrication for Sukuna’s assault on your pussy.

"N-no," you shake your head in protest, looking back over your shoulder, as you feel pressure against your hole. Sukuna’s second cock now sat poised at your entrance, threatening to plunge in. "You can't!"

His thrusts stop momentarily and he hunches over you, his chest pressing into your back. His voice was low and dangerous in your ear.  "I can and I will, y/n. You are merely a plaything for me, a vessel for my heir, and I will use you as I please. Do not challenge me again." 

Following his words, his hips ram into you violently, his second cock forcing its way into your tight hole to join the other already inside you, separated only by a thin wall. A strangled moan, tainted with both pleasure and pain, is ripped from your throat at the abrupt invasion. Your eyes roll backwards into your skull and your mouth hangs open in a fucked out little "oh" as your body begins to adjust. You were so full - full of your King - and the stretch was so sinful it was almost divine. This was true devotion to Sukuna and he recognised this with appropriate praise. 

"Look at you, taking both of my cocks so damn well! Quite frankly, I don't know whether I should be proud or disgusted." He chortles as he pounds against the fat of your ass, over and over, watching your flesh bounce from the force of each impact. 

His two cocks worked together to bring you your third orgasm of the evening. It was utterly indescribable, pleasure crashing over you in unrelenting waves. No-one, not even yourself, had managed to make you cum this hard, but the way Sukuna was fucking you had you seeing stars. The climax wreaked through you, your core quivering and contracting around the demon’s cock to bring him closer to his own release.

“F-fuuuck, brat. I’m gonna--” His hips falter and he struggles to hold onto what’s left of his sanity as your cunt practically milks him for all he’s worth. “You’re gonna take every last - hngh - fucking drop of my seed, yes?” 

You nod your reply up to him. 

“Use your words, y/n. Beg me for it. Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please! Please breed me, my King!” With your pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded, your gaze meets his as you plead. “Give me your heir!” 

With one final thrust and accompanying grunt, the King of Curse floods you with his seed. Both of his cocks spasm inside you as thick ropes of the cum plaster your womb and trickle down your fertile walls, forming a vulgar puddle where his hips were mashed into yours. 

Guiding you to lay down on your front, Sukuna collapses on top of you in exhaustion. His chest heaves against your back with his ragged breaths whilst he remains seated inside you. Confused as to why he had not yet relinquished his grip on you, you begin to struggle underneath his weight.

“Shh, shhhh, y/n.”  He coos in your ear, sweeping your hair out of the way to bury his face against the crook of your neck. “We have to make sure it takes.” 

You whimper weakly, nodding to show your understanding.

Whilst pondering his next words, a raucous chuckle leaves him which echoes through the chamber. “You’d better take this as an opportunity to rest up, brat. The night is young and I am not done with you yet.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[see-arcane]

Yes Hirano's super weird with the "vampirism happens only with virgins" rule when it's decidedly not a thing in Dracula's vampirism lore. (Though not as weird as what he did to Mina, who deserves to crawl back to life and murder everyone in the whole manga for it)

True on both points.

Unfortunately, you've activated a mental trap card and now I'm about to explode into a barely-related tangent. Please stand by for hazy Hellsing spoilers to anyone who wants to look away.

The saddest thing about Hellsing is that it's one of the least headache-inducing Dracula-adjacent pieces of media I can think of.

Even with how Hirano draws Seras Victoria and That Scene with Rip Van Winkle. Even with his ~creative~ take on Vlad the Impaler. Even with what he retroactively does to Mina's remains. Even with Abraham van Helsing once again getting shoved through the No Really Honest for Real He was a Super Cool Occult Magic Man who was Definitely Solely Responsible for Taking Dracula Down!!1! filter (with Jonathan and Mina getting a whole single panel together, ooh, aah). Even with the nitpick of turning Helsing into Hellsing just because of the Edgy+ factor.

Even with all of that, I can still genuinely say I enjoy it.

First, because Alucard and company are there to kill Nazis and generally monstrous people who signed up to get superpowers to be even bigger monsters. I love seeing them get supernaturally woodchipper'd. Never disappoints.

Second, because Alucard/Dracula is--and this is vital--still a bastard. One who, via the lens of how the Hel(l)sing family did their murky magical experiments on him, got juiced up into the Mega Shounen Horror Ultrabadass version of himself...and promptly got put on a magic leash so that he could only bare his teeth at the command of his human Hel(l)sing master. And for decades, pre-Integra, he was left to wither and rot in a windowless cell. Waiting to be dusted off.

It's a unique psychological place to force the asshole into. It doesn't make him a good guy, but I'd say it makes him a better character. One who pushes the limits of how much of a monster he can be without breaking the tethers on him and his power. Even when the inevitable Count Fuckula ooh~ sexy sexypire~ glaze gets applied with his interactions with Integra, it's still shown how fucking aggravating and uninvited he is with it. How much he uses it as just another nettle. Just as he once used an admittedly classier/classic gothic predatory menace on Jonathan, Lucy, and Mina in the novel.

When the big climax comes and he gets to flex all of his bloated powers, he's reached an internal growth point where he, at the very least, takes a moment to acknowledge Integra and Seras as worthy of respect rather than just irritating or deriding them respectively.

As an aside, despite her obvious Fanservice Girl position, I do have to grudgingly give Hirano points for how he portrays Seras Victoria's position with Alucard. This is the first (and I think only!) time I've ever seen a Dracula turn some voluptuous babe and then...not make advances on her. Before or after. He turned her to save her life after shooting through her to kill the vampire at her back. If anything, this is the first time we see any form of Dracula take a non-sexual, strangely paternal approach to the assumed vampire bride of a story.

And then there's the matter of Alexander Anderson. He and the Iscariot organization are absolutely bristling with what-the-fuckery and religion-aesthetic weirdness I don't have the skill to untangle. But the set up between Anderson and Alucard at the climax by itself is an interesting thing for how it shows a kind of logical (by manga standards) extreme of Dracula looking peaceful in the novel's climax; how he died and turned to dust with serenity. He welcomed it.

Alucard/Dracula, for all his glee at being a sadistic overpowered monster, welcomes Anderson's attempt to kill him while the man is still human. He's eager to be slain by a righteous mortal hand--perhaps he always had been since that Transylvanian sunset when he was left paralyzed, but not put down. Just turned into an experiment and an attack dog for the century and change to come. And when Anderson resorts to inhumanity, to becoming a horror like him rather than remaining the human hero who rightfully slays the monster, it makes him livid. Heartbroken.

There's just a lot to pick apart with this version of Dracula that I find worth sitting through the nonsense for. He isn't watered down into a cartoon. He isn't turned into a wink-at-the-camera Casanova. He isn't ~doing it all for love~. He's still fucking Dracula. But a Dracula who's been dragged by the hair through an intriguing rock tumbler of a history and forced to play with a cast of characters that makes me want to see what happens next rather than roll my eyes at yet another cookie cutter DRACULA WAS SO AWESOME-COOL AND THE REAL ANTIHERO ALL ALONG AND ALL THE GIRLS WANTED HIM AND THE HUMAN HEROES WERE ACTUALLY ALL LAME OR SECRETLY EVIL narrative.

It's a bloodstained bullet-riddled eldritch undead fever dream.

All that and it has a Dracula who eats Nazis.

I'll take that shit and Crispin Freeman's velvet voice acting in a heartbeat over 90% of Dracula media that's been squatted out over the past 126 years.

[sephirthoughts]

*Throws golden coin at you like you are a wishing well and I’m a poor country girl waiting for a miracle* Tell us more of your Valenwind thoughts/headcanons PLEASEEE I’m begging you!

OK but remember, you asked for it. *cracks knuckles*

Physical Stuff: -vincent is half chinese or whatever the FF equivalent is. nothing is ever mentioned about his mother so no one can prove he isn't. (just let me have this one SE) -vincent's cloak/cape and headband are not fabric, they are some kind of organic extension of himself, that he has control over. though sometimes the cloak just does things and vincent is unconscious of it, like a cat twitching its tail -because of his circulation issues, due to his heart being replaced with protomateria, vincent has severe orthostatic hypotension (stand-up dizzies). cid is used to just catching him as he pitches over and moving on, without remarking on it -vincent is a mass of scars and mutilations (replaced parts, missing organs, etc.) which is why he covers his body entirely from the neck down with all that leather armor and gloves. -cid is a huge fan of vincent's monster hand because it has claws and he loves back scratches

Sexy stuff below the cut. And more, I got a little carried away.

Sexy Stuff: -vincent is anxious bordering on panicked to show cid his body, at first, because he thinks it's hideous and repulsive, and honestly there's just a lot of shame associated with being the victim of torture and systematic medical abuse -what vincent does not know is how much cid loves scars. like he fucking LOVES them (to the point where it's almost a scar fetish) -the first time they sleep together, cid slowly undresses vincent, little by little, touches and kisses all his scars, sincerely and fervently adores all the parts of him he thinks are ugly and horrifying, and makes him feel beautiful for the first time in his life -when cid sees vincent completely naked, he tears up because he's so beautiful to him, and he can't believe he got this lucky

-HC adopted from @getvalentined: vincent's already impressive dick was lost or removed during hojo's butchering of his body, but much to hojo's chagrin, it grew back even bigger (my own addition is some slightly monstrous characteristics) -cid is well above average in the dick department (note to self, change ask box title to dick department) but he can't help comparing himself to vincent and feeling a little intimidated

-vincent is a temperate and reserved person, but because of something to do with his chaos-induced fuckery, ever so often he goes fucking FERAL (almost like he's in heat), and cid is the lucky beneficiary of this. he winds up with bite wounds and claw scratches all over his body, over which vincent agonizes, while cid calls them battle scars and proudly flaunts them

Because reasons: -sometimes vincent pulls his hair up into a ponytail, removes the cape and headband, and just wears ripped up black jeans and a faded old black tank top. no one has ever seen him like this, aside from cid, because he has never been able to keep this ensemble on his person long enough to leave the house in it

Family Stuff (I don't usually do kids in fic, but i think these two would be cute with one) -shera is the bro of all time and is their surrogate when they have a baby -projected rendering of what the baby will look like, created by the friend group:

-cid and vincent did that thing where they mixed the sperm donations because they didn't want to know who would 'really be the father' cloud: [looking at their black-haired, crimson-eyed baby] uh…

-their daughter is named olivia. vincent calls her olivia. that is her name. -cid settles firmly and immovably on ollie, which everyone else winds up calling her too

-causing several people to lose egregious sums of money in the group betting pool, ollie's first word is not 'fuck'. that is her second word. her first word is papa. well it was 'bapa' but cid insists that counts

-baby ollie doesn't like anyone besides her daddies but cloud, and sticks herself to him like a little leech whenever he's around cid: hey ollie, who am i [points to self] ollie: bapa cid: who's that [points to vincent] ollie: dada cid: who's that [points to cloud] ollie: mama cid: no--

-sephiroth is vincent's biological child and he has just learned from cloud that he has a little half sister sephiroth: [appears, looks down at the crimson-eyed toddler with deep disdain] i'm still the oldest, so don't get any ideas about taking my place. i'll always be the pinnacle of our genetic-- ollie: gege sephiroth: [kneeling in front of the play swing] here is your juice box, is there anything else you want, my princess? say the word and gege will get it for you. is there anywhere you want to go? anyone you want killed? no? well, you can hardly have enemies at your age, but when you acquire some, come to gege and he'll take care of them for you.

-late one night sephiroth: [appears standing over cid and vincent's bed] cid and vincent: GAAAH! sephiroth: my sister has been crying for twelve seconds, unanswered. DO YOU WANT HER TO HAVE NEGLECT TRAUMA? cid: [grumbling as he clambers out of bed] neglect trauma i'm aboutta have sephiroth jump scarin me in my goddamn house trauma vincent: ….sister?

-they put both surnames on her birth certificate, to give ollie a choice whose surname she wants to use -one day, when she's older, she comes home with her newly printed ID documents reading "Olivia Valenwind" -both dads come down with a sudden case of chopping onions

**i just realized some people might not know that "gege" (pronounced like guh-guh) is mandarin affectionate for "big brother"

@a-schrodingers-fox I hope that was worth your gold coin! NO REFUNDS!

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter One

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, Mind Fuckery (Possessive Boi Morpheus), Mental Health Discussion, Medication Discussion.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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You remember the summers you spent at your grandfathers’ manor quite well. The large stone building and sprawling grounds were massive, with plenty of space for you to roam, and roam you had. As a child, your imagination ran rampant and your dreams even more so. You had so much freedom your parents would have been mortified, well, you could go where you pleased save for one location: the basement. Naturally, you were curious about what was down there. But grandpapa Alex told you that a monster was locked away and he didn’t want you to get hurt going down there. 

It made sense with all of the guards coming and going in shifts, so you had left it alone and never spoke of it again. But then the dreams started coming, they were of a place that seemed to be rotting away to black and gray. Splendor to ruin. A kingdom crumbling without its ruler. Those dreams had made you afraid as a child. In fact, it had gotten so bad that your parents had to come and retrieve you because you were so terrified of sleeping for fear of dreaming about that decaying and dismal place. You had stopped visiting the manor at ten, terrified of what was in that basement and what came to your dreams at night. It had taken hundreds of sessions with a therapist and medication to rid your child mind of those dreams.  

Now an adult, you were less inclined to take the medication. You were an adult and you knew that dreams were exactly that, dreams. Why did you need to fear them when upon waking up they would no longer be real? So you stopped taking them and moved on from that chapter of your life. If only things were that simple. 

“Come on, Y/N, it’s Friday, we’re at the club, we look hot, relax a little will you?” Jemima protested from where she sat across from you, drink in hand. The Friday after work you had been dragged out by Jemima, your childhood best friend, and coworker, to the club to let loose from a stressful work week. “You aren’t still thinking about your ex, are you?” 

“Mmh?” You sounded, your eyebrow lifting as you rested your chin in your palm. “Oh, no, totally over that twat. I’m glad he’s gone if I’ll be honest. He was a lazy sod I was glad to kick to the corner. Kind of embarrassed that I dated him in the first place actually.”

“Then what’s on your mind babe? You’ve been spacing out a lot lately.” Jemima returned, setting down her drink. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Nothing, really, I’ve just been thinking a lot about my childhood lately… don’t exactly know why.” You said with a shrug. “I keep feeling like I should visit my grandfathers', I haven’t been since I was ten.”

“So… why don’t you?” You hadn’t thought about that. Deep down inside you was that yearning to visit, a strong urge to go into that basement and find out what had terrified you so much as a child. But your conditioning was so strong you had been unconsciously resisting the idea even as an adult. 

“Honestly I have no idea, my parents told me that I was to never go back, nightmares and all. I’ve kind of just accepted that I should just stay away. Plus, you know I’m busy with work.” 

“But you loved Fawny Rig! You raved about it when we were children. Are you really going to let your parents tell you what to do now that you’re an adult? Babe, you're a grown-ass woman. Live a little, I’m sure Paul and Alex would love to see you.” You tilted your head to the side, honestly thinking about her words. Yes, you were an adult, and no, your parents couldn’t control what you did anymore. Besides, what they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them.

“Alright, I’ll pen it in when I get to work on Monday.” You told her, your mindset and that gut feeling, finally appeased. Jemima beamed at you and picked her glass up. 

“Excellent, now that we’ve gotten that business out of the way, can we finally let loose and have a little fun, you look like you need a proper fuck.” You snorted and rolled your eyes. 

“I didn’t come here to have a one-night stand, Jem,” She shrugged at you before pointing to the bar. It was only half filled with men and women, but in half an hour it would be packed with patrons wanting their beer and chips.

“No, but you did come to have fun, at the very least go kiss someone. You need a good snog, Y/N.” You had to resist rolling your eyes a second as you slipped from where you sat and headed for the bar. It was time to get a drink in hand, preferably your favorite, and forget about all your troubles and stress. 

Alcohol ran through your veins like blood as you laughed at what Sam, the man who had managed to charm you enough to hold your attention, had said.

“So I told him if he didn’t want to botch up the job he should have just told me. Pretty sure the lad isn’t just a prick, but a fucking cactus.” Your laugh dissolved into giggles while you gripped your stomach. 

“My God, how in the bloody hell have you put up with him this long? He sounds worse than my ex and he was a piece of work.” Sam’s eyebrow went up and curiosity filled his soft brown eyes. 

“Oh?” You took another sip of your current drink and shook your head at the ridiculous your relationship had been. 

“Believe me, I’m wondering why I stayed with him for so long, he’s the type where if you listen to him long enough, you start to wonder who ties his shoelaces for him. Absolutely useless. Wanker can’t even boil water for tea.“

“That's why you’re here tonight drowning your drinks like they’re water?” 

“I’m not the type to cry over a twat like him, my mother taught me better than that.” You responded before lazily shifting your gaze to where Jem was dancing with her chosen man of the night. “Jem, my best friend who came with me tonight, brought me to unload after a stressful week at work.” 

You both looked at her for a few moments. She was obviously enjoying her time and not worried or stressed at all. Envy nipped at your heart, you wished you could be as carefree as Jemima was. She hardly seemed to have any troubles in life, and if she did she just breezed past them like they never happened. 

“I’m a little envious of how she can just let all of her stress go.” You sighed. “My life would be so much easier if I could do that.” 

“You make it sound like you are a bore, Y/N.” 

“Am I not?” You returned with a raised eyebrow. Sam tilted his head to the side and studied you, his eyes not really revealing what he was thinking. 

“No, I don’t think so. Care for a dance love? You look like you could use more stress relieving.” Releasing your drink, you grabbed the front of his shirt and slipped from the bar stool you had occupied for the last hour. 

“Come on, Brown Eyes, let the de-stressing commence.” Sam laughed as you dragged him to the dance floor and twirled in a circle. He took your hand and pulled your body against his as your body swayed to the beat of the latest song. You weren’t familiar with the song but the beat was nice and easy to dance to, so you let yourself get lost in the music and the light scent of Sam’s cologne. 

The alcohol you had drunk surely helped with the nagging feeling deep in your gut and Sam provided a wonderful distraction you were all happy to indulge in. As the songs progressed your hands migrated upwards to wrap around his neck and you leaned your head against his chest. Song after song, the lights in the club twisted together in a kaleidoscope of colors. Sam was a temptation and you wanted to kiss that temptation until it was all you could think about. Sam finally dipped and you stretched. 

Your lips connected and alcohol mixed with beer. Odd combination but you didn’t care, Sam’s lips were pleasant and delicate against yours. It was a feeling and experience you missed, but it didn’t entirely sate that need for comfort and intimacy. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and you were content to take what you could from what Sam was offering. So you did.

You sunk your fingers into his hair, wrapping them around his strands and tugging on them while his lips worked themselves across your own and drew out little delights. Sam’s hand slipped across your lower back and pulled you closer to him. He tugged at your lower lip and parted your slightly tingling lips, you let him sweep into your mouth with the same delicate precision he had when simply kissing you. 

Your body trembled in delight, glad to have some form of genuine affection that didn’t come from a place of deception and disinterest. Sam then brushed a hand up your side, staying respectable as he reached your cheek and stroked your jaw with his thumb. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh against his lips, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. 

“I don’t normally kiss strangers I meet at the club, Sam.” You told him, your eyes twinkling with mischief and your lips begging to return to his. Deviousness sparkled in his brown ones as his lovely lips curved into a partial smile. 

“Didn’t stop you from kissing back.” He returned with hesitation, still holding you against his chest delicately. You dropped your eyes down to the hand you had resting over his heart and drummed your fingertips against his shirt. 

“Consider me charmed,” You mused with a soft smile. “But I hardly think snogging in the middle of the dance floor is appropriate.” 

Sam’s eyebrow went up and his eyes didn’t stray from yours. 

“That’s not stopping everyone else from doing so, fairly sure they’ve forgotten where they are…” His comment was filled with humor and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. 

“I’m not that open with my affections, you can fix that if you want.” Sam was tugging you through the crowd by your hand in seconds as you giggled. You passed Jemima and her man of choice and cackling, her hand darted out and landed straight on your arse. You snorted in laughter, jumping forwards at the sting while glancing over your shoulder at Jemima. She had a massive grin on her face and was cackling her head off. You shot her a dirty look before disappearing into the edge of the crowd, breaking free of the dancing people. 

Now free of the overheated bodies, you and Sam stumbled around each other, heading in the direction of a much quieter corner of the club. Back hitting a wall, Sam’s lips found yours once more. The entire time you kissed he never once was pushy or overbearing, no, he stayed gentle and delicate. You could appreciate that because you never once felt like you were being smothered by his desires. Your fingers scratched at his shirt and dug into his hair, tugging and pulling at what you could grasp. Lost in the feeling of being wanted once more, you barely noticed that Sam’s kisses had turned deeper, more demanding, and less delicate. You weren’t being smothered but you could definitely tell that Sam was now kissing you in slight desperation. Like he too was grasping for what little affection he could get.

The grasp on your jaw tightened, pulling your lips closer to his and you were all too happy to respond. Your fingers pushed through silky hair and your nails scraped against his scalp. Lips ravished yours with desperation, migrating to your jaw, and you found yourself floating away in a reverie of daze and delight. Letting out a small moan, your back arched and your chest pressed again his. Soft hair brushed against your cheek as lips migrated to your neck. His lips were now exploring the skin of your neck, softly and yet with barely restrained want. He was holding back and you could feel it. Your eyelids fluttered open, and staring up at the hazy lights overhead, it took you a few moments to make sense of what you were seeing.

The room was dark, its occasional flashing lights gone. There was a dampness in the air you could now feel, there was even a smell of must… but your surroundings weren’t what brought a shiver up your spine. It was the silky black hair you had in your grasp. A beautiful raven black longer than the strands you had previously been grasping and tugging. Not the shorter chocolate brown hair Sam had. Your heart leaped in your chest, taking off at an almost painfully fast pace. You weren’t kissing Sam anymore, but something else entirely. With shaky breathing, your eyes slowly moved downwards to the man now gently nipping at the underside of your jaw. Your eyes met intense silver-blue ones, and the moment you realized what was going on, you jerked back against the wall. 

The world around you distorted and returned to the club, pulsating lights and music and all, and with a frown, Sam looked at you in concern. He touched your cheek, his thumb lightly running across your cheekbone. 

“Y/N, you okay love?” You blinked rapidly, reaching up to run your fingers over your neck, still feeling those kisses against your skin like haunting echoes. Like they had been real. “You spaced out for a moment…” 

Letting out a heavy breath and feeling your heart rate slowly ebbing to a normal pace, you slumped back against the wall. 

“Sorry, my mind got distracted.” You replied breathlessly, shaken to the core but trying to hold a calm and collected demeanor. You nervously chucked. “I don’t think the alcohol is helping either.” 

“Better get some water in you then, love,” Sam replied, returning the chuckle as he guided you back to the bar. He was the perfect gentleman, helping you up into a seat and ordering you water. While he talked with the bartender, you watched him, a growing new pit of dread forming in your stomach and one thought on your mind: he was back, and you had a feeling that this time, you weren’t going to be able to get rid of him with medication.

Date Published: 8/15/22

Last Edit: 4/25/23

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[zmediaoutlet]

Oh Z go OFF why don't you ship Sam/John?

ahaha, anon starting off the friday night wine party by choosing violence <3

how don't I ship Sam/John? Let me count the ways --

first of all have you seen the sam/john content out there? I'm negatively interested in shitbird lolita sam with his crystal heart-shaped buttplug and the overemphasis on his pink lips and his mewling or whatever. like the puss becomes the sahara. I need a Great Wall of No between whatever's going on with that particular kink and the actual character. As always, a division: 'this is so hawttt omg' is good and fine, but please can we have a little moat between that and character-based canon-feeling stuff.

so all that stuff aside, on a plot level, John's Quest is based around protecting Sam, and like... way to not do it, bud. That is if you believe that John is ultimately flawed but kinda trying, which I do because 'pure monster' and 'hero daddy' takes are equally boring. Sam is left behind, is overprotected, is taught some hunting stuff but comparatively coddled -- in the wee!era, I see absolutely no way that John would go there on any kind of purpose, especially given the fact that Dean's also always there and it would be very embarrassing for your devoted older sonwife to stab you in the brain. (Caveat: I guess there are those times when John would "send Dean away" for disobeying, so that opens a window. But honestly, Sam was probably just abandoned in a motel room alone while John got on with work. I don't think it was a secret fuck-cation.)

on a sadness level: John wants something better for Sam. Dean's a lost cause, although John does super vaguely gesture at like 'eh he could have a house maybe' -- despite the college fight, Sam's untouchable in a way because John has this mad idea that maybe they'll actually win somehow, and Sam can have a future. That doesn't jive with bouncing him on the Dad D. And, again, if John's not purely insane, then--?

on just a vibes level: once Sam gets older, he and John are just way too much alike, and that's why they piss each other off so much. They're the thing of two magnets of the same polarity bouncing apart. Now there are ships where that can be fun, in the kind of slap-slap-kiss model, but in the specific (characterful) case of these two... no. I can see Sam losing his shit and throwing a punch; I aaaaabsolutely don't see him following it up with like, passion. Though I am literally loling here at my computer thinking about it. I'm doing my absolute best here not to compare to other ship options, but like -- this is not the son who'd fold and be like, aw daddy let me take care of you, you know what I'm saying?

on a taste level: like... can you see Sam actually wanting to? Any emotional/physical weirdness he has I feel like would get automatically turned to a different member of the three-part family unit. Non-con is blah, sex pollen is too easy (although with that said, I imagine a no-romance sex pollen f-o-d would be a good way to crack open those dynamics and see how they operated). Part of the massive issue here is that Sam has an oedipus complex, not an elektra complex -- he wants to fight his dad, not fuck him. He has daddy issues but they're of the tough masc black sheep son who goes off and has to get heroes' journeyed back into the fold; it's not 'oh daddy please say you're proud of me please let me be a good son,' unlike Some People We Could Name. It just doesn't have any entré into the kind of tangled up fuckery that makes vertical incest interesting for me. So...

That's probably enough, lol. That said, again: if you love to jill to babby Sammy slurping on daddy John's big meaty dadcock, go on with your bad self. Especially if Sam's inexplicably femme. But like. I'm good.

[dartagnantt]

Forces of Chaos | What if the highest CR demon in the monster manual was actually legendary

PDFs of this and more can be found over on at my Patreon here! I release everything for free, so your support makes this possible. I've also started making a new system based off of 5e, 6th Dawn! Become a patron and join the playtest.

Chaos? How about chaotic evil? Simple one this week, and my goals were two fold.

First was to resolve an issue I had with the balor (and the pit fiend, but that will have to come later). Why are the two (I guess three if you count yugoloths, but meh) highest CR fiends in the MM not legendary creatures? Crazy talk! So I gave it legendary actions, but also for fun, lair actions.

Second was to port over my two favourite demons from pathfinder. The brimorak is just a lil guy but is also an actual goat demon, why does 5e not have goat fiends! And second is the vavakia, because it's a dragon, and dinosaur, a demon and a centaur at the same time, and its the size of a house, amazing!

And now to plug my stuff. I release homebrews weekly over on my Patreon. Anyone who pledges $1 or more per post don't have to wait a month to see them, and also help fund my being alive habit.

At the moment, they have exclusive access to the following:

Survival of the Fittest

Proteans

Circle of Storms

Favours

I also have four classes, and a splatbook over on DriveThrueRPG to check out:

The Rift Binder. A class specialising in summoning monsters and controlling the battlefield.

The Witch Knight. A class that combines swords and sorcery in the most literal way.

The Werebeast. A class that turns you into a half beast to destroy your foes.

The Beguiler. A spellcaster dedicated to illusions, enchantments, and general fuckery.

d'Artagnan's Adventurer Almanac. A compendium of races, subclasses, feats, spells, monsters and more!

[henrysglock]

people who assign henry/edward creel/vecna/one evil at birth are so boring to me. all i hear is that they can't stomach discussions around grey morality. boo honestly.

also, notwithstanding the creel family murder (which is 1. partially justified due to virginia's abuse and 2. unreliable due to numerous scenes that were purposefully kept vague and inconsistent by the creators), eleven kills her way out in S1 just like one did in S4??? which technically puts both of them on a near equal playing field, given their background of being child test subjects????

and yet henry is the evil one with no redeeming qualities... make it make sense

no this pattern is interesting to me too

When El does it, and achieves a higher confirmed kill count by age 12 than Henry had before age thirty-two...It's a girlboss moment.

When Henry at most killed Virginia, a direct abuser who was going to have him shipped off to Brenner, Martin fucking Brenner, who he had met before and was actively trying to escape...He's a monster who was born evil and never had any chance at a nice, normal life. We also have exactly zero proof that he had anything to do with Alice's death.

That's the whole point of Nancy's plan to kill him as an adult! He can't fight back when he's trancing someone! He's incapacitated, totally dialed in on the one person he's trancing. Alice was still alive when Victor's trance began. Thus, she was not killed by Henry. It's not physically possible.

Henry's kill count as of age 12 is exactly one person. And that's assuming he killed Virginia at all! The circumstances are so fucked that we can't even say that with 100% certainty.

We reassure El over and over again that she isn't a monster...Because she isn't. She's a child escaping her abusers. Somehow we can acknowledge that about her, but we can't carry over that same attitude for young Henry?

Bullshit.

When El lashes out in fear and kills a bunch of people, she's a superhero and we should be sympathetic. When Henry lashes out and kills one (1) direct abuser...he's a monster.

Make it make sense. Make the math start mathing.

And granted (timeline fuckery aside), adult Henry has a set of actions that end up being quite different from El's in ST1 (i.e. killing the children, which I have my own thoughts about that aren't necessarily relevant here).

But strictly on the basis of killing the guards and orderlies? He was completely justified.

He'd been abused by them for twenty fucking years. We see it happen. We watch him be assaulted and abused by orderlies ON SCREEN.

He deserves to get his pound of flesh from them. He is justified, just like El was justified in killing the orderlies and agents who abused her.

Same scenario. Same actions.

Anyway. Light and love <3

[astrxlfinale]

"Oh ... wow, that's something else..."

Having drifted off to her screen in a moment of Caelus' intense focus on one of his games, Guinaifen's frame soon falls against his there they are, having fled to great, wide outside - fresh air ? People ? THe artificial sun that holds the shape of a deadly laser ? On days where the house is exceptionally rowdy ( ... and the dragon is actively looking for people to haul into chores ... ), there's no better escape than a bench under a tree and some proper snacks.

And, of course, the depths of the internet.

"Babe, babe, babe -" Guinaifen goes, attempting to get his attention. The Girlfriend Signal will get through sooner or later, she knows him that much; " - you gotta look at this ..."

For whenever he is ready, monster conquered or a new high scored guaranteed, there's a screen held up before him. One of the many wonders of the internet is how much information it contains, and how great minds come together to create beautiful things such as art, videos, games and... literature. Before Caelus' eyes is no small feat, oh no, it is a whole collection of Fanfiction. Not any Fanfiction, but the greatest, grandest Fanfiction of all time, one that seems to have originated from Penacony as the tags went ; #THIS SO REAL #REAL EVENTS #I SAW IT WITH MY OWN EYES.

It's a Fanfiction of ... Clockie and Caelus.

Five hundred thousand words.

Three thousands saves.

And far too many reads to count.

" ... welcome to the dark corner of the internet, babe."

Babe.

Babe.

Babe...

Why Guinaifen would absolutely be correct in that natural process of thought. Despite this new update giving him a slew of new challenges to triumph upon, gear to find, break effect to fucking level and struggle with all the same, he's soon snapped from his reverie. A tensed, turn based battle would be paused as he allows the phone to slide from his hand. Switching his priorities, he'd immediately chomp down a few of the Tuskpir wraps. A fragrant, sweet flavor is the best balm against the unknown.

"Mmm? What's caught those ol' honey eyes this time?" He mumbled, his mouth partially full as he nosily leaned closer to the phone. If only Caelus could've spiritually prepared himself for the spontaneous moment of hell coming to his doorstep. A simplistic mind like him often forgets that you can take a Streamer out the room, but you can't take the room out of the Streamer.

...

Did that even make sense?

Frankly, he couldn't give two fucks at this very moment once his eyes drifted across the material. It wasn't just Caelus & Clockie. No, it was Caelus/Clockie, a cardinal sin as the wrap found itself dropping helplessly across the spread blanket.

"Wh-- Whawha... The fuck." His voice croaked out, a growing, steel-like ball of dread building within his guilt as his hands immediately seized her wrist, drawing it close as the cracked open Pandora's box only revealed more of it's hell.

Mating Press. Dom Caelus. Bondage. uwu. Threesomes. Dreamjolt Fuckery. The Family Are Never Forgiving These Sins. Ahegao Clockie. Whipmommy Robin.

............

It was a fucking miracle he didn't fling that phone to the stars as some guttural scream escaped him from that moment. Suddenly that device felt like liquid Destruction as he tore his hands away, in fact his body seemingly vanished from pure speed before he drew himself up into a nearby tree. A perversive hiss escaped while his mind reeled across the numbing fact that people ate this the fuck up.

What in the hell was drawing them like pigs to the slaughter!?

"ONLINE BRAIN IS THE GODDAMN WORST." He spat, immediately drawing a vengeful hand at her phone.

"WHY ARE PEOPLE LITERALLY WOVEN TOGETHER BY HELL. LEAD ME TO THE FUCK WHO MADE THAT."

"I NEED DETAILS!!"

No, Caelus does not care he's making a scene to a group that looked at him utterly perturbed.

@avaere

[deadthingposting]

Ofmd rewatch ep 6 the art of fuckery

So

I know that there is some profound and interesting takes about this episode and any interpretation I could ever have would be probably already said in better words by someone else

That being said

The thing of Ed being the kraken or rather creating it to himself as the monster that killed his father to not feel guilt despite how much his dad was a monster it's really one of the most beautiful plots n the show

His panic attack the actual self hate the way that he says he has no friend the facade of strength and being heartless while craving humanity he asks why stede has a bird guy but made fang put his dog out it's such a duality of his performative strength and violence developed for survival vs actual wish for a softer gentler world he craves to live in

I fucking love him

And I kinda understand Izzy's behavior here going back to violence as a protection if the world stops fearing Blackbeard how well they can truly do for themselves, but also I feel like most of his behavior it is purely a misplaced or misunderstood jealousy (romantic of platonic it is jealousy) and a fear of being left behind

That being said the duel it's one of my favorite scenes as we can truly see Izzy getting erratic out of anger to the point of actually allowing himself to be distracted and eventually losing

I saw a post once saying why people include Ivan on the whole "revenge found family ™" because he isn't really into the whole getting included compared to fang at least and I may say I disagree with this, like there are some scenes showing him being as fed up with Izzy's bs and interacting with the others in the background and also I want him to be part of the found family god damnit.

Lucius finger plot it's disgusting but hilarious and the pay off with the first Lucius/Pete kiss it's lovely

Now some questions:

How many people from Blackbeard's crew are onboard? Cause In the fuckery demonstration there's a lot of shit going on, it's just fang Ivan those two nameless guys I love and Ed?

I'm concerned about the reason of the fuckery, did they just terrified some guys for nothing?

Does wee John counts as a catboy? and if yes can I sexualize him as such?

Overall this episode made me cry fell disgust think about that Front bottoms song -father and laugh about Izzy's bad not good constantly getting worse months

Rating 🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙 five kraken metaphors for your own violence so you don't have to face your own fears

[dickbaggins]

Actually finished the horny trash monster fuckery I was working on for nanowrimo as in the story is done, not just the 50k word count, so that’s pretty awesome. I’m determined to still log a word count every day so I’m gonna work on the fisting gunisher and the Christmas short I impulsively made the cover for two days ago and the futa elf thing and that should get me all squared up

Turns out writing does get easier if you do it all the time, incredible. Not easier as in the work or words come easier but the sitting down to actually do it comes easier. Pretty cool!

[blood-and-foam]

some of my fave ofmd bits that i haven’t seen in other people’s lists

“ten human years?”

“understandably, buttons is—” “i wish god took me instead” “—rather audibly upset”

🎶edward teach, born on a beach🎶

the confused disgust on the swede’s face after lucius does his wooden boy voice

“is it really a big ship this time?…i’m not asking you, i’m asking him”

[audible sigh] “would you like a tour?” “why yes i wooOOOuld”

frenchie’s makeshift-looking sleep mask

“as you may have noticed, we have run aground,, a little bit,”

buttons’ list of sea creatures ending on the loch ness monster

lucius having to pause and really think about it when ed asks if he can count backwards

“m’noSES!!”

“we go to different heavens”

“lucius~! 🎶we’ve got a fuckery on our hands!!!🎶”

extended sequence of ed violently killing a snake followed by stede saying “the map does say there are snakes in the area, so.”

“loser gets his head cut off, and the winner…gets his fucking head cut off!!!”

olu little spoon rights

“tell edward my special skill is juggling. i think”

[see-arcane]

The Harkers: "Oh wow, we might finally have new friends in this endeavor to tear apart the bastard who killed Lucy! This is so-"

Van Helsing and Co: "Anyway Madam Mina, since you are a Woman™ we don't want to frighten you poor maiden heart with all of this monster talk so go, and sleep. You don't need to get involved anymore :)"

Mina (internalized misogyny on™) physicallly restraining Jonathan from getting all of their things in a second and leaving: "SURE THING PROFESSOR :))))))"

In fairness (unfortunate), Jonathan does technically agree with putting some space between Mina and the Dracula Attackula mission. The implied difference is that Jonathan ‘Sole Survivor of the Count’s Fuckery and Loves Mina More Than Life Itself’ Harker wants to keep her out of the fucker’s reach in the same way Mina retroactively wishes she could have kept Jonathan out of Dracula’s clutches. He wants to spare her what he personally suffered out of rightful worry, experience and love. So it would be regardless of his loved one’s gender.

On the other hand, Van Helsing and the (upper class Classic Victorian Gentlemen+) Suitor Squad are actively putting on their blinders regarding all evidence to the contrary of their benign-sexist assumptions when it comes to Mina as a person, her sex overriding the reality of her character. She’s the last precious maiden standing and needs protecting! And plenty of ignorance regarding further vampiric ickiness!

Because that worked out so well for Lucy.

There’s likely a not small amount of projection involved too, what with VH and company being still very raw after losing Lucy. Whatever more reasonable non-gender norm-enforcing reaction they might have had given more coping time is not in play—Mina is not only New Friend-Girl, but likely also a New Lucy/Damsel second chance.

[chiwhorei]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema​, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

                                      * * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days. 

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you. 

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward. 

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

                                      * * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time. 

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless. 

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore. 

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

                                      * * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months. 

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.” 

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly. 

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous.  Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast? 

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for. 

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you. 

The way his tongue curls like a signature. 

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk. 

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful. 

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns. 

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name. 

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames. 

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue. 

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence. 

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel. 

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on. 

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair. 

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline. 

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat. 

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke. 

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.” 

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky. 

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.” 

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Three

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, More Mind Fuckery.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later).

Word Count: ~2.6k

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Dinner that night had been wonderful. You got to catch up with Paul on everything he and Alex had been up to as of late that he couldn’t add to his letters. Your conversation had gone the entire length of the dinner and then even though dessert which the Burgess cook was excited to make since you used to devour his confections at a far from healthy rate. Everything was as delicious as your vague memories would allow you to remember and as you and Paul continued to talk over after-dinner tea, Alex retired upstairs complaining of aching bones. 

“Grandpapa, I’m really worried about him,” You spoke over the rim of your teacup. Your eyes trailed in the direction Alex had disappeared. “In fact, you both are worrying me. Grandpapa Alex... he seems so tormented. Whatever is going on?” 

Paul sighed as he set his teacup back on its saucer. Then he reached for your hand and took it in his grasp, giving you a soft yet strained smile. 

“Oh Darling, I wish I could tell you. I really do, but I’m afraid this is something Alex has been dealing with since he was a boy. Only he can end what bothers him, and only he can tell you.” Paul answered, his face full of strain and regret. Your eyebrows pinched together at Paul’s reaction. He seemed just as worried as you, if not more. But then again, he had been living with Alex nearly his entire life. He had been suffering from worry the most. 

“I only hope he’ll tell me, it worries me so.” You murmured, sipping from your tea cup once more. Paul squeezed your hand once more and you sat through the rest of your tea in silence, both of you worrying about the same man. When Paul ultimately departed from the table to turn in for bed, you remained, having asked Herman for another pot of tea. You weren’t ready to sleep, far from it actually. You felt like you were wired with energy. After a long day of travel, you would have figured that you would be exhausted. But no, you felt like you had drunk a Red Bull. The very blood in your veins hummed.

“Are you alright Miss?” Herman questioned after you had been sitting quietly for a good while. You looked up at him and smiled faintly. 

“Perfectly fine, Herman. I’ll be down here for a while, no need to stay up.” You told him.

“Are you sure, Miss? I’d hate to leave you by yourself at such a time.” You lightly waved off his concern. 

“Oh don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, I think I’ve just had one too many cups of coffee this morning trying to stay awake for my trains.” You told him with a slight chuckle. “I will see you in the morning.”

“Very well,” You watched as Herman lumbered off and then turned your attention back to the large window. Nightfall had long since turned the outside dark and it was hard to see out, but the low lighting in the room gave you just enough of a view to see the trees and fountain. The manor was quite beautiful at dusk when the sun just barely showed over the horizon. But when it descended and nightfall turned to reality, the manor was, well, scary. Paul and Alex had kept the antique decorations, Roderick, your great-grandfather was fond of, and in the dark, they weren’t the nicest of things to look at. Their shadows looked like monsters and shrouded in black, you flinched at every corner you turned. 

Entirely pathetic on your part, monsters didn’t exist and you should very well not jump at every shadow you came across. You weren’t a child anymore and there was no reason to fear the dark, let alone your nightmares. You looked at your nearly empty tea cup. It did you no good trying to fight your fears with words. You pushed back from the table and rose to your feet. Spite filled your heart and gathering your teacup and saucer, you placed it on the tea tray and marched it to the butlers' pantry before heading for the servants' entrance at the back of the kitchen. Exiting the manor, you strode forwards with purpose, briskly walking along the worn stone trail that carved a path around the pond. The solar lanterns softly glowed, giving just enough light for you to see where you were stepping as you walked. 

You had walked this path many a time as a child, so much that you could probably walk it with your eyes closed. But now it seemed foreign, dark, and unnerving. It was hard to believe that your mind had been so desperate to get away from that psychiatric hospital as a child that it had shut out so many memories of this place. Memories you had loved. Or at least you were fairly sure your child self loved. There were still a lot of blanks you needed to fill in your memories. 

“Oh bollocks, what am I doing with my life?” You sighed, coming to a stop on the path. You pushed a hand through your hair and settled your eyes on the lit fountain. The sound of the water bubbling and splashing was pleasant and relaxing. Of course, your nerves still felt quite frayed, but maybe if you took a brief moment to just sit and have your brain realize that it was freaking out for absolutely no reason, perhaps you would feel better. Your eyes glanced around until you spotted the gazebo at the far end of the pond. That will do. 

Your feet carried you over to the flower-framed gazebo and you took a seat on the bench, folding your hands in your lap neatly. A few pheasants were poking around the grounds, their dark forms slowly moving through the even-cut grass methodically. The night was cool and a fine layer of mist was slowly developing across the lawn, it made the solemn grounds a little more eery than they already were. How had child you been enamored with this place when it was so spooky? You were an odd child, clearly, whatever you had been up to here had captured your attention to the point where you must have ignored the frightful aspects. Eyes flittering over the dark water, your vision blurred for a moment. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blur. When you did, you stiffened in your seat and abruptly jerked yourself to your feet. 

The grounds of Fawny Rig were gone, replaced by an endless world of swirling grey and black, completely devoid of life and color. The cloudy, smokey sky was dotted with an abundance of stars, but they seemed to be robbed of their brightness. Dull and lackluster. The pond, with its gurgling fountain, was replaced with an endless, vast ocean of black water that ever so gently moved. A nearly silent sea. Your eyes dropped to your feet. You were standing on an old wooden dock, and glancing behind you, it disappeared into the smog of black in a curve. Where the bloody hell were you?

Your head snapped back around and you stepped forwards, walking further down the dock. The water was dark and unyielding to what lay beneath and crouching down, you peered closer to try and see through the opaque water. Nothing. It was as black as eternal night and would give nothing to your wants and wishes. Venturing forwards to the end of the dock, you stared at your reflection and wondered if you were hallucinating again. No, not a hallucination. This was a place, a place you knew from your childhood… and yet it felt so foreign, so cold. How could something be so familiar yet entirely foreign and new? It didn’t use to look like this. Why had you thought that? You didn’t know. 

Curiosity nipped at your heels and bending down, you looked at your reflection. Or what least what should have been your reflection. Your heart leaped in your chest and your blood hummed. Glowing silver eyes stared back at you of your dark-haired, silver-blue-eyed devil. His reflection boring into yours far more intense than ever. Reflections never lied, so why were you seeing him and not yourself? Or did these waters reflect the demons your mind had locked away? You reached out with a hand and watched in fascination as the reflection did the same. Your fingers drew near to each other, and while yours trembled, his stayed constant and strong. But before your fingertips made contact, you paused. Hesitated. Warnings were echoing in the back of your head that you should dare not test these waters, that they were dangerous and uncontrollable. You resisted the temptation and pulled back. 

Even as you rose back to your feet, you held that glowing silver gaze, trying not to shiver and show the trembles running up your spine to your limbs. Once more your gaze blurred, but this time you were stumbling backward and nearly falling on your arse. You were standing in the pond!  Somehow in that hallucination, you had walked yourself straight into the water, not feeling the chill of your jeans soaking through. You quickly backtracked, sloshing your way out of the pond and scrambling up the bank until you stood on the worn stone path once more. You felt slightly breathless, looking down at your body. From mid-thigh down you were soaked, your shoes covered in mud and pond scum. How long had you been standing in that pond, staring off into space while caught up in a hallucination?

Rubbing your palms against your unsoaked thighs, you turned towards the path that led back to the manor and started walking at a brisk pace. The chill from the water was quickly setting into your legs and traveling up the rest of your body. You’d better not catch a cold or you would have to explain how you had caught it. Rushing across the grass, you stumbled into the kitchen and locked the heavy door behind you before leaning against the cabinets and removing your soaked shoes and socks. Where were you going to put them so no one asked questions? You made a noise under your breath, realizing that you would probably have to explain it at some point, and decided to put them next to the stove where they would dry out from the morning cooking. 

Skittering across the cold floor, you hurriedly strode through the manor, heading in the direction of the servants' staircase which was closest to your old room. Despite not having visited in so long, your feet carried you through the old building on muscle memory. Just as you passed a heavy, sturdy-looking door your steps faltered and paused. It was drop-dead quiet in the manor, your breathing the only thing your ears picked up. But something had caught your attention. Drawing back a step, you looked at the door and placed your hand on it. The door to the basement. You had passed it hundreds if not thousands of times in your life so far, never once stopping to investigate it. So why had it caught your attention this time? Your fingers curled against the old grainy wood, feeling its curves and ridges. Not original but it certainly looked the part. There was a keypad next to it, showing a red light indicating it was locked. 

Even now, after all these years, the basement was still a guarded secret under lock, key, and guard. What was down there? Your body shivered once more, this time from the cold leeching into your bones. You turned away from the door and hurried on, wanting to change out of your pond-water-laden clothing and into nice warm, dry clothing as soon as possible. You slipped up the stairs and shuffled your way through the servants' door to the lavish upper level. From there you only had to go a few doors down to your old room where Herman had placed your luggage and your moving boxes waiting for you. Closing the door behind you, you wiggled yourself out of your jeans and tossed them aside before reaching for your shirt. As you changed into your pajamas, you took your hair down and ran your fingers through the strands. At least you hadn’t dived into the pond and tracked water all over the manor trying to get back to your room. Since you were still feeling a bit wired, you grabbed a book from your luggage and started reading on the bed, trying to take your mind off that black ocean. 

Deep within the bowels of Fawny Rig, through the basement door and down the steps. Past the iron bars that separated a room from the rest of the house, sat two guards at a heavy metal desk, a clock ticking slowly and methodically. The female guard held a book in hand, reading the lines in boredom while the male absentmindedly read the morning's paper. The clock’s ticking was a white noise both had grown accustomed to hearing. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was a never-ending sound that faded into the cold, damp basement never to be given a second thought. Its only purpose was to signal when the guard change would occur, an event that both guards looked forwards to. Their mindless and boring task of guarding a being that never really moved or spoke was menial and inattentive. The being hardly ever moved and never spoke. 

The man changed the page to his newspaper, letting out a heavy sigh as he flared the new page and shifted in his seat. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. One month, that’s all he had to wait before flying off for his vacation in Majorca, Spain. Sun, a nice beach, beautiful woman. A far cry from this dismal dungeon where nothing ever happened. Sighing again, his eyes searched for some article to read to take his mind off his job. Tick. Tick. Tick Tick. Tick Tick— It went dead quiet, the repetitive ticking disappearing into the silence like a crash of thunder. Violently. Both guards straightened up in their seats, peering at the clock. It was stuck at midnight exactly, all three hands perfectly aligned and rigid in movement. 

“Oh don’t tell me the bloody things gone out,” The woman complained, thumping her book down on the metal tabletop and peering closer at the frozen clock. She flickered her nail against the glass, trying to see if it would start ticking again. Nothing. 

“Probably out of battery, just like everything else here,” The man grunted, hardly sparing a glance at the clock. 

“Should we tell Mr. Burgess?”

“Why bother, he said he ain’t comin’ down ‘ere anymore. No point in seein’ to it…” 

While the two argued about what to do about the broken clock and questioned each other on whether or not to tell their employers, the being in the glass sphere, limbs elegantly draped across its prison, listened intently, hearing every word and syllable they spoke. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t shifted, hadn’t even twitched an eyebrow in years, always remaining silent to Alex Burgess’s questions and pleas, bargains, and offers. He hadn’t spoken a word in over a century, not to anyone that came to see him in his glass prison. He was an inhumanely beautiful statue confined by glass and steel, guarded by a magic circle. 

His eyes flickered open.

Date Published: 8/22/22

Last Edit: 4/25/23

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[babybluebex]

all for you: prologue (loki odinson x reader)

➽ pairing: loki odinson x fem!reader(y/n) ➽ word count: 1.7k ➽ summary: loki, upon finding out that you are marrying a different man, bitterly tricks you into marrying him.   ➽ warnings: canon fuckery, angst, forced marriage, asshole loki ➽ a/n: enjoy!​

I knew that the prince was nearby by the feel of the air alone. Even if Loki didn't carry heady mischief wherever he went, every Asgardian turned quiet and respectful around him. They didn't do that with the older prince, the heir to the throne, but Thor was a different man; less brash and playful and... Mischevious.

"My, oh, my," the young prince chuckled behind me, and I turned quickly to be greeted with his green eyes. "And why are we dressed nicely today?"

My cheeks burned. "I have an..." I began. "A thing."

"A thing," Loki repeated, clasping his hands behind his back. "Care to divulge what thing this is?"

"I do care, actually, "I admitted. "Because it doesn't concern you."

"Ouch," Loki chuckled and he pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. "That hurts, Lady Y/N. Does the word 'confidante' mean anything to you?"

"It does," I told him. The marketplace was bustling despite Loki's presence, and several older women cast small smiles our way. Loki was just approaching the marrying age and had yet to lay claim to a proper suitor, and everyone could tell that the kingdom was getting restless. Thor had chosen a wife earlier in the year, a Midgardian magician named Jane, but the kingdom was obsessed with love. "But this truly has no place in your mind, Lo."

"Give me a hint?" Loki asked. He stepped in front of me and walked backwards, his brilliant green eyes locked on mine. Just like me, he was dressed to the nines, his green cape flowing in the warm breeze and his boots clicking against the stone. I would even venture to say that his hair was washed. What a miracle for the young prince.

"Loki, please," I sighed. I still smiled, but Loki had to have known how annoyed he was making me. "I don't have to tell you everything. And I'm sure that there are secrets that you keep from me."

"Never from you," Loki said. "Does a thousand years of friendship mean nothing to you?"

"Loki," I chuckled lightly. "Don't press. You'll find out soon enough."

"Will I?" Loki smiled. "Is it a surprise for me? It's not my birthday."

That was one thing about Loki Odinson; once he got an idea, he never let it go. He would pester me until I gave up the ghost and told him what I was keeping from him, but my chest hurt when I thought about telling him. Loki was the marrying age, but so was I. I remembered when we were children that Loki always said that he wanted to marry me, but, in my mind, that was children playing. It wasn't anything different than the sword fights with sticks we'd have in the courtyard. Children's words during play did not a proposal make. However, the farm boy that came upon my father's doorstep and asked for my hand could be classified as a proposal, and I took it. I knew Loki would be upset when he found out that I was to be married at sundown.

"Loki, please, darling," I huffed. I shook my head and trained a small smile on my mouth, and I whispered, "Let it go. You'll find out soon enough."

"Right then," Loki chuckled. "If I were to ask my brother or his wife, would they tell me?"

"They don't know of this," I told him. "So don't bother. The only ones who know are me, my family, and... And Theoric."

"Theoric?" Loki repeated. "Who in Hel is that?"

I chewed my bottom lip as Loki stopped walking, blocking my path. "Lo--" I began.

"Who is Theoric?" Loki pressed on. "Y/N?"

I swallowed thickly. "He is..." I began. "The man I am engaged to marry. The ceremony is in an hour."

I saw a million emotions flit through Loki's eyes in that instant. The playful smile dropped off of his pink lips, and he mumbled, "Y/N. You're not serious, are you?"

"Deadly serious, Lo," I told him. "I'm sorry I kept this from you, I only did so because I knew you'd be upset--"

"Upset!" Loki cried and pressed his palm to his forehead. "Upset! Y/N, this is more than upset! Grief, is what this is!"

"At what?" I asked. "Just because I'm married doesn't mean that you'll be seeing any less of me!"

Loki set his jaw tightly, and he reached into a pocket of his jacket and extracted a small glittering thing. It took me only a second to place it-- a light golden ring with a green emerald. Loki's colors on a ring. "Oh, no," I whispered. His grief ran through my chest when the pieces fell together. He was dressed nicely in order to propose to me. I pressed my hands to my mouth and mumbled, "Loki. No, my darling--"

"Guess you can't call me that anymore, can you?" Loki said with a venom. "Lest your husband see you pining for another man."

"Loki, if I had known--"

"A thousand years, Y/N!" Loki thundered. "I have been in love with you for a thousand years, and you never saw it! If you had known-- Ha! If you paid attention, you would have known years ago!"

"Please, don't be cross with me," I pleaded, reaching out for his hands. Every inch of his skin was always cold, but I never minded. "I... I have seen it. But I mistook it for-for something else, because how could you love me? How could the prince love me?"

"Do you love me?" Loki asked. His eyes were brimming with tears, but I could feel his anger radiating from his chest. His eyes locked on mine, and I couldn't help but feel small. He had always been bigger than me-- taller and stronger and perhaps even smarter-- but he never used it against me. I couldn't remember a time when Loki has ever truly been mad at me, and I hated every second that I was under his scrutinizing gaze.

I sniffled. "Lo, I do," I assured him. "But... Differently than I do Theoric. I love you like--"

"Like a friend?" Loki sniffed highly. "A brother, maybe?"

"We were raised as siblings--"

"I was raised that way," Loki said. "You were raised to give me and my brother, my whole family, reverence without a second thought. Did you ever consider that I could offer back the same, even when I was told not to? Did it ever occur to you that you were the only brightness in my life? Years of being passed over, being told I'm less than everybody else, and you were the one to make me feel worthy. But that all means nothing to you, it seems."

"That's not fair and you know it," I told him.

"I am a god, Y/N," Loki told me. "The god of mischief, trickery, lies. Truthfulness and fairness are not in my nature."

"Well, where were you, then?" I asked. "If you wanted so badly to marry me, why did you wait to ask?"

"I thought I'd have time," Loki said. "But apparently the first man who asks--"

"Don't," I said. "Don't you dare--"

"Oh," Loki laughed ruefully. "But I do dare. Have fun with him. I know you will. But, by all of my power and the grace of the Allfather, you will regret this." His lips were a frightening sneer, and he stormed off back from where he had come from. My chest hurt and my heart thrummed against my rib cage, but I didn't try to go after him. Loki was incorrigible. He always had been. There was no way he would ever forgive me for keeping my engagement from him, and I felt tears welling up as I realized how quickly I had lost a brother. I had no true brothers, only sisters that had been married for several 100 years, and Thor and Loki were the closest thing to brothers I had. Loki had undoubtedly already written me off, and I knew that Thor was close behind.

I took a deep breath and adjusted my dress, and I continued onward.

The ceremony was small and quiet, only my mother and Theoric's mother in attendance. Theoric was a nice man, a few years older than me, and there was a small part of me that was afraid of the marriage. I hardly knew him and I worried about our compatibility, but my mother soothed my worries patiently. She told me that the Allfather would not have given me Theoric if it were not meant to be. By that token, she said, our marriage was to be blessed by the gods. Perhaps not the god of mischief, though.

"And you, Y/N," our priestess said. "You take Theoric to be your wedded husband?"

I took a deep breath and clutched Theoric's hand tighter. "I do," I said.

"And you, Theoric, take Y/N to be your wedded wife?"

My fiancé smiled at me, his eyes sparkling in the golden glow of the setting sun. His eyes were green. I hadn't noticed it before but, upon second thought, I hadn't not noticed it. A bolt of nervousness hit my stomach like lightening; if I couldn't remember the color of his eyes, how was I to remember anything else? Anything more important? "I do," he said.

"By my power and the Allfather," the priestess said with a smile. "I pronounce you husband and wife."

Just like that, all of my nerves faded away. My rings were on my finger and my husband was smiling at me. Theoric placed his soft hands on my waist and pulled me close in order to give me the deal-sealing kiss, but I stopped at the last moment. I could feel his hands. They were cold; even through the fabric of my dress, I could tell. Panic filled my chest and my limbs grew prickly, and I pushed him away by his chest. "How dare you!" I cried, and I felt my mother's arms wrap around my middle. "How could you, you monster!"

"Y/N, please," my mother said quickly, tugging me away. "What's the matter?"

"You!" I started, my anger flaring in my neck and chest. Theoric, now my husband, gave me a smile, and his green eyes flashed a deeper green before a sparkling emerald mist surrounded us. "What have you done with him, you-you witch?"

"You see, darling," the man opposite me said. "I told you that you'd regret this." And Loki smiled at me.