Cerise-lockwood - Cerise Lockwood

worship at the foot of my throne

Demon King!Enji Todoroki x f!Reader

summary: as the bait of a sacrificial cult, reader realises the reason she may have been recruited lies solely with her being a virgin—the perfect offering for the king of demons

wc: 3.1k

cw: fem!reader, reader is wearing a little dress and has her hair pulled, reader is a sacrifice, power imbalance, age gap (bc demon age), big size kink, corruption kink, reader is tied up in the beginning but is untied before smut, virginity, mention of drugging but not actually, oral(m!), masturbation(f!), pussyjob, noncon/dubcon, mention of blood/gore, dark content ahead — unedited, nsfw, MDNI

The pentagram painted in red paint reminded you sickeningly of blood. You hadn’t really believed they would actually sacrifice people, least of all put you on that metaphorical platter to be served up, but their insistence that it would work this time now they had a virgin to offer was… troubling.

It was a stupid move to let your friend convince you it would be fun to join her for a religious ritual with her friends, but it was too late that you found out she had been hiding this group were worshippers of evil and she had befriended you solely as an offering to solidify her indoctrination.

It was too late when they tied you up in intricate rope bindings and laid you in the centre of the pentagram, standing around you in a circle, chanting.

You hadn’t thought anything would really happen, but you were still scared. You didn’t know how far this went, or what they planned. The extent of this ritual was all a mystery you were only being revealed bit by bit, and whether they decided the final piece of this ritual was killing you and letting your blood mix with the red paint on the wooden floorboards was something only time would tell.

You struggled against the bindings, muffled attempts at begging them to untie you going unnoticed from underneath your cloth gag—you could only be glad they hadn’t laced it with chloroform and that you still had some chance of fighting for your life if it came to that.

Beyond the flickering flames lighting the tall red candles they had surrounding the circle, separating you and them, the shadows danced across the walls, creating shapes your creeped out mind could make out as warped faces, hands reaching out, open and hungry jaws with rows and rows of sharp teeth.

You closed your eyes to avoid looking, not wanting to see the horrors the human mind could conjure.

The old basement of this house was unnerving enough, plunged in darkness. You had been hooded to be brought here—for initiation, you had been told—so even if you could get away, you wouldn’t know your way even out of the house after you had gotten up those creaky stairs. You were truly lost and afraid on this night.

Only a miracle would see you out of the basement unscathed, and your bindings were already rubbing your wrists sore as you squirmed.

When they left, single file, going up those steps to lock you down in the darkness alone, lit by candlelight that was quickly burning out, you let out a frustrated scream, arching against the restrained expertly weaved and knotted. If you hadn’t known better, you might have guessed you had been brought to a type of sex club with how the ropes looked.

The air went cold, a breeze flooding over your body making you shiver and blowing all the candles out, changing the light in the room to the ominous red glow of the pentagram painted beneath you.

It felt warm on your exposed skin, comparatively nicer than the cool dank of the basement. You shivered from the change, eyes darting around, straining to see anything, but the dark loomed closer now and had consumed the room with a new depth that was palpable, as if you could reach out and take a handful of it. Not only couldn’t you see, but the darkness was infectious. It seeped into you, a swirling, living inky mass that ticked along your arms and flipped your stomach.

What felt like a finger, but too large to be human, traced a line down from your sternum to your bellybutton.

“They finally got it right.” His voice came from everywhere and nowhere, not from any direction you could pinpoint. “Fools.”

You simpered, alarm bells ringing in your head but you were frozen in place, barely breathing, heart pounding. The deep tones of the demonic voice, rumbling and low and enrapturing, shouldn’t have sounded so pleasing.

If their ritual worked and they had actually managed to summon the demon they worshipped, things were going to get a lot worse. You really were going to need a miracle to get out alive.

The glow below you brightened, blindingly so, enveloping you in its light. As quick as it came, it went, vanishing altogether, but no longer were you in the sightless dark. Still, it was hard to see, but from your place on the floor now, you could see you were no longer in that dingy basement.

You could see flames lighting the walls, and the air was hot like a summer’s evening.

When you raised your head, shaky and in full disbelief that any part of this was genuinely happening, you gazed up at a large throne, and upon it, splayed with thick thighs spread to reveal a noticeable bulge beneath a loincloth, was a large, red-skinned demon.

With a snap of his fingers, the rope and gag singed away to little more than residual ash, allowing you to breathe easier, inhaling deeper than before.

You panted, not being able to tear your gaze from his massive form, his unwavering, hungry stare making you feel like a rabbit to a fox, pulse hammering under your ribs while he waited for his time to snatch the life from you.

“Don’t look so afraid of me.” He beckoned you to his side. “Here. Sit.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you do as I say.”

With weak limbs, you crawled closer, hesitant to get too close, but everything here was unknown and unnatural to you. He burned away your bindings and though the fire flashed brightly, it didn’t burn your skin. He could have been telling the truth, that he wouldn’t hurt you, but he was also a demon from a realm unfamiliar to you—were demons known for their honesty? You doubted it.

“Good girl.”

You wanted to be more embarrassed of your lack of clothing, small dress showing cleavage and barely covering your ass as you sat on your knees at the edge of his throne, but he wasn’t modest either. The cloth over his crotch left nothing to the imagination. You could tell he was big.

“What do you want?”

“I want what is mine.” He reached down to cup your face in one large hand, palm cradling your chin and fingers curled to dip into your cheek. He ran hot, and you wanted to lean into his touch, but refrained. “And you are mine.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are a virgin,” he said bluntly. “I wouldn’t have graced those fools with my presence otherwise.”

Your face ran hot as you squirmed. You had never been embarrassed about that before, fine with waiting for the right person, the right time, but being seen, having it said out loud so crassly, made you drop your eyes from his face, his wide shoulders, his broad, solid strength.

He was intimidating, and could read you with such ease. It was an unfair advantage.

He didn’t smile, or tease, or gently coo down at you. The scar across his face made the unreadable blank look on his face all the more unnerving.

“What do you think I’d want someone like you for?”

Your mouth ran dry thinking of the possibilities. Of how he’d take you, ruin you. You peeked up through your eyelashes at the side of his thighs, muscular and thick, bracketing his cock. He wouldn’t be kind. He wouldn’t be patient. He’d hurt you.

He’d defile you.

You were only able to nod your head, the words stuck in your throat.

“Good. Then you know what to do.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide and innocent.

His hand moved from under your chin to the back of your head and guided you face-first towards his cock, pressing your cheek against it when you tried to push back, turning your face from him.

“Stop. I don’t want to—”

“I am your King.” Sternly, he pressed you further into his bulge, already semi-hard, not easing his hold on the back of your neck. “Learn your place is here, sooner if you don’t want me to take you unprepared, in front of my kin.”

Your place: here, at his feet, servicing his cock.

You whimpered, pussy clenching around nothing at the thought, his brutishness reminding you of erotica novels, devilishly handsome, strong men or monsters claiming their woman. The way they’d let others look but not touch what was theirs. How they’d show them off as a symbol of their status and power, confident that no matter how much was on display, no one would dare cross the line and risk facing their wrath.

Would he care about showing you off? About you being used by them once he was done with you?

He said you were his, but how much did he really value you? If another virgin was sacrificed, would you be yesterday’s prize?

Shyly, you raised your hands to uncover his cock, taking hold of it. You needed two hands to wrap around it’s entire girth, and when you gave it an experimental pump, he sighed and leaned back into his throne to watch you, so small and delicate at his feet.

He could crush you so easily between his hands or thighs, but he didn’t. He wanted you to lower yourself to sin. He wanted to watch as you rolled in the mud and covered your body in the filth. He wanted to feed you dirt until all you could taste was it’s sweetness, slurping on worms and crunching on bugs, sticking out a blackened tongue to ask him for more, more, more.

He admired you lazily, stuck on the bounce of your breasts as you jerked him, twisting your hands around his length, clumsy and inexperienced and so cute.

Exactly why he liked girls like you.

Corrupting girls like you felt like stealing from the saints, just the right amount of hedonism to disrupt the equilibrium. The forces of good would know what he was doing, would know they had lost a sweet, good little thing like you to the likes of him.

And oh, they’d be so disappointed to know you’d fallen wayward under his influence.

When you opened your mouth enough to lick at his leaky tip, there was no going back for you. One taste led to another, to you sucking on the tip, to his hand on the back of your head once more, helping you take as much as you could manage. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was salacious, you looking up at him with misty eyes, lips shiny with spit, and he knew you were well and truly his, mind shaped to obey.

He was addicted to the uncoordinated, unrhythmic motions of your hands, disconnected from you tongue, from the little sucks and hums and breaths puffing against him from your nose as he held you down.

It was adorable, how you tried to please with no instruction of what he wanted, of what he liked.

He thought he could ask you anything now, and you’d do it straight away.

“Show me your tits.”

Your body burned under his gaze, consuming the length of your throat and the expanse of chest exposed as you pulled down the flimsy fabric to under your breasts, letting them fall out into the open, baring plush flesh begging to be touched and pebbled nipples.

He tugged your hair, pulling your mouth from his cock and leaving strands of spit connecting his hot tip to your bottom lip, to admire the way your tits hung, revealed to a lustful, heinous stare for the first time.

Never a more beautiful sight in the world.

“Touch yourself.”

He didn’t look you in the eye when he told you what to do, enraptured by the way you panted, catching your breath, thinking of how your heart inside your ribs, imagining how it must have been pulsing and alive like its own animal. Thought about how it might jump in his open hand if he were to hold it. Thought about how your lungs filled and expanded, how they, too, might be so captivating to watch work hard to keep you living.

And how that time spent living would now be spent living to worship and pleasure him. How precious.

“You’ve done it before, haven’t you?” His fingers tangled in your hair, tightening his grip to tug just that bit harder, to make you wince. That’s when he tore his gaze from your heaving breasts to your face. “You’ve had your fantasies. Virgins are never without their desires. Never have been. You’re no different.”

There was a cruelty in the way he spoke down to you, but you should have expected that. He was not your gentleman, but a beast, a monster that had nothing but malicious intentions for your body.

It dampened the fluttering of your arousal.

You hitched the skirt of your dress up, sucking in your bottom lip as you dipped your fingers beneath the fabric of your underwear to rub your clit, leaning back just enough that he could see what you did.

“Keep going.” He held you still as he rutted his hips forward, grinding his cock against your face. “Stretch your little cunt out on your fingers. I want to hear you become a slut for me.”

You stared back at him with one eye open as he fucked your face, his balls hitting your chin, his tip dribbling and leaking into your hair.

“As many as you can. You want to be able to take this cock, don’t you? Hm?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make sure you do.”

He rumbled in his chest, jaw set as he looked at the mess he was making of you, not loosening his hold on your hair—he liked seeing the furrow of your forehead too much.

His cock seemed like it was steaming from how hot he was above you, nostrils flaring.

You were pumping two fingers into your pussy, adding a third, the stretch reminding you that he would stretch you further, maybe even split you open. He could, if he wanted to, if he decided that would amuse him more. He could make you bleed, he could fuck you so deep it would be unbearably painful.

“Show me how wet you are.”

With a dissatisfied sigh trembling from your lips, getting closer to orgasm but still to far to take a solid hold of it, you took your hand away from your ministrations and held it up for him to study, splitting your fingers to show the webs of essence that clung to your skin.

He chuckled, sickly amused by how to became a whore just to obey him.

“Good girl,” he hummed, admiring the wet shine of your hand. The words held a new meaning, because you weren’t good, not really. Not in the innocent way. You hadn’t been for a long time, not in your most depraved daydreams, but you were good for him.

He looked smug at how you were splayed under him, on your knees with your thighs spread, sticky arousal leaking from you. Ideas were spinning in his head. He wanted to pry you open, sink inside that unfucked hole and make it his, make it so nothing could fill you as good as he could, but that could wait. He wanted to see how desperate you were to get off, to see just how needy and shameless you could get just for a taste of your pleasure at his mercy.

He guided you to your feet, making you sit on his lap as he sunk back into his throne, your cunt so close to his cock that laid against his stomach. You hovered above him, afraid to sit flush against him, but he pulled your hips down so you pussy was pressed against the underside of his cock, his heavy balls right under your ass.

“Make yourself cum,” he instructed, moving your hips to drag along his length, catching your clit against the tip. “Use me, slut.”

You knew better than to disobey, certain he could think of worse things as punishment. It was embarrassing, but you were throbbing and your clit was begging for attention, you could feel your pulse in your pussy.

It wasn’t so bad if he wanted you to get off using him, right?

He was so thick and heavy, sliding your pussy along it let you feel just how big he was compared to you, the ridges and veins making you want to grind down harder.

You watched where you were connected, where you covered him in your slick and pre dribbled into the dark layer of hair of his toned stomach, to where your hands looked so small on his chest. It made you shiver, but you were addicted to how it made you feel. A toy in his lap, disposable, replaceable, his to manipulate. He could use you however he wanted and you wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, but being his cockwarming slut sounded appealing. Being in his lap, soaking in his body heat and rubbing yourself all over him like a cat in heat was so wrong it felt right.

After all, weren’t humans just animals? How could it be wrong to indulge those instincts?

The rumbling of his delight under your palms urged you on, grabbing at your breasts as you got yourself off, pinching your nipples and moaning for sin hadn’t felt so good. If you knew you could feel pleasure like this, you wouldn’t have waited, holding out on yourself. You’d have lost your virginity before your so-called friend would have had the chance to consider sacrificing you to this Demon King.

But who better to learn from than the king of sin? It had to feel the best in his experienced clutches compared to just any human man.

This had to be fate. This had to be a blessing in disguise.

You were gone on top of him, head thrown back in ecstasy as you rode out your orgasm, but when you came down, falling into him, you could only think of how much better it would feel for him to touch you, to stretch you on his thick, rough fingers, to prepare you for his hulk of a cock.

“Please,” you mumbled, lifting your head to look up at him with glistening eyes, drool on your chin that you hadn’t even been aware of. “Fuck me more.”

“There you are. No going back for you now. You’re mine.”

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"I like 'em thick."

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