#tw.fire

— it’s been years since your little village had the protection of the Demon King, long before you were even thought about let alone born. But there was always a pride to protection.

— girls and boys of varying height, looks, and personality would be chosen by the Demon King to be his bride, only hoping for some entertainment. The first time you witnessed it, your sister had been chosen, her admirers distraught because she was to be wed to a monster of all things.

— the second time, you were chosen. A stroke of bad luck, the villagers would say, seeing as your parents were now childless. Everyone knew why he requested another bride — they died. He probably ate them or just got bored, but they always ended up dying. Everyone knew that.

— the ceremony was you being forced into a red and gold dress, uncomfortable as ever. But it was a requirement. After that. You were then to walk barefoot to the mountain that housed the castle of the Demon King. Barefoot meant no threat, so no matter how many rocks you cut your feet on or how slippery your blood got, you walked on.

— an offering to the Demon King was treated as though they were royalty, not as if they were a common peasant, but the tight dress stayed on, a bouquet of dying roses in your hands as one of the handlers brought you to a room. Which room? You didn’t know.

— left alone, you were finally introduced to the King, who told you to call him Crepus. His throne room, he sat on a golden throne beside a man- demon, who looked like him. Both watched as you entered, until you knelt down in submission, a quality that would keep you alive for a decent amount of time.

— You were then asked to properly present yourself. Fear coiled in your veins, the threat of death all powerful as his claws waved in the air, encouraging you to continue. Unable to refuse, with slow movements, you positioned yourself facing away, hiking the skirt of the dress up until the bridal undergarments were showing. You could hardly breathe, waiting for something to happen.

“You see, Diluc, one day you’ll be given brides like this one. They’re practically shaking from fear and humiliation. That’s how you know they’ve remained pure. A proper virgin bride,” is what he said, a gruff voice that seeped with pleasure. Tears escaped your eyes as you just lay there, waiting for something. “Do you wish to see more?”

“I think I will,” the man, Diluc, says. Your stomach drops and your shaking gets worse, blunt nails digging into the carpet beneath you.

“Good.”

— the next hour is you being playing with by Crepus while Diluc watches, your eyes unable to reach his. The ceremonial panties are ripped off as Crepus brings a sharp claw against your skin, running it along your inner thigh. The sensation is soft, making you shiver.

— a burning hot liquid is slathered on your skin, the oil making your body hotter and ache for touch. Even feeling the sharp claw of Crepus easing its way into your hole is welcomed, the scream accompanied with the pain muffled by your hand. You have to screw your eyes shut as pain rips through you.

— eventually, your brain is no longer hazy, your hole is sore and coated in dried blood, and you’re no longer on a floor before a throne. You’re on a luscious bed, clothes ripped to shreds as Crepus looms over you, his size much large than yours. He’s undressed as well, a heavy weight against your thigh.

— once you’re awake, he doesn’t hold back. Sharp claws digging into your skin as he completely bares your body to his eyes. Deep enough to make streaks of blood as you squirm under him, screaming as your weak hands try to push him away, but he’s unfazed.

— more of the burning liquid from before is poured over you, starting from your abdomen and drizzled over your sex, seeping into the nook and crevices it can find. You’re back to squirming, trying to get away from the heat. When the sharp claws from before slather the liquid outside of your opening, pushing in, you try to move away, not wanting to feel anymore pain.

— he hardly makes a sound, eyes absorbing every thing you do. When you’re breathless under him, energy sapped, he finally decides to claim you as his. His cock was the heavy weight against you, the head of it practically splitting you in two as he pops it inside of you. Breath leaves your lungs as you dig your fingers into the meat of his arms, his hands wrapped around your waist as he pushes himself inside.

— the pain is practically unbearable, but the burning liquid lessens the pain as he spreads you open. It isn’t until he’s so deep inside you that he stops, your hand coming up to your stomach to feel him deep inside. The small bulge moves deep inside, it bobbing as he thrusts in and out.

— he’s so big, your breath is knocked out of you each time. Unable to find something to ground yourself on, you just lay limp as your body twitches from the pleasure, eyes rolling as you give in. When your eyes close a bit too long, you’re screaming as a searing pain is pressed against your thigh.

— “No sleeping,” he grunts, wingspan extending behind him as a threat. It makes him look bigger than he is, but his claws become longer and sharper, digging into your abdomen and thigh. A quick glance shows burned flesh on your thigh, a dark red color staining his arm as more heat comes from his palm.

— tears escape your eyes and your consciousness is fleeing, but you manage to stay awake and somewhat conscious as he finishes staking his claim on your body, the fire inside you roaring as he releases deep inside, your legs tightening and twitching as he paints your insides. He doesn’t bother with gentle kisses or gentle touches, he just pulls out and scoops his hot seed back into you, massaging your walls with his shorter claws as he does.

The night began like it was supposed to, your wonderful husband taking you out to dinner and treating you in celebration of your one year anniversary. The night would end with each of you indulging in each other’s scent and body, sweat clinging to skin as sweet moans spilled over lips. Meian had finally gotten the guts to ask for a special present from you, claiming it’s all he wanted. He asked for nothing, not even the chance to indulge in every expanse of your body.

Marking. He wanted to mark you.

Not like an animal, he didn’t want to rip into your supple flesh and break perfect skin in his eyes, no. He’d burn his mark into your skin, charred flesh showing his claim over your body. It was something he was nervous about, fidgeting and stumbling over words, but he simply wants to tell everyone you’re his. It won’t be on the open, he already knows where it’ll be. On your thigh, right above where your thigh highs end, right above the edge of the skirts and dresses you wear for him. Only for his eyes openly, but those who dare to peek will see you’re taken by another man.

The lit flame sent a tingling down your spine, the fluttering fire joining to create the romantic atmosphere. Yet, it wouldn’t light a candle. Held in Meian’s hands was a ring, your ring that had his name engraved into it, the one that matched the ring around his finger that had your name in it. The intricate curls and loops of the name were faint, yet the fire would be able to mark those tiny details onto your skin. He prepared it as so it wouldn’t singe his skin, but he also prepared you to take the damage.

Pressing the molten metal into your skin was much more so painful that imagined. It was horrible, the smell of singeing flesh and the feel of intense burn on your thigh. Meian held you down, whispering sweet nothings to keep you focusing on him and not the pain. Your cries and tears eventually stifled, sniffing as you press your forehead to his, a peck to your lips. The ring is removed, his name firmly placed on your thigh for him to see.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

Seeing his name on your skin, the perfect present for him, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. With a rushed whispered of “I love you,” he’s spreading your legs, careful to not touch sensitive skin, and pushing his cock into your awaiting cunt. Slick and dripping, eagerly sucking him in as he groans low and guttural, a sound that only has you moaning in response as your walls flutter around him. He doesn’t wait a moment more, knowing you’re fully ready for him, slamming his hips to yours as your nails find purchase in his bulging biceps, his hands keeping himself upright. Grunts accompany each thrust, his skin slapping against yours as he chases his high, but he also chases your release.