#thronesex

[mercurysflame]

Hermione x Voldemort | Tom Riddle Smutty Throne Kink Dark Oneshot 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32988928

art by @smoke-and-plume

[angel-breeze1]

The Ichor Throne | satouru gojo.

Synopsis

A mortal queen tethers the god of chaos to her throne using forbidden blood-magic, forcing Gojo Satoru into a human vessel. Their daily "rituals" to sustain the binding spell blur the lines between domination and devotion, threatening both the celestial order and the queen’s ironclad resolve. When rebel sorcerers discover Gojo’s true power lies in his willing submission, the pair must confront whether their toxic entanglement is a cage... or the genesis of a new pantheon.

Content Breakdown

1. The Binding (Ch. 1-3)

Gojo’s divine essence forcibly merged with reader’s coronation regalia

First ritual scene: Reader using throne’s chains to "calibrate" their connection

"You want infinity? Then earn it through mortal means."

2. Crown & Chains (Ch. 4-7)

Political fallout from housing a deity

Gojo sabotaging reader’s alliances via psychic interference during state dinners

Shared dream sequences revealing his pre-sealed memories

3. Eclipse Protocol (Ch. 8-10)

Rebel attack forces reader to temporarily unleash Gojo’s powers

Post-battle vulnerability: Gojo cradling injured reader while still magically collared

"This is why gods shouldn’t kneel, little queen. Now you’ve made me care."

4. Throne of Ash (Finale)

Ultimate choice: Dissolve the bond (freeing Gojo but destroying her magic) or ascend together

Climactic ritual merging their bodies into a single cosmic entity

Word Count

CategoryCountTotal32,000 wordsSmut/Intimacy Scenes11,200 (35%)Political Maneuvering8,000 (25%)Cosmic Horror Elements6,400 (20%)Character Backstories4,800 (15%)Battle Sequences1,600 (5%)

Warnings

Graphic Non-Con (magically enforced intimacy)

Body Horror (cosmic transformations during rituals)

Power Imbalance (monarch/deity dynamic)

Psychological Manipulation

Ritualistic Self-Harm (blood magic mechanics)

The last shaft of afternoon light through your chamber's leaded windows caught the floating suitcases in golden suspension - precisely arranged diplomatic gifts hovering like obedient ghosts. You adjusted your high-necked lace collar, its starched edges scraping the healing love bite beneath. Three layers should cover it this time.

The scent hit first - bergamot and sex-damp sheets. Then the heat. Gojo's bare chest pressed against your back like a brand through the silk brocade, his morning stubble catching threads from your travelling cloak. "Please, my love," his whisper vibrated against your nape, fingers slipping beneath your belt to find still-tender skin, "don't leave me to cold sheets and colder politics."

You let him turn you - a tactical retreat. His pupils swallowed sapphire irises whole, hair a chaos of white silk across bare shoulders. The dangerous curve of his smile didn't reach the hand cradling your jaw, thumb brushing the scar he'd kissed better last solstice.

"Sweet serpent," you murmured against his seeking mouth, tasting yesterday's pomegranate wine on his tongue. Your knuckles brushed the proof of his desperation straining against linen sleep pants. "Shall I gift Nevar's queen your spend staining her carpets? Imagine the scrolls her spies would pen..."

His growl shook the perfume vials on your dresser. "Let them read how thoroughly you're claimed." Magic crackled as he walked you backward toward the rumpled four-poster, its curtains still bearing tear marks from last night's...negotiations.

You stopped him with a hairpin to the throat - diamond tip kissing his Adam's apple. "What use is a pet," you breathed into the sudden stillness, "that can't wait seven nights?" The suitcases' levitation spells hummed higher, leather corners smoking with impatience.

Gojo's laugh curled like opium smoke around your resolve. "Seven nights without your teeth at my-"

The door slammed open with your will rather than hands. You stepped through without turning, knowing he'd see the tremble in your lifted chin, smell the arousal even sandalwood oil couldn't mask. His last words followed you down the tower stairs, clinging like the scent of his skin under your nails:

"Her Winter Court has ice in its veins, darling. You'll burn for me by third sunset."

The door didn't quite click shut behind you.

SCENEBREAK

The conference room's AC hummed like a dying wasp, its stale breath doing nothing for the sweat pooling beneath your thigh-high stockings. You watched nanami adjust his tie for the seventh time - that particular Windsor knot you'd complimented three moons ago, when his fingers still smelled of fresh litigation paperwork rather than desperate cologne.

"Post-summit dinner," he said, voice smoother than the whiskey he'd never order himself. "There's... a new izakaya near the courthouse." His briefcase clicked open-shut-open, swallowing the unspoken that doesn't involve reviewing merger contracts until 2AM.

Before you could weaponize your clipboard, Choso's younger brother materialized from the floral arrangement - all gangly limbs and inherited cheekbones. "S-senpai! I baked these mochi shaped like... your case files?" The dessert box trembled in hands still scarred from last month's cursed speech bubble incident.

The temperature dropped. Glass rattled in its frames.

"You." Sukuna's shadow swallowed the conference table's LED lights. His knuckle brushed your inner thigh beneath the table, a brand through three layers of imported wool. "Stop wasting my fucking time with these maggots." The 'V' of his unbuttoned shirt revealed blackened curse marks pulsing like live wires.

Nobara's champagne flute caught the dying sunlight, casting blood-red prismas across your notes. "Careful, princess," she purred, stiletto tapping the nuclear football briefcase under the table. "Let one paw too far up that skirt, and we'll be scraping king of curses off the ceiling tiles again."

Maki didn't look up from sharpening her cursed speech quill. "The Kamo heir's been eyeing our stock options. I could arrange an... acquisition." Her grin flashed feral. "Permanently."

You stood, letting Sukuna's stolen jacket slide from your shoulders like shed skin. "Gentlemen." The single word froze Nanami's pen mid-signature, turned Choso's brother's ears incarnadine. "Shall we reconvene when your," a deliberate glance downward, "arguments stand taller than your briefing docs?"

The door slammed without your touch. Through vibrating glass, you watched Sukuna's reflection peel himself from your abandoned chair, licking residual cursed energy from his fingers like spun sugar.

Nobara materialized at your elbow, her perfume cutting through the stench of male desperation. "So. Which head shall we mount in the lobby first?"

SCENEBREAK

As you stumble through the front door, the dim light of the hallway casts long shadows, illuminating the remnants of your chaotic evening. The lingering warmth of the meeting still clings to you, blending with the pleasant buzz from the drinks consumed—each one a different shade of impulse and camaraderie. You take a moment to lean against the door frame, attempting to shake off the dizziness that settles like a heavy fog in your mind.

You take a deep breath, the familiar scent of your home—softly spiced with hints of sandalwood and fresh linen—envelops you like a warm hug. Just beyond the threshold, the living room opens up, revealing a sight that makes your heart swell. There, sprawled comfortably on the inviting sofa, is Gojo, oblivious to the world. His unruly white hair is tousled, partially hiding his serene face, and a remote hangs loosely from his fingers like a forgotten prize.

A smile creeps across your face, softening the edges of your exhaustion. You lift a hand in a casual wave, and with a flick of your wrist, a gentle magic stirs from your fingertips. It dances through the air, shimmering softly, and gracefully sweeps the remote from his grasp, tucking it neatly back into its designated spot on the coffee table. You chuckle to yourself, enchanted by the effortless connection you share with him—this little moment of mischief a reminder of the bond you both cherish.

With Gojo undisturbed, you tiptoe toward the bathroom, your feet tapping softly against the wooden floor, each step echoing in the quiet house. The bathroom door creaks open, revealing a haven of solace. You flick on the light and watch as the warmth floods the small space.

Sliding out of your clothes, you let the fabric pool at your feet like a forgotten memory, the weight of the day spilling away with each piece. The shower beckons, its warmth promising to cleanse both body and spirit. You step inside, and as the water cascades over you, it feels like a thousand tiny hands washing away the last remnants of the day—the heat enveloping you like an embrace, the steam swirling around, making everything feel ethereal.

You let your thoughts drift, momentarily losing yourself in the rhythmic sound of water splashing against the porcelain tub. Each droplet carries away the weight of the night—the laughter, the conversations, the clinking of glasses—all dissolving into the swirling current. The scent of your favorite citrusy shampoo fills the air, invigorating your senses as you lather the suds into your hair.

In this tranquil moment, you think about Gojo, the way his presence lights up even the dullest of days, his carefree spirit a delightful contrast to your more serious demeanor. You smile again, the corners of your lips lifting as you imagine his gentle snores filling the silence.

With each rinse, you emerge from your shower revitalized, feeling fresh—not just in body, but in mind and heart. The day may have drained you, but the promise of shared laughter and cozy evenings with Gojo lies ahead. You step out of the shower, ready to embrace the warmth of home once more.

Stepping out of the bathroom, still steamy from the shower, you make your way to your room, the soft, plush carpet feeling heavenly under your bare feet. The door creaks open, revealing a sight that makes your heart skip a beat. There, sprawled comfortably on your bed, is Gojo, looking utterly relaxed and dangerously enticing. He’s stripped down to just his boxers, the fabric clinging to his form in all the right places, revealing the contours of his toned physique and the mischievous glint in his striking eyes as he catches your gaze.

A playful giggle escapes your lips, light and teasing, punctuating the air between you. "Damn, pet," you smirk, your voice laced with flirtation, "you really want to fuck me, huh?" The words hang in the air, dripping with mischief, as you take a step closer, emboldened by the magnetic pull of the moment.

You can see the way his lips curl into a sly smile, the confidence radiating from him like an electric current. He shifts slightly, his playful demeanor inviting you into the game. Your fingers, almost instinctively, form delicate claws as you trail them up the supple skin of his thigh, relishing the way he tenses slightly at your touch, a shiver running through him at the enticing sensation.

“Careful now,” he warns playfully, his tone both teasing and sultry, “you might awaken something wild.” His blue eyes glimmer with unspoken promises, and as you inch closer, the environment around you seems to crackle with anticipation.

You let your nails graze his upper thigh and feel the tension there, the thrill of the moment igniting sparks between you. The air grows thick with desire, and in that space, your laughter intertwines with his soft chuckles, creating an intimate symphony that fills the room. Everything else—your previous exhaustion, the weight of the day—melts away like the steam from the bathroom, leaving just the two of you and the thrilling possibility of what the night could hold.

“Maybe I like to keep you on your toes,” you tease back, a playful wink accompanying your words, your fingertips still lingering on his skin as you savor the electrifying connection.

With a sudden surge of confidence, you feel your dragonborn side awaken, a powerful presence simmering just beneath your skin. It spills forth, igniting a fierce longing within you as you step toward Gojo, your wings unfurling gracefully behind you with an iridescent shimmer. Their vast span casts shadows across the dimly lit room, an embodiment of your unyielding spirit and desire.

In one sweeping motion, you push him down against the soft bedding, your wings gently enveloping him, asserting your dominance in this playful game. His eyes widen in surprise, a mixture of awe and exhilaration flickering across his handsome features. His breath catches in his throat as you lean closer, the heat radiating between you intensifying.

"You did this, Gojo," you declare, your voice a sultry whisper, rich with a playful edge. "You wanted me, and here you got me." Your words carry a teasing challenge, each syllable dripping with a heady blend of confidence and desire. You revel in the moment, feeling empowered as you look down at him, an undeniable connection crackling in the air.

With a playful flick of your wrist, you peel away the towel that barely clings to your body, revealing your breasts, the softness of your skin glistening in the warm light. The fabric drops to the floor, a silent declaration of vulnerability wrapped in power. You take a moment to relish the exhilaration of exposing yourself, your dripping pussy glistening enticingly, and you see Gojo gulp, his usually composed demeanor slipping away momentarily.

“Damn,” he breathes, an uncharacteristic shyness overtaking him, but only for a second. The glint in his eye returns as he leans back into the plushness of the bed, fully aware of the scene unfolding. You can see him shift, grappling between his instinctive urge to take charge and the deeper thrill of surrender that he knows you’ve ignited within him.

It’s a shift that transforms the dynamic, and you savor the subtle power play. You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, your breath warm as you murmur, “You love being my submissive little toy, don’t you?” The gentle teasing ignites something primal within him, and you feel the way his body responds, craving the thrill of your control.

In this passionate embrace, time seems to slow, and the world outside fades away. It’s just the two of you, surrounded by a cocoon of longing and playful seduction, ready to explore the wild side lurking within.

As excitement courses through you, you shift your focus, feeling an irresistible pull toward Gojo. Lowering yourself, you instinctively align your body with his, the warm musk of desire swirling around you. Your heart races in tandem with the intensity of the moment, and you savor every lingering sensation as you draw closer to him.

With a teasing gaze, you take him into your mouth, feeling the familiar stretch fill you as you savor his size, already accommodating the presence that has so often driven you wild. The initial hiss escapes your lips, a mix of pleasure and exhilaration reflecting the heat that spirals through your core. You can’t help but relish the sheer magnitude of him, your body instinctively anticipating the sensation.

As you take him deeper, the taste and feel of him ignite a hunger inside—a primal need that harmonizes with the dragonborn energy bubbling within you. It doesn’t take long before you’re lost in the rhythm, rolling your hips as you move in tandem, matching every thrust with your own undulating desire.

With each deliberate motion, the sounds fill the air—your soft moans of pleasure mingling with the breathy gasps escaping Gojo’s lips. You can feel the way he tenses, the way he fights against the overwhelming sensations as you tease and delight him, pushing him higher with every movement. His fingers tangle in your hair, urging you closer, and his voice, once playful, shifts to something deeper, more urgent.

“Ah, damn, just like that,” he groans, the words slipping from his mouth in a rush. You can feel the pulse in your own body matching the tempo, the heat rising as you drown in a whirlpool of pleasure.

You pull back for a moment, looking up at him with a playful spark in your eye, enjoying the sight of him completely lost in the moment, a soft sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” you tease softly, your voice dripping with seduction as your fingers trace along his thighs, still able to feel the effects of your touch.

But the whisper of your breath barely leaves your lips before you’re back to him, succumbing to the intoxicating rhythm, your body moving with a hungry eagerness. Each indulgent motion sends waves of satisfaction coursing through you both, and as he moans again, you know you’re losing yourselves—completely enraptured in the dance of mutual pleasure.

The chamber's ice-forged pillars weep diamond droplets around you both, their eternal frost recoiling from the heat of his spilled divinity. Your tail - obsidian scales catching firelight like a blacksmith's blade - tightens incrementally around his sac. Not enough to truly harm, only to make the hiss of his indrawn breath reverberate off centuries-old runes carved by dead gods.

"Dam-ah!-mn it, mas-mmf-ter-" Gojo's protest dies against his own forearm, teeth sinking into sun-gold flesh to muffle sounds he'd never admit to making. His cock weeps pearlescent precome onto your inner thigh, the contrast obscene - celestial ichor smearing over the mortal sweat of your humanoid form's skin.

You pause, savoring the way his abdominal muscles flutter like caged starlings. "Sensitive?" Your words vibrate through the tongue now lapping salt from his sternum. "Or simply..." A claw traces the forbidden seal above his heart - the one binding his Six Eyes to flesh. "...ashamed of how your body betrays you?"

His choked whimper tastes of winter apples and damask roses. You move.

The stretch burns like forging a new constellation - his cock splitting you wide as you sink onto him in one glacial descent. Your shared gasp coalesces into mist above, forming temporary runes that dissolve like sugar in tea. His hips stutter upward instinctively, met by your tail slamming them back into the crysteel altar.

"Nnh-! F-fuck, your cunt's eating me alive-" Gojo's blasphemous mouth spills heresies between panting laughs, sapphire eyes glassy with overstimulation. You watch, enthralled, as his irises fracture into mandala patterns - the visual proof of his unraveling.

Your claws find purchase in his hips, drawing ichor that sizzles against cold stone. "This vessel hungers," you growl, rolling your pelvis in the ancient rhythm that once birthed volcanoes. "Shall I let it devour you whole, little god?"

His answer comes in the form of nails raking down your spine - half-mortal, half-divine blood welling where he breaches skin. The altar cracks beneath you both as his release hits like supernova, molten gold flooding your womb as his scream shakes loose icicles from the vaulted ceiling.

When his thrashing stills, you lick the tears from his trembling lids. They taste of ambrosia and regret.

The chamber's ancient glyphs glow crimson as your hips piston downward, each impact scattering bioluminescent pollen from the sacred vines binding Gojo's wrists. His cock sheens with nectar meant for god-kings, now pooling where your cunnus milks him with primordial contractions. You feel the exact moment his worship turns feral - the way his sac draws up tight against your tail's constriction, vein-patterned thighs quaking like tectonic plates divorcing.

"G-goddess please-!" His sob fractures into three octaves, irises blooming into fractal lotus patterns only seen during celestial eclipses. Your claws carve devotional sigils into his pectorals as you grind deeper, ichor-slick and relentless.

The orgasm hits like collapsing star matter:

Your walls pulse in forgotten temple drum rhythms

His release floods molten electrum hot enough to melt moonstone

Twin screams shatter the obsidian mirrors lining the chamber

When vision returns, you find him arched in ruined splendor - tear tracks crystallizing into diamond rivulets across flushed cheeks. His spent cock twitches valiantly still sheathed within you, oversensitive nerve-endings firing like dying stars.

"Magnificent," you purr, thumb smearing their combined fluids across his panting mouth. "Now beg properly for your deity."

His tongue darts out instinctively, lapping at the offered digits. "All...all hail the cunt that cleaves worlds," he rasps, laughter and desperation warring in his ruined voice. "Mercy, my dark star. This vessel wasn't built to contain supernovas."