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salubriwrites-blog · 7 days ago

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You Chose Morax (Pt 2)

Happy New Year or what the fuck ever its already February am I cooked? I'm taking recommendations on what devil to write about next! So far we have: Sitri, Barbatos, Andrealphus, and now Morax

You can find Pt 1 here!

CW: This chapter contains references of domestic violence

A month later…

You went because, in your mind, there was nowhere else to go. Bracing for the fall, you threw yourself out your bedroom window after locking the door on him. Crawling on your belly through the garden, you didn’t stop running until you reached the portal out of Gehenna. The slippers you were wearing became shredded, and you were shivering in your nightgown. By the time you had passed Paradise's garden wall, your lungs felt like leather in your chest and your throat was tight with emotion.

Satan had done something new that night, something that you thought you were done being surprised about. Usually the King would push your limits with sex and shifts in the relationship dynamic. You blamed the angels tonight. Word of Satan’s return from Tartaros sent you into a tizzy to get dressed in one of the dresses he liked best. He didn’t have anything like an office or a study (he left that to Sitri and Belial), so you went to his bedroom. You were wearing a satin nightgown that you thought he’d enjoy dragging over your skin before ripping it off you. It was slim fitting in all the right places, not meant for sleeping in despite appearances, but his most favorite of all is what the outfit did to your piercings.

You’d gotten your nipples pierced a few months before your encounter with Gabriel and Satan, and it wasn’t until after your visit to the healer in Paradise Lost that he paid attention to them. The sterling bars left defined wrinkles in the fabric, it was impossible to hide how erect your nipples were. He enjoyed gripping them in his teeth and pulling on them to the point of agony, just to watch your face light up with tamed pleasure. Except tonight didn’t go anything like that, because Satan was drunk. You had a limit, it turned out, a personal boundary that you didn’t know existed until you could smell the burn of liquor on the King. Whatever happened on the front line didn’t physically hurt him, but Satan’s mind was haunted. Drowning the flashing images had been his first attempt.

“Lay back,” he slurred, even your vagina squeezed itself tight to stifle the stench of liquor as Satan knelt in front of you. “I miss how you taste.” Honeyed words at first that quickly turned to turpentine when you tried to close your legs.

“You’re drunk, and stressed,” you insisted, scooting yourself up higher on the bed to get out of his reach. When his hand wrapped around your ankle your body’s temperature plummeted. Raising his eyes to look you in the face, Satan was pissed.

“I said I want you.” He growled, and your ankle groaned under the pressure of his tightening fist.

“Let me go, you’re hurting me,” you pleaded, trying to keep your emotions in check. Peeling his fingers off you would only excite or aggravate him further, and Satan wanted you to fight him. He had been fighting for his life and his people’s lives all day, now it was your turn.

After a struggle that left Satan with a bloody nose and his blood on your leg, you scrambled from the bed and ran to your own room. The last thing you heard as you fell out of the second story window and into the garden below was the wood buckling under the devil’s fists. He screamed your name like a curse, it rang in your ears all the way.

Devils in Lost Paradise were kind, and none of them questioned why a young woman in an inappropriate state of dress was looking for Morax. Instead they went so far as to offer to show you the way to his house. Why were you surprised when you came up on the cute little cottage with an herb garden in the yard and private practice in the front room?

“Doctor, you have a patient-” the devil who helped you called out, and you pursed your lips at the word. You didn’t know what you were tonight, but a patient didn’t feel right. Morax’s front door was unlocked, and when you both stepped inside, freshly swept floors and carefully organized shelves. Expecting the house to smell like disinfectant, you were surprised by the fresh pine aroma, and the warm burning of a fireplace.

Out of a side room who’s door you didn’t realize was there, a familiar head of red hair sprouted. Trailing behind him was a tumbling length of bandage, as if he was in the middle of coming undone when you appeared. Eager for a chance to look at his face, you tried to duck your head down to see him better, but the devil immediately retreated into the dark.

“You again,” he said from the darkly lit room, Morax stayed out of sight as he spoke. At the jerking motion, the bandages were pulled back into the darkness too. “Thank you, I’ve got it from here.”

Once the devil who escorted you was gone, Morax stepped back into the light. He must have been in the middle of changing his bandages, when he emerged the devil was scrambling to button up his shirt and fix his belt on his slacks. Suits were basically just lingerie for men, and Morax’s cut his shape quite well. Even the bandages were doing something to accentuate the muscle definition in his arms as he stood before you. Looking up and down, Morax kept his expression placid as he rolled up his sleeves and gestured to a side room. “Let’s step in here, I’ll start a fire and put the water on.”

Waiting to ask about why you were there, the devil was quick about putting a blanket around your shoulders. Kneeling down he adjusted it so that it covered your chest, you noticed Morax’s eye dragged slowly over your chest before tightening it. Taking away your tattered slippers, he tossed them aside and got on his knees, examining and running his bandaged hands along your soles.

“That’s not mine,” you blurted hastily when Morax’s fingers touched the dried blood around your feet. Standing up, Morax disappeared and returned with a shower caddy filled with cleaning supplies.

Kneeling back down in front of you, the devil picked up a warm washcloth and dragged it down your leg. Your skin had forgotten how much it missed his soft touch, and you stifled a sigh as the bristles of the cloth melted you. “You ran all the way here?” He asked, resting your foot on his knee so that he could clean your calf.

“In hindsight, I probably could have gotten a lift,” you hiccuped, struggling to keep your eyes open as Morax caressed your leg with the cloth. Further into the kitchen you could hear a kettle hissing, and the act reminded you of Sitri. Did Satan know that you were gone? Was this the first place that he’d look for you? “I just went on autopilot.”

“More like a flight response,” he mumbled to himself, setting your feet down kindly before reaching for your arms next. You had some cuts from where you had torn through hedges and over stone walls that he dressed with ointment. “Regardless, I’m glad that your autopilot thought of me. You’re safe here, now… What would you prefer? Coffee, tea?”

Something warm, you thought and reluctantly let him stop washing the blood away. After he finished his assessment of your superficial scars, he went to feel and pinch your bruises, hunting for internal breaks. Something caught his eye though, and Morax’s eye strained as he continued to poke at your wrist. “He grabbed you here, once.”

“Yeah, he did.” You replied, touching your wrist the same way Satan when he tugged you a little too forcefully into an alleyway. The physical evidence had faded, but sometimes when people touched you there the searing memory made your bones twinge.

“Does he do that often? Grab you so hard?” Morax asked next, and a zip of softness raced like lightning through your arm as he caressed where the finger prints had left a divot once. To your surprise, with just a swipe of his finger, all you could remember in that spot was how soft his touch felt on your bones.

What was supposed to be your answer to that? You didn’t want to be interrogated about how handsy Satan got. Looking away, you peered over Morax’s shoulder and at the room you were in. It was a living room-study combination, the walls were lined with bookcases, labeled both with medical encyclopedias and cheap romance paperbacks. In front of you was a quaint, cobblestone fireplace where tongues of fire reached up to lick the interior. His home reminded you of a bothy you saw in a travel vlog, all it was missing was snow drifts piling up on the window outside and a cat sleeping in your lap.

“Yeah, but it’s because he’s-”

“Passionate, of course.” Morax muttered darkly, and you winced at how scathing he sounded. “That’s what they all say.”

“It’s not that,” you tried lamely, looking down at your hand still in his. Turned over and palm upward, Morax was dragging his fingers up and down your arm. It sent cold, delighted shivers through your veins, and you found yourself leaning forward to offer him more of your arm. “Ever since I fully accepted my role within Hell, he’s been doing things to challenge me, not just sex,” you added. “Pushing my personal boundaries, limiting my activities, I don’t like it. I feel like I’m changing into someone I don’t recognize.”

Under his breath, Morax mumbled. You didn’t catch it because your vision was getting blurry from his touch.

“What’d you say?” You asked, leaning forward and letting the blanket fall from around you. It was getting warmer and the quilt he gave you felt unnecessary.

Laughing and shaking his head, the devil lifted his head to smile at you. Up this close and in this light, you could make out his features. He had a sharp nose and soft cheekbones that were buffered by the wraps around his face. Long eyelashes that could give the most excellent butterfly kisses, when Morax saw that you were looking at him closely, they fluttered. “Pluto in retrograde.”

Oh this again, you laughed at first, but as you remembered what Morax told you it was suddenly not so funny.

You can either be the hero of your story or the victim.

“Maybe he isn’t doing it to be malicious, but you must consider his actions regardless.” Morax said, lingering at the juncture of your elbow, stroking and watching your body suppress a shiver. “The ways he is attempting to… prepare you for your duties in Hell, are destructive for you. I would suggest giving him time to recollect himself after tonight’s outburst, then have a conversation with him in a neutral setting-”

“Morax,” you sighed, half exasperated and half to let out some of the chills building in your shoulders. “I appreciate the advice but… I don’t want advice. I’m tired, both body and soul, and I just want something else from you right now.”

Opening your eyes, you saw that his fingers were lingering on top of you, hesitant to keep touching. Shifting your gaze, your eyes met his as the devil and his bandages seemed to be sweating.

“Alright, what do you want from me?” He asked simply.

Your stomach flipped at the subtle implication, but your heart and mind went still. Morax was already in a suggestive position; kneeling in front of you, one foot planted on his knee, massaging your extremities. Though by this point he had cleaned away the dried blood, rubbed ointment on your cuts, and took inventory of all bruises and bumps, so now the whole thing felt like worship. You wanted him to do that, you realized with a slack and sleepy expression as you tried to lean in.

Bang, bang, bang. Three rough knocks (or punches?) threatened to blow the house down, and you jumped in your seat. The devil, as if expecting it, readjusted his grip to keep you in your seat. “Steady,” he urged, rubbing the tops of your hands to help with soothing.

“Morax,” a howling voice shrieked, threatening to wake up all of the Garden. Their voice was so pitched, shattering the peace of the bothy with their wrath, you didn’t recognize the owner at first.

“Oh Hells,” the devil sighed, reaching up and pulling you out of your panic by the chin. “I’m going to talk to him. You’re going to stay right here but first be honest; Do you want to go back to him tonight?”

What a loaded question, you thought blearily, all of the implications and scenarios heavy with retribution flitted through your mind in an instant. If you rejected Satan, could he wage a war against Paradise Lost? Or what if he just swept Morax away with a fiery fist and stormed in to grab you? It would be doubly worse if he brought Sitri-

“Hey,” pulling your chin closer still, your foreheads nearly touched. Not realizing it before, Morax smelt nice. A lovely cologne that reminded you of peat mouse cleaned beneath the rushing of a brook and river stones rubbed smooth. It actually combined with the smell of iodine and antiseptic beneath the bandages, smelling like Spring instead of a trauma ward. “Don’t be afraid of the consequences of your decision, because they don’t exist. All there will be is opportunities to become the person you’re meant to be. I’m here for you, I will help you.”

This is it, you realized as the pounding got louder, Morax’s hushed words still ringing clear over the flurry of blows his poor front door was taking. The moment you could be a hero or victim.

“Okay,” you whispered, grabbing the blanket tighter around you and sinking back into the chair. “I-I don’t want to go back, I don’t want him.” I want you, that last bit almost made it out, but you covered your face with the blanket just in time.

Bandages smiling back, Morax rolled down his sleeves and buttoned them up, readjusting to look put together as he marched out the door.

Wanting to listen, you waited until he was down the hallway to tiptoe across the carpet. It wasn’t hard to, you didn’t even have to put your ear to the door because as soon as it was opened-

“Where is she?” Satan screamed, and even behind multiple doors you could still smell the rich alcohol.

“Good evening, your Lord Majesty,” Morax replied coolly, but the venom prepared to spray behind his smile was audible too. “If you’re looking for an easy hangover remedy, I would suggest plenty of water-”

Crash, something broke in the front of the house. You could envision it if you closed your eyes, but you didn’t because suddenly you were terrified. All this time you had been fucking a literal devil, the physical embodiment of Wrath. Now he was mad and incoherent about you. How many times did you watch other devils face Satan and wish to never be in their shoes? Well, now you were, and the only thing standing between the two of you was Morax.

“Answer my fucking question. You stole her from me.” The King roared, his voice strained and snarling. “Give her back, I want her back.”

“You’re talking about the Daughter,” Morax said matter of factly, and there was another crash as something was flung down the hallway. Was Satan in the house now?

Careful not to make a sound, you backed away from the door, retreating to your place in front of the fire. Stepping over the cleaning supplies, you sat your ass back down to watch the window panes shudder as heavy footsteps entered the house. If you really had to, was there a place for you to hide?

“She’s not here-”

“You liar,” the wrathful devil cried, his voice cracking underneath his own fury. “How dare you lie to a King. I can have you destroyed, I will… return what belongs to me-”

You would have given everything in the world to be there for the moment of that slap. Crackling like a whip, the percussion was deafened by the bandages on Morax’s hand, but that just made it sound classy. Like a fine glove connecting with fiery flesh.

“She is not yours,” Morax snarled now, spewing anger on top of the taken aback King of Gehenna. “The woman has her own destiny to fulfill, and you are nothing but a choice to her. You cannot, may not, force your way into her life, and the fact that you tried is a testament to your greatest sin. You’ve only made it this far because you perpetuated an illusion that she didn’t have one. The Daughter sees that now, and she has made her decision just as you made yours.”

Instead of another crash of glass or splintering of wood, the house went quiet. Once again your curiosity was piqued to know just what was on the verge of happening beyond that door. Was Satan going to burst out into another flare of rage, rip Morax in half where he stood?

No, he wasn’t, you realized as your feet were carrying you across the room. Blanket tight around you like a cloak, you tested the door before pushing it open and stepping into the hallway.

All of the quaint little paintings and statues that Morax painfully collected through the years were in pieces. The stone facade outside was crumbled mortar in the doorway, and standing in the middle of all of it were the two devils. Morax was firm in the hallway, a surprisingly effective blockade against Satan’s wrath. Then there was Satan, on his knees in front of the red haired devil like he was a true sinner before an actual god.

His eyes were even redder from intoxication, and when he saw you they widened. “Hey,” Satan whispered, reaching a hand out past Morax to try and touch you. The healer wouldn’t lose focus though, and shifted himself to not let Satan go any further. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to lose you again… like Hades. You’re still so new to all of this, I’m just trying to help you-”

It was time to see Morax snap, transfixed you watched the bandages unravel around him. Suddenly a sentient thing, they loosened and coiled around his neck like a boa. Kneeling down, the devil gripped Satan and forced their eyes to lock. The King’s eyes widened as the wrappings had fallen away, showing Morax’s face.

“You’re deflecting your true intentions. You want to help her? This,” he jabbed a finger at Satan’s tears and blood stained shirt. “Is not helping her. This instills fear, and forces obedience. You aren’t helping anyone, you are being controlling. This,” Morax was pointing at himself now, and Satan’s face went wide with horror. What awful things were hiding beneath all those bandages? “Is helping. Self sacrifice, taking away the pain of failure so that people can become what they long to be. That is helping.”

Satan looked like he was about to be reignited with rage, but you saw your chance. Be a hero, you told yourself and stepped up.

“Go home, please,” you said, voice and body shaking from the adrenaline. “You’re not sober, you’re a mess, and we can’t have a discussion when you’re like this.”

“You don’t want me?” Satan asked, and Morax’s sigh held a hundred words in it. Most potently it said, “you can’t negotiate when these people, especially not like this.”

“It’s not that easy,” you began to say, but Satan stood up now and tried to push past Morax.

“It is that easy. You either choose me or you choose him, which one is it?”

That’s not fair you thought, feeling like you were losing control once more. In the past it was easier to just give Satan what he wanted, but as Morax was moving deftly to restrain him, this was different. With the help of people who care, you can become the hero or the victim of your story, the choice will be yours. It wasn’t about him, it was about you.

“I’m choosing Morax,” you declared, and the King stumbled as if your words pierced him. “I choose him, not you. Not until you can calm down and show that there is more to you than this.”

Cowed by your words, Satan began to retreat out the door while Morax ushered him back. Happy you were standing behind the devil, you watched as the extensions of him you previously assumed were just bandages threatened to grab Satan at the slightest, errant movement. Those big red eyes didn’t leave you, and they said a hundred words in their gaze. “You’ll regret this.”

Before turning to face you, Morax took a few deep breaths, the bandages coiled around him again. Immediately you were curious to know more about their nature, like if he was actually damaged underneath all those wraps? At the same time you were feeling light headed, the gravity of your words and what you said coming to hit you. He turned around just in time to see you stumble, falling into his outstretched arms. You were far from the first to faint in his hands, but you were his favorite certainly. He cradled you with a softness that Morax clearly didn’t afford to just anyone, tucking your hair behind your ears and hefting you against his chest.

“Did I make it worse?” You asked, running your hands along the hem of the white fabric, hoping to feel what was hiding just below the surface.

“There’s no way to know, individuals like that can’t be negotiated with in any mind state. It’s behind us now, and tomorrow is far away,” Morax whispered with that tenderness, tilting your face to rest against his shoulder. “You did well though, you stood up for yourself - courage is a good look on you.” He added under his breath and your heart fluttered.

“What does that mean?” You tried to ask with your mouth muffled into his shirt collar.

Pretending that he didn’t hear, Morax carried you back to that cozy room, sitting you in the high back chair and pulling an ottoman to rest your feet on. Secretly, you wished he would volunteer himself again.

“I need a few minutes to get the guest bedroom ready-” Morax started excusing himself, only to have his bandages and face knit together in confusion when you stopped him.

Your mouth was dry and your throat felt tight as you stared at his tapered fingers. “I’m not tired,” you insisted, pulling Morax back into your orbit. Not expecting a challenge, you looked for his gaze when he didn’t budge.

“You don’t have to sleep now, but I want to give you time alone-”

“No,” you said the same way, threatening to stand up if he kept resisting you. You didn’t want to be alone, you wanted a reward for your bravery. “I don’t want that either.”

Hesitant, Morax staring at your hands, how your fingers struggled to keep a grip on his palm. “Okay,” he breathed and dropped to one knee. Adjusting your foot to rest on his knee instead of the ottoman, you wondered if he also realized what you were trying to do. Trying to recreate the moment Satan ruined. It was not the same moment, you knew that as his eye flashed with something different. A hunger lurked beneath his bandages, this was not a moment, it was a beginning. “What do you want from me?”

A thrill of excitement started at the point where his fingers pressed into your ankle, erasing the pressure where Satan had almost broken your leg. Leaning forward, you allowed the blanket to fall away and revealed in the new light how scantily clad you were. The little white and satin gown reflected the firelight, slim straps sliding just enough off your shoulder.

“I want you to erase all the pain Satan put on me,” you whispered, leaning to brush your cheeks together. “Everywhere that he grabbed, pinched, choked me, I want you to put something better in its place. Something lovely… Can your powers do that?”

With your cheek against his, you felt the stilted breath as he glided his hands down your arms. Now Morax was assessing all of the damage Satan had done to you, no matter how long ago. With that healing touch, he was able to catalog all of your past, your peace of mind he shattered, your sense of self he eviscerated, he looked for it all. Sitting back, you waited patiently as he felt you, urging you to slump back in the seat as he palmed over your gown. Something hungry in you growled when he avoided your breasts and thighs, flipping his hands palm up to touch you briefly.

“No,” you moaned, taking his hand and readjusting it to cup you. His eyes widened and focused as the slim metal moved under his hand. Eyelids fluttering, you let his touch linger, sending ticklish sensation through your piercings, making your body bend and tense. “I want you to touch me like this, too.”

“Yes, miss,” Morax whispered, voice dry and lips chapped from his new thirst as he reluctantly moved to feel your hips and thighs. Shifting your leg, he kissed at your ankle bones, breathing warmly to melt away the cold pain of tearing away from Satan. Every time you fought for your safety against the Prince of Wrath, you instead remembered how tender Morax felt. As he moved upward, Morax adjusted your foot to pass over and rest down his back. Meanwhile his bandages came to life, uncurling from around his arms, your belly tightened with curiosity and anticipation as they slipped underneath your gown. “Is that alright?” He asked suddenly, voice suddenly loud and urgent when your body squirmed at their presence.

“It’s alright,” you promised, reaching a hand down to feel the bandages, stroking them as if they were another appendage. “Are they part of you?”

The answer had to be yes, as Morax’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and the bandages tensed beneath your fingers. With your permission granted, you watched as they disturbed your gown, wrinkling the fabric while climbing up your belly.

“So soft,” he whispered to your calves, massaging and dragging his fingertips over you. “Like fresh snow, I could roll into you for hours.” Raising his eyes from your thighs, he smiled at your blushing face. “Do you want me to keep going?”

Yet another loaded question, was he referring to talking to you? Or did he mean his hands, which hopped from your calves to your thighs, his fingers tracing the divots left by your stretch marks. You were always down for foreplay, the more buildup to an excruciating climax the better. Compliments, though? Being described with such flowery metaphors made your stomach tighten and breath catch. In the nervous way, compliments you didn’t know what to do with. A cock or a pair of fingers went down much easier than sweet words.

Still you nodded and whispered, “keep going,” because he was doing just as you had asked. Maybe it was just the love in his caress, or he really was using his eldritch powers to sponge away the thought of coarser hands, a firmer pair of lips, making it all a distant nightmare. Who had been responsible for hurting you again? No other devil’s name felt right on your lips at this moment as you sighed, “keep going, Morax.”

Using all of himself, he planted kisses and compliments on your body while his bandages snaked under your clothes. It was like watching worms move through the dirt, raising and turning your gown like new ground. You wondered if he could feel with them, and how your skin sprouted goose pimples when the tips of the wraps teased your breasts.

You got your answer when the bandages played over your nipples, testing and flipping your rings. “Oh,” he whispered with surprise, lifting his cheek which had been pressed against your inner thigh. Using another length of bandage, he lifted the hem of your gown and stared upward. You weren’t wearing underwear beneath the gown, but he was so raptured by his discovery that he didn’t stop to admire your freshly shaved body. Instead his gaze was fixed on your breasts. “You have piercings… May I see them?”

The sudden shift in his voice from reverent and patient to suddenly so eager made your stomach clench. Nodding in the same way, you watched his fingers take hold of the hem of the gown, folding it along your body until the satin wrapped up just above your chest. Something about the way he ignored your pussy and stared at your silver adorned chest made you wet. Morax had a one track mind, you appreciated that as he focused on the piercings. His eyes flickering between your tits and your face, looking for your reaction. “Wonderful,” he started, pressing his hand on the side of your chest, pushing your breast to fill his hand. “Silver accentuates your complexion beautifully.”

Complimenting you made your body way hotter than you expected, the flush in your face was not just from his masterful touches. Curling your lips inward you squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, the only way you felt comfortable being showered in words.

“Although,” Morax whispered, the shift in his tenor and sudden proximity made your eyes open. He was leaning over you now, one knee balancing on the edge of the seat and conveniently between your legs. Unable to control yourself, you shifted your hips to rub against it, getting a surprised hitch out of him. “I think you would look glorious in gold… Would it be inappropriate for me to give you a new pair?”

“You want to pierce me?” You blurted out, immediately recognizing how silly that sounded. It made him blush though, the little patches of his skin you could make out behind the bandages were pink with excitement.

“Maybe next time, I could heal these over if you wanted,” for emphasis a bandage tip looped through one of the rings. Morax wasn’t the first one to tug on your nipple rings, someone else had held them between his teeth and slobbered on on while he fucked into you mercilessly… right? Maybe he was the first one to do it the way you liked. “I have a set that I think would look beautiful. May I put them on for you?”

Caught off guard by the question, you blurted out an answer before you could process his proposal. “Yes-”

“Really?” Morax asked, sitting up on his knees and pressing a hand to your belly. His breath hitched incredulously and eager for a response. It was worried too, because tonight was not about what he wanted. Tonight was what you wanted. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

Fuck was it hot, you put your hand over Morax’s where it rested. He was so concerned about your consent and comfort, you’d never been so wet from just a few clarifying questions. “Yes.”

With your blessing, the devil rose to his knees and walked away excitedly, leaving you in that compromised, splayed out state. Leaving the bandages looped around your bars, Morax exited the room to retrieve the piercings he had in mind. Further into the house the healer walked, and all the while you waited with baited breath for the mysterious fabric to grow taut and pull you along. You couldn’t deny your disappointment when it never did. Tempted by the idea, you thought you’d enjoy being led around the house by your nipple rings. You always wanted someone to do that to you. With plenty of pauses to dote on and kiss you, showing you off to the furniture and paintings on the wall. Making the throw pillows an audience as he chained you to a candelabra by your piercings, asked to stand on your toes while a hand teased to make you buckle-

“Is everything alright?” Morax’s voice startled your whimsical wishes right out of your head. It was as he leaned in the office doorway that you realized you had been touching yourself to your fantasy, how long was he standing there? His state of undress was elegant, from the rolled up sleeves that exposed his toned arms, to a flirtatious crease in his pants. Was he always that tall, or was it the fire light casting him in this new light? Displaying an obvious sentience, his bandages were cleaning and shining up a delicate set of jewelry.

“Yeah, everything’s great,” you said shyly, closing your legs as he pushed off from the doorway with his hip.

You were not what the creator had in mind when they crafted these, but the devil was right. Gold would be an excellent compliment to your skin and the texture of your hair, and the gemstones that adorned the hoops twinkled aventurescent in the dying firelight. Underneath his own tapering, Morax’s eyebrow shifted and his eyes squeezed together with a smile as he beheld you. “Don’t move, you make the most beautiful ornament.”

Shyly at first you obeyed, keeping your back arched, holding the end of the bandage between your fingers. With Morax standing in front of you, it was hard for you to stay self conscious of yourself. Lewdly running the flat of his bandages over your lips, dangling their tips across your breasts. Both of you knew what this was, and it was wonderful. Under his watchful eyes, your confidence flared.

No longer ashamed, you crooked your finger to beckon Morax closer. As if he were held up by strings, you took up his tethers in your hands and reeled him to his knees before you. Half crawling, half floating he planted his hands on either side of your hips. Morax’s breath ran hot on your lips as it came out heavy and wet from the bandages around his face.

You waited until he was occupied with trading your silver bars for his golden hoops. How you ached when his fingers played over the jewelry, teasingly or respectfully avoiding your sensitive skin. “I want to kiss you.”

Lingering on your request, he carefully and sensually unscrewed the piercing, exhaling warm breath that made your nipple numb. Morax looked up at you thoughtfully, reading your face as you slumped and surrendered in the chair.

“Will you keep your eyes closed?” He asked back, rolling your piercing back and forth with his fingers while his other hand prepared the new accessory. “For obvious reasons I am self conscious of the state I’m in.”

Eager to do whatever it took, you nodded and squeezed your eyes shut to show your sincerity. At that his fingers moved deftly to fit you with the new set of rings. There was no pain, courtesy of a combination of Morax’s anesthetic breath and his skilled touch. A lurid moan was even set loose from your hips as your skin prickled.

“You have stunning, little nipples,” he whispered more to your body than to you. “They look so sweet, I would never take my mouth from them.”

Squeezing your eyes shut with a smile, you jumped when the tip of his tongue prodded at the golden embellishments. Ticklish signals rippled from your chest to the rest of your body, and another moan floated to the air. When Morax realized you had already accepted his request, you felt him lean back on his knees and fabric whispered to the ground. Suspense held you in a choke hold while listening to Morax unravel before you. Keeping you waiting, you heard him wrapping the fabric up slowly, maybe doing it just to tease your excitement out. Just the sound of his tidiness had worked you to a pitch by the time Morax returned, you could feel the whisper of his shirt and the heat of his breath drawing in.

“Keep them closed,” he whispered in your ear, his voice now clear and no longer muffled by his wrappings. “As much as I want to watch what you look like when I do this.” A pair of chapped lips pressed to yours and it almost knocked the wind out of you. Forbidden yet familiar, Morax felt like a passageway to secrets still unspoken, and you moved into him to find the answer to a question not yet asked. Was it always supposed to be like this? Gentle like pearls through your fingertips, Morax planted deep kisses perfectly down your body. Wrapping your arms around him, working your fingers through his hair, the devil never said touching was forbidden. With his mouth elsewhere, there was nothing to keep you muffled as you moaned at each, languid kiss as he moved downward.

From your darkened perspective, his touch was golden, everything from the way he rolled the piercings over your body to his eyes watching your expression give. That mouth though, it was on another level when his tongue and fingers worked together to explore your depths. A deep pressure unlike anything you’d felt before. Such expertise made you feel like a marionette, his fingers inside taking control of your body, you gladly surrendered to his manipulation.

“Awh fuck, right there. Right there,” a voice that you couldn’t believe was yours panted, and a second finger found its way into you. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Morax didn’t answer because his tongue was busy playing expertly over your clit, pushing down on your spot while his fingers pressed up from below. Sandwiching your g spot firmly, he didn’t speak though you could hear him from the vibrations of his gestures.

“I won’t stop,” his fingers promised, pushing you closer over that hill where a beautiful orgasm waited at the precipice. “Not when you sound so sweet in my ears, I promise I won’t.”

“Would you like to taste yourself?” Morax asked next once your thighs stopped trembling and your eyelids felt too heavy. Underneath you the chair groaned as he climbed along it, caressing your tense abs with his wet hand.

Hanging your mouth open, your tongue reached and felt the velveted texture of his fingertips. It was refreshing, to taste yourself without the interference of some profane flavor residing alongside it. With other devils you always caught traces of them, dwarfing you. All alone you tasted like pure magic.

“I want you,” you whined, bucking your body against Morax in hopes of knocking him off balance to fall into you.

He didn’t hold you in suspense again, throwing himself eagerly into your open mouth, his cracked lips matching your soft ones. That first kiss was careful, focused on your pleasure, but this was meant for him. Morax was a loud kisser each time his lips smacked, and the crude, wet connection was between inexperienced and self-indulgent. When his body ground against yours, Morax didn’t hold back a wickedly excited smile when his chest played over your sensitive nipples, upsetting the piercings in the process. They snagged and pulled against the fabric of his shirt, yanking on your breasts and leaving flushed red skin in its wake.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, though part of you doubted he was actually remorseful as he pulled you off the chair. Its wooden legs squealed against the carpet as the devil shoved the furniture back, twisting you around to lay on top of him. Once you were balanced on his hips, his tapered fingers reached eagerly for your chest again. This time his fingers caressed you gently, taking away the discomfort of the piercings being tugged too hard.

“No, you would never hurt me.” You sighed, trying to lay down on top of Morax and find his mouth again. Before that was allowed to happen though, his hand reached out and stopped you. Planting it squarely on your chest, it was like he held your heart, momentarily shaking you from your horny reverie.

“Yes I could,” the devil whispered, using his other hand to adjust your body. Suddenly you felt very aware of your surroundings, or rather the lack of them. Shifting your hips, he set you off balance so you had no choice but to lean into him, supported only by his strength. “I could show you splendorous agony not even your forefather could comprehend.”

With your closed eyes, the feeling of the fire on your backside, and the rattling drag of his bandages caressing over your legs, it was easy to imagine that you were actually hovering face forward into an abyss. A deep, endless well of untold sensations. With just one hand, he was the only thing keeping you from spiraling down.

“But you won’t,” you blurted. “You're a doctor, you know all of the best ways to inflict pain… but would never give them to me. Not unless I asked.”

Pleased with your answer, he lowered you down against him. Still the act felt like you were falling. Now the cliffside you hung suspended over was not some obsidian pit that collapsed into eternity. Instead it was Morax, your breath warming his skin, his arms holding you tight as you stared into the shining darkness of your eyelids. Imagining that bottomless void he held you from. He was your safety net. “No, I wouldn’t. I only want to give you pleasure and safety. I want you to give me your most vulnerable feelings and desires. I’ll keep them safe.” Morax whispered, peppering you with kisses as he slipped inside you. You almost didn’t realize it was happening until the head of his cock found your spot with ease, and he was pressing your lips against his neck to feel the vibration of your cries. “Does this hurt?”

“No,” you gasped, trying to find purchase somewhere on his body to grab him and ram yourself down harder on his cock. The bandages moved swiftly though to pin you in place, preventing you from taking control.

“Do you want more?”

“Please!” You almost opened your eyes to scream at him, but were stifled by his hips bucking against you. “Please, Morax, fuck me.”

Morax’s legs shifted to find better purchase on the carpet so that he could slide into you. With every measured thrust, it felt like he was getting bigger. You felt your knees lift off the ground each time, soon it was like you were floating. Maybe you were, maybe the bandages were wrapping the pair of you up and suspending you in the air so that he could love you without the restraint of gravity. You didn’t look though, you promised you wouldn’t.

“It’s yours, all yours,” you moaned, once again not sounding like yourself as his cock slamming precisely into your walls. Each bumping thrust moved you, threatening to slip you over and into that darkness, but Morax’s arms around your hips and shoulders held you in place. Over and over you peered into the abyss, and realized that it wasn’t a void that Morax was keeping you from. It was an endless fall into love, a love so sweet that it reached up and pushed the hair behind your ears as it fell around your neck and dangled. Rippling with each hot pounding strike against your hips and your inner walls. Was this falling in love, what it was supposed to be like? Hungry and undone, you begged Morax to the tune of his lurid grunts.

“Show me what more,” you cried, sobbing from the ecstasy of his hips knowing just how deep and rough to drive into you and how softly they pulled out, letting you feel the scraping texture of his cock grazing inside. He wasn’t fucking you as hard as you wanted, maybe it was what you needed though. A consistent rhythm that you could ride easily. Not something that harmonized with pain or discomfort, a tempo that just was. “Give me all of it.”

“As you wish,” he whispered, then with a pause, you felt his hand gather up your hair and tilt your face away from the tunnel of love you looked into for too long. “Open your eyes, look at me.”

Tearing them open, you saw Morax in a new light. He was beautiful, covered in scars, burns, and blisters that glowed with a light almost as blinding as the orgasm he gave you. Locking up, you couldn’t even breathe while you came to him. His gaze was numbing, you felt the orgasm in a sweet delay, working its way up your body. You felt it with every part of your body, starting in your toes that shook and slammed against the floor uncontrollably. He kissed you when your hips began to tense, digging his fingers into your sides when your lungs were finally able to fill with air to let out a satisfied scream. Lastly it reached your cheeks, which tingled and tensed from the feeling being returned to them. You thought you came a second time when he kissed you, his sweetly shaped eyes influencing your body to react all over again. Then it was his turn to come to your orgasmic sounds.

With the feeling of falling passed, Morax rolled you over to lay on your side. Grinning to himself when you protested his cock leaving you, the devil turned away swiftly to reach for the bandages.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tried to bargain, groaning with comedic effort while trying to stop Morax. “I like you without them on.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” the devil replied, turning to kiss you confidently. “I’m afraid I must insist though.”

“Why? You’re a beautiful soul inside and out, don’t hide that.” You insisted back, though he was already halfway down with the top of his face. Only his lips and chin were exposed, blistered and bloody from open abrasions.

“It’s not because of that, my sweet… it’s to stop the bleeding.”

“Oh.” You laughed together at that, and Morax let you help rebandage him.

“I can draw you a bath if you’d like,” he offered next, running one of his thumbs along your cheek to show you the blood that stained you.

That might be nice, you realized as you stared at your naked self; dripping and smeared in Morax’s body fluids.

Helping you to your feet, the flimsy gown was abandoned and Morax escorted you naked up the stairs to a clinically clean bathroom, where a claw foot tub big enough to fit three of you waited.

“In the morning we will reach out to Sitri to see what should be done about negotiating with Satan,” he added over the rushing of water.

“Why would I need to negotiate with Satan?” You asked after he came back with a towel. Hou already dipped yourself inside, hands running over your breasts to reacquaint yourself with your new accessories. Morax faltered in his step when he caught you doing that, and his ears burnt pink under his hair.

“After tonight your relationship with him might be negatively impacted,” the devil explained, standing there nervously until you gestured for him to sit next to the tub. Pulling up a stool, he let his tapered fingers test the hot water before teasing droplets down your back. It didn’t take long for the water to blush pink.

“I still don’t follow… Satan’s my friend.” You explained, laughing at how silly Morax sounded.

“That’s not what you told me at the hospital,” he said quietly, and you looked at him more confused than ever.

“I’ve never had sex with him… nor do I think I want to. He just kinda… gives me a bad vibe, you know?” You didn’t know how to explain it to Morax, but while Satan made you feel safe with his passion, he didn’t make you feel anything else. “He has too much of a temper, I think he’d be a bad boyfriend.”

At that, Morax’s eyes widened and he let out a soft, “oh goodness what did I do?”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, taking his hand and kissing his fingers. “You made me feel really good. You always do.” Resting your chin on the bathtub, you recalled the times that Morax loved you with that sweet precision you couldn’t get enough of. From your head to your toes, all your body could think about was how soft he was, and how wet he made you. “I could go another round.”

“Another?” He echoed, laughing as you tried to pull him into the bathtub, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yeah,” you purred, expertly unraveling his bandages as he acquiesced. Like you’d done this part a hundred times before, and in your memory you did. “What’s different about tonight?”

Wordlessly while you kissed and cleaned the blood away, Morax watched dumbfounded as you moved along his body with ease. “I don’t know what’s come over me… I didn’t think that you would ever choose me.”

“It’s always been you, Morax,” you assured him, taking a deep breath before submerging under water to find his already refreshed erection. “I chose you, no one else.”

#whb morax #what in “hell” is bad?#Morax x femme mc #you Chose morax #romance #smut

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salubriwrites-blog · 25 days ago

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The way Leviathan was written in Barbatos’ story was really interesting. Can I please request something super angsty with you and him? Maybe unrequited love on Leviathan’s part? It’s not even that you love someone else. You still sleep with him (and others) often. You just could never love him because of his personality. And that destroys him.

Oh Man.

This got a little unhinged but here we gooooo-

He always woke up before you, adjusting the curtains in his private chamber so when the sun rose it struck his face first. It was the best way without disturbing you, understanding that waking you up quickly meant a faster reality check. Laying on his side, Leviathan traced his fingers between strands of hair plastered to your face. In the early morning when the sun filtered into the room, you were beautiful. Even more than when you were doubled over on top of the devil, hips grinding together with such intensity that he felt your orgasm in his bones. He loved you in all of your forms, but it was these dark, quiet moments that he loved you the hardest.

Hovering, watching your jaw hang open and relaxed, arms and legs splayed out like tree roots in his sheets, it was perfection. Lilac hair stretching out and getting into everything, twirling it around his finger like a spool of the finest fabric. It was easiest to love you like this, when the only conversation available was that of dreams. When you were awake it was the worst; because the gentle snatching of your hand out of his, and graciously side stepping him, were the harshest reminders. That you did not love him with the same lasting ferocity. When you were awake, you were capable of killing Leviathan and you both knew it. Loving you in the light of day where everyone could see you reject him was dangerous, but the poor devil couldn't help himself. Made in God's image of perfection Leviathan was just a man, and you were a shooting star that he could only wish upon.

Somewhere deep in the palace there was a shudder of commotion, no doubt Barbatos waking up the rest of the staff to greet the day. Squinting dangerously at the door, Leviathan hoped that his fiery glare would warm the door knob enough that the sunny devil would think twice.

It was too late though, the vibrations of footsteps scurrying outside woke something in you, and your body tightened with a yawn.

When you opened your eyes Leviathan was there, a respectful distance now as he sat in bed, blinking down at the sheets.

"Good morning," you hummed, crawling across the expanse with your hips twitching like a prowling beast. Your breath was hot in his ear as one hand danced underneath the sheets, frowning when there was no morning glory between his legs. "Did you sleep alright?"

"I slept fine, I should be asking you that question," Leviathan replied curtly. If it were any other day, when you did this little morning ritual you'd instead be throwing yourself under the covers, ass in his face while you played his length like an instrument. Together you wouldn't leave the bed until the sun was casting its light on the other set of windows on the West side of the room. It was paradise by the morning light, to have you as he had before. Knowing it was the only way he would have you. Lustful, only taking, taking all of him.

Had it always been so shallow? Was he just there for your entertainment; a soft place to land in this foreign place, a pair of lips to suck you dry, hips to drive you to perfect climax over and over? Were you using him?

Yes, the devil of Envy decided as you shrugged at his impotence and climbed to the edge of the bed next. You were using him and he loved you for it.

"Would you like breakfast brought here, or do you want to take it in the dining room?" Leviathan asked, waiting until you disappeared into the opulent bathroom before getting up next. Searching for a shirt while you showered, he slumped with his back against the bathroom door, listening to the water run down your body. It was not fair that you had more love for the heat of the water than him. It wasn't always like him to be jealous of a shower, right?

"I don't have time for breakfast, actually," you called back slowly, waiting until the faucet had quietly shut off the steaming flow. "Sitri is coming to bring me back to Gehenna... for a while."

A while?

"What for?" He prodded next, knowing that your affairs in Gehenna with that insufferable Prince weren't his business. The jolting stab in his stomach at your words though? That was his business. Leviathan didn't mean to sound possessive at that question, and quietly he cursed himself when you didn't reply immediately.

"Satan asked me to come back... I've been in Hades for a minute, and besides you're probably behind on all of your responsibilities. You don't need to spend all your time catering to my every whim." You laughed to try and distract from the heaviness of your words.

Yes he did. He needed to give you every second of his life, he needed to cater and worship your time and drink up your soft replies to his generosity. He needed to show you that he was the perfect gentleman. The perfect lover. The perfect partner. He needed to be the man you loved, and would gladly give you all of him if that's what it took. What good was it to be the perfect specimen, the perfect image of God, if it wasn't perfect for you?

Leviathan didn't say a word, just stared at the empty bed where you had just been. So beautiful and lovely, he wished to return there, order Glasyalabolas enchant you to sleep so he could love you like he knew best. Except that wasn't what Leviathan wanted either. Loving you in the dark was not what he wanted. He wanted to love you in the light of day, with the sun illuminating your hair and cloud shadows kissing your cheeks. He knew he could love you with his eyes closed, but what he would do for you to love him back with your opens.

"I understand," he lied while knowing the truth. It stung bitter as holy fire in his mouth as he helped you pack and prepare for your departure. He'd overplayed his hand, showering you in too many favors, giving you the best of himself at every opportunity. You didn't want it. Something about his posture, his cadence, maybe even his personality off set all of the best parts of himself. You were running away, and the worst part wasn't that he was going to let you. Leviathan knew that just having you wasn't enough. The worst part was that he had done everything in his perfect power.

"Don't think of yourself as a burden on me or Hades," he said instead of all those things. How he hated himself in that moment, standing at the front steps of the palace where Sitri waited dutifully. Even in the general's arms you looked at home. "Your time with us has been... a welcome intrusion. I look forward to your next visit."

Waving over your head, not even the kings of legends could have pulled him away from the steps until he was sure you were gone. A part of Leviathan followed you out the gates of Hades and into the valley of Gehenna. Not knowing that he'd ever see it again, the attendants of the Prince of Envy stood back and watched him retreat into the palace.

"Can we get you anything-" Orias began to ask, but before he could rattle off all of the Prince's perfect titles, Leviathan interrupted him.

"My coffin," he replied, and all the devils in the room looked at each other. Needing to quietly ask that what they just heard wasn't their imagination. The crack in Leviathan's voice was a crack in his armor, and therefore a breach in the otherwise perfect paradise he built. If the perfect Prince of Hades was falling apart, Hades would surely follow in his footsteps. That would not be allowed to happen. “I will not be disturbed."

As if they had spoken its true name, the devil's coffin manifested from a corner of the room and appeared before him. No one said a word as the fine pressed clothes, the gemstones, and the ornaments befitting a king clattered loudly to the ground. Stripped naked of everything that made him regal, until he was just a man, Leviathan crawled into the perfectly lined casket. "Bury me."

"Most beautiful-" Barbatos began, but shut up wisely when he saw the tears. Perfect, silver strands of pearl-like tears that solidified and clattered to the ground.

"I said bury me. I want to be alone."

Nodding dutifully, Leviathan's most perfect and most proud attendants swarmed the coffin, clasping it shut with the same reverence they practiced to dress him. He didn't feel it when they hiked the container up onto their broad shoulders, nor did he feel the pressure of soil splashing on top of and down the coffin's sides. Leviathan didn't feel much of anything as he cried, letting the pearls of sorrow roll down to his feet. They would slowly fill the coffin and if he was lucky he'd drown in them.

Alone at last, Leviathan held himself and listened to the sound of roots wriggling through the dirt. Barbatos must have been growing some kind of garden on top of the site, a means to hide the resting place of the broken Prince. Except-

Leviathan wasn't alone, not even in that spacious coffin filling with his tears. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, the devil stared at the crude carvings in its lid. You were here, in the doodles and initials scratched into the wood. This was far from perfect, the Prince of Envy knew that, but as he lay in that shallow earth, buried with all the words he never said and only with the power to love you in the dark, this was perfect for him.

#whb leviathan #whb mc #angst #one shot #so much angst #Get this man a hug #what in “hell” is bad?#thanks anon!#but also like #fuck you anon #respectfully of course

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