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wholoveseggs · 3 months ago

Note

(Quick note: I typed this all out using Elijah’s name but I wanted to say if you don’t think this would fit his character, I think this could also make sense with Kol. Don’t feel pressured to write anything!!)

Hello Lissa! I had an idea about reader and Elijah’s first time together but reader is also a virgin. I know that you’ve wrote a lot of readers first time fics with Elijah but it’s such a sweet trope and I absolutely love how he takes care of the reader in your writing.

How much do you know about dragons? (Don’t worry this isn’t going that way.) In a lot of myths and legends dragons are described as being attracted to virgins because of their purity. My idea is that the latest threat looming over their heads is some type of dragon and no one is too worried about being taken because none of them are virgins and they assume reader isn’t either. But Elijah, being her best friend notices the way her heart begins to race everytime they mention it and all of her other little nervous habits and pulls her to the side. She ends up confessing the truth to him and he tells her it’s nothing to be ashamed of and then after a bit of conversation offers to take her virginity. For safety reasons, obviously, or at least that’s what he’s telling himself. With an eventual confession between them about their actual feelings.

For Safety Reasons

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Kol Mikaelson x f!reader} A dark legend. A looming threat. And Kol Mikaelson offering a very unconventional solution.

♡♡ Hellooo sweet anon!! I decided to use Kol for this one, mostly for the banter hehe.. enjoy xoxo ~ ♡♡

6k words - Warnings: Smuttt, virgin reader, first time, lots of teasing, oral (f!receiving), Kol being unbearably good at it..., blood-drinking, friends-to-lovers but still pretending it’s casual, a brief Elijah cameo (I can't help myself) cocky yet affectionate Kol, lot's of giggles and awkwardness && maybe a dragon...

Chaos was the order of the day in New Orleans. Strange rumors had been circulating throughout the French Quarter about something that was wreaking havoc on the city and no one seemed to have a clue about what it could be. It had been targeting young people and killing them in the night, leaving behind nothing more than a bloodied pile of flesh and bones.

Naturally, this caused quite a stir amongst the supernatural residents of the city, and they were all eager to get rid of the threat. Even the witches had no idea what it was, which meant that the problem wasn't going to go away easily.

And that was why a meeting was called in the compound, by Klaus. He needed all of the factions to come together and discuss how they were going to fix this problem.

You were sitting with Kol, whose nose was deep in an old book. You weren't even sure what kind of book it was. It was in a language you couldn't understand, and so old you feared it would poof into dust under Kol's very hands.

"Whatcha reading?" you asked him, leaning against his side a little.

Kol didn't answer you right away, and when he did, it was only to mutter the word 'purity' under his breath.

"Purity?" you questioned. "What are you talking about? What does this have to do with the attacks?"

He didn't look up at you. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and you could tell he was working something out in his head. "Nothing. It's probably nothing."

You looked at him in confusion.

"It's just an old legend about dragons...It's an archaic notion," Kol answered. "A myth. A legend. An idea that was created centuries ago."

"An idea? What do you mean?" You were getting more and more confused.

Before he could explain anything further, Klaus stood up from his seat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Kol set his book down on the table, and you noticed an intricate drawing of some sort of reptile-humanoid creature. It was hideous looking, with sharp teeth, claws, and bat-like wings.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the page, even as Klaus began to explain the killings happening in the city. Something about this creature just drew you in. The ink on the page seemed darker the longer you stared at it, the jagged lines of its claws curling as if ready to tear into something...or someone. You shivered, unable to shake the feeling that it was watching you.

"Do we have any leads on what this is? What is its weakness?" One of the witch leaders spoke up.

"If we did, it would already be dead," Klaus retorted.

"Perhaps we should stop trying to track it down, and instead focus on figuring out what it wants," Elijah suggested. "If we know what it wants, perhaps we can negotiate with it."

"What makes you think this thing can be negotiated with?" another witch demanded. "We have no idea what its agenda is. Why are these young people being targeted? Why hasn't anyone seen this thing?"

"Perhaps there's a link we haven't found yet," Kol chimed in. "Something we're missing."

"You sound like you already have an answer, brother," Klaus said. "Speak your mind."

"It's more of a theory, really," Kol admitted. "One based on legends."

"Let's hear it," Elijah prompted.

"Right, so, the victims. They're all young, yes? Unmarried?"

The room fell silent as the supernatural residents of the city nodded.

"What if it's...what if they're all..." Kol trailed off.

"All what?" Klaus demanded.

"Virgins," Kol finished.

Silence fell once more as the room considered Kol's words.

"So, what, this thing enjoys a virgin sacrifice? Is that what you're suggesting?" Klaus's voice was incredulous.

"I'm saying this creature feeds on innocence. On purity." Kol gestured to his book. "According to legend, dragons enjoy the dark and they are drawn to virgins. They're a delicacy, apparently."

Elijah hummed thoughtfully, reaching for the book Kol had been studying. He flipped through the fragile pages, his brows knitting together in concentration. “If that’s true,” he mused, “then we may have a way to predict its next victim.”

A slow, dawning horror crept through you as the conversation continued around you. No one in the room seemed particularly concerned… Why would they be? The assumption was clear: none of them fit the criteria.

But you did.

Your heart kicked against your ribs, your fingers tightening in your lap. You forced yourself to stay still, to breathe evenly. The last thing you needed was anyone noticing how much this conversation was affecting you.

Unfortunately, Kol noticed everything.

He had been watching you as soon as he mentioned the word virgins. At first, he thought maybe you were just unnerved by the idea of a beast roaming the streets, but then he saw the way your breathing had shifted, the way you refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Most telling of all? The rapid, frantic rhythm of your pulse. This was more than that…

Realization flickered in his dark eyes, something unreadable passing over his face before he leaned toward you, voice low and teasing. “What’s got you all jumpy, darling?”

You stiffened. “Nothing.”

Kol tilted his head, amusement dancing on the edge of his smirk, but there was something deeper beneath it now… something knowing.

“You sure about that?” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Because I could’ve sworn your heart nearly burst out of your chest a second ago.”

Your throat felt too tight. You could feel the weight of his stare, could practically hear the thoughts clicking into place behind his dark eyes. He knew. You had to get out of here before anyone else picked up on your growing panic.

You pushed up from your seat, trying to make a quiet escape, but Kol was already on his feet, catching your wrist before you could slip away. His grip was gentle but firm, and the warmth of his fingers sent another unwanted shiver through you. “Come with me,” he murmured, already steering you toward the hall.

You barely registered the questioning look Elijah sent your way before Kol tugged you through the compound, weaving through its corridors until you were somewhere quieter, more private. Only when he was satisfied that no one could overhear did he turn to face you fully.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low but insistent. “Tell me why you reacted like that.”

You hesitated, staring at the floor, but Kol wasn’t having it. He took a step closer, crowding into your space just enough to demand your attention. “Darling,” he pressed, “are you a virgin?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your entire body tensing.

Kol let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

He looked back at you, his usual playfulness tempered by something else… Concern? Possessiveness? Whatever it was, it sent your pulse racing even faster.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he continued, his tone serious.

You nodded, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat. If the legends were true, you were exactly what this thing was hunting.

Kol cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Then, in true Kol fashion, he exhaled heavily and shot you a wicked smirk. “Well, love, there’s an easy way to solve this problem.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

Kol arched a brow. “I mean, it’s simple. If this thing is only after virgins, all we have to do is make sure you’re not one anymore.”

Your stomach flipped. “Y-you cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” His smirk widened, but there was something else in his eyes now, something unreadable. He shrugged, feigning casualness. “Think about it. It’s not a bad idea.”

You gawked at him. “Not a bad idea? That’s your solution?”

Kol leaned in, voice dropping to something dangerously low. “What? You don’t trust me to take care of you?”

Your lips parted, your brain struggling to catch up. Kol had always been a flirt, but this was different. His teasing carried weight, an offer laced in his words.

For safety reasons, obviously.

At least, that’s what you were telling yourselves.

Your cheeks warmed. You wanted to tell him no, wanted to shove him away and storm off. But the heat pooling low in your belly begged to differ. And, as much as you hated to admit it, Kol had a point.

If the creature was only targeting virgins, then losing your virginity could be the solution. The easiest, most convenient solution. And with Kol... Well... It wasn't exactly like you were opposed to the idea.

Still, the whole situation was enough to have you shaking. Your hands twisted in your skirt, a nervous habit Kol was quick to notice.

He sighed, expression softening, and reached out to gently cup your cheek. He rubbed his thumb along your jaw, his touch warm and soothing.

"Or you can die a horrible bloody death? I mean... If you are that disgusted by me," he teased.

You huffed, shoving him. "Ass."

He laughed, tugging you closer and leaning in until his breath was ghosting across your lips. "So, what'll it be, darling?"

You bit your lip, staring up at him. There were so many reasons why this was a terrible idea, but none of them felt important anymore.

"Where?" You asked so softly, that normal hearing would have missed it.

Kol didn't miss it, and his eyes lit up with a hunger that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Tonight," he promised. "My room. Just after sunset."

"Sounds romantic," you replied, it meant to sound sarcastic, but came out a bit breathier than intended.

He smirked, squeezing your hand. "See you tonight, darling."

"Yeah," you whispered, heart hammering wildly as he let go of you and disappeared back down the hall.

Your palms were sweaty, your skin tingling where he touched you. You weren't sure if you were excited or terrified. Probably both.

All you could hope for is that you weren't making a huge mistake.

Kol's room was located in the attic of the compound. It was a smaller space, with a slanted ceiling and a large cosy bed tucked into the corner. It was simple, compared to the rest of the house, but it was undeniably Kol.

Your gaze swept over the cluttered surface of his desk, over the stacks of books and notebooks, the old photos and the trinkets from his travels.

"See anything you like?"

You whirled around, heat spreading through your cheeks. Kol was leaning against the doorway, his dark eyes sweeping over you. Why?!! Why did he have to look so good in just his t-shirt and a pair of jeans? It was not fair.

But you pulled yourself together enough to tease him back, "Rather odd choice of bedroom, all the way up here with the spiders."

Kol scoffed, shutting the door behind him. "I'll have you know I quite enjoy the solitude. Besides, no one will hear us from all the way up here."

You tried not to focus on the last part, but failed miserably. He was grinning at you with that same mischievous smirk he always wore, and you had no doubt he knew the effect his words were having on you.

"So... Uhh. How are we doing this?" You asked awkwardly, feeling the need to break the silence.

"Hmm." Kol walked past you, settling down on the edge of his bed and looking up at you with a devilish glint in his eyes. "Well, that's entirely up to you, darling."

He reached out his hand and pulled you into his lap, and a soft squeak escaped you at the sudden motion. You shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the feeling of his hard chest pressed against your back was doing nothing to ease the butterflies in your stomach and Kol's smirk widened.

"What is it?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do I make you nervous?"

You huffed. "Just not used to...being this close, is all."

"We've cuddled before," he pointed out, his hand sliding further down your side, resting just above your hip.

"Not like this... That was a friendly snuggle. This is a..." You paused, not sure how to finish the sentence.

"Snuggle with benefits?" Kol supplied, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Sure," you giggled. "Something like that."

He chuckled, pressing a light kiss against your neck. Then he gently lifted you and moved you into the center of the bed, so that you were lying down and he was hovering above you, braced on his arms. "So, do I?" He murmured.

"Do you what?"

"Make you nervous."

You swallowed. "No," you lied, and he chuckled again, leaning in until his lips were ghosting over yours.

"Really?"

You nodded.

"So, if I kissed you right now..." He trailed off, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You held your breath, heart pounding.

"...That would be fine with you?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay," he breathed. Then his mouth was on yours, warm and gentle and so full of tenderness that you couldn't help the moan that escaped you.

He smiled into the kiss, his hands moving down your sides, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. The sensation of his body pressed against yours sent a rush of heat through you, and you arched into him, eager for more.

He slid a hand underneath your shirt, his palm brushing against the bare skin of your stomach, and the contact was enough to make you shudder. He groaned, pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you panted. "Just... sensitive."

"In a good way?" he teased, and you rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest.

"Don't get cocky."

He laughed, kissing you again and shifting his hips against yours, and the feeling of his hardness grinding against your core had you moaning into his mouth.

"You seem to like my cockiness," he teased, rolling his hips again and you whimpered, burying your face in his neck.

"Shut up."

"Never," he growled, kissing your cheek and pulling back just far enough to strip his shirt off and toss it to the floor. You had seen Kol shirtless countless times before, but this was different.

You ran a hand over his stomach, marveling at the feel of his abs flexing beneath your fingertips. You traced a line down the center of his chest, letting your nails scrape lightly against his skin.

"I guess you are pretty fit," you teased, and he smirked.

"You don't need to guess," he purred. "I know you think I'm hot."

You scoffed. "You are not getting a bigger ego, I won't allow it."

"It's too late," he said, capturing your mouth again, kissing you deep and slow. He shifted his weight onto one arm, trailing the other down the side of your body, tracing a line down to your waist.

"Now," he whispered, his fingers trailing along the hem of your shirt, teasingly skimming beneath the fabric. "Can I see more of you?"

You bit your lip, nodding.

He lifted your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed skin, and the sight of his pupils dilating made your pulse skip.

You barely had time to register the rush of cool air against your skin before Kol’s hands slid up your sides, his fingers toying with the straps of your bra.

"May I?" His voice was softer now, patient, but the heat in his gaze made your stomach flip.

You nodded hesitantly, but as soon as he reached behind you, unclasping it with ease, a fresh wave of shyness flooded through you. You instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, cheeks burning.

Kol let out a soft, amused chuckle. "Oh, darling," he murmured, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. "No need to be shy. You’re breathtaking."

You bit your lip, hesitating. His hands gently traced the curve of your arms, coaxing them away, his expression utterly captivated. He pressed a gentle kiss against your shoulder, then traced a path with his lips, following the curve of your collarbone. His touch was light and careful, as if he were afraid of hurting you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, half-heartedly trying to tug him away. "Kol..."

"Yes?" He hummed as he kissed his way down the center of your chest, pausing just above the valley of your breasts.

"Y-you don't have to do that...I'm fine, really," you stuttered, cheeks flaming.

"Did you think I was just going to shove my cock in you unceremoniously and be done with it?" Kol chuckled.

"I... well..."

"That is not my way," he assured, his lips ghosted over the swell of your breast, his warm breath teasing you.

You didn't get a chance to respond, because his tongue found your nipple, and all coherent thought fled.

He circled it slowly, sucking gently, his other hand finding your breast, massaging the soft flesh. He teased and played, switching between the two until both of your nipples were hard and aching.

His lips were soft and warm and so damn perfect, and you could feel the heat of his tongue as he moved further down your body, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the way.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your skirt, sliding the fabric down over your thighs and tossing it onto the floor. His lips traveled over your stomach, nipping lightly at your hip bones.

"Really.. you don't have to, Kol," you said weakly, despite the fact that every cell in your body was screaming at him to keep going.

He ignored your protests, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours as he placed a kiss right above the hem of your panties.

"These are cute, did you wear them just for me?" He murmured, tracing the edge with his thumb.

"N-no," you stammered, and he chuckled.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Maybe you should stop asking me questions then," you shot back, and he smirked.

He lifted your thighs, draping them over his strong shoulders, his eyes locked on yours.

"Can I?" He purred, and the sight of his dark gaze, framed by your legs, had your heart pounding.

You nodded, and he rewarded you by dipping his head, running his tongue slowly over your clothed sex. The heat and smell of you sent a shudder through him, and he groaned, pulling you closer.

He licked and sucked, his tongue pressing against the soaked fabric, teasing your clit. He could feel the way it swelled under his touch, and the sound of your breathy moans was making him painfully hard.

“You are so lovely,” he murmured against the damp lace, his breath hot and teasing. He placed another slow, deliberate kiss over the fabric before glancing up, mischief glinting in his dark eyes. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”

You let out a shaky exhale, fingers tightening in his hair. “I…I never said stop.”

Kol smirked, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, scraping his teeth lightly against your skin. “Good girl,” he purred, and the two simple words sent a wave of heat pooling deep in your belly.

Without further teasing, he hooked his fingers beneath your panties and dragged them down your legs, his gaze locked onto yours the entire time. You swore you could feel the weight of his stare, the way he was drinking you in like a man starved.

Then his hands were on your thighs again, urging them apart, and he lowered his mouth to your aching core, licking a slow, deliberate path from your entrance up to your clit.

You gasped, and he chuckled, repeating the motion and adding more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow, pleasure pulsing through you as he worked his tongue over you. His movements were practiced and sure, like he already knew exactly what you liked, and your breath caught in your throat as his tongue slid lower, circling your entrance before pushing inside.

The feeling was unlike anything you had experienced before, and you couldn't stop the desperate whimpers from spilling past your lips. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, his eyes flicking up to watch your face as he lapped at you. You looked down at him and the sight of him buried between your legs, his dark hair falling in his face, his cheeks flushed with need, was enough to have you coming apart.

Your orgasm hit hard, ripping through you with an intensity that had you crying out, trembling under the force of his skilled mouth. He didn't let up, didn't pull away, just kept working his tongue until your back was arching. You feared you would pull out his hair with how tightly you were gripping it, but his muffled groan and the way his tongue was thrusting deeper inside you only urged you on.

You came again, the second one more intense than the first. By the time he was finished, your thighs were quivering, and you were a panting, sweaty mess.

"Fuck," you gasped, and Kol chuckled, placing a light kiss on your inner thigh.

You slowly caught your breath, and Kol kissed his way back up your body, pressing his lips against your throat.

"Still nervous?" He murmured, and you shook your head, wrapping your arms around him.

"Not even a little," you said, and his lips curved into a smile.

"Good," he said, and then his mouth was on yours, his tongue brushing against yours, and you could taste yourself on his lips. "You are such a pretty little thing, darling. So fucking perfect."

"Shut up, you don't have to be charming, it's just me."

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. "No, darling, I want to. I'm going to make this good for you."

"Kol..." You didn't know how to tell him that it was already better than anything you could have imagined.

He kissed you again, softer this time, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I promise I will go slow, okay?" He whispered, and you nodded, biting your lip.

He slid a hand between you, unbuckling his jeans and pushing them down over his hips. You took in the sight of him, the muscles of his stomach flexing, the faint lines of his abs, the v shape that disappeared into his boxers.

He was hard, and you could see the outline of his length straining against the fabric. It made you a little dizzy, seeing how much he wanted you, and you swallowed, reaching out to run a hand down his stomach.

"I want you to know...," he began, and you looked up, meeting his eyes. "I'm not just doing this because I want to protect you."

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.

"I also happen to really, really, want to fuck you." He added.

You giggled. "So eloquent."

"What can I say, I'm a poet at heart."

You laughed again, and he leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss.

"If I do anything you don't like," he murmured against your mouth, his hand sliding down the side of your body. "Or if you want to stop, just tell me, and I'll stop, okay?"

You nodded, and he kissed you again, one of his hands was planted beside your head, holding him up, while the other was freeing his cock from his boxers. You could feel his erection pressing against your inner thigh, and the sensation sent a wave of heat washing through you.

"Kol, wait, before we..." You began, and he froze.

"What's wrong?"

"I want you to bite me," you blurted.

"Rather kinky for the first time," he teased as he gently spread your legs, settling between them. "We can work our way up to that,"

You blushed at the way he was looking at you, his gaze roaming over your bare form. This was it, there was no going back now. Not that you wanted to.

He brushed his nose against yours, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "My sweet darling," he murmured, and you melted into his touch.

He reached down, grabbing himself and giving his length a few lazy strokes. You spread your legs a little wider, and he positioned himself, his tip brushing against your entrance.

Kol let out a deep, satisfied groan as he eased himself fully inside you, his forehead dropping against yours. The stretch burned, but it wasn’t unbearable… more like an unfamiliar pressure, a new sensation that left you gasping for breath.

"Well," he exhaled, voice low and teasing against your lips. "That was the big event. Congratulations, you are no longer a virgin."

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers curling into his hair. "Well, I guess we’re done here then," you shot back, mimicking his tone.

Kol huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he nudged your nose with his own. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his hips rolling forward just slightly, making you gasp. "We’ve only just begun."

Your body twitched beneath him, still adjusting, and he paused, watching your face carefully. "Still with me, darling?"

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah… just, um, a lot all at once."

Kol smirked, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "That’s the idea, love."

He started moving, slow and measured at first, his hands gripping your hips as he tilted your body just right beneath him. The feeling was overwhelming, the sensation of him moving inside of you making your breathing increase.

"That’s it," Kol praised, his tone smug as he watched your expression shift. "I knew you would feel so good around me."

You huffed, biting back a moan as he rolled his hips again, this time a little deeper. "You just have to make everything about yourself, don’t you?"

Kol chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your throat, his lips lingering over your pulse. "Would you have me any other way?"

You wanted to argue, but the way he angled his thrusts perfectly against that growing ache inside you stole your breath, leaving you clutching at his shoulders instead.

Damn him.

"You’re taking me so well, darling," he murmured against your skin, his hand skimming down your thigh to hook your leg around his waist, deepening the angle.

Your moan was borderline embarrassing, and Kol grinned like a man who had just won the lottery.

"Shut up," you mumbled, flustered by his smugness.

"I haven’t even said anything," he teased, rolling his hips again, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through you.

You whimpered, arching into him, and he groaned, his mouth finding your collarbone, nipping at the skin there. His fangs scraped against you lightly, and you wanted to feel them sink into you.

"Kol," you breathed, voice hushed.

He glanced up at you, slowing his thrusts just slightly. "Hmm?"

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. His lips hovered against your throat, his fangs still barely grazing the sensitive skin there.

"Please… I want you to…," you whispered.

Kol’s body stilled completely.

His dark eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. “Darling…" His voice had lost its usual teasing lilt, dipping into something rougher, more serious.

"I mean it," you murmured, stroking your thumb along his cheek. "I want to feel you."

Kol swallowed hard, his restraint visibly slipping. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, tilting your head to the side in silent invitation, your eyes closed, heart racing.

He watched you for a moment, the way your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, the way your pulse jumped under your skin. You were the most precious thing in the world to him, and he couldn't believe that you were here, willing, trusting him.

His lips brushed against the hollow of your throat, feather-light. He felt your heart skip, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Easy, darling," he whispered, and then his fangs sank into your flesh.

The pain was sharp, a stinging ache that had you sucking in a breath, but then the pleasure hit, a heady rush of warmth that left you dizzy. It was unlike anything you had felt before, a strange, euphoric sort of high. You could feel his lips move against your skin as he drank, his hips resuming their steady pace, his hands holding you firmly beneath him.

His tongue flicked out, swiping over the puncture marks, soothing them. Your blood was hot and sweet, and the sound of his name falling from your lips in a moan had him nearly feral with desire.

You were overwhelmed, every sensation heightened by his bite, the feeling of his lips on your skin, his cock deep within you, his hands gripping your hips. He was everywhere, his touch lighting up every nerve, his voice rough and breathless in your ear, calling you his darling, his love. The connection had always been there, lingering in the background, and now it was like a floodgate had been opened. You could feel his adoration, his lust, his possessive desire to claim every part of you, and the intensity of it was almost too much to bear.

You were close, so close, and he could feel it. He could feel everything. He could feel the way your muscles tightened around him, the way your heartbeat quickened, the way your skin flushed beneath his touch.

He would easily burn the world down just to stay in this moment. To make it stretch out forever, the two of you wrapped up in each other, bodies and souls entwined.

You clung to him, lost in a haze of bliss, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave, crashing down, sweeping you away. He followed soon after, groaning as he came undone, his movements growing erratic.

He rode out his climax, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside of you. Then he collapsed against your chest, his breathing ragged, his body slick with sweat.

You could feel his heart pounding against yours, and the sensation made a giddy laugh bubble up inside you. He lifted his head, his expression equal parts shocked and amused.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your laughter, the two of you tangled together, a mess of limbs and sheets. Then he sat up, pulling you into his lap, your bodies still connected, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"I fear I'm going to keep you in my bed for the rest of eternity," he mused, stroking a hand through your hair.

You giggled, snuggling closer to him, your arms winding around his neck.

"It's a good thing I like you then." You teased.

Kol grinned, kissing the tip of your nose. "Just like? You wound me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to think. "I suppose I like you a lot."

"Well, I suppose I like you a lot as well," he quipped.

"Good," you sighed, resting your head against his shoulder. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"Not ever," he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss.

You were still catching your breath, tangled in Kol’s arms, when a sharp knock on the attic door made you both freeze.

"Kol, there's news."

Elijah’s voice.

Your stomach dropped as your eyes snapped to Kol’s. He looked equally unimpressed, his smug post-coital bliss evaporating into exasperation.

"Go away, Elijah," Kol called, his chin resting lazily atop your head. "This is hardly the time."

There was a pause.

Then another knock, firmer this time.

"It’s important, Kol."

Kol groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically and pulling you down with him. "Honestly, you’d think he’d know better than to interrupt such a special moment."

You smacked his chest, still mortified by the thought of Elijah standing on the other side of the door. "Kol, just tell him to leave before-"

Before you could finish, the door creaked open.

Elijah stepped inside, his face composed… until he saw Kol in bed, bare-chested, disheveled… and then you.

Wrapped in the sheets.

Still very much in Kol’s lap.

A rare, almost human moment of horror flickered across Elijah’s usually unreadable face. His shoulders went stiff. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

And then, very slowly, he turned his back to you both, adjusting his cuffs as if that could somehow fix this situation. "I… was not aware you had company."

You wanted to sink into the mattress and disappear. Kol, however, was completely unbothered. If anything, he was amused beyond words.

"Well, perhaps you should learn to take ‘go away’ seriously," he said cheerfully, pulling the sheets up around your shoulders in a poor excuse for modesty.

You buried your face against Kol’s chest, horrified.

Elijah cleared his throat, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. "I’ll be brief."

"Please do," Kol drawled, stroking your back. You buried yourself further against him, wishing you could vanish.

Elijah took a measured breath, ignoring Kol completely. "We caught the killer."

Your head snapped up. "What?"

Elijah nodded, still very pointedly looking at the ceiling rather than at either of you. "Turns out, it wasn’t a dragon. There was no mythical beast involved at all."

Silence.

Your stomach twisted. "What?" You repeated.

"The culprit was a rogue witch," Elijah continued, clearly eager to finish this conversation and erase it from his memory. "He was targeting young people he believed had latent magical abilities, using ritual sacrifice to steal their power."

You stared at him, blinking.

Kol tilted his head. "So… no dragons stealing virgins, then?"

"No, Kol." Elijah replied flatly.

Kol nodded slowly, taking this information in. "Ah."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Kol laughed.

Not just a chuckle. Full-bodied, amused beyond reason, utterly entertained.

You, however, were not laughing. And neither was Elijah, who shot a quick glance at his brother, confusion written all over his face, before turning away again.

"I will leave you both to… whatever this is." Elijah said, gesturing vaguely at the two of you. "Just... please make use of the lock."

He was gone in a flash, and you buried your face against Kol again, mortified.

"This is not funny, Kol!" You cried.

Kol, of course, was still laughing, you tried to squirm out of his arms, but he held you tight, pulling you back against his chest.

"I can't believe you're laughing right now!" You huffed, smacking his arm.

He snorted, his body shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry, love, I just..." He shook his head, still chuckling. "This whole situation is hilarious."

"To you," you grumbled, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Doesn’t change the fact that you were absolutely desperate for me." He said, and you glared at him.

"Shut up." You muttered, pulling the sheet around you.

Kol's lips curled into a smirk, and he pulled you closer.

"Don't pout, love," he purred, brushing his nose against yours. "Don’t be shy about it now. The damage is done. Your virtue has been thoroughly ruined."

You groaned, covering your face. "I hate you."

Kol grinned, crawling over you again, his weight warm and familiar as he kissed your jaw. "No, you don’t."

You sighed, relaxing just slightly as his lips trailed along your collarbone.

After a moment, Kol shifted, resting his forehead against yours, his voice quieter now. "Do you regret it?"

You hesitated.

Because, no. You didn’t. Not even a little. The two of you felt so connected, like a missing piece had finally slotted into place.

Your eyes met his, and you shook your head.

"No. Never."

A smile tugged at his lips, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "Good."

"But, um," you bit your lip, glancing towards the door. "I'm definitely never looking Elijah in the eye again."

Kol snorted, and the two of you dissolved into a fit of giggles, tangled in the sheets, the stress and fear of the last few days finally fading away.

Because you were safe, and Kol was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Everything else would just have to wait.

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson smut #kol mikaelson fanfiction #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvdu #vampire diaries #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine #kol mikealson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x you

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months ago

Text

Mimic IV

McFoord x Toddler!Reader

Summary: You're a little menace with Katie

"So," Caitlin asks as she relaxes back on the bed," How is my sweet baby doing?"

Katie looks away from her phone screen to see you seated in the ensuite bathroom, shaking your water bottle over the toilet paper that you've completely unwound.

"Er...she's...She's alright."

"She's being good? Nice?"

Katie can distinctly remember you throwing your breakfast at her this morning and then screeching in her face when she tried to tell you off.

"Yeah," She lies," So good and so nice."

"And she's making sure that she's including everyone in her playing?"

Katie winces when she remembers that you'd started pushing Courtney away any time that she tried to join in on the game of tag that had been arranged for you after training.

"She's...working on it?"

You're absolutely not working on it but Katie isn't about to admit that.

"Can I talk to her?"

"Yeah, one sec." Katie mutes her phone, placing it down on her blankets as she moves to grab you. "Hey, you. Come over here."

You stare blankly at her from your spot in the middle of the bathroom. The toilet paper is all strewn around you, practically wet mulch after you've emptied the contents of your water bottle onto it.

"Come on, you little gremlin. Come here."

You bum shuffle back into your pile of paper mulch and Katie winces a little, knowing that she's now going to have to change you into a different pair of pyjamas before putting you down to sleep.

"Come on. Come here."

Katie's arms are stretched outwards to you, trying to draw you closer by wiggling her fingers.

"Come on."

You pull a face at her, features all twisted up in disgust as you look at her and you grab a handful of mulch to throw. It doesn't get very far and lands with a kind of undignified squelch on the floor between the both of you.

Katie rolls her eyes. "I...You know what? Never mind."

She sweeps you up into her arms again before you can throw something at her again.

"We're going to have a talk with Mummy, alright?"

Your face noticeably changes at the mention of Caitlin, a wide gummy smile appearing on your face as you kick your legs happily. You manage to get even happier when you see Caitlin on the screen, trying to reach out for her and press kisses onto Katie's phone.

"What is it with you, huh?" Katie teases you that evening as she tucks you into your bed," Complete menace for me but Caitlin's little angel? I don't know who you think you're fooling. She already knows what you're like."

It's a bit like when you turn into a complete little angel when the rest of the family are around too. At home, you continue with your menace behaviours like chasing the cats or pushing things off countertops or digging holes in the garden for someone to accidentally trip over. But as soon as someone who doesn't usually visits, comes around it's like you're trying to show them that you're really a little sweetheart who doesn't have a mean bone in your body.

It makes Katie look particularly silly to her parents when she's complained to them about you dropping your toys into the toilet to cause a blockage but then they come around and all you seem to want is affection from them - no hint of your snapping teeth or angry little limbs.

The change in the behaviour only seems to be with family though because you have no issue with being your usual menace self with the girls on the team.

Something that Katie is acutely aware of as she watches you try to tackle Denise, trying to force her to the ground with all of your toddler strength.

"You can just tell her to stop!" Katie calls over," Or put her back on the leash!"

"It's fine!" Denise says, standing firm even as you try to shoulder barge her to the ground," It's kind of like a kitten trying to fight."

"Not a kitten!" You deny," I...I big an' scary!"

"So big and scary," Denise laughs as she pats your head," Like a little baby wildcat."

You frown as you try to work out if that's Denise calling you a kitten again just in a different way but in the end, you can't be bothered to think about it anymore as you try to push her over even harder than before.

"You might end up with bruises," Katie warns her," Just put her on the leash. I promise, it won't hurt her feelings."

"I'm fine, really." Denise waves away her concerns. "This little one isn't causing any problems."

"Are you sure?" A distinctly not-Irish says from behind Katie," Because she's got a way of starting problems before you know it."

Katie didn't even get the chance to turn away before you'd announced the newcomer.

"Mummy! Mummy! Mummy, I miss you!"

You abandon whatever you were trying to do with Denise to go toddling straight over to Caitlin, who kneels down with her arms out to welcome you.

"Mummy! Mummy!"

"Well hi there, sweet girl," Caitlin coos as you throw yourself into her arms," You're being very cuddly right now."

"Miss you, Mummy!" You reply, curling deeper into her arms and resting your head on her shoulder.

"You're early," Katie says with a warm smile," I thought you said you would barely make it to the match."

"I managed to get an earlier flight," Caitlin replies as she drops a soft kiss to your hair," I missed my girls."

#woso x reader #mcfoord x reader #caitlin foord x reader #caitlin foord #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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wonderjanga · 6 months ago

Text

Trauma

Billy has trauma. Only, it isn’t his trauma. See, at first, he couldn’t access the previous Champions’ memories, but after a bit, they slowly eased in, even without him realizing it. Now, at first, when he realized the memories were kinda there he didn’t think much of it. He only ever really thought about them when something reminded him of something from the memories. The first time this happened in a really negative way was when the Wonder Woman and him were in Tartarus.

Marvel and Wondy: *in Tartarus, walking around and talking about whatever they were there to do*

Wondy: “This is a pain.”

Marvel: “I know-” *stops talking when he sees her a little too close to some hellfire*

As for why he suddenly stopped? He was suddenly bombarded with a memory of feeling his own flesh melt and bubble, falling off clumps as he, or rather a past Champion screamed in pain, clawing at their skin as if that would do something to stop the burning.

Wondy: “Brother? Brother is something wrong?” *sounds concerned*

Marvel: *snaps out of the memory* “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just uh…” *walks over, much to his displeasure as just feeling the heat radiating off the hellfire is making him shake*

Wondy: *feels his shaky hands, move her away from the fire* “Brother, are you sure?” *sounds more concerned now* “You’re shaking.”

Marvel: *gives her reassuring smile* “I’m fine. I promise, Diana.”

Despite what he said, he was obviously not fine. The day after this, any fire he saw was met with a violent flinch comparable to that of Martin Manhunter whenever the Martian would see a flame. Billy couldn’t stand looking at normal fire for the rest of the week due to it reminding him of the memory. He’d had no idea a past Champion had died so painfully like that. Unfortunately for the boy, this was just the beginning of him experiencing these types of flashbacks.

The next time this happened to him was three months later. The Justice League were all in Metropolis because some magicians predicted that something big would happen there. So far there’s only been a very large earthquake which resulted in everyone having to help civilians out of rubble and such. Then, for some reason, something big crawled its way out of the Earth. It was a massive, and Billy means massive, stone dragon.

The JL: *fighting this creature*

Marvel: *smacked away by its tail*

Dragon: *lunges at Marvel, mouth wide open displaying its sharp teeth*

Marvel: *freezes, genuine fear on his face*

This scene with the dragon caused him to be pulled into another memory. A similar dragon with its tail coiled around him, trying to crush him like a snake coiled around and trying to crush a mouse. The Dragon peered down at him, opened its jaws, and before he, or rather she, as he was sure he was a female Champion this time, could do anything, it chomped down. Gosh, he felt the bones in his neck, snap under its teeth. It was sort of slow too because of his/her durability.

Supes: *notices Marvel looking like he’s going through PTSD, dashes over, and tackles him out of the way of the dragon*

Marvel: *gets his head back in the game after rubbing his neck a bit*

After the fight…

Supes: *pulls Marvel aside when they get to the Watchtower* “What was that back there?”

Marvel: “Uh… What do you mean?”

Supes: “I mean, you just froze! If I hadn’t tackled you, you would’ve been eaten by that thing!” *sounds extremely concerned* “I just wanna know if something’s wrong.”

Marvel: “Nothing is! I’m sorry- I just got caught up in the moment. I won’t let it happen again.” *sounds guilty*

Supes: *sighs* “You don’t need to apologize. Just please don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

After this incident, Billy decided he didn’t like dragons anymore. It was nothing personal- never mind, it was, but still. He won’t ever be able to look at them the same again.

Then there was arguably the worst flashback, and this wasn’t even induced when he was Marvel. It was induced as Billy, right in the of one of his radio broadcasts..

Billy: “And this just in! On Maple Street, an uncle… killed his nephew.”

You might already know whose memory he was forced to relive, but in case it wasn’t obvious, it was Aman’s.

He doesn’t exactly remember how he was killed this time, but he does remember what he felt at the time. The dirty, bitter, ugly feeling of betrayal that bubbled up inside of him. It was like it was choking him, filling up his throat and lungs, replacing his entire being with an icky tar-like feeling. Though that might not have been the betrayal at all. It might’ve just been him dying.

He couldn’t stop himself looking at Adam with anything other than genuine, cold hearted hatred after that.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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revelboo · 6 months ago

Note

REVELBOO!! Drop another chapter about Swindle/Tarn/Metroplex and my life shall be yours

Tarn first, but I’ll try to at least type up a Metroplex update if I’m not too busy at my day job today

L.G. Fuad Pt 3

Tarn x Reader

• “Leave it,” he growls, before shifting to step on the Pet’s trailing leash before the sparkeater can get to the little organic. Not at all amused when you dart around, grabbing onto his other ped and staring at the Pet with wide eyes as it lunges, jaws snapping. “I said leave it. Nickel?” Where is she and why do you think he’s your protector? “Go find Nickel,” he adds, sliding his ped to nudge you away and only succeeding in knocking you sprawling. Now those big eyes are offended as you look up at him, like he did it on purpose.

• Ow. Gingerly getting to your feet and rubbing your hip, you move closer to his ped again even at the risk of getting knocked away again. Because that slavering abomination is going crazy trying to get at you. It’s yet to actually hurt you, aside from tearing your skin with its awful teeth, but you’re not interested in getting dragged around like a rag doll, because you’re almost certain it thinks you’re a toy. The one with the lovely voice and mask is waving a hand at you, trying to shoo you and growling when you pointedly climb up on top of his ped and sit down, clinging to his ankle. Because whether he likes it or not, he’s safe. Cause, no way are you getting out of sight of him even if he really doesn’t like you touching him. The rest of them besides the small blue one are scary. Not to mention a couple of them had made a sound suspiciously like laughter the last time that dog thing had gotten ahold of you and hadn’t bothered to help while you’d screamed your head off.

• Venting tiredly, he gives up and start walking, ignoring your startled noise as those tiny hands cling to him to stay on top of his ped. The Pet running around his legs snapping at the organic, hearing you cry out when it manages to catch you with its teeth. Bending, he picks you up and tries to examine the injury with a servo. It doesn’t look too bad, but your little arm is leaking as you swat at his servo, little face scrunched up and eyes also leaking now. “Nickel?” He calls out again, before carrying you to medbay. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters as you shove at his servos when he tries to tug your arm away from where you’re clutching it to your body. Just a tiny little gash and it’s not like it was his fault. Spouting your alien gibberish at him, your shoulders slump and you finally let him carefully grip your hand between two servos so he can examine the wound, unsettled by the feel of those tiny bones.

• Freezing and not even breathing, you watch the optics behind the mask narrow and hope he doesn’t accidentally crush your hand. Muttering nonsense at you in the lovely rumbling voice, he releases your hand and you cautiously prod at the ragged, shallow gash in the back of your arm, wondering if you should be more worried about space rabies or tetanus. Shifting on your hip in his palm, you flinch away from those red optics when they slide to you again. Feel a servo touch the top of your head, sliding down your spine in a surprisingly gentle touch. Petting you like a little kitten, because you’re the same as that horror to him. A pet. Not at all surprised to realize he’s taking you to the little blue robot. Or when she starts fussing at him on sight when he bends and just dumps you on the floor in an inelegant heap, escaping both of you at not quite a run. You startle when the blue one gently examines your arm, still fussing from the sound of it.

• Striding back to his quarters, he knows you’ll be back sooner or later. You keep coming back to him no matter how many times he gets rid of you. Hating that part of him enjoys the soft warmth of you in his hands, the almost Cybertronian expressions you make at him when he talks to you, knowing you don’t understand him. And you seem to appreciate music, so you’re not a savage at least. Rubbing his servos together, he remembers the feel of those tiny bones shifting with the slightest pressure and knowing how easily it’d be to break you. And why does that thought bother him just a little bit?

#transformers x reader #idw tarn #tarn x reader

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eddies-ashtray · 1 month ago

Text

lunch

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Ellie eats you out. Yup! That’s it. 18+, minors DO NOT interact.

WC: 1.7k

Content: PWP, no use of y/n, outbreak not mentioned, kissing, cunnilingus (reader receiving), fingering, lil bit of dirty talk, kinda sappy ending cause you’re in loveeee, hbo ellie’s in the moodboard but you can picture game Ellie too<3

A/N: I watched that scene in ep 4 and had to write something!!

Soft lips press gently against yours with deliberate and meaningful pressure. Her hands are at your jaw, holding you steady. Without them you think you might just topple over because she’s making you dizzy in the best possible way. She never fails to do so. It’s always this good with Ellie. That dizzying feeling only increases when she licks hotly into your mouth, the kiss becoming more urgent then. Your tongues meet and an involuntary whimper slips from you.

The gentle curve of her mouth against yours as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss tells you she’s smiling. Happy with the sounds she’s eliciting from you. One of her hands leaves your face and falls to clutch your thigh. Steadying herself. It’s this action that lets you know that you’re having the same effect on her as she’s having on you.

Then the hand on your leg is slipping up your top and palming the soft flesh of your tits. And, God, is she good at making you moan. Before Ellie, it never felt this good to be touched like this, you think as you arch gently into her touch.

You feel incandescent. White-hot as she starts kissing down your neck. The junction between your cheek and jaw with a featherlight touch of her mouth, then adding more pressure as she makes her way down, down, down. Her tongue darts out to taste the skin at your collarbone before she kisses it which has you sighing contentedly.

Pulling away from your neck, Ellie presses her mouth firmly to yours again. When she removes her hand from beneath your top, it begins to glide down your trembling body. And with her other, she’s pushing you back on the couch. Following you down when your back presses into the cushions. You catch her gaze for a moment before she’s back on you. Her dark eyes hungry as she licks her bottom lip. Preparing for a decadent meal.

“Ellie,” you sigh as she drags her teeth gently down the sensitive flesh of your neck, her hands roaming. Exploring your body, relishing every curve and valley.

She hums contentedly now, a half-response to her name on your tongue. She’s preoccupied. Sliding down your body, eyes on you. Your heaving chest. Your throat as you swallow. Her eyes flit to your face as your tongue darts out to wet your lips in impatient anticipation.

You might be embarrassed about how wet you are if she wasn’t looking at you like that. Like you are the only thing that exists to her. You’re sure that you appear equally as entranced by her. Everything else fades away when she has you like this. No sound, sight, taste, or smell could grip your attention the way she does in these moments.

The second she tugs your jeans down she’s a dog with a bone. Ellie wouldn’t let you slip from her grasp without a fight. She would kill for you.

“Oh, baby,” she whispers, softly tracing her finger over the likely prominent wet spot staining your underwear. “All for me?”

She’s got a cheeky grin on her face as she asks you. She knows it is.

“Yeah, Ellie…All for you,” you breathe as your head lolls onto your shoulder to watch her watching you. Her gaze remains steadfast on your face as she leans down. Your heart races in your chest, raring to jump out into her waiting, careful hands.

The intensity in her gaze somehow heightens the sensation of her mouth pressing a soft kiss over your pussy. When your hips flex and a gasp slips past your lips, her hand slides over your hip. A reassuring touch: I’m here. You’re doing so well.

“Please.” It’s so soft and sweet she has to smile and oblige. Hooking her fingers–cool against your heated skin–into the waistband, Ellie tugs the undergarment down your legs slowly. And in a gesture that has your cheeks warming, she slips the cotton pair into her back pocket.

You huff, anticipatory energy exiting your body as Ellie parts your thighs with rough palms on the inner sensitive skin of your legs.

“Fuck,” she curses upon her first glimpse of you bare to her. Rubbing her palms slowly up and down the insides of your thighs, Ellie is antsy to get her first taste. She is always eager for this.

As she settles down between your legs, your hands pull her hair away from her face. Leaning into your palm appreciatively, she kisses the centre of it in a sweet gesture.

She glances from your wet centre to your face before whispering, “Let me have a taste, baby?”

You hum in affirmation, nodding. Begging her silently. You’re so warm you might explode if she doesn’t properly touch you soon. But this response just won’t do.

“Words,” she demands, squeezing your hip in light admonishment. Her voice, thick with lust, raises goosebumps on your arms.

“Yes. Please.” You scarcely recognize your own voice, so pleading and girlish. This is what she does to you.

“Good girl,” she laughs softly at your eagerness. The praise makes your pussy clench around nothing. Suddenly feeling so empty, dying to feel her tongue, her fingers. And later, when you aren’t feeling so impatient, her strap.

Once she’s looped her arms under your thighs, her thumb brushes your clit. Drawing a short, high moan from your throat at the zing of pleasure. There’s that satisfied grin again. But before you can resort to more pathetic begging or whining, Ellie puts you out of your misery. It’s like heaven when she licks from your dripping hole to your clit.

Her warm tongue dips inside as her eyes fall shut in pure bliss. This is what it means to Ellie when people say follow your bliss. She finds hers between your thighs.

She mumbles against your cunt, “Tastes so fucking good, baby.”

Your hands quickly find her hair, first brushing it tenderly over her shoulders when it falls around her again. Then threading your fingers through the locks, cradling the crown of her head.

When she drags the slick from your dripping hole up your slit before flicking her tongue over your clit you gasp sharply. “Ellie!”

She hums thoughtfully against your cunt, resulting in delightful gentle vibrations as she sucks on your clit. Your hips jump again as her hand squeezes your hip. Despite your squirming, she continues to lap fervently at your wetness.

In one swift motion Ellie snakes her arm out from under your thigh and her right hand joins her mouth. She returns her lips to the bundle of nerves at the top of your pussy, licking and suckling diligently while her two middle fingers circle your hole. They slip easily inside, her other hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh. Your mouth drops open in a whine as her fingers fill you, crooking inside your warm walls. Literally feeling you from the inside out.

Soft little uh, uh, uh sounds slip past your lips as she sets a lovely rhythm. When your hips begin slowly rocking up to match her motions, Ellie pulls away only briefly to comment, “That’s it. Good.”

“Oh, God,” you squeak, fingers tightening in her hair. Though she doesn’t appear to mind in the slightest as her tongue returns to your skin to draw tight patterns over your clit. The wet muscle works vigorously to draw obscene noises from your throat. Each stroke of her fingers and flick of her tongue sends shockwaves of white-hot pleasure through your body, a delightful twist beginning to coil tighter in your belly.

The wet squelching and slurping sounds that fill the room only make your cheeks flush warmer and your hips flex harder into her mouth. When she murmurs against you, it takes you a moment to understand. Her proximity coupled with the intense sensations and your quickening breaths make it difficult to hear her, let alone concentrate. “Gonna cum for me?”

A strangled moan is all you can manage as the pleasure builds and builds at the pit of your stomach. Twisting you into knots.

“Fuck.” The cuss is long and drawn out in delirious pleasure. Your noises only spur her on. Her fingers crook at a specific angle and thrust deeper, sweetly brushing against that spot inside of you that makes your breath hitch. You watch her as she expertly flicks her tongue over your clit in quicker intervals and with increased pressure.

“Ellie!” you cry for the nth time as the pleasure reaches its peak, and she swiftly shoves you over the precipice with one last curl of her fingers inside your tight walls and a sharp flick of her tongue.

Heat quickly pools in your gut, like a dam bursting, and there’s a sweet burning pleasure that can only be expressed verbally with a string of high wanton moans. You are vaguely listening to her talk you through it with a gentle, but slightly calloused hand rubbing over your skin and whispered sentiments of there you go. that’s it. did so well for me. tasted so good for me. But overwhelming sensations flood your body and steal your attention.

Eventually, the world comes back into focus.

“God, I love that,” she says finally when you’ve come back to Earth. Aftershocks of pleasure lick at your dewy skin. She could mean the way your cunt spasms and clenches in short intervals around her fingers as you come down. But you also know she’s not afraid to tell you how much she loves getting her mouth on you.

The both of you are breathing heavily now. Soon, you’re giggling deliriously at the ceiling before finding her eyes again where she lays her head against your still twitching thigh while she catches her breath. Your wetness is smeared across her chin and cheeks, shining in the orange glow filtering in through the curtains.

“Thank you,” you say breathlessly. It’s not needed. It’s her favourite thing to have her tongue buried inside you. But it feels right to say it.

Ellie kisses your inner thigh. “Love you.”

She’s so beautiful like this. In the afterglow. Her brown hair charmingly mussed from your desperate grip. You smooth it over lovingly now. Sated.

Your heart feels full. Through her loving gaze, you know she feels it too. Like you are both made up of the soft light streaming into the room, your hearts glowing.

“I love you, too.”

thank you so much for reading!! please reblog and let me know what you thought!

Masterlist

#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut #the last of us #tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #the last of us smut #ellie williams x fem!reader #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #ellie williams #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams fluff #joel miller

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biteyoubiteme · 3 months ago

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with wings of wax and thread

angel!huening kai x demon!fem!reader

‧₊˚ ⋅ synopsis: In the kingdom of Aethera, an angel is pushed from the heavens. Wings torn and feathers spilling, he finds himself in the den of a demon who wishes to have never been found. Long having lived with your own fall from grace, wingless and bloody just as he is now, you help stitch back up what once was. Can nurtured understanding be crueler than nature? ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: 🔞!!!demon fem!reader, angel!huening kai, angst, blood, depression, mentions of death and gore, reader talks about being violently attacked, cpr performed, slight open ending that could lead to mc/member death if interpreted that way, unprotected sex, no pull out mention, prob forgot some sorry

⊹₊ ݁ . wc: 19.6k . ݁₊ ⊹

𓅪 ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: I, carrion (icarian) - hozier an: im so in love with this event, the work that all these amzing writers put into this is so astonishing- it’s so wild to participate in something like this when I still feel like a baby writer with so much to learn but thats always the fun bit I guess lol im so happy we could all stretch our creative abilities to come together and make this work <333 thank you for reading!!

[m.list] [aethera!event m.list]

ONCE UPON A TIME… In a land far far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky, and the water sparkled under the glowing sun. Where mountains rose high and in which long, deep caves ran. Where the sea met shore in a collision of tall waves. Where the undead walked among the living. Where the winged flew above the finned. In a land where things beyond any reason and rhyme existed. And amongst those very beings, within the veils of Aethera, there was…

Feathers, soft and white, twisted in the golden glow from the slow-setting sun. Raining down like a thrown stone, sinking and littering the waiting ground.

The fall from grace had been sickly sweet. The shock of that first second of flightlessness was frightening enough to cause Kai to sink his teeth into his tongue. Holding back the staggered scream he wanted to let out, still protecting the ones who wronged him. Who had sent a blistering pain down his back, the cracking of cartilage ringing in his ears as he screwed his mouth shut, pleading with glistening eyes, forgiving them the second that his foot had met nothing but air.

His mouth had filled with blood, the ichor more sugar than iron, his stomach turning from the flavor, or maybe it was the feeling of falling. Flying had been something like this, the air rippling in his hair, every strand kissed with the soft hands of the north wind, a mother's touch. Flying had felt so close to life that even in falling he understood what it meant to have all your memories rush in front of you one last time. Because falling was like the memory of flying, the echo of it so close it was like a shout right in his ear.

And he laughed, the sound a strangled choke, fighting its way out from between his lips, teeth stained and heart sinking. He had never felt heavy, not when lifting off the ground was second nature. Kai had imagined his bones had been hollow like a bird's, but plummeting only showed him how led he was lined. Heavy, too much for even the mother's air to carry him, slipping through fingers, through feathers.

He didn't think that having a wing ripped right from his back would have made so many of his feathers come free, whirling around him, in a thick plume. Maybe it was his wing's way of bleeding. He had witnessed the damaged appendages before on others and they never bled, not unless wounded at the base, right at the shoulder blade. But even his feathers now were dotted with thick spots of blood, the droplets rising instead of falling with him, lighter than his lead bones. He reached out, trying to catch any feathers he could, trying to grasp them as if they would be the edge of a cliff he could pull himself back up from. But he came away with nothing but understanding.

This was a brutal way to make a grave but it was the hand he had been dealt, the cards pushed into his waiting palms without question. He only hoped the ground wouldn’t damage his wings worse than they already were. Half hanging on by tender threads of pink life, he hoped to tuck whatever was left around him like he had when he was a child, creating a small cave for him and him alone.

Kai was thinking in full circle thoughts, that crippling adult understanding washing away to childlike hope as he counted the seconds down to when someone would realize he wasn’t catching air, their rush to reach him deterred by the weight of him hurtling towards the waiting dirt. If his bones were not lead-lined they had been made of magnets, his ruined wings having kept him from the realization sooner; the grave always called the body.

The carrion had made the decent look appealing. Kai had grown up seeing the demons sore up only to tuck their tar-colored wings close to their bodies, looking freer than when Kai stretched his out, the span of his shadow over the sea. If they could feel the thrill of descent he could find it in him to enjoy the last of his sorry life.

The wind picked up, spinning him, round and round, dizzying and giggling. It was his twinkling laugh that made you look up. The jagged rocks circling his falling form, the ceiling of your cave the perfect opening for him to find himself invading. The sun was setting just enough so that the shadow of him cut deep into you, palms slick as you pushed up from where you sat at the edge of the moon pool, sand coating your fingers as you pressed a hand to your racing heart. Blood rushing in your ears, serpentine fear wrapping around your limbs running a chill down your spine.

They had come, found your hiding spot, and planned to finish you off, that laugh was only the start. It had not yet turned cruel as it was that day, the parroting of the group still ingrained right behind your ears, following you around no matter how you tried to shake the thoughts. And now they were coming down like a meteor into the only safe space you had ever known. The entrance was hard to maneuver with wings; it only made sense they would have a rough time with landing except there was a giant splash, the water in the moonpool lapping up, the crashing sound like the waves hitting the rocks only now echoing in the carved out cave.

Everything was getting wet, the water cold to your skin as it dotted your legs, feeling like a burn when you were so shocked. Because as the water settled, the churning sound still worked its way through your skull and it began to rain. The soft white feathers swung down billowing side to side, drifting as if they were a newborn butterfly, always knowing flying was in their bones but never knowing they could do it alone. Drifting to a final stop on water starting to calm. And there sinking to the bottom, face up and eyes closed, was an angel.

His white wings torn and weighed him down lower and lower to the sandy floor of the pool, the plume of derby shadowing him as he hit the bottom. Hands out on either side of him like someone welcoming in the sun after a long winter, the look you saw before a much needed embrace, not as if you had ever seen it before.

Stepping to the edge where sand turned to rock you looked back up at the sky, the fading light of the day slipping into hazy darkness, the blue hour working its way over the land before the moon fully made its appearance. But you could only see the slow falling feathers, catching wind and making way in other directions far from where you stood now. If he had been pushed by a demon they would have been on their kill without a second thought, they tracked them without mercy, like the hunters who aimed to play with their food instead of showing it the grace of kindness. If they had hit to watch him run they would have chased until it was over not let him sink in this water so far from home. They would have wanted the angels to see what they had done to such a pretty face.

Because he was pretty, even in dying. The last bubbling breaths fluttered to the surface until they broke through the tension. You trembled, cold all over from the moment's rush of fear that was still coursing through you, hands clenching and unclenching as you thought over what to do with him. In the water he could rot without much worry to you, the fish would pick him over but it wasn't as if you got many swimming around anymore. The sea folk had warned of swimming too close to your pool, for the first couple months of you finding shelter in the hollow cave, the fish had been your only source of sustenance. But the sea folk kept to their own, even the lowest of the food chain, warning them about you had been easy enough. So his body would rise unless his wings found themselves lodged under a rock.

You were ready to turn, find company in him even if he was at the bottom of the water until a single lone feather caught your attention. Eyes tracing the swaying descent like a cat following the trail of a mouse. Bleached white like a bone, pearlescent once it landed on the now still water, cupped like a curved leaf or petal. And there, dotted like a heart, was a single spot of blood. You could remember the way your own feathers looked, black enough for the blood to seep in and disappear like it had never existed.

It had felt like drowning the day you found yourself here. Falling from where they had dropped you had hurt, the salt water burning your open wounds like a quick scratch from a cat. Your mouth full of the ocean, choking and suffocating you as you claw for anything to grasp. They had left you, the rain of black feathers not unlike this angel's white ones now. Only you had been still fighting, ripping at the hold that death had on you because in death you would have to go back to some kind of hell and you wouldn't be able to survive an eternity with your worst moments, not when at that peak they felt that excruciating.

The angel now had given up, his twitching hand slowing to a stop. If the day you had found yourself drowning in this very pool had been your worst you would not let the same death kill someone else when you knew that it had been survivable. You would not take the name of your brethren as a brand but only the burden as it was, this action a shoulder shake to lessen its hold. So you dove in.

You had reached the bottom before, the sandy ground only six feet deep, a proper grave for when your arrow rang true on the rare fish that came in. They sank from how heavy the weight of their death hit them. But they had never been truly heavy and you still felt weak in comparison to the other demons you should have taken after. It wasn't until you reached him that you realized you would have to touch him to take him to the surface.

Your hands slid around his wrist, trying to lift him just enough to get your arms under his. Legs kicked behind you as you struggled to keep yourself in the right position, lungs constricting. He was lighter than you imagined and it was mostly because of the water's help, but his wings, broken, bent, and barely hanging on, weighed him down, hanging behind him like a sheet torn to bits.

Kicking and kicking you went, feet pushing against the rocky walls lined with coral, sharp enough to cut into your feet. Blood was darkening the small space, his and yours, mixing as you went. The need to breathe begged at your aching lungs, throat tight with the need. He was so limp, no help as you finally broke the surface, gasping air by the mouthful as you reached an arm out for the edge.

It hasn't crossed your mind how you would pull him out only that it was better to have his head above the water than below it. But you tried, not caring if he got scratched up as you pushed him needing to get him halfway out of the water so he was easier to pull out. Your grunts turned into near cries, he was heavier and heavier the more you pushed him out of the water, sopping body, wings, and clothes adding on to the bricks piled up you felt you were pushing out. When he was halfway up when your arms weak, you pulled yourself out of the water. No time to take a breather as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists. You groaned, putting all your weight back, tugging and tugging until he was just feet resting in the bloody water.

Your arms are trembling, half limp only held up with the adrenaline crossing through you from the fear that was still making its way through your veins. Pushing him onto his back his partially open mouth looked as if he had already gone and died, effort wasted if you gave up now. You had never been taught the art of saving anyone but you knew what you would want if someone had been kind enough to lift a hand to help you. Fingers locked together you press on his chest, shoulders burning with the effort. Dripping water fell from your chin as you went, the droplets sliding down his cheeks like tears as you cursed. “Don't,” it was all you could make out from your clenched teeth, a demand that he not die right here, right now. Sand digging into your legs, grains between each feather pressed under him, turning them golden as the fading light hit in just right.

You pressed so hard you felt your arms out snap, elbows locked, chest heaving in the way you wanted him to and then he coughed. The strangled choke like a morning bell, that slim chance of promise of another day. His body jerked to life, shocked like lightning he bolted, turning to the side and vomiting a mess of sea. Your nose scrunching as you sat back, joints electrified and shot, you fell back into the sand, watching the high mouth of the cave as you listened to him continue his fit.

In the time you had spent in the Moolpools cave it was easy to only make small movements, you hardly went out unless you were truly hungry enough to risk it. This had been the most motion you had done in a long time, and now you knew exactly why it was easy for them to target you. You felt weak, you were weak, this was only proof enough. But you had saved him, if even for a second, and they would have thought you weak for that too.

You could hear their laughs right behind your ears. You had not been facing the sky then, but you had hoped, their hands forcing your face into the dirt. Childish demon cruelty taken a step too far even in the eyes of the elders. It had taken you a long time to catch your breath then, your lungs never obeying you but it's another reason why they had believed you dead, the sudden stillness that had taken over your body as the pain made its way through you. You wondered if your angel felt that way now. Only you had been kind enough to let him see the sky before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Because he had, as you regained your strength to look at him, eyes closed, breathing rapid and uneven. You had given him a chance and now you didn't know what to do with him. His wings were bent and broken. Hardly any feathers clinging to the frail bones they had been attached to. It would be hell to fix them, pain unimaginable to bind and snap them back into place, stitch them together, and pray for some way to make them better again. You stood over him, the white shirt that had once been billowing in the wind was now transparent and clinging to his skin, the thread strong and fine.

When they had ripped your wings off you had nothing left to attach, not that you haven't tried, but alone with no help there was no way to reattach wings with your hands. No way to reach behind yourself except to feel the spots they had once been, the jagged scars still there now, the ghost pain of that day still shooting down your back every time you dreamt of that day. And on the worst days, you could imagine them still behind you, heavy and protective, enough to curl yourself into your personal space, alone in the dark velvet home you had been born with already built in. Wishing they were back was worse than knowing the pain of them being taken away. And even as a demon, you would not be so cruel as your brethren had been to leave you without so much as the one thing that should never be taken from a person, angel or not.

You still had your embroidery kit, the soft bag had been tied to your finger the day they had ruined you. The thread was dark, dyed to match the rocky mountains you had been sewing into the fabric. You wonder if they had burned your work after you were gone. All the hard hours doing the thing that you had hoped would get you by in the underworld. People loved to be flashy, spend on extravagant things, and there had been nothing more extravagant than the garments you had embroidered.

Tucked in the bottom of the small pouch was a thin sharp pair of scissors, the handle shaped like a bird, wings laid back with its beak glossed in gold. They had been a gift when you started to learn, your needles next to them clicking around, silver and all different sizes. Everything was so small, your only weapon that day as if it would hurt them. They Had been useless but they would be put to work now. He would need to be wiped of the sand before you went in and started to clean the wounds enough to see where you would have to help sew him back together.

You had collected a fair amount of things having lived in the cave for so long, your stash that was similar to a magpies, pretty but never something you used. Sometimes you would find things and keep them just because you might want them because it was better having something over nothing. The crate of glass bottles filled with alcohol is one of those things. It had washed up on the beach after a ship had hit the rocks, too close during a storm to leave anyone alive in the mess. You had picked over the wreckage just as the carrion you were nicknamed after. Someone would have wanted it and so you had taken it just because of that fact, if the gold meant nothing to you but everything to another you would have it, as was your nature. Now you could use it, uncork the bottle, and pour it over his back if you could get him to roll over again.

Kai did not see you move to the dark corner where your stash was hidden when he blinked himself awake. In his confusion his lungs still felt full, his throat constricting as if he was waking in the water and not beside it, choking because his mind was trying to catch up to his reality. He hurt all over, his chest and stomach scratched and burning, heavy with an ache of bruised ribs. His back was on fire, screaming at him, begging him to scratch and rip at the pain. It made him whimper, the only sound that could come out from his raw throat.

He could not think past anything but the look of the sky above him and not behind him as he fell. And when you showed yourself, a bottle of clear liquor in one hand and a small pouch in the other, he believed you to be a human stumbling upon him on a lone beach. He had not seen many humans, accustomed to staying up in the heavens with his brethren. And how could he have known what you really were when you were wingless? You had not grown the horns that most of the demons possessed, you could feel the spot they must have wanted to sprout through if they had been given the chance, the area always colder than the rest of your scalp. It had been one of the things they had picked at when taking their dues.

To them, you had been no demon without the markers they had been so used to seeing, your wings the only thing tying you down to their depths. Even your power had been faint, strong enough to only wave a candle's flame to life, no roaring forest fires and destruction. To Kai, in that moment you were nothing more than a girl who looked like the saving grace he had been begging so fiercely for when falling.

For an angel, his dark eyes cut through you like knives. You had not been looked at so intensely since the attack, people who caught a glance had known to keep going and turn away. This gaze was a line of glimmering hope that he had thrown around your shoulders tightening until it was nothing but a collar of expectations tugging you forward. You had been taught to crush looks that felt suffocating, praise broken bonds, and burnt bridges before ever letting someone take you for a helping hand and honest heart. “Do not look at me like I'm something to be thankful for,”

It was not the first thing that he had expected you to say to him. Not when he was so close to thinking you to be some sort of angel like him without the matching wings. Your voice cut through him, sharp and demanding, nearly as painful as it had been to wake up like this. Everything was falling apart; his body, his grip, which he had believed to be tight, around his good faith in people. But you had pulled him out of the water and maybe he had come to expect too much from people. A package deal that had been wrapped up in the warped expectations of the angels. Not that most of them followed the rules, but it was better to hide behind the guise of kindness than the truth of wrongdoing and instinctual indifference.

The fallen angel only blinked back at your words instead of taking them in, eyes softening at the realization that it had been you alone to pull him out, your chin still dripping with the saltwater that stung the open wounds on his back. He could not do anything but look at you thankfully because it was the only thing he could focus on feeling without turning back into a pit of despair that had let him give up the second he had hit the water. Thinking even about that second of thought that would have led to forever was nothing but crushing rocks landing on his back heavier than the wings still trying to hang on by nothing but thin ribbons of flesh.

And in truth what the look did was make you nervous. Like some lone schoolgirl who couldn't be under the pressure of her class watching a presentation. It frustrated you to no end, twisting a bloody knuckled hand around your insides and tugging them down to your knees. He was in no way able to make a move to hurt you that you wouldn't see coming first. You knew the small cave better than anyone alive and he was weak, his hands opening and closing limply like the steady wings of a butterfly resting. And all his feeble voice could muster up in response was, “Thank you,”

The words strung together felt like thrown stones hitting you one after the other. You had been kicked out of your home and told you were no more demon than the humans roaming the castles pretending to play ruler and kingdom. To be told thank you for saving anyone, or even more specifically an angel’s, life was the final nail in your coffin. Every last thing they had said to you as they ripped your wings from your shoulders buried deep enough to burn, those two words sprouting from the grave to show the fruits of your tormentor's labor. The final stamp to seal the truth of your wrongfulness.

It would have been easier to kill him then, easier than having to hold him down as you tried to help him, and easier than pulling him up from the depths of the moon pool. But they had been right to call you a sympathizer, right in calling you weak because looking at him needing you it was impossible to turn him away. “I'm going to hurt you,” it was a warning bell, the echo of your voice mimicking the sound of some faint prophetic truth. It was not your intention to cause pain on him but the only way that you could help him. It was easier to confess to that than to say you would try and fix him.

But Kai did not listen, he did not care if you hurt him so long as it made his mind stop working over his last thoughts. The blinking of tears the second he had been pushed had made him feel little again, a child wondering why bad things happened at all. Why would someone push him, why would someone rip his wings until they were nothing but dead weight trying and failing to hold on to their last breath, drowning him, pulling him under into nothing but darkness? He had been wronged more than he thought would ever happen to him and if those who claimed to be honest, kind people,were the ones who hurt him, what was there to believe when those claiming to hurt him had done nothing but pull him free from death? It was a mess of contradictions and his gut was not helping him pick sides. He was a mix of emotions that felt hollow like a long dead tree waiting for a victim to fall into and perish just the same. Being hurt meant nothing to a newly found desolate creature, betrayed, and seeking grace.

And so he would let you hurt him because he had nothing to lose, no more to give but turn over and let you try whatever it was that you had planned to help fix him. It was like a mutual understanding had fallen over the two of you like a blanket. He saw the bottle in your hand and knew, watched your fingers as they pulled out the needle, watched the way the metal turned red and you started to heat it enough to sterilize it. It was then that he knew what you were.

It did not make him cringe, not when he knew that to have a demon at his back was akin to death incarnate welcoming themselves to twist a knife right into his spine. He knew that there were hardly enough people on this island who would have helped him enough to the point that they wouldn’t have gotten ill at the sight of his blood. Demons had steady hands; they did not tremble and they did not cower away from gore. To have been stumbled upon by a demon as generous as you were was a blessing he could not fight back against.

So he let you turn him over, your warm hands working to take off his shirt, cutting it away until it was nothing but scraps, his face pressed into the sand, the grains catching in his lashes. You were gentle with him, laying out his wings that had lost most of their feelings, numb all the way up until they hit the spots right where they were supposed to be connected. It was the only place he could feel the pain anymore, his lungs and throat secondary to the pain he was feeling right there at the root of him. If everyone else had worn their hearts on their sleeves angels had found a way to wear their hearts on their back, their life source, and now it was screaming at him.

You picked over the scraps of his shirt, peeling away the thread in long stands, looping the thread around your fingers, and making a small ball for you to pull from as you worked. He kept his eyes closed, lashes laying so peacefully across his cheeks as if he was dreaming in the moonlight and not waiting for you to put him back together. There was no going back the second you started, not unless you picked him apart again just to see the way he looked again while hurt. The thought made you feel a bit sick. The intrusion of it is either your mind trying to work around the situation or your faint demon instinct kicking in, playing with the idea until you fall into the trap of it.

But it was still enticing even if it was sickening. You were so alone and bored, with nothing to do and no one to see. You had been hurt and had not yet found the outlet for that pain even years later, this was the perfect opportunity and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything but cringe the second you straddled his back. Holding him down with the weight of you as you poured the liquor over his wounds and watched him writhe from the pain. There was little enjoyment to find here.

Kai tried to keep his mouth shut nearly as tight as his eyes but the second the first wave of the anesthetic washed over him he could not help himself from screaming. It echoed around the cave, loud enough to find itself spilling from the cave's top entrance. If anyone had been walking around they would have run, believing some wolf had gotten too far from the woods and taken a victim. You did not try to shush him, just placed your warm palm in the center of his back and pushed him back down, trying to keep him still even if it was an impossible task at that point.

Then the first stitch came. It was easier to hold back, easier to try and focus on anything else but the blinding pain he was feeling, it was something other than the emptiness settling over him. He could not think of anything good coming from this, could not see himself going home again, to see his friends, the ones who had pushed him, his mother, his sisters. There was nothing but shame and treachery. They would have welcomed him back even wingless but there was no way for him to ever feel at home again, not when he knew what it was like to be nothing but air and death.

He did not care if he did not move from that spot, the sand the only thing grounding him as he sunk his fingers in curling them until he could feel nothing but his mind trying to work and count every grain he could imagine on his skin. It was nothing but a tactic to let the pain wash away for even a second. He didn't even realize he was crying until the wetness was making more sand stick to his cheek. The soft rumbling of his whimpers mixed in with the faint groans he would release after a particularly tender part of the stitching.

“You are very lucky to have me, when they took my wings I had nothing to do but bury the one they had left hanging. I don't know what it had looked like but I do know that it felt like this,” you were muttering, talking to yourself and letting the words come out without a filter just as you did when he hadn't been here. “I would have wanted even the one to be stitched back but I remember the pain and I'm-” The word sorry was not one that came from you often or at all, there was little you could do but say it now but still your throat caught. “I would not wish it on anyone,”

Your fingers worked fluently, picking up the memory of the old stitches you had perfected long ago in a life you did not care to remember. This was nothing but an old way of passing time that you had practiced over and over again. You had never stitched up flesh and blood but it was no different now than it had been then. In a way, it was a comfort you should not have found in the task but it was impossible not to.

“I do not know how well this will work but I will try,” his wings, covered in sparse feathers, twitched every once in a while as you carefully threaded your needles, tightening the stitches and watching the way the wings came back to life like a marionette doll pulled at its strings. It was hope and nothing more.

Kai couldn't grit out any more words, the sound of your voice washing over him like a balm but nothing more. He wanted to hate you but knew it was necessary to feel this way when it came to pain. They had told him never to bite the hand that fed him but this was a forceful hand coming out to get him, twisting its fingers in his hair and pushing his face in the dirt until it was nothing but a given that he had to eat whatever it was that was handed to him. But he listened, taking in each word and trying to keep them as close as he could get them.

Tried to imagine you with dark wings at your back. The silky feathers always shined so nicely in comparison to his white ones. His wings had looked plush and downy, nothing like the oily temptation of the demons. But he could not get the image around his head, could not see what it looked like any more than what it would look like to go home again. It was with you in his mind that he passed out, eyes closing until there was nothing but peaceful darkness where he had no reason to think of hurtful homecomings and angels dressed as death.

You noticed almost as soon as he fell into the pain. Body going slack underneath you, all of his muscles loosening before he was nothing but twitching nerve ends from each insertion of the needle. It was not delightful work but clean and concise, the expert precision of a fiber works artist long since skilled in their field. Every so often your fingers struggled to keep hold of the slipping needle, the tips of each digit dipped in crimson as you went on with your task. And even as he lay there you went on with your muttering. “We will have to look for more feathers, only a few fell in here, I still have a couple but I don't know how well you will feel looking spotted like a pigeon,”

For a long time, you had been sick at the sight of the clutch of feathers that you had kept from your wings long gone. It had been nothing but pain to see them, the sight cutting into you like a knife just sharpened on a whetstone. You had wanted to bury them right along with the wing you had put to rest, ripped the rest of the way from your back from your own hands, and yet you couldn't part with them just as you couldn't let go of the needles from your past life.

Helping him right now, pinching skin to pierce through and thread, felt like it was somehow stitching up a bit of yourself. You acted fast almost as soon as he was out of the water because it was the way you would have wanted someone to help you. Without discrimination, just understanding. They had given you no chance and if you could not give it to yourself you would give it to someone not far off from you. Because you knew what it was like to live here stuck wingless with nothing to do but try not to rot like some discarded apple. It had taken everything in you to help yourself once you had let go of your past life. The feeling was nothing like you had ever felt before.

It was emptiness, no more and no less, just an expanse of nothingness that unraveled the farther and farther you went into the recesses of your mind. To pull yourself from that pit and find some kind of routine was nothing short of a miracle. But if someone had been waiting here, even if they didn't pull you out of the water but took the wing you had and gave you the hope to live with that once comfort would have been better than nothing. Even if he didn't have full control over his wings like before he would still have his childhood home still there right at his back protecting him when no one else had. If you could give him that it was enough.

But then when the sewing was done there was nothing to do but let him rest. The work you had done was as neat as it could be, the prickling skin around the base of each wing would hold steady and let the skin heal. You stood looking over him, sleeping with his soft cheek on the sand, his hair once wet now dry and resting against his sleeping brow. Angelic was the only word that would surface and it felt silly to attach something so obvious to him. He was nothing but angelic down to the bone; to his blood. But even still freckled in dried blood and his half-feathered wings you could tell it was written all over him fallen or not.

You had seen little of the angels when growing up but occasionally they made a pass over the moonpool's mouth. Their bell-like laughter twinkled like the stars in the night that they flew with. They had seemed so far off and distant. But what you had been told about them was that they were nothing but selfish and self-righteous. Underneath the beauty was callous arrogance, they helped others but only if they had already achieved more and found that they could take the last step without them. Take help but never give credit unless it is beneficial to them to say, drop everything to look good, or fend for themselves.

They had said all demons had shared blood with the angels, until one was banished, the bitterness infecting their souls until their wings turned ebony with rage and the promise of revenge. The story had been on your mind the second they had picked on you for being weak, wondering if somehow your blood had run thin and showed assets of your long since dead ancestors who had seen the heavens and walked with wings of ivory at their backs. Because although you found yourself thinking cruel things you did not dream to be a cruel person.

So you cleaned him up as best you could, cleaning the blood from your hands and his back, taking the time to take your wet cloth over his feathers to try and clean them as best as you could. You watched his wings twitch in response every so often but he did not stir, there was little you could do in terms of his pain, little more you could do if he found himself with an infection. You could hardly keep yourself alive in the space, you don't get many fish unless you make it out to the beach at night, or find a rabbit in the woods easy enough to catch with a trap. Two mouths to feed was a limit you would have to push yourself to reach.

But it was something you would think about in the morning, not when the sun was gone and the cave was dark enough that the only thing you could see was the faint glow of the moonpool. The water reflected onto the walls of the cave, washing everything in an eerie blue hue that minced what it would have looked like if you plunged in and swam with the sea folk. It was one of the few beautiful things you could indulge in and yet now you could add to the list because you had him to look at.

Without turning your back to him you found your usual spot against the wall, the perfect place so that it was just hidden in the dark with the view to see the ceiling's entrance. There was nowhere else to look with him blocking the water as you lay down, back pressed up against the smooth stone wall, washing your heated skin with the faint coolness it had been seeking. You traced the lines of his sleeping face, scared to fall asleep with him so close. Wishing that in that moment you had your own wings to wrap you up, block you from the fear of waking up with him so near with nothing but questions and demands.

You curled up with your small blanket, tucking it under your chin keeping the angel in sight. It was only when your lashes were fluttering closed that you noticed his eyes start to peek open. He only blinked faintly, a tremble starting in his arms but he was unable to move them. Kai felt weak, drained of everything, vision blurry with the sight of you lying down in the blue darkness.

Whatever fear you had before was slowly washing away with the look of pain written all over him. He had no way of hurting you when he could hardly breathe properly from the pain. “What is your name?” you could not keep calling him the angel in your head or out loud.

Your whisper carried in the room and he closed his eyes at the sound, it had been what he had heard before he passed out and it only made his mind feel at ease, something to grab onto in the pain. “Huening kai,” it was low and the only thing in the whole room besides the two of you.

“You need to rest Kai, tomorrow we have to look for any feathers that may have dropped around the beach or the woods,” but Kai didn't care about that, not when he was still trying to find more of you to hold onto.

“What’s-” he couldn't think of the rest of the sentence, not until it was tumbling into him like the rocks off the side of a cliff. He wanted to know your name and hold onto it so he could attach it to the thoughts and memories he was building of you in his head. “What's your name?” He was looking through his lashes only able to keep his eyes open the smallest bit because even that had felt like it took too much energy, the small twitches of his fingers taking most of the rest of his will.

For a second you could not remember what you had been called before you were just you, because in here, alone, no one asked and no one cared. But it came back to you like the moon had come back each night, there was no forgetting it even if it sounded foreign on your tongue after so many years. Saying it, Kai could hear how unsure you felt until you repeated it again for him.

So that's how he said it in his head, the slight second between the two the repentance following the state of his mind, that question lingering at the last syllable, and the sigh of content following the tail end when he said it again. So he let it go over and over in his head, counted the letters like sheep jumping over him, letting the thought of you lull him back to sleep instead of the pain. And you followed right after him, sleeping fitfully because every time you heard a small hitch in his breathing you had to make sure he was still alive. Make sure that your effort has not gone to waste.

And he did live through the night and with your aid you helped him sit up in the morning. Watching him ball his fist and rub at his cheek to rid it of the sand that had built up. He looked like a cherub fallen to the stone and looking up in the foreground of the painting waiting for someone to notice his absence. Because all he could think about was if anyone missed him, if they knew what had happened to him and how he had been pushed instead of just caught in some wind he could not find control in as if he was little and learning to use his wing again. They must have said something, maybe they had blamed a demon for what had happened.

But now with your eyes on him, watching him as you made to clean his back again, checking if in the night there was no more redness or sign of illness, he could not think to see a demon the same again. Here you were being a complete contradiction to everything he had ever been told in his life. Demons were nothing but troublemakers who thought nothing about others. They kept to themselves and made fun by bringing people down. There was no room for him to think about how good a demon could be to anyone let alone an angel like him.

Sitting up, letting your warm hands look over his back, he wanted to lean into the touch, let you care for him until he could find a way to fly right out of here. There was no way that he could repay you for something like this, nothing for him to do but sit in the silence you had built around you. But he wanted to break it, crack against the hold that the stillness had over him, and scream at the top of his lungs and curse the heavens even if he had forgiven them for so much already.

He did not know if he deserved what had happened to him but he understood that it had happened and there was nothing for him to do but take it. Cursing and screaming would do nothing but make him bitter and bitterness took too much from the soul, it drained people and he needed all the energy he could get. “Thank you,” it was again the only thing that he could think to say.

“I told you it would hurt,” because every brush of your fingers to check your work was making him suck in the air between his clenched teeth, the sound fast and snakelike.

“Would there have been another way to do it without pain?” it was nothing but a question to poke fun. Kai wanted to lighten the mood but it did not help the situation.

“Do you think my kind would have taken it if so?” you didn't care to look at his blinking reaction, because as much as he knew you were his only option he still held some kind of grudge against demons. It was written all over his face and you didn't even have to see it to know. It shut kai up in a slip second of shame for thinking the instant no.

“You're helping me nonetheless,” his hand reached across his body to press at his shoulder, delicate fingers so close to the torn flesh.

You waved his hand away, “don't touch it, the worst thing would be an infection,”

“The worst thing would be to lose them all together,” he did not say it to be mean or pick at you, he was not like your kind in that way where they know the thing that would tear you down and pick that option every time. No, he was just stating his truth and he was not lying. Infection could be helped but losing them would be closer to death. It was nothing but words but it made your back burn.

You had heard of ghost limbs, the feeling of a hand still being there after it had been cut clean off. People believed they could scratch the limb if they thought hard enough to get rid of the feeling. You didn't know how real the feeling would be until you were there with your wing buried in the woods, the other long lost and tossed in a fire if you knew how any of them would have cleaned up the mess they made. If anything was to tear into you it was that first night where everything ached. Your back where the scabs started to turn to scars began to itch and the feeling traveled down to where there was nothingness but the hope of where your wings would resprout if that was ever an option. You wanted to wrap them around you and wished if you felt the ghost of anything it would be the home they had helped you feel but all you had felt was pain. A pain you could not help because there was nothing to do but let it work its way through your system. The pain was not an itch; not so easily taken care of.

“That would be horrible and if you don't listen to me they will be gone, keep your hand away,” you left no room for argument in your tone and Kai listened. He curled his hand into a fist and sat it in his lap. “Today we will let the area breathe and while I’m out we can get whatever we need to make a salve to help the healing process,” Kai nodded knowing that you were right. He didn't even have the first thought of where to start to find out how to help himself.

“Can you try and pull your wing in,” you didn't want to push him so early but you needed to know if it was worth the trip to even go out and look for feathers if he could not use them.

For Kai, it felt like an impossible question to answer. He felt distant from his heart back, like he was cut in half but then he felt your fingertips, the feeling of them dragging along the edge of his wings, tracing the span of them and following the curve. “Can you feel that?” This was easier because it was the only thing he could focus on. The heat of you was constant, radiating from your body onto his like a blanket he wished he could pull in closer.

“Yes,” it was shallow as he followed the feeling in his mind. He had never been sensitive to touch on his wings, he knew others could feel any brush of their feathers but he felt nothing until now. If he had lost the ability to fly he had gained the ability to have sensation right along the spot he feared he would lose anyway.

You curled your fingers around the top of his wings slowly following the natural way they folded into themselves and helped him push them close to his back. Kai groaned but it was not as horrible as he expected it to be. With your help, he found whatever connection he had lost because now he could keep them pulled in without your help. But you still helped to tuck the other one close just as neatly, checking around his stitches to make sure they could handle the movement without being impossibly stiff.

The sight made you clench your jaw. Jealousy had not been a familiar feeling here but it was alive and well now. But it did not matter, you could be jealous and still help him. But you had to get up and turn away, busy yourself with finding your own feathers, the ones you kept at the bottom of your stash of things, making sure they didn't accidentally get seen by you when you didn't want the reminder.

It had felt easy to say you would give them to him in the moment but the second you pushed aside the spare clothes you had and laid eyes on them it was like saying you would clip off your fingers and let him use them on his own hands. You let the stack of clothes fall right back into place, picking up the loose shirt you could find that would button over him. He would have to wear it backwards because it was not made with wings in mind but there was nothing else for you to do unless he wanted to walk around shirtless.

But Kai was thankful pushing his arms through the sleeves and leaving the buttons for you to do up for him. You made sure to keep yourself from brushing him accidentally, no need to touch him more than you needed to as you secured the fabric around him. But Kai instantly missed your warmth the second you pulled away.

“The only way out is up but it's nothing too bad, you only need to raise your arms about this high,” you demonstrated, “it's mostly leg work,”

“You want me to leave?” he didn't know why it was the first thing he would think, you had just told him about collecting materials to help him but as soon as the words left your mouth all he could think was no don't kick me out don't push me like them, as if you could hear him you shook your head.

“Do angels only sit around when faced with adversity or do they get up and work?” you slung your bag over your shoulder, slipping both arms in to have it securely against your back. When going out it was the only thing that felt comfortable enough to have at your back when you had little else. “If you want to stay, I say we work together to make sure that we can keep you here for a bit longer, but I cannot do everything and you cannot stay forever. Tonight we only need a few things,”

“Okay,” Kai stumbled to stand, feeling unstable and wobbly enough to reach out for the walls to hold him up.

“You can stay here for tonight, rest more if you're not up for it,”

“No,” it was a slight snap back against the way he was feeling. It was not only because he was feeling weak but because he did not like to sit around doing nothing, he did not want to wait for you to come back or worse wait and think that you were never coming back for him. He's sure that is something a demon would do, leave him here without help just to see how long he would stay without the help. But he was thinking badly because he didn't want to face his own truth, “I need to do something,” anything would be better than sitting around and thinking up ways to hate you over nothing at all. Because there was nothing to hate you over, you had done nothing that would make him hate you but the longer he stayed up with his thoughts they seemed to poison the image of you slowly. And he could not do that to his savior.

“Fine, you can go first so that I can make sure you don't fall back,” and you had been telling the truth about the way out, the grooves of the walls made perfect spaces for his feet to fit. Only after a few steps up did he have to raise his arms to try and hold himself steady as he kicked his feet out the top of the opening. It was only possible because the side you had set him to get out of was shorter than the rest of the jagged ring of rocks forming the entrance of the cave. And as soon as he was out it was easy to sit and rest with his legs dangling into the open mouth as if he would just jump right into the water he had nearly died in.

You had no trouble pulling yourself up and out, the rock smoothed down from the amount of time that you had made the trip up even if you avoided it most times. “There is no other way in or out?” Kai asked as you showed him the way down to the grassy underbrush.

“You could swim in and out, it's not very practical but it's better that way if you want to make sure no one sees you coming in. But I don't think that would be good for you and you have to hold your breath for a long while,” Kai could not think about what it would be like to go back into the water after yesterday, he's sure he would instantly imagine himself drowning again.

Instead, he focused on following you and your steps through the thick mess of trees surrounding the spot where you had made your home. Distantly he could hear the sea, the soft crashing of waves on the shore lightening as the two of you went until he saw the first blood-dotted feather.

His wings twitched at the sight, the soft white tucked in between the branches and leaves of a tree. He was silent as he watched you pluck it between your fingers, reaching it like you were picking up a gold coin found on heads for luck. “You will tell me eventually why it is you fell from the heavens won't you?” he watched you twist the feather, examining the dark dried crimson stains.

“There is little of a story there,” he was clenched all over, fists and jaw tight as you held the feather out for him to take, “you hold it,” he jutted his chin out, the only movement he could bring himself to make or else he would fall apart.

Kai had gone through many feathers of different sizes growing up. Preening them and feeling grateful to have grown fully so that they did not fall out as often as they had when growing from downy softness to strong enough to let him fly. But it was different to see them like this. He knew they should not be in your hand, or even his. They should not be spread around the woods like bunches of snow that had not yet melted with the coming spring. But it was as if the longer he looked out over the expanse of woods in front of the two of you the more speckles of white he caught mixed in with all the green.

He was frozen in his spot, stuck just looking out at all the pieces of himself spread out like nothing more than a chess board thrown to the ground, with no intention of being picked up after a soiled game. You could see in him the same kind of evil that was in you twisting itself around your brain the second you moved that stack of clothes and saw your own feathers. When you were young they meant nothing because they had always been there but once it started to go away, once it was nothing more than a pile in front of you it made you feel small and insignificant.

“When they first ripped my wing it didn't hurt like I had imagined it would have,” you had been frozen, stuck like a kitten who had been picked up by the scruff of its neck. You had looked up with eyes that nearly rolled in your skull the second you realized what had happened. How could you not have felt something so huge? Maybe it was because you could not see it, your mind not catching up with your body until seconds later and it was all you could think to feel. There had been blood, slick down your back and on your fingers as you reached to try and hold onto anything that was left. “For a second you almost think you can fly away from the pain,”

Kai watched your eyes go unfocused, lost in a thought that had been his reality just the day before. It was almost as if he could feel that foot pressed right into his back again. His ‘friend’ with the heel of his boot cutting into Kai’s spine. He had asked him to look out over the edge of the last cliff, claiming to have seen carrion flying around too close for comfort. It was only a second, looking over the edge so high up he knew that if he flew down and caught the wind that it would be a rush he could never replicate.

The boot had been nothing but a second before his hands had been on his wings pulling them back until that sickening crunch and tear. It had happened so fast kai had felt nothing until it was all too late.

“There is always a story and you don't have to tell me yours but know that if I could get revenge on the ones who took my ability to fly, I wouldn't hold back from repeating over and over the same pain they inflicted on me,” you tucked his feather into your bag, “they wouldn't think twice about you so don't give them the grace of never speaking up for what they did to you,”

“You’d think that because you're a demon,” and for the first time Kai saw you crack a smile, a twisted tarnished thing.

“We are not too different, the only thing that sets us apart is you thinking you are any better than me. You forget we both woke up in that cave only I was alone and you had me, and how lucky for you that I'm nice and don't just build you up to pull you right back down again,” you turned walking because you needed the distance, “go back if you can't see that we are the same,”

“My first thought wouldn't have been to hurt someone I helped,” Kai kept pace with you, watching you pick up each one of his feathers as you went.

“Just because I say I resist hurting you physically does not mean that what you say or think cannot hurt me. You want to freely throw your judgment around and stick a label onto me, reducing me to nothing but blood I did not ask to be born with and still you cannot see how we are exactly the same. We are only doing the same thing in different seasons, only one of us is plain as day and the other is hidden behind some thick smokescreen allowed in whatever game we have found ourselves,” he could tell there was no room for argument with you. Set in some demon way that made you want to burn instead of heal. But even he knew he was just being bitter, proving you right even if he didn't say it out loud.

He was grateful and he was upset, he had been a pot of water his whole life and it had never been set above a fire until right now and the bubbling was unwelcome and made him itch all over. He didn't see the reason for revenge when there was no way for him to get back up to the heavens without walking up the stairs and that would feel more shameful than coming back wingless. The only thing he could feel about the topic was that if it had been him or you he's not too sure that it would have been him you would have picked to help. But even he couldn't hide from the truth of wanting to pick himself every time.

So he kept his mouth shut knowing there was nothing he could say that would make him look better and nothing he could say to make you look worse because faintly you were right about the both of you being so similar. He followed you like a lost puppy, watching you pick over the brush, collecting pieces of him until you found every part of the set to make enough of a picture. You were careful with them, fitting them all together in a neat stack and wrapping a loose string of thread around them to keep them from spilling all over again.

By the time you two had combed most of the area, the sun was setting into nothing but stars. Two handfuls of feathers and a pit in Kai’s stomach made for little conversation. Keeping his eyes on his footfalls he did not see what it was that made you tense up until it was right there burning in the distance.

A little ball of fire, dancing seemingly above nothing but the air. A Willo-the–wisp, bright enough to feel like a beacon one could not turn to look away from. But you hissed at the thing, reaching down to pick up a rock, smooth in your palm before you threw it. “Hey!” Kai's voice echoed in empty woods, previously the only sound heard was his crunching footsteps. Your years of walking down here had taught you how to keep yourself light as you made a journey this far out from your home. “See only proving my point, hurting things without reason, what did they ever do to you?”

But you didn’t feel like explaining yourself to him, it felt silly to believe in rumors about the little creatures but it was impossible not to feel conflicted about bad signs when your life had been full of misfortune. “Its bad luck to see them,”

“Well it showed up there was no need to throw a rock at it, bad luck or not it was given the second it popped up,” his statement made you roll your eyes. What was there to do but watch the flame snuff out? It felt better to make the flame extinguish the second you saw it as if they were the thing that leached luck from you the longer they stayed around.

“I'm not going to sit and let the death promiser dance around and curse me, or you for that matter, I don't know how I would pull your corpse from the cave if you were to die from the infection they wanted to warn you about,” you watched his face pale, your eyebrows lifting letting it known that you had seen that you had won written on him, “see, so let me throw stones, I'm doing it for both of us even if you don't believe it,”

“It's only an omen, it doesn't mean anything real,” but he was trying to convince himself to fear the little flame, small and weak enough to be taken out by nothing but a pebble.

“You know we have people who read the stars? Creatures deep in the sea, the woods, the kingdom, even your precious sky. They all have stories and folklore that came from some kind of truth,” you picked up another stone in case you saw another little flame lingering around not wanting to risk a sighting even if you could help it.

“How are you planning on getting the feathers back on?” Kai wanted anything else but to talk about being the same or not, about folklore and truth. He was tired and didn't want to think about anything else besides what was supposed to come next.

“Wax, I have lots of candles stored up that will do, if I get the layers thin enough it shouldn't weigh you down. It's also soft enough so that it won’t restrict any growth when they start to grow back,” it felt far away to think about having to go through the process of aging all over again, he had been through the phase of watching his feathers transition he did not want to wait again. The wax would give him an option, anything that would help to keep him from feeling as if he fell so far back from everything he had ever known.

He wonders if you had thought through the same things with your wings before it was too late. If the idea for the wax had come before or after you buried your last option. He did not think it would be okay to ask that, not when you were helping him already. Demons being fickle was not uncommon; he wouldn't be surprised that you tossed him aside for something new to tinker with if given the option. Rather he gets as much information for you on how to help himself before you leave him with nothing at all.

You showed him the way back up and down into the cave and for a sickening second, he thought you would push him while he looked for a way to make it down without landing in the water. Your hand had been on his back to steady him and yourself on the edge together. His flinching from your touch only registered as pain and not fear. You jumped down angeling yourself so that you landed right at the edge of the water and you looked up, stepping out of the way waiting for him to follow your lead.

Kai pushed himself down feeling nothing but air for only a second but it was a second too long. He stumbled as soon as his legs hit the ground, leaning back and looking at you for a sickening moment before he was ready to accept falling back into the water, but you reached out making a fist in his shirt as his arms waved trying to find something to hold onto. The heels of his feet almost tipped him into the water, his wings shuddering and trying to pull in closer, hiding back away as if they could when this damaged. The buttons on the back started to pop with the strain of his weight and he had to reach out for you, hands wrapped around your forearm as you pulled him back to the safety of the sand.

“You're very clumsy on your feet,” you muttered, pulling yourself away from him and his tight grasp. He was embarrassed but only because he was washed in fear and being caught for it on his face.

“There was not one time you fell while jumping down?” he waved at the short distance that was available for him to land.

“Once or twice but you get used to the angle and learn,” you don't put your bag down, not when you have to turn around to look for your candles, keeping your back covered even if now you knew he would do little to hurt you physically. Everything you had picked up from your conversations and just watching him walk around made you realize just how his label fits him so well. He had been more upset over the will-o-the-wisp than his own ruining. But it still didn't make you drop your guard.

Finding your stack of candles you tucked them under your arm and turned to find Kai sitting in the sand all over again, looking out at the water and watching the way it swayed. He traced the dark outline of the opening leading out to the sea, hardly noticeable if you hadn't said there was a way out before. He would have believed there was only the two of you and not the world's ocean just a few feet away from him. So much just inches away from his tomb that he believed he would have been stuck in until someone found his heavy lead-lined bones.

“We don't have to do it tonight if you don't want to,” your voice was soft as if you knew he was stuck in some darkness in his mind, struggling against the hold of some blanket of depression he had thrown over himself and couldn't find his way out of. “It would be better too because we need the light and I can hardly make a fire big enough to produce enough,”

Light, once so easy to produce on the edge of his fingertips, wasted power on his childhood innocence trying to find ways to light up his bedroom when he was supposed to be sleeping. It had been easy back then and now sitting here wanting to get it all over with he couldn't get up enough energy to heat his skin. He was cold all over, blood leached, and hollow. Lifting his palm he focused in on his hands, the soft ridges tracing around the center supposed to be the lifeline or so he had been told. That was where he had always watched the light come from first, starting right at his wrist and working its way up curving between his thumb and pointer finger before it was nothing but light held in his hand like he had caught a star.

Now it was nothing. Not a flicker of illumination nor a hum of warmth. He balled his fist clenching until he felt his nails digging into his supposed lifeline wishing that if he squeezed hard enough he could find a single drop of anything left in him. And still nothing. Not even enough to help him now when he wanted it, needed it most. “Tomorrow,” the word was a bitter thing, in his chest and making it sound rough with hatred.

“It takes a bit to get back,” you tried not knowing why you didn't just curl up in your spot and wait for the rest of the sun to set so that you could sleep. Ignore him and his well-deserved mood. But you had done the same thing, sitting in the dark trying to make even the smallest flame and nothing would come, “I was never the best at lighting anything on fire, not even the blades of dry grass they let the little ones practice with,”

Kai listened, watching you from the corner of his eye as you took a seat next to him, legs crossed just like his, your knee so close to hitting against him he could feel the heat from it. “I should have known then that I wasn't like the rest of them, tailless, hornless, powerless,” you gave a dry humorless laugh, fiddling with the candle sticks you had, letting them spill into your lap picking one only one up and examining the wick. He traced the side of your face, following the bridge of your nose right till the end and watching you blow so softly it wouldn't have taken down the light of a birthday candle.

But a flame bloomed, catching on the wick, and dancing in the coming darkness. It lit up the features of your face, your eyes shining in the light as you watched the small reflection of your power. You had little to give, children had been playing with fire long since they were learning to crawl and you had only come to master a few tricks. “The only thing that had labeled me a demon were my wings, and they had been…” the edge of your lips wobbled, your jaw clenching closed at the itching in your throat as if this was even too much to say to him. “They had been beautiful,” it was said just as softly as the exhale you had done to light the candle, hardly there and weak.

“I didn't even care about the fire, anyone can light a match or strike flint and create a spark. But…”

“Not everyone can fly,” he could feel the way you struggled to say it as if it was traveling from his mind to yours. In the firelight he watched the tear fall, tacking down your cheek faster than you could wipe it away. But you caught it erasing it as if that would take your feelings away from you as if it would keep those intrusive memories from surfacing. Because no one would know how it felt to be that high, physically and mentally, unless they had been up there with you catching air with a laugh bubbling up from your chest like it was coming from a faucet that could never be turned off.

You blew out the candle, sticking it in the sand and pushing yourself to stand, letting the rest of the candlesticks stay laid out for tomorrow. “Don't worry about what you don't have just yet and be thankful for what you're still holding onto. I'm going to bed.” No more was needed to be said when the two of you both knew it hurt too much to find yourself in the mix of confessions and shared sympathy. So you tossed your bag to the side, turning your back to the wall and closing your eyes so that you couldn't look at the blessing you had given him and hadn't received from anyone else.

But it was incredibly hard, there was nowhere to look except him or the back of your eyelids and all you could see when you closed your eyes was the vision of you in the sky. It ached to remember and the pain was fresh looking at his new stitches that you had done even with his wings pulled in and sparse of feathers. Because he sat there at the edge of the water trying and failing to open his wings up again without your help this time.

He could tell they were stiff and he was unfamiliar with the feeling. Before it had been second nature, his wings moving as his lungs did without the need for his mind but now that he focused on them it was like they couldn't work and wouldn't unless he focused on not paying any mind to them. But it was hard to do that when his healing stitches were itching and he was told over and over again by you not to touch them. So he sat there watching the water with his back to you as if that would keep him accountable for not messing up your hard work.

All that was keeping him up was the promise of tomorrow when the sun would come out and you would help him put his feathers back even if he felt that it wouldn't work. In a way he worried it was too unnatural to work, that somehow it would just fail because it was not right, the wind would not agree and still, if it did work he had no intentions of going home. To go back with wings made of nothing but wax and thread felt like a lie of himself. Some imposter trying to pass as himself to fit back into the same life he had before. But with his wings stuck together like a forged abomination felt like he was never going to find himself comfortable there again.

He didn't care if they took him in as he was, whispered behind his back, because he knew they would, and let him pretend that everything was the same when it so clearly was not. He knew little of the world below and even less of the world below that one from where you came from, leaving home would be an adjustment but necessary. He just needed his wings healed enough to hide them back inside of him wherever it was they unfurled from when he wanted them. It had been uncomfortable back in the heavens because there was no need to hide who you were. He would have to get used to the feeling but it would not be something as horrible as this ache was now.

It wasn't until the morning, the sun just peeking over the edge of the cave's mouth that he realized he had not gotten any sleep at all. He listened to the water, the chitter of the animals in the distant woods, and the sound of your easy breathing while you dreamt. He wondered if you would have dreams of flying, if they hurt just as bad as the pain of knowing you never would fly again but he knew they must have been tethered feelings; unable to have one without the other.

He pictured you over and over again in his head. Imagined you with your wings of night in the air next to him, that laugh you had turned his way unlike the one he heard but one he wished you would give him so that he would know something in his dream would be real. This laugh was somewhere caught between a giggle and a sprinkle of light from his fingertips. He locked in on thinking of the laugh over the feeling of flying because it was impossible to not hurt when thinking of the air. But you, thinking of you, felt safe even if it was some kind of hope caught in a dream.

Because you would never fly again he knew that much because you were so certain of it. He had known of people who wanted to mimic the feeling of flight. Making things out of clockwork and magic as if it would help them but that felt worse than having to go home stitched up. To walk in with wings not even close to the ones you owned, or were born with, felt like the worst kind of death. You wouldn't have even known that you had died, that the only thing keeping your body animated and moving were the strings of your delusion tied so tight around your joints that you never got a chance to look down and realize this was not you at all.

So he tried to grasp that laugh because it was the only thing that felt close to real; the only thing that felt close to happening at all even with all the distant hope he was supposed to be having. And when you woke you could see it all over him, the failure written on every inch of him. It fueled an anger you had not felt in years, the simmering pot inside you turned up to boiling over nothing more than an empty glance.

You kept to yourself, let him stay seated by the water, and went about to find the two of you food. And it wasn't until the two of you had eaten that you set into getting yourself ready for the long days work waiting for you. Candle in hand you watched him look back out over the water and you couldn't take it anymore. Kicking at the sand you watched the grains puff up in a plume around his legs his hands waving away the dust, brows scrunched as he scowled at you, “Stop looking as if I'm a failure already,”

“I didn't say anything,” but he knows what you're talking about, the thought had infected him and was spreading as rapidly as the infection you had warned him would happen if he touched his back.

“You didn't have to say anything, trust me if saving your life meant little to me I wouldn't have done it in the first place, I wouldn't waste my time,” you grab the handfuls of feathers, his eyes locking in on them in hand.

“You have nothing better to do,” he didn't mean to say it but it was true he felt it and it made him believe it was the only reason why you were helping him. Because you were bored here, sitting in a cave doing nothing that he could see because there was nothing to do but sit. He had made it so that you had something to do. In a moment you would turn him away and tell him not to come back, to find someone else willing to help him. But you wouldn't let him give up on you.

“No, I don't but I could have done anything else besides this. Hell it might be more fun watching you fall again than it would be to watch you actually fly but I guess we won't know unless we try,” but Kai’s scowl was back and it was better than seeing him feel nothing at all.

“Why would you say that? You know what it's like-”

“Exactly why would I help you for nothing at all but boredom? I wouldn't help if I didn't want to see you succeed, I wouldn't be doing this at all I would have let you die. So stop wasting my limited kindness and accept my effort without believing it will lead to nothing but failure,”

“You would do that, wouldn't you?” because it had caught on him, the idea of being watched as he fell again by someone who would enjoy it. Unlike the first time, it would be worse, he would never come back from that fall, because even if he had forgiven the person who had pushed him he had known the second he felt their foot on his spine that it had been out of pure evil, if it were you doing all this just to watch him fail again it would be worse and there would be no forgiveness. “Build me up only to prove I should never fly again,”

“You are incredibly cynical,” you blow on your candle, watching the flame heat the ivory colored wax so close to matching the color of his feathers. “Did you ever think that maybe I want you to succeed? That it would help me see you make it out of here more yourself than I ever would have left this place?” you stand behind him, pushing back the first row of feathers as gently as you can before placing the feather over the node you knew a new one would find to grow. You tilt the candle just enough until the wax drips, translucent dots pattering around the area as you watch the way they dry the color blending in perfectly. You let the feather go watching the way it sticks and stayed in place, right where it looked like it had never been gone.

Kai could not feel the process, not when he was lost in his thoughts. He tried to separate the knowledge of you being a demon away from the proof he had of you being nothing more than someone who was lost. The two could be synonymous is what he reminds himself over again. He had his back to you and was hoping you wouldn't shove a knife right through him but that didn't mean he wasn't worried.

He did not bring up his thoughts again, he let you work and passed himself off as being hopeful when it was the last thing he felt he was. He was grateful that you cared enough to try even if he believed you had ulterior motives but he would not say out loud that he had any hope when it was not true and if it was it felt wrong to jinx it.

And so you worked, the slow repetitive motions evening out your heartbeat. And even when the wax fell to your fingers you did not flinch, taking the slight burn and continuing. Even Kai did not back away from the fallen wax when the sparse drops landed on his back. Anything was better than the pain he had felt before and now this felt pleasant, trembling from the shock the first time and accepting any other spot that made itself known to him.

Then the two of you began to talk, small things that felt so insignificant when you were alone. His first question filled up the silence, “What's your favorite color?” you had not been asked in years something so lighthearted, there was no need to have a favorite when you wouldn't seek it out.

“I don't know,” you had shrugged, dripping the wax over the next feather in the lineup. By midday, you had done one whole wing. The way the feathers overlapped made it so that you never even saw the wax since most of the top feathers had stayed in place.

“You don't know? How could you not know your favorite color?” It was hard to explain to him how it didn't matter because Kai would take nothing short of an answer he saw as being good enough. He asked again, asked what it had been like when you were a child, and he listened as you tried to explain. Answering his own questions and trying to take everything off his mind besides you and who you were.

He asked you everything and anything he could think of until it was too late and the only thing he could think about was the fact you had stopped and were looking over his stitches again. “Is it bad?”

“No,” it was the opposite of bad, he healed exceedingly fast because of his angel blood, the once torn flesh already looking a day away from having the stitches removed. “It's doing well, but I ran out of feathers for your right wing,”

“Oh,” he felt like he had been deflated, his shoulders already bent forward so that you could have the best access to his back and he did not think he could sag anymore, yet he did. Periodically as you added more feathers in you would tap your wax-coated fingertip against his spine asking him to stretch his wings out. In the length of a day, he felt stronger and more like himself as the time passed. He could hold the weight of his wings up fine even with the thread still pulling him together bit by bit. And now he couldn't even finish what had been started.

You had not thought before you spoke up next, the words spilling out as easily as the continued answers to his constant questions, “I still have a few from my wings if you don't mind the color,” but once it was said it felt right. You had no need for the feathers anymore, the only thing they did was bring you pain. They should have been buried right along with the rest of your wing and now you knew that there was some reason out there why you had kept them besides the reminder of a painful past. If they could help it felt right just as it felt right the second you pulled him out of the moon pool. You could give them up because in some way healing him was healing you. What better than to let your feathers fly again when you could not?

And Kai did not mind, not when now he was itching to fly again, the hope somehow filtering into him the second you had told him to stretch his wings out again, to try. He let you put the feathers on, looked at the glossy ink color, and had not turned away because now he was tying the strings of his delusion on and he could not bring himself to stop.

You did not feel loss this time around when seeing your past spilled out in a heap in your lap as you took wax to each one, fastening it to the angel boy's wing to give him one last chance that you wish you could have had. It felt cathartic, watching the way the colors contrasted and blended so well together. Your fingers ran over the line of them the second you had finished. A soft sad smile on your lips as you told Kai to stretch one final time before trying to fly.

It felt so sudden, so soon from the last time he had taken flight. He hadn't even realized it was his last time at least before the fall. He wondered if you remembered your last time, what it had been like, and if it felt just as insignificant to you as it had to him. Wondered what you would have preferred your last flight to have felt like, where you would have gone. But the thoughts were a distraction to him trying to fly now.

Kai stretched his wings, the white expanse only broken up by the tip of black at the end of his right wing. He couldn't remember what it felt like to lift off the ground instead of hurtling towards it but then he felt it, his heels lifting first, and the soft beat of his wings echoing in the small space. You stood back watching with a blank expression, tingling all over because you couldn't believe you had done it. He was up, the tips of his shoes just hitting the stirring sand before he felt his wings give out.

Shouting he fell, the distance nothing but a foot but feeling like he had come crashing all the way back down the side of a mountain. His back ached but not from pain but the strain of weakness. “You can try again tomorrow, we just have to keep at it even if it's a little bit every day,” Kai had fallen to his knees, looking up at you with his slumped shoulders and puppy dog eyes.

“Thank you,” the words still tumbled into you, but it was easier to accept when the fruits of your labor were still right at the forefront of your mind. He had flown even if it was just a foot, it had been more than what either of you had expected. You had worried of his stitches ripping, worried of the feathers falling with only a few beats of wind and they had not, both holding stronger than your conviction.

Your smile could not be contained, the edges of your mouth trying to hold it back like a stranger at the door because it had been far too long since the last time you felt this happy about anything. “It worked,” disbelief made itself known in your tone but Kai was just as surprised. He did not care at that moment if he got any higher off the ground, only that he did not have to lose so much of himself. “It worked,” he mimicked his smile wobbling as he fought back his tears, “it worked,”

It was the way he said it last that hit home. You did not think about it hurting so bad to see him succeed, jealousy thick and alive in your blood. You wanted that feeling, you wanted those words to come from you not just from being an aid but from being the project. The words were felt all throughout you as he whispered them, just enough to watch the stress of never again flying dissipate into nothing but happiness. He had been empty and you had tipped in a bucket of everything you had to give, he had gained so much and you lost more than you had to offer him.

There was nothing more to call it besides envy; sickening jealousy. If you could rip the wings right off his back and give them to yourself in that split second you would have. It was not productive but it was the only thing you could see when you looked at him. But you shook your head as if you had been caught in the rain and needed to get the water from your hair, pushing the thoughts to the side. You would never have what he did, no way for you to have given yourself the chance in the way that you had given it to him.

So you squashed the feeling, talked yourself out of the need to cry once the two of you had laid down. Your back to the wall again as you look at him with that faint smile on his lips because he was getting to sleep peacefully since the first time he had come here without the aid of his pain. The outline of his wings in the darkness made them look just like a shadow behind him. And it was so hard not to cry as soon as you knew he was asleep. Wanted to turn and face the wall to give yourself the illusion of privacy in your struggle to keep the burn in your throat from turning into a sob you had fallen into to fitful sleep.

What had awoken Kai was the strain in your voice, the way you muttered, again and again, the word no, the noise of it getting louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore the sound as if it was nothing more than the hum of a mourning bird's song. He opened his eyes and there you were on your makeshift bed, your face pressed into the blanket, your back turned to the sky and you reached back trying to scratch at your shoulder blades. But even in sleep, he could see the way it pained you, hands only just brushing over your shoulders when you found yourself pinned down in sleep. You were whining, crying in your sleep, and it was full of pain.

Because in your sleep you had dreamt of that first night without your wings. You could not lay on your side, could not lay any other way but with your face to the ground like they were pulling your wings from you all over again. Back facing the sky praying that they didn't come in because you had no strength to turn over, no strength in you except to try and restrain yourself from scratching at the healing wounds, unaided by careful stitches.

It had been a long time since you had felt the dream so real that it made you believe there was something wrong with your back. Because you were somewhere on the edge of your dream telling yourself it was real, that the pain was right there at the surface and you didn't know it unless you woke up. If only you could just wake up instead of struggling as you had back then. And when you looked to your side there was no kai, just the outline of that wing, the one you had to pull off there dead and waiting for its burial.

But Kai would not let you sleep through it, not let you scratch at your shoulders and wade through the dreamscape colored in nothing but the shade of a nightmare. He grasped your sleeping hand, the one fluttering at your back like a moth to a flame and curled his fingers between yours. Your hands fit neatly against his, locking in place as if you had been reaching out for him the whole time. His free hand was at your lower back, keeping away from the top where he knew you were trying to reach. And when your eyes opened your gasp followed the way you shot up, back pressed back to the wall and you tried to cure the burning.

You knew this feeling, the momentary ghost wings pretending they still had feelings for which could be hurt. Everything about you felt as if it was shaking, like a rattling cabinet of glass in an earthquake because your world was shaking at your feet telling you something was wrong but you couldn't tell what it was. “It's okay it was only a nightmare,” Kai tried to sooth, thumb running over the back of your hand that he held in both of his.

In your dream you had been alone, so much of it had been like it always was. Pain circling around everything you had come to know. But now there had been pain but the faint hurt that Kai had not been there to help you. As if he could go back in time and do what you had for him even if it was no use you had just wanted him to be there next to you. But he hadn't been and in the mix of the sobs you had found his name and prayed he would hear because if they were your dreams you should have been able to grab them by the neck and control them, not follow them down the dark hall that felt neverending.

But waking up to know he had been here the whole time, knowing that if he had been there he would have helped just the same, settled something inside you that had been overrun with worry. You unfurled your arms from around yourself, throwing them around Kai’s neck and pulling him into a hug.

He did not freeze up under your hold but melted into you, sliding his hands around your back and pulling you closer to him, your face pressed into the space between his throat and his collarbone. He hadn't known how much a hug would have helped him just as it was helping you. You were warm and clinging to him in a way no one had ever needed him.

Kai could have sat like that with you in his arms until the sun came up and you would have let him because you needed to be closer and needed something that only he could give you. Your fingers ran through his hair, his hands sliding down your lower back pulling you to straddle his hips because he needed you chest to chest, needed to feel the weight of you against them to make sure that he knew it was real just the same as you did. “You're okay,” he whispered the words, a hammer against the dam you had walled up in place to keep you from ever getting close to anyone ever again.

It was so quick you are unsure why it was your instant reaction. Your lips kissed over the mole he had right along the column of his throat. The feeling of his words pressed right to your mouth when he hummed your name. Everything was so much easier to do in the half dark, the room alight in that blue glow of the water, the moon still high in the sky as he slipped his hands under your shirt, cool against your heated skin and only making you arch further into him, hips sinking as you kissed up his neck.

Neither of you stopped the other from the exploration, you curled your fingers in his hair right at the base of his neck and he found any expanse of skin that he could let his fingers touch. And when you finally made your kisses stop right at the edge of his lips he couldn't help but turn his head, chasing after your mouth with his desperate desire to get lost in you. Because once you started neither of you could pull yourself away from stopping.

He tasted like nothing short of twinkling light filling the darkness that you had let wash over you for far too long. His soft moans caught in your mouth with each drag of your hips now perfectly placed over him and his wanting need. It was the only way to describe the way he was feeling, he did not just want you, he needed you, so hard from just a few devouring kisses that you couldn’t resist.

You pulled away for only a second standing so that you could take the few clothes you had on off. Kai sitting there watching in awe as you peeled off your shirt, his hands itching to have you back on him with no layers between the two of you, chest to chest but closer now being skin to skin. He reached out for your hips pulling you closer to him so that he could rest his chin on your stomach, looking at you like the fallen angel he was, like you were the only savior he had written in his stars.

He let his lips pepper over you, your hands brushing the hair from his brow, his fingers dipping into your waistband holding the fabric in a way that asked you for permission to tug them down and off. “Please,” he whispered check pressed to your hip, “I need you,” and you would give him everything he asked for if he continued looking at you in that way as if nothing in the world mattered but you at this moment, not your blood or cruel words, just a boy and a girl seeking out the pleasure of another.

You let him take your pants off just as easily as he had let you tug him free from his. And when you sank onto him, took all of him in with a gasp at the stretch working its way through you, nothing had felt more right. Because he was curving into you, your lips were his only salvation as you slowly rocked your hips back and forth on him. His face washed in the pleasure of having you his hands growing warmer and warmer as they held your back. You did your best to avoid his stitches, ignoring his wings that twitched along with his body every time you found a new slow rhythm to move to.

The angle the two of you had was grinding against your pleasure point, your moans so sweet and rumbling against him. He traced up the line of your spine with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around your back to make sure you stayed in the circle of space the two of you had created. You whimpered when he brushed over the scars on your back but did not pull away, letting him have a part of you that you would never give to anyone else because he knew what it was like, he knew what it meant, this level of trust rushing into you almost as fast as your coming orgasm. And right behind him the soft blue light of a will-o-the-wisp on the water, gone as quickly as it had come into your field of vision but you would not have cared in that moment anyway.

Both of you neared the end, and when you came, the feeling in your belly took all the space to think because it had been reduced to feeling only him and the pleasure he was giving you. His hands felt hot and alive with the power he had believed had been lost to him as you trembled in his hold, swallowing down each little noise you made. He guided you down to the blanket stretched out on the sand, rocking his hips now chasing after his own high watching the hazy look wash over your face as you held onto his shoulders. And behind him his wings spread covering the two of you in that safe space you had craved more than anything, his panting breaths pressed to your neck as he spilled all he had into you.

You could only focus on him and the way he brought you the closest you had ever felt to being whole again. Wrapped up in nothing but him was close to being saved because you both knew how similar you were and to be seen like this, to be understood, was healing all on its own and you welcomed everything he had to offer. You would let him take you again and again because you felt linked, the jealousy washed away because being held like this was enough to sedate the torment you had found yourself subjected to being here alone for so long.

And in the morning, when the sun came in on the new day you never felt as excited to see the light as you did in that moment. Because Kai was grinning looking over at you knowing what it meant. He would go out and try again and again until he knew that he could fly even if it took time but here starting today would be the beginning and he would be starting it all with you at his side.

He did not need help out of the cave's mouth this time, pulling himself up as easily as if he had been doing it his whole life. And he stood, looking out over the water below him and knowing that if he fell he had you there willing to pull him out if he needed it. He looked to the sky the second you pulled yourself up next to him, his wings spreading out and beating softly enough to draw your attention. “We don't have to start so high up. I know it's a short distance to the ground and it won't hurt much if you fall but just in case it might be better to go to the beach,”

He should have listened to you but he was too excited to think about where he was when all he wanted to do was fly. “Just this once and we can go to the beach and try again if not,” he reached his hand out at his side, low enough to find yours and your welcome squeeze in support.

“It's okay if you don't get up too high so long as they can carry your weight that's the main issue at the moment because of the stitches,” Kai nodded along half listening as he focused in on the clouds. He pulled your hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before letting it go once more before trying.

Both of you held your breath, the seconds passing slowly as you waited for his heels to lift again only this time it was so much higher, Kai was rising, each beat of his wings only raising him and widening your smile. You had done it, you had made him fly again and it didn't hurt but made you elated.

Kai could feel the wind welcoming him, pushing him up and up until he could see nothing but the expanse of blue and you were gone. It was that thought that had him going back. He could have spent all day up there if he could, if he knew that it wouldn't hurt him if he pushed himself so far but thinking of you watching him without being able to feel it tore into him. He flew back down landing right where he had started and laughed like it had caught him by surprise.

And he looked at you, his arms open enough for you to run into them, that smile you wore was going to be tattooed along the insides of his eyelids because it was the only thing we wanted to see. Because you had done this for him, you had given him his flight back, his hope, and wrapped in nothing but sarcasm and truth because it was your way. So he hugged you tight, kissed you until your arms were locked around him just right and he took you with him.

It had only been in dreams that you felt the faint feeling of being weightless. The wind hits your face as you let the laugh bask in the morning sun with you. It had been everything Kai had wanted, his dreams coming to reality as he caught the wind to carry the two of you higher and higher, until it felt as if you both would be made of nothing but clouds and happiness. He knew what it meant to be up in the sky like this again for you and knew that it would never be much of a thank you in return for what you have given back to him.

And when he found a place to be steady, beating wings behind him, no pain in sight as the two of you looked out over the green and blue land and water below you. He held you close, arms keeping you up and in place even with your dangling feet picking up the memory of what it had been like before when you were a child with nothing to be scared of because you had not been wronged yet, you had only been a girl with wings happy to be in the air.

Kai pressed his forehead to yours, nose dipping and bumping your cheek as he kissed the edge of your smile. And it didn't matter anymore if you felt weak, or had been told it was all that you had ever been because you had saved someone worthy of being saved, picking up yourself along the way and flying through him when flying was only a word thrown around to hurt you. You had put his wings back when they had been nothing but torn flesh and nothing made you feel this good, only the knowledge that you knew he would take you again if you asked.

The trail of your fingers did not cross your mind when you felt this good, your subconscious working over the thoughts you were having and putting together the puzzle you had made by following the seam of his stitches. You could feel the knot you had tied to secure the wing in place, the spot you would have to cut away when pulling the thread free after you had checked again that his fast healing had done its job.

But the ghosting of your touch on the closed wound was akin to you pushing him into a frozen lake, the ice breaking beneath him and reminding him just how heavy he had been when he had nothing behind him to support his body. It was the fear mixed with your words that you had said what felt like ages ago, as if when the two of you had shared then you had been different people. But here at his core, he felt it, that foreboding and gut-turning maggots wiggling into his skin and poisoning his already made-up mind. ‘Hell it might be more fun watching you fall again than it would be to watch you actually fly but I guess we won't know unless we try,’ you had said those words, he had rolled them over in his head over and over again because it had not sit right with him, but he could not remember the rest of the conversation, not when your fingers were messing with the stitches right on his back like you were fulfilling a promise.

It had been quick, the intrusive thought taking over because all he could think again was that you two were similar. He would have helped you yes but if it had been him or you at the bottom of the water and both of you had to pick who got their wings back he would not hesitate to make sure he felt this feeling again. And having you here, threat alive in his mind he could not help himself from leaning into the cruelty if it meant saving this.

And so he let you go.

When in his arms it had been the illusion of flying, still grounded to him just by holding on but falling from this height was even closer to the feeling of flying. The wind rippled around you as you fell in slow motion, his sweet angelic face washed in shock at what he had done and all you could do was think about how you would forgive him because you knew that if it had been you in his place, demon or angel, you would have done the same.

You did not feel heavy, you felt free and the laughter echoed around Kai as he realized his mistake. His fear had control over him in ways he had not expected it to and his shouting did nothing to make it any closer to you as he tried to catch up to your falling form hurtling closer to a waiting grave that had once had a tombstone with his name written on it. You had missed this feeling of freefall and descent, missed the open arms of the wing kissing your skin in the same way Kai’s hands had only the night before.

And then the feathers started to rain. A few white tumbled down along with you as you looked up at him, wax melting from being so close to the sun for only a short time. The edge of his right wing was still tipped in black as if your feathers had infected his mind and thoughts as if they had been the cause of the drop and not the sickening worry he had of losing everything that had just been returned to him. But you could not stop yourself from thinking again of the story you had been told as a child. That demons had been the same as angels, cast out for the bitterness lingering in their near-empty hearts. You two were the same, cast out, and only now did he truly see it.

The last of his feathers started to come free, his control over his wings lessening as the two of you fell, the sky a perfect image of just you and him with feathers all around as it had always been. The spotting of inky black feathers floating around you, finally ready to be buried alongside the body they had come from. You reached out, Kai’s hand already trying to find anything on you to grasp but was just far enough to miss by the brush of his fingertips. The expanse of blue widens around you and is impossible to tell if you were rising in the sky or sinking closer to the waiting ocean.

If falling felt like flying you would welcome the feeling because anything was better than nothing at all.

<333 thank you to @beomiracles who wrote the opening paragraph that is italicized for this event so that we could all start on the same page- taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @no1likemybbgcharlie @chasingthatjjunie @taegyutomorrow @izzyy-stuff @yeoningz @filmnings @jellymochii @dawngyu @bamgyuuuri @lickingan0rchid @felixleftchickennugget @thetxtdevil @luvsicktyun @hyukascampfire @prince-jjae @liverspaghett want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join!want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

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thaleleah · 3 months ago

Text

𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓝𝓾𝓷, 𝓡𝓾𝓷!

Pairing: Dark!Vampire!Coriolanus x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Coriolanus, Vampire!Coriolanus, Evil!Coriolanus, Nun!Reader, Virgin!Reader, P in V, Oral (male receiving), Throat Fucking, Creampie, Slight Breath Play, Slight Bondage, Predator/Prey Kink, Fear Kink (?), Blood, Biting, Branding (he carves his initials into her skin), Burning (she burns him with a cross), Dirty Talk, Humiliation/Name Calling (ex: whore, slut, cocksleeve), Corruption Kink, Murder, Death/Dead bodies on screen, Talk about bodily injuries/gore (ex: throat ripped out, breaking bones, scratching hard enough to bleed, burning skin, carving initials into skin), A lot of praying, Author probs going to hell cause this is her second fic about a nun being fucked/noncon-ed

Word Count: 10.9K

A/N: Inspired by this ask because it asked me my thoughts on Vampire!Coryo and clearly i have many.

A/N 2: Coryo might be a little OOC cause I'm not used to writing him yet and this is a different setting than TBOSAS soooo you've been warned lol. I tried tho!

Summary: Something evil has taken over the halls of the convent. Your Sisters are dying, their screams ringing in your ears as they cry and plead, begging God for mercy that He can't provide. One by one they're killed by the devil with sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue. He's coming for you next and you have nowhere to hide when he comes for your soul.

At first you think you’re dreaming it - the screaming, the cries, the pleas for mercy.

They cut through the fog of sleep, a sharp knife piercing through the veil of dreams that were too mundane to be of importance for your brain to remember. Or maybe you weren’t dreaming at all, enjoying the stillness that comes with the night and the only other moment of true peace that can be found to just be one with God and His glory outside of active prayer.

Panic rips through you, your body tensing and jerking awake in the same way that you jerk awake from a dream where you fall from a great height. Tossing the blanket off, you scramble off the bed, the old wood creaking under the abrupt shift in weight as your bare feet find the floor. The screaming is relentless, the sound laced with unfounded terror and you stare at the door of your room in horror, looking at it but not really seeing it as much as trying to see through it as if you could see what was causing such a reaction from here.

The screams sound like they’re far, loud enough to carry through the convent but far enough that you can guess they’re coming from the other set of dormitories all the way across the building. You’re frozen in your spot, eyes wide as you hear the screams rip through the usual quiet of the convent. It's well into the night and the Grand Silence had begun to be observed since its marker of evening prayer. It’s a time for quiet - personal reflection, rest, and prayer until its conclusion at sunrise beginning with morning prayer. Sound hasn’t been uttered in these halls during this time in all the years you have been positioned here, and certainly not this kind of sound - the terrified screams, the desperate cries.

Something horrible is happening here. Your Sisters are in trouble.

A scream almost rips from your own throat when your door swings open, but the familiar sight of Sister Agnes keeps the sound at bay. Her face is ashen, fear striking her normally good-spirited features as she quickly closes the door shut behind her.

“Sister,” You speak, voice low and shaky. “What’s happening?”

“A devil is here,” She says, frantically. “A demon. Here to kill and torture and corrupt us all to Hell.”

“What?!”

“Sister, please!” She rushes to the chair housing your habit and yanks it off the backrest, pressing it into your chest. “Please, hurry! We must leave!”

You fumble with your habit, jerking it over your undertunic and doing your best to fit your veil on your head as you slip your bare feet into your shoes. A devil here in the house of the Lord? How is this possible? The land here is holy, consecrated under God’s divine power and kept active by His devote servants that serve here. No evil power should be able to enter. And yet, the screams you are hearing are proof that it is possible - that evil has indeed entered this sacred place and is tainting the very place you’ve felt God’s presence the most.

The only place you’ve ever felt truly safe.

Sister Agnes opens the door when you scramble to her side. It’s dark in the hallway, only the dim emergency lights along the walls allow you any sort of visibility in the otherwise black of the hall. Whatever it is must have cut the power before beginning its attack. Her hand reaches out to clasp yours and you allow it gratefully, squeezing her fingers with yours to keep her close as if she could be ripped away from you at any second.

“Where is it?” You whisper. It’s in the opposite wing, you know that. Sister Anges’s room is on the other side of the convent as yours. She would have had to run across the building to come warn you of the breach.

“Sister Agatha has fallen,” She whispers back and you suck in a deep breath of sorrow. “He came so quietly, made no sound. The front door is still locked shut, all the windows intact, I don’t know how–” She cuts herself off and continues to drag you down the hallway. Her voice is thick with tears. “He came for me next, lunged at me. Sister Theresa saved my life. She’s gone too, God bless her soul.”

You heard the screams and still, the news of your Sister’s gruesome deaths shocks you to your core. Sister Theresa was your mentor here during your first year at the convent, and Sister Agatha had only freshly said her vows. They’re gone - lives ripped away from them in a matter of minutes by a devil with no soul.

Sister Agnes leads you through the halls towards the main entryway. You peek into rooms as you pass them, eyes frantic and head on a swivel for any movement that’s not friendly. Sister Ruth and Sister Sophia’s doors are already open as you and Sister Agnes scramble down the hall. You hope that means that they’ve already gotten out and gotten to safety. There are periods of silence where the screams are cut to a halt, a result of their owner being mercilessly ripped from this world before their time. You feel hopeless as you run through the convent towards the exit. It feels like abandoning God and the beautiful place that He’s guided His followers to build. It feels wrong that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It feels like failure.

The entry area has a little more light, emergency lights flickering slightly but still on as you take in the scene in front of you. There’s blood on the floor, the stream of it flowing and making its way into the grout between the tiles, following the line of it as it copies the pattern. There’s blood, but no body - although the smearing line leading to the kitchen just off the entryway is story enough to know what happened. One of your Sisters was dragged away just feet from the door.

The door itself is still closed. Locked. You wonder if anyone has actually made it out yet.

Sister Agnes freezes at the sight of the blood like you do, her hand tightening even more around yours as she lets out a sobbing gasp.

“Lord, have mercy,” She whimpers.

“Come on,” You say, pulling her. “Hurry,”

You take a step, urging you both towards the door, and then you’re being shoved forward instead. Sister Agnes’s body flies forward, her hand still locked onto yours dragging your body with her as she’s tackled to the floor. You fall to your knees next to her, directly next to the Vampire straddling her hips, his hand spanning the entire length of her face as he pushes her head back against the bloody tile. Your scream matches Sister Agnes’s as he tears into her throat. Her screams of terror pierce your heart just as deeply as his teeth pierce her flesh. You can’t see his face as he digs it into the crook of her neck, but you can see hers - can see the panic in her eyes as they flick around but never actually catching on anything, can see how her mouth opens and closes with a mixture of terrible screams until those screams turn raspy and then silent altogether as he drains her.

Her hand is still on yours like a vice grip and you’re sorry, so so sorry, but it's too late for her. Sister Agnes is still here, still in the world of the living, still moving and silently screaming but you know she’s as good as dead. You’re going to die too if you don’t do something. Tears race down your cheeks as you try to pull your hand from hers, your vision blurring the more you panic when you can’t free yourself.

The monster reaches out, not bothering to stop drinking as his hand wraps around Sister Agnes’s wrist. Bile rises in your throat when you hear the sickening crunch of her bones splintering under the increasing pressure of his hold. They shatter like glass, the cracking sounds embedding themselves in your memory, but her shattered wrist forces her hand to loosen around your own and with another desperate tug you’re able to free yourself from her dying grasp.

You scramble up onto your feet and watch as the last remains of consciousness drain from Sister Agnes’s eyes. She was your best friend.

The Vampire is directly between you and the door. You can’t do it. If you try to make a break for the exit, he would catch you for sure before you even made it past the door frame. And even if you were to make it outside, it’s still dark out, the sun still hours from being overhead in any way that could possibly keep you safe from an undead demon of darkness. You make a split decision and turn to run the opposite way instead, deeper into the convent.

This time you do scream when you run into another body. Sister Sophia, pale face made even more pale by the lack of blood in her body, lays discarded on the ground at the beginning of the hallway. Her veil is pulled halfway off her head and her blonde hair is stained with blood. She hasn’t just been drained - her entire throat has been ripped out.

“Sister y/n!” A voice hisses and your attention is called to just further down the hall where Sister Ruth crouches beside another body, her hand resting gently on their forehead. You run towards her, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the Vampire isn’t stalking his way down the hall yet and you see that the second body is Sister Runa. Perhaps he was more gentle with her, she looks like she’s just sleeping except for the red stained white collar at her throat.

“We have to go,” She says, pulling her hand from Sister Runa’s forehead. She grabs your arm, pulling you down the hallway. She doesn’t need to pull you, you’re already running as fast as your legs can carry you, and yet somehow she’s still pulling you - urging you to run faster, hustle harder. Your life is at stake, y/n. Run! “We can lock ourselves in the Chapel! Pray to God and beg Him for–”

Sister Ruth doesn’t catch the flash of movement on her right, the dark silhouette of the man crouched on the shoulders of the statue of the Virgin Mary. He leans out into the fluorescent lights of the hall, blond curly hair and equally as curled grin already matted in red to show the evil he’s already done. You don’t have time to think about how he got there, how impossible it is that he’s in front of you right now when he should be coming from behind you. He’s quick as lightning as he jumps from his perch on the statue and grabs Sister Ruth, pulling her towards him so her back is pressed against his front and he’s trapped her arms against her own chest. The flash of fangs is all you see before he buries them in her neck. She screams when he bites her. Her eyes squeeze shut as she wails, but your eyes never leave her. You can’t look away, can’t think, can’t move.

He’s drinking from her but he’s looking at you, inhuman blue eyes swirling into black like ink as they bore into you like a predator watching his next prey. He growls against her neck, a possessive and cruel sound that almost sounds more like a laugh than anything else, and the sound of it makes a fresh sob bubble in your throat.

“Sister y/n,” Sister Ruth rasps, and your eyes snap away from his and back to hers. Her eyes are hooded now, body quickly losing color from blood loss and her voice, once beautiful and rich, by far the best singer at the convent, sounds like sandpaper. “Run,”

You don’t hesitate. For her sake, and for yours, you do.

Your Sisters are all dead.

Sister Theresa.

Sister Agnes.

Your shoes smack against the white and gold tile of the floor, the colors interwoven together beautifully to look like marble. Most days you like to admire it on your walk to the Chapel for morning prayer, a beautiful detail created with the utmost love in honor of God and the place He can call His house.

It’s not morning yet, and the beautiful marble of the tile is splattered in bright red.

Sister Agatha.

Sister Runa.

The smack of your shoes against the tile is louder still as you run faster, the echo of your sob drowning out the thick clacks of your heel as the sound bounces off the arched walls of the hallway.

Sister Sophia.

Sister Ruth.

You want to help her, find some way to save her.

You can’t even save yourself.

A devil has taken over a House of the Lord, an evil spirit in his undead body roaming the world in the cover of night with sharp teeth and wicked eyes that gleam in the darkness right before he pounces and sinks his teeth into his prey. You’ve heard of Vampires before - Mother Superior had drilled their existence into your head no matter how impossible it seemed that they could be real.

“If God is real, child, what makes you think demons are not as well,”

Children of God reduced to prey by ones who were also once held in His holy cradle, now desecrating His love by trading their souls to the Devil in exchange for immortality. Forced to take another’s life just to sustain their own and relishing in that need anyway, finding joy and satisfaction in the hunt and the torment they cause once they’ve caught you.

You need to move, need to get to the Chapel. It’s the only place you have a chance at being safe.

You keep running, sprinting for the Chapel. Seeing the tall ornate door frame to the Chapel feels like the first moment you saw it all over again. Four years ago when you first took your vows, seeing the intricate carvings in the wood of the frame felt like a blessing being bestowed on you. It was the entrance to a place that was holy, filled and overwhelmed with God’s presence, a sanctuary and place of eternal safety for you for the rest of your days.

Now it's the only hope of sanctuary you have. You try not to think of the irony that the rest of your days have come this soon.

An agonized sob wretches from your chest when you see her. Mother Superior - your mentor, your confidant, the woman who took you under her wing when you were lost in this world and had nothing, the woman who taught you how to be someone worthy of the title Sister. You love your Sisters, the people who you consider family in both the spiritual and the physical. Sister Agnes - your best friend. But seeing Mother Superior’s mangled body feels like the stab of a knife directly to your heart.

She’s slumped against the thick wood of the doorway, white coif ripped and stained a brutal red. Her head is tilted to the side, exposed neck muddled with the matching red on her coif and adorned with twin puncture wounds. The punctures are still bleeding, but Mother Superior is no longer alive to notice.

“I’m so sorry,” You cry. You kneel down beside her and bless yourself with the sign of the cross on her behalf. “May God be with you and keep you safe in your journey to Him,”

You can’t delay anymore. Sister Ruth has told you what to do and Mother Superior would have told you the same. You cross the threshold into the Chapel and close the doors behind you. They’re large and heavy and hard to push shut, but the adrenaline coursing through your body is very helpful in making a usually two person task doable for just one.

“So do not fear, for I am with you,” You recite as you push the doors. “Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you,” You grunt as you pull the thick board down from the side, it thuds into place, hefty and sturdy as it locks the two doors together. You wonder if it was built to protect in a time like this. “And help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

Deep breath. Just breathe.

Breathe and pray and hope for mercy.

You turn around intent on going to kneel in front of the altar but a flash of green tossed along the edge of a pew catches your attention. Horror floods your body once again as you recognize it for what it is - Father Gregory’s stole. And you can see it from here, the smattering of blood along the edge and you know that Father Gregory, the poor devout priest who was only meant to be here for one single day, acting as the active voice of God to hear the burdens of you and your fellow Sisters and free you from your sins, has also succumbed to the devil stalking these hallowed halls.

You rush down the aisle and throw yourself in front of the altar, knees pressing into the hard tile as you clasp your hands together.

Prayer is all that can help you now.

Your words of praise are muddled with desperate pleas for mercy. The stained glass along the walls of the Chapel are usually beaming bright and beautiful with light, but the dark of night doesn’t reflect the color and only the dim emergency lights of the dying Chapel overheads is all you have to keep you from seeing demon shadows of movement where there is none.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,

On earth as it is in Heaven,”

You jump, a sobbing gasp mingling with the rushed words of your praying as a loud bang of a body being thrown into the thick doors echoes loudly through the Chapel.

“Little nun, little nun, let me in,”

“Give us this day our daily bread,” Another bang tears through the Chapel and your body jumps again with the sound, but your praying doesn’t stop.

“Forgive us our tresspasses,” BANG.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” BANG.

“And lead us not,” BANG. “Into temptation,” BANG.

You can hear the wood splintering as he throws his body against the doors, and you can’t keep from shaking, tears pricking at your eyes and racing down your cheeks as they slide over the curve of your jaw.

“But deliver us from evil,”

BANG.

“Deliver us from evil,”

“I smell you, little nun!”

BANG.

“Lord, please deliver me from this evil!” You sob.

And it’s at that moment that the doors break open.

The sound of the doors giving way under his force feels like a gunshot straight to your heart. He’s inside - demonic monster, killer - breaking down the final form of defense you have as if it was nothing under the inhuman power of his undead body. You can’t turn around, forcing yourself to stay facing forward as you sob out line after line of prayer, your panicked praise and pleas for mercy echoing through the high arches of the Chapel.

A loud whistle rips through the Chapel as if someone is pretending to be impressed and even though you can’t hear his footsteps, his shoes making no sound on the floor as he walks with the ease and stealth of a predator, you know he’s getting closer - can feel the way the air shifts around you as he nears. Your brain is screaming at you to turn around, to try to run and protect yourself at any cost, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and watch as your ruin approaches you.

“Well, well, look at what we have here,” He coos. “The lone survivor.”

He sounds like he’s all the way across the Chapel and somehow speaking directly in your ear all at once, his voice carrying through the holy place like his is the only voice it should ever amplify instead of the Lord’s words, and for a horrifying moment you wonder if that means this place is no longer holy.

“Our final tribute,” Closer and closer, steps silent as he stalks nearer but you can hear how his nails, sharp pointed and lethal, designed for cruelty, tear against the wood of the sides of the pews as he passes by, dealing destruction in his wake. You jump when he’s suddenly upon you, crouching behind you and his hand slaps against your forehead, forcing your head back as he growls in your ear. “God’s last whore.”

“Our Father,” You whimper, tears blurring your vision as you crane your neck back against his hand, and all you can do from this position is look at the large statue of Jesus pinned on the cross displayed high on the wall across from you. “Who art in Heaven.”

“Do you really think there’s a Heaven?” His voice is low in your ear, soft and smooth, deceptively charming despite the chilling undercurrent and the way it sends shivers down your spine. “Is that where you think all your fellow nuns went? Do you think they’re happy up there? With your God, safe and sound and free of fear, pain? Do you think they’re waiting for you now? With open arms and waiting for you to join them in - what is it? Everlasting peace? A paradise, right?”

He nuzzles his face against the side of your head and you can feel the sharp grin against your temple. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the erratic thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump so intense that you can feel it in your throat, and you accidentally skip a few lines in your prayer. You stutter to correct, your words twisting over themselves as you struggle to find your place, and although his laugh is just a quiet chuckle pressed against the panicked sweat of your temple, it rings through your ears like the cruel, evil sound it is.

“Guess what,” He whispers, cold lips brushing against your cheek. “They’re not. They’re in Hell getting fucked by demons for the rest of eternity. And they love it.”

A sob rips from your throat, terrible terrible images of your Sisters being forced on their backs or on their knees by soulless demons invading your mind, their screams of terror from earlier tonight echoing in your brain like a relentless loop. That can’t be true - it can’t be. God protects the souls of His children. He wouldn’t allow His faithful daughters to be subjected to such a fate. Sister Agnes, Sister Ruth - they have to be okay. They’re safe with Him. They have to be.

But still, you pray anyway, finding the will despite your distress to change your prayer just for a moment to one specifically asking for His guidance for the recently departed. It’s short, just a few lines - eternal rest for the wandering souls, perpetual light shining upon them so that they don’t get lost or fall in darkness. Mercy and peace, a relief from pain and fear.

Amen.

He lets go of your forehead, shoving the back of your head roughly so you jerk forward. You catch yourself with one hand, breathing heavily as your ears strain to listen for him shifting behind you. You know he’s still there, can feel his looming presence even though he’s not touching you anymore, but he’s as silent as a ghost. You kneel up again, back straight as you look forward towards the cross on the altar. For a moment, nothing happens - the stillness is almost more nerve wracking than the actual monster somewhere around you.

You gasp when your veil is flicked over your shoulder and the back of your habit and undertunic is ripped open from the nape of your neck all the way to the small of your back. The sound of tearing cloth echoes through the Chapel, reverberating off the walls and amplifying in your ears the same way the singing voices of your Sisters once did. Your back and the curve of your left shoulder are left vulnerably exposed as he pulls the material a little to the side. His sharp nails drag down the length of your back, goosebumps raising on your skin. They’re as light as they can be as they scratch down, the sharp pointed tips like daggers grazing over your flesh as you whimper out the beginnings of another Our Father. Your hands lace together in front of you, the long chain of the cross necklace looped around your neck twisting through your fingers as you cling to the cross in your hands. Then they’re back at your shoulder, digging in harder now as the tips of his nails cut into your skin. You scream as he rakes his nails down your back, pain stinging from the open wounds in the shape of claw marks and you pitch forward, only just barely staying upright on your knees as you squeeze your hands together tighter in front of you.

You know you’re bleeding, can feel the tickling as the blood trails from the burning scratch lines on your back and you squeeze your eyes shut when you feel his tongue against your shoulder blade, licking up the dripping red.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” You recite through gritted teeth. “On earth as it is in Heaven,”

He hums, sharp teeth nipping your skin as he licks over the stinging cuts.

“You know,” He says, voice gravelly. “Out of everyone I’ve drank from tonight, your blood is the sweetest.” His hands curl around the tops of your arms, pressing in and holding you still as he nudges his face into the exposed crook of your neck.

You try to keep praying, the familiar words should be burned in your memory, able to be recited without a single thought, but you’re not even sure if you’re saying actual words now. Everything just sounds like gibberish, words garbled and twisted with panic and you know that your time here on earth has come to an end. The tips of his canines scrape against the delicate skin of your neck, teasing your death as you hold your breath waiting for him to bite down and end your night of torment.

“Let’s see if it’s better straight from the source,”

His teeth slice into you, piercing where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scream cuts off your maybe prayer, your eyes widening but unseeing as your hands abandon their humble position to claw at his own as he pins you still by your arms. It’s painful, so painful you feel like you're burning up from the inside, your blood turning into fire in your own veins as he drinks it from your body like his own personal wine. And then something changes, a blanket of coldness wrapping around your body as you wheeze out a worthless plea that you know he hears but chooses to ignore. The fire in your veins calms into a warming hearth, contrasting with the cold of the rest of your body in a way that feels almost trance-like. There’s a pressure building in your belly, a heat that has nothing to do with the blood being drained from your veins and everything to do with something you hadn’t felt even years before you took your vows.

No, no, no, you silently plead, but you can’t ignore the realization of what he’s forcing you to feel when the dull throbbing starts up between your thighs.

His hands leave your arms, wrapping around your body as he pulls you closer to him. One of them gropes the curve of your breast, squeezing it in his palm, and he growls against your throat when your hands automatically shoot up to try to yank his away. His fingers curl around the neckline of your habit and he yanks it down roughly until the ripped top of your uniform sits around your waist. The Chapel had always felt warm before, filled with God’s presence and the certainty of safety, but now its cold, chilling air warring with the already contrasting temperatures of your body as it brushes over your bare chest. Your nipples harden, chest heaving as your vision blurs, dark spots stealing any clearness of sight as the devil behind you continues to drink from your reluctant body. The cross of your necklace hangs low against your sternum, the silver chain traveling between your breasts. The sleeves of your habit are still halfway up your arms, the neckline wrapping around your elbows and partially pinning your arms to your sides.

He doesn’t even have to hold you still anymore. You can’t muster up enough strength to try to push him away.

The throbbing between your legs only intensifies the longer he drinks and you can feel the wetness pooling in your underwear, damning and horrible even though it's making your body feel so so good. Your head spins, dizzy and euphoric, and you’re trying to pray - trying so hard to remember the words you’re supposed to say - but all that leaves your mouth is a weak moan when he finally decides to pull his teeth from your neck.

You collapse on your hands, your arms barely strong enough to hold you up as you gasp for air. The bite mark on your neck is sore, the throbbing focal point of what he’s done to you matching the pulsing between your legs. His feet do make sound this time as he walks around your crumpled body, the heel of his dark leather dress shoes purposefully clanking against the floor as he steps in front of you. You peek up, eyes still a little blurred and unfocused as they travel up his nicely pressed pant legs, somehow only slightly wrinkled despite all the chaos he’s caused tonight. You freeze when you get to the bulge, bumping the material out as it starts to swell under the fabric. The sight of it makes the panic once again come to the forefront of your mind and you frantically try to scramble back, away from the man, devil, creature in front of you but he grips your jaw in a tight grasp, keeping you still and on your knees at his feet.

His hold on your face is painful, strong fingers digging into the hinges of your jaw and forcing your lips to pucker slightly under the pressure. His sharp nails cut into your cheeks as he pries your face upwards, and then finally - you see him.

You had seen him briefly before he attacked Sister Ruth, but how he actually looked hadn’t registered into your terrified brain. He’s a monster, a killer - spawn of the Devil - you expect him to be grotesque, as horrible on the outside as his soul is on the inside. The things he’s done, the lives he’s stolen, how he tortured and murdered your Sisters in their own safe haven - a House of the Lord no less - he should be as demonic looking as his actions. You expect a mouthful of sinister teeth, pointed with multiple rows meant to pierce and rip and drain their victims. You expect red eyes the exact same color as the blood he’s stolen from unwilling veins. He should look evil, skin grey and dead to match the lack of life in his own body, but the man in front of you is none of those things.

He’s beautiful, devastatingly handsome like you believe Lucifer was when he was cast from Heaven. His blond hair is unruly, part of it still slicked back in what looked like a professional and put together style meant to tame the wild curls that are pushing through the gelled barrier. Some of those curls spring up on his head, falling along his forehead and reaching towards his eyes - eyes that are inhumanly blue, the iris swirling like living color as the black of his pupils bleed into the cerulean ring. His mouth is red, painted fresh with your blood, and his chin down to his neck is stained with that of your Sister’s, some of the remnants of splattered carnage soaked into the collar of his button down shirt.

Your voice fails you, trapped in your throat as he grins. His prominent fangs bite into his lower lip mimicking the way his nails dig into your cheeks. Your lips form the words despite the lack of sound, starting the prayer again in the only way you can. He watches as your mouth struggles to form the shapes despite the pressure on your jaw, the thick lashes framing his inhuman eyes lowering as his features shift into a look of feigned pity.

“I don’t think He’s listening to you. Your God,” He pouts. “Seems He’s abandoned you.”

It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. The words echo like a mantra in your mind. God wouldn’t abandon you. He’s here, His presence is all around you. He’s protecting you, protecting your soul in a way He can’t protect your physical body. He’s with you now, ready to help shoulder the burden and trauma that the Devil is forcing in your path. The words of your prayer push forth, desperation giving a voice to your paralyzed vocal cords, and you know He’s here - He is, He is, He is…

…but you can’t feel Him. All you can feel around you is the unsettling, overwhelming, panic stricken presence of him.

“But I’m here,” He purrs. His fingers slide across your cheeks as he moves to grip your chin instead, his thumb caressing your moving lips. “You should pray to me instead. Go on, little nun. Pray to the great Coriolanus Snow. Beg me to show you mercy.”

Fresh tears race down your cheeks when he shoves his thumb inside your mouth, the pad of it pressing down on your tongue and muffling your prayer. You fight back a sob and keep it going anyway despite the intrusion in your mouth. But when you look back into his eyes, your own eyes wet and glossy and red rimmed with eyelashes clumping together, all you see in those orbs of swirling blue and black is evil unbridled lust.

Your heart stops when his free hand goes to the waistband of his pants. He undoes the button, shimmying his hips as he pushes them down his thighs just enough to free the thick bulge inside them. Your eyes drop down, locking onto the sight in front of you as he pulls himself free. He’s hard in his palm, thick girth filling his hand as it juts out at you, the pink tip of it already starting to glisten with wetness at the top in the dim lighting of the Chapel. He has no blood in his undead body, none other than what he’s stolen from you and your Sisters tonight. You wonder if that’s what’s helping to fill his cock right now.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and his hand leaves your face for one brief moment of relief before it latches itself to the top of your head. With a sharp tug, he yanks your veil from your head, a few strands of hair falling victim to the pull as they tear from your scalp. You screech, veil fluttering uselessly to the Chapel floor, but the screech and any hope you have at determinately continuing your prayer is cut off when he fists your unbound hair around his fingers and shoves his stolen blood filled cock in your mouth.

Your hands automatically fly up to push against his thighs, desperately trying to push him away, but his hold is unrelenting as he pushes his hips further against your face. Frantic cries burst from your vocal cords, the hefty weight of his cock on your tongue is hot and overwhelming as it presses against the back of your throat, the threat of what he could do if he just pushed a little further is clear without him even having to say a word.

“Don’t bite,” He teases, cruel laugh bouncing off the Chapel walls. “That’s my job.”

He drags your mouth along his length, pulling you almost all the way off until just the tip remains nestled against the flat of your tongue before sliding you back down, inch by inch invading your mouth and filling it up until you feel like you can’t breathe. Your nails dig into his legs, your own thighs spreading apart subconsciously in an effort to steady yourself as he drags you back and forth along this cock. The pulsing in your most intimate areas doesn’t stop as he degrades your mouth, embarrassment and shame flooding your body as he uses you to further desecrate this holy place in even worse ways than he already has.

The taste of him clouds your brain, the wetness of your own saliva mixing with the salty taste spilling from his swollen tip and your body tenses as you gag around him, core spasming as more shame soaks into your already drenched underwear. Your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears so much it starts to sound like you’re underwater, and you know he can hear the adrenaline rushed track of your heart the same way you can hear its song in your ears. You wonder what he’s more focused on right now as he takes your mouth, eyes closed and head tipping back towards the ceiling: how your mouth feels wrapped around him, or how the blood he has yet to steal from you sounds still rushing through your veins.

The cool metal of your necklace draws your attention to the cross resting against your sternum. It suddenly feels heavy and cold against your flushed chest and you know that this is it - this is God reminding you of His presence with you. This is Him showing you that He has not left you all alone with a monster. Blindly, you reach for the pendant, feeling the reassuring press of the protruding arms of the cross bite into your palm as you squeeze your fist around it. Without another thought, you press it to his thigh.

The reaction is immediate - heat swells under your hand, the metal of the cross burning like an iron as it fries through the neatly pressed material of his pants. It doesn’t burn you, the heat radiating against your palm is nothing more than a pleasant warmth against your hand. But it burns into Coriolanus’s skin, the holy figurine scorching his thigh and branding his pale skin with the bright red righteous mark of your Lord. He grunts out in pain, teeth grinding together as his head falls forward again, those inhuman eyes locked on you as you still choke around him.

You expect him to be angry, to push you away and end your torment, even if it comes at the cost of your life. But your heart sinks when you see the twisted grin pull at his red mouth.

“Trying to leave your mark on me, Sister?” He asks. To your absolute horror, he makes no move to smack the cross away, letting it scorch and smoke against his burning skin. “You can mark me up however you want. I’ll mark you right back. Try harder.”

You whimper as he fists both his hands in your hair, one on either side to keep you completely still. He rocks into your mouth, using you as his own personal toy instead of forcing you to move on him, and any regard he might have had for you before is gone - burnt away and up in smoke like the skin on his upper thigh. He shows no mercy as he pounds his hips against your face, making you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth until you’re gagging in earnest, choking and sputtering wet horrible sounds as thick strands of saliva drip from your mouth and his cock as he urges himself past the point that he had previously decided was good enough until he’s sheathed in your throat as far as he can get himself.

“Look at you,” He laughs. “This isn’t your first time taking a cock down your throat, is it? You’ve done this before, I can tell. What a little professional you are.”

You want to shout no! No it's not true! Humiliation tearing your heart apart as he laughs in your face. It’s not true, it's not true. You’ve never taken a man in your mouth before. You’ve never had anyone before in any capacity. You’ve stayed pure your entire life, untouched by man and the temptations of the Devil. But the devil in front of you mocks you, violating you in the most intimate way he can, turning your own body against you as the part between your legs begs for attention that it's never truly wanted before he forced you to feel it, even as your brain screams at you to fight back all you can.

The cross falls back in its place between your breasts as your hands fly up to claw at his own, your fingers trying to pry his grip from your hair as he thrusts faster, harder, deeper into your mouth and throat. He laughs as you struggle, crying and whimpering and gagging around his cock as he calls you every name that you know you’re not, but can’t defend yourself against.

Whore. Slut. God’s prostitute. Jezebel.

The air hurts as it reaches your lungs when he finally lets go of you. You cough and sputter, greedily gulping in heaving breaths of oxygen as tears and drool slide down your heated face. Your hands press against the floor as you gasp, desperately grasping at the tile as you fight to breathe. Coriolanus lets you, leisurely walking around you as though he has all the time in the world. It feels as though hours have passed since you’ve been trapped in this living nightmare, but outside beyond the beautiful stained glass windows, there’s still only darkness.

Brutal fingers grip the back of your neck, the tips digging into the sore puncture marks on the side of your throat. The ruthless press of his fingers at your bite mark sends a horrible pang of unwanted pleasure straight into the pit of your stomach, and you know it should hurt, should burn and make you scream from the pain of it all - and it does hurt, but it shouldn’t hurt like this.

His mouth is at your ear again as he growls, “You want to pray to your God? Go on then. Bend down and pray,”

He shoves you down, his grip on the back of your neck keeping your upper body pinned as your cheek digs into the cold flooring. Any air that you were able to take in suddenly feels like it's stuck in your lungs when his free hand slides up the curve of your backside. He drags the bottom of your tunic with it, trailing it up and up and up until it sits bunched around your waist alongside the ripped neckline of your habit. You feel as vulnerable as you’ve ever felt - exposed and on display for eyes that should never be able to see these parts of you. Your hands grip against the tile on either side of your head, but even as he removes his hand from the back of your neck, you don’t dare try to push yourself up again.

“Pray for forgiveness, Sister,” He says. His fingers find the modest coverage of your underwear and rips them clean in half with a quick flick of his wrist, tearing a hole for himself directly in the center of them and leaving the shredded remains of your modesty to hang uselessly on either side of your exposed center. “Pray for forgiveness because you’re sinning right now. It’s here, evidence of your fall from grace coating the pretty petals of your dirty, dirty cunt. You’re sinning, little nun. Sinning,”

A gasp rips from your throat as his hand lands on your backside, the sharp sting emphasizing his words that act like a dagger to your heart.

You’re sinning. You’re a sinner.

“Sinning,” He says again, landing another smack to your unprotected buttcheek. Fat tears flow from your blurry eyes.

Instead of being close to God, you’re drifting from Him. Being dragged, kicking and screaming further and further from your place at His side and instead of hating every second of it, recoiling in horror and finding nothing but pain and disgust from the touch of the monster behind you, your stomach clenches in twisted anticipation.

“Sinner,” He grunts and this time you scream, loud and tearful as his hand lands cruelly on your bare pussy.

You instinctively clench around nothing, traitorous clit pulsing against the rough treatment. Your head lifts from the ground just enough for you to shake it in denial, voice raspy and thick with tears as you struggle to begin your prayer anew. From behind you, Coriolanus laughs as he listens to your stuttered prayer, landing another sharp smack against your pussy just to make you cry out and lose your place. You can’t focus, nerves fried and body wound up so tight you feel like you’re about to explode out of your skin. The beginning of the prayer is the only thing you can remember, repeating the first phrase over and over and over again and hoping against hope that it's enough for God to hear you because you can’t for the life of you remember what the rest is.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

Your body stays frozen as Coriolanus lifts your hips higher into the air, and you don’t fight back when he kicks your legs farther apart so he can fit himself between them. Your praying gets louder, the only lines that you can remember coming out as a hurried sob when you feel the head of his cock slide against your slit.

“What’s wrong, Sister? Have you forgotten the words?” He asks and a part of you wonders if instead of him being a devil, if maybe he’s actually the Devil. He drags the tip of his cock through your slick folds, sliding it from your hole all the way to your clit, rubbing it roughly against the swollen nub and back again. Your entire body trembles when he lines himself up, blunt tip teasing your entrance and you’re shaking so much you worry you might fly apart. “I said pray.”

Your mouth falls open when he pushes forward, no sound making its way from your vocal cords even though every other part of you is screaming. The head of his cock splits you open, your wet pussy taking him in and stretching around his thick length and it hurts, it hurts so much, but it's what’s under the pain that hurts more. The striking fullness of him as he fills you up, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you as he presses bruises in the shapes of his fingers into your hips. The way his cock completely fills you, leaving no space inside you for anything else and bullying its way even further still, making room for itself where you can’t imagine there could possibly be anymore. It’s horrible, the way your body yields to what he’s doing, taking him in and craving more even as the pleasure blossomed pain burns in your core. It must be something demonic, some sort of paranormal and evil power that’s blanketing you in this unwanted feeling. The monster behind you is forcing himself on you, dragging you into darkness with him with each drag of his cock against your slick walls, and is making you like it.

You feel him in your stomach as he starts to thrust into you, deep and slow presses in and out as his hands squeeze your hips.

“So tight around me,” He grunts, cock throbbing inside you as your hands try to find purchase against the ground. “Who knew that God’s precious angel would make the perfect little cocksleeve.”

You cry out when he arches over you, pushing your cheek back into the floor as he holds your head down with a splayed palm against the side of your face. His other hand grips possessively at your waist as he growls and grunts on top of you, moans of sordid pleasure filling the Chapel as you gasp and whimper underneath him. You’re not praying anymore, can’t get anything out more than a punched out, breathless, ‘Lord, have mercy, please have mercy, please have mercy’ with every rough thrust of his hips.

“You think someone like you deserves mercy?” Coriolanus sneers. “You’re no one. Left behind. Forgotten. And where is He now that you’re calling for Him? The one you devoted your entire life to.” His cruel words are punctuated with each snap of his hips and you whine in agony, eyes squeezing shut as the knot in your belly tightens. “Go ahead. Call to Him. Beg for Him to show you mercy.”

“Please!” You cry.

You can feel your orgasm barreling towards you and you try to hold back, wanting to tell your body that no, you can’t. You can’t! You can't! You can’t let yourself feel like this no matter what this monster does to you. But your body doesn’t listen, Coriolanus doesn’t give it a chance. Your clit is needy between your thighs, begging to be touched as your pussy weeps around him, fluttering around his thick shaft as he drives into you without mercy. Shame floods your cheeks as wet squelching sounds become prominent in the dark symphony of sinful noises bouncing around the Chapel walls.

“He’s not here. He left you,”

“No,” You beg. Not true, not true, not true.

“But don’t worry, I’ll take you. Maybe He left you for me as a present, hm? You’re the fucking whore that your God left for me to ruin,”

You can’t say anything when he drags you up by your hair, pulling you back against his chest. His thrusting doesn’t stop even as the hand in your hair moves to wrap tightly around your neck, fingers pressing firmly into the sides of your throat just enough to make you fight to breathe under the pressure. His other hand wraps around your chest to palm at your breast, your nipple trapped between the cage of his fingers as he squeezes at your chest.

“No no no no no no,” Your voice is desperate, breathless against the restrictive hold around your throat, and your eyes roll back into your head as the coil in your stomach tightens beyond control, your orgasm washing over you in waves of relentless, dark, and unfairly wonderful bliss.

Coriolanus laughs as you shake in his arms, his sharp teeth poking into the lobe of your ear as he presses his grin into the side of your head.

“Wow, look at you, cumming all over my cock without me even having to touch your pretty little doorbell. You really must be God’s favorite whore,”

He’s still hard when he pulls out of you, leaving you to crumple on the Chapel floor to deal with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Through your exhausted and used state, you still find the will to send a quick prayer of thanks up to God for allowing this devil to be done with you before he could release inside you. You know he’s going to kill you now that he’s gotten his fill, will grab you and drain you dry until there’s no life left inside you. But at least you hope that you’ll get to go to Heaven, be with God and the rest of your Sisters because he had to be lying about them being dragged to Hell. God wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t.

If this is truly the end of your time here on Earth, then at least you were spared the humiliation of Coriolanus finishing inside you.

He doesn’t immediately grab at you again though, doesn’t drag your head to the side so he can sink his teeth into your vulnerable neck and finish what he started earlier tonight. Instead he leaves your side, walking down the center aisle towards the door. Your eyes follow him, your vision only partially blocked from the way your hands cover your face in an attempt to try to hold yourself together. He stops halfway down the aisle, plucking something off from one of the pews, and the flash of green fabric reminds you that its Father Gregory’s stole discarded over the edge of the seat. You watch as he tucks the stole into his pants pocket before he turns back towards you, and you hide your face completely when you realize he hasn’t even bothered to tuck himself back into his pants yet.

The hands covering your eyes allow him to sneak up on you and you don’t hear him as he takes a place in front of you again. His hand flicks out, quick as lightning, and grabs onto your necklace. Immediately, the pendant burns his skin, the smoke and smell of scorching flesh emanating from his hand, but he doesn’t care - just clutches it in his fist as he uses it to pull you forward.

“Crawl,” He demands. “Crawl or I’ll rip it off.”

You don’t hesitate, feeling the pull of the delicate chain around your neck threatening to snap against his tug. This is the last thing you have, the last form of protection God can offer you as your last moments on Earth come to an end. You can’t lose it. Your limbs are still wobbly as you scramble up the few steps towards the altar, your knee slipping on the fabric of your habit and almost making you fall enough to break the chain all on your own as you frantically try to follow his pulling.

Standing in front of the altar of the Lord is the last place a monster like Coriolanus Snow deserves to be, but he towers over you like he belongs there, angelic blond curls falling into eyes of swirling blue and black as they glare down at you.

You sob when he rips the cross from your neck anyway, the sharp break of the chain snapping against the back of your neck as he tosses the holy pendant far away from you.

“Now look at what you’ve done to me,” He says, showing you his burnt hand. His thigh is still damaged too, the matching marks of the cross torched into his skin. “You hurt me. Maimed me. Even after I was so merciful to you.”

He buries his uninjured hand in your hair, dragging your head close to his injured one so your mouth is a breath away from the red, scarred skin.

“Kiss it better,”

Your breathing is shaky, evidence of your orgasm coating your inner thighs as you kneel in front of him. He allows you to hesitate for just a moment, but doesn’t release your hair from his grasp until your lips touch the marred skin of his palm. When he releases your hair, you feel untethered - accidentally swaying away from his hand without his firm hold to keep you there. Without thinking, you grab his wrist with both of your hands to help hold you steady, replacing your lips at his palm without him having to tell you to.

“Good girl,” He coos. He tugs your right hand away from where it's clutching his arm and pulls it through the remains of your sleeve from where it's still partially pinned at your side so that he can raise it up high in the air, the paper thin skin of your wrist held near his own mouth. “Use that holy power of yours to make me all better.”

You whine when his teeth slide into your wrist, eyes sliding shut as the cloud of euphoric dizziness once again invades your brain. You feel outside your body as he drinks from you, kneeling before him and pressing soft kisses against the damaged skin of his hand, face just inches away from the still erect cock that's glistening with the evidence of your downfall. He suckles at your wrist and it takes you much longer than it should to realize that the skin under your lips doesn’t feel as disfigured as it did just moments before.

And then, through hazy eyes, you see that it's no longer burned. Under your lips is just smooth pale skin of an uninjured palm, perfectly unharmed as if nothing had ever happened. Your eyes dart to his thigh and watch, shocked, as the damaged flesh repairs itself, torn and scorched remains webbing together and forming new skin until there's no trace of red left behind.

As soon as he’s healed, he pulls his mouth from your wrist and drags his tongue across his lips to catch any stray drops of blood. “Thanks for healing me up, little nun,”

He hauls you up by your arm and grabs your jaw, ignoring your gasp as he presses his bloody mouth against yours, pushing his tongue between your lips just to make you taste yourself. A pleasurable heat swirls in your belly at the kiss even as cold goosebumps explode out on your skin, the horrible contrast between disgust and want twisting your thoughts into a jumbled mess. You don’t kiss him back, brain screaming at you to be strong and remember who you are even though the taste of his tongue mixed with the metallic sweet of your blood on his lips make some part of you yearn to return his touch.

You let out a disgruntled cry when he pulls his mouth from yours and flips you around, his arm sweeping out to send the half used candles and stands clattering off the surface of the altar and shoving your body over the edge so you’re bent over it and no no no no no, he can’t! You’re not supposed to be on it like this, desecrating a place so holy and sacred. Darkening a place of such light like the Chapel is horrible enough, but defiling God’s altar - the place where bread and wine are consecrated into the living body and blood of Christ Himself - it’s unthinkable.

You immediately try to push yourself back up, but Coriolanus crowds you against the altar, grabbing both of your wrists and quickly tying them together with Father Gregory’s stolen stole so they’re bound in front of you. He drags them up close to your chest and loops the middle of the stole around your neck, keeping the free end in his hand as he hums.

“Why did you stop praying, Sister?” He asks as he lifts the back of your habit. He keeps a tight hold on the stole, pulling it taut so it constricts around your throat enough to keep you still as his other hand runs long, cruel fingers through the wetness between your folds. “You wanted to pray so much earlier.”

You’re face to face with the cross statue that he’s allowed to be left standing and even though this one has no likeness of Jesus pinned on it like the one overseeing the Chapel, it still feels like it's passing its judgement on you… and it’s finding you lacking. The combined sensation of the stole around your throat and the way Coriolanus replaces his fingers with his hard cock, sliding it through your wet folds and nudging it back at your entrance, makes your eyes roll up to the ceiling.

Taking him a second time isn’t any easier and even though you're so wet, slicker more than ever now that you’ve had an orgasm, you still feel like you’re being stretched to your limits as he pushes back inside you. Your pussy clenches around him as he grips your waist and your hands twitch in their bindings, wanting desperately to be able to reach out and clutch the altar, reach behind you and hold onto him, or push him away - whatever you need to do to give yourself some relief as he drills you into the side of God’s holy table. But you can’t free them, can’t do anything more than take it as he uses your body and keeps you down with your hands tied and the stole wrapped around your neck like a leash.

“Tell Him how you feel, little nun,” He growls. “Tell Him how my cock feels stretching your tight warm pussy. How it fills you up so much you can feel it in your stomach. Tell Him how I hit those spots inside you that make you go blind with so much pleasure.”

“Ah ah ah,” You moan as he pounds into you, the sound of slapping skin ringing in your ears mixed in with his sinful grunts.

“Pray to Him,” He demands. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pulls the stole tighter around your throat. “Pray to Him and tell Him that this is the closest you’ve ever felt to Him, the closest you’ve ever felt to Heaven, but really it’s me who’s doing this to you. It’s me who’s making you feel so good. Fucking you. Corrupting you, Ruining you. Come on, Sister. Tell Him how good I’m making you feel.”

“Please,” You try to beg and your plea comes out raspy against the pressure on your throat.

The knot in your belly is tightening again, clit pulsing and still untouched as you feel Coriolanus throb inside you. The new dizziness in your head comes not from the Vampire’s bite but from the lack of oxygen to your brain. Dark spots poke at the sides of your vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t see anyway, your eyes unfocused and dazed under the pleasure swirling in your core.

You don’t even register when he yanks the stole from around your throat, freeing the unprotected column to his deadly teeth as he drags your head to the side and pierces them into the side of your neck. His hand leaves your waist, dragging tingling fire in its wake as he slides his hand across your stomach and down further until it creeps into the ripped remaining shreds of your underwear. You scream when his fingers touch your clit, sliding through the wetness and using your own shame to glide mind breaking circles around the swollen neglected nub.

“M-mercy,” You whimper. “P-please, mercy!”

He doesn’t speak, mouth too preoccupied with taking all that he can steal from you as he continues to feast on your neck, but you hear a voice anyway - one that seems to boom throughout the Chapel as much as it does in your head.

You don’t deserve mercy.

Your orgasm hits you ruthlessly, brutal waves of ecstasy racing through your body as you shake and cum around your Vampire’s cock, squeezing and clenching around his thrusting length, eyes rolling back into your head as you scream. His fingers don’t stop their movement on your clit, his mouth never stops drinking from you, and in the back of your mind you register that he’s cumming inside you - thick and hot pulses of release coating your insides and damning your soul to Hell.

Sparkling black and white flecks coat your vision, the darkness overpowering the bright all too quickly, and before you’re even finished cumming the entire room fades into darkness.

When you wake up, there’s light shining in through the multicolored stained glass windows and the beauty that is the Chapel looks like it's almost as it should be again.

For a moment, you think you can convince yourself that it was all a dream. A horrible nightmare brewed from some unknown fear that you’ve pushed into the back of your mind that you need to come to terms with and unpack with hours of uninterrupted prayer. But the moment is gone all too soon and the state of your half naked body and ripped habit is too much evidence to naively ignore.

A devil was inside God’s house last night. He killed the rest of your cloister, tormented you and did unspeakable things to your body, made you feel things, and yet… he left you alive?

Why?

You try to sit up, your entire body aching with overuse and exhaustion, the space between your thighs is still damningly wet, but the sharp pain in your abdomen makes you pause.

Your lower belly hurts the most, a sharp sting raising through the area as you move, and you pull up the bottom of your tunic to try to get a better look at it. You freeze when you see it, horror like you’ve never felt sinking into your bones as your brain tries to catch up with what your eyes are seeing.

There, on your lower belly, directly above the snapped elastic waistband of your underwear, are the carved and bloody initials C.S.

Taglist: @hidden-poet (please let me know if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist for all works)

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#dark!coriolanus snow #vampire!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x reader smut #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent #tw: non con #tw: noncon #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: violence

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ankababy · 2 months ago

Text

A Home (part 27)

Part 1 Part 26 Part 28

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Lies, lies, more lies, still lying. Niragi MIGHT seem out of character at first, but that’s because he’s lying, being out of character on purpose. Boys :(

You blinked. Once. Twice. His words clawed down your spine and left you stiff, frozen, heart clenching.

It hurt.

“You don’t even see without your glasses, Niragi.”

His jaw tensed. That tick in his cheek that used to signal danger. He stepped closer again, slow like he was keeping himself from lunging, from doing something worse. You didn’t back down.

“You don’t get to just say that. You think you can say that and I’ll just—what? Fold? Go soft again?”

He still didn’t answer. Not really. Just stared, just watched, like if he stared hard enough, you’d come undone all over again. But you wouldn’t. Not tonight.

Not again.

“After what you did?” You took a step forward this time. The hallway felt smaller. Tighter. “You think you get to say you’re beautiful and that’s it? That’s all it takes?”

Still nothing.

You laughed, but it was bitter, ugly. “You’re sick.”

He licked his lips slowly, then tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “So what, you’re all grown up now? You learned to bite back?”

The coldness in his voice made your stomach twist. He didn’t even sound angry. He just sounded—empty. Like it didn’t even matter. Like you were the only thing keeping his voice attached to his body.

“You think just ‘cause you scream a little louder now, you’re not soft anymore?”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not the girl who begged you to stop.”

He scoffed. “Sure you are. You’re just a little prettier when you cry now.”

Your hand twitched. You wanted to hit him. Or maybe you wanted him to hit you. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Your heart beat so fast you thought you might faint.

“I hate you.” you whispered, lying.

“I know.” he said, and something in his voice cracked. “That’s not gonna stop me.”

He was staring at your lips.

You looked away.

“I’m not doing this again.” you said. “You want to manipulate me again? You want to tear me down just to rebuild me how you like?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re hollow, Niragi. A shell. You don’t care about anyone. You didn’t even care about Akira. You made me—”

“I do care.” he cut in, and it was almost a growl. “You’re the only one I fucking care about.”

That stopped you. You hated how it stopped you.

“I’m not good.” he said. “You want someone good? Go back to your little doctor. At least he pretends better than I do.”

You didn’t move.

“So talk to me.” he said, voice low. “Just talk.”

You hated him.

You hated how your chest cracked open when he begged. You hated how you still loved the boy behind the monster. You hated how even now, after everything, a part of you ached to understand him.

“…Fine.” you breathed, exhausted. “Fine.”

Just the promise of your voice was enough to keep him from blowing his own brains out.

You stood still for a moment, just breathing, letting everything he’d just said settle in your bones. It didn’t feel good—none of this did. But it did feel. That was the problem. That was the poison in your chest.

And he looked at you like he was about to beg again, and maybe that’s what broke you.

“My room.” you said quietly, and turned. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t wait to see if he followed.

But of course he did.

Of course Niragi followed you like a starved, rabid dog, head buzzing, teeth clenched, hands fists in his pockets like it was the only way to stop them from reaching out, clawing at you, burying in your flesh. His steps were silent behind you—predator silent—but inside, he was chaos.

He was frantic.

Wild.

Desperate.

Every step behind you dragged something ugly and bloody up his throat. If he could’ve unzipped his skin and handed you his entire ribcage, he would’ve. He would’ve crawled on broken glass and used his teeth to bite through his own wrist if you said it’d make you look at him for two more seconds.

The moment you opened the door to your room and stepped inside, he hovered behind you.

You turned to look at him as you let the door swing shut. He was staring, blank-faced, but those eyes—red around the edges, exhausted, and bottomless. Bottomless in the way that meant if you fell into them, you wouldn’t hit the ground. You’d just keep falling. Forever.

“You gonna come in or stand there like a creep?” you asked softly, almost teasing, and maybe that was cruel.

But Niragi stepped in without a word.

And now you were both inside.

Now there was no one else. No hallway. No militants. No walls between you.

Just you, and him.

He stood there, like if you asked him to sit, he’d drop to his knees instead. Like if you said his name sweet enough, he’d collapse.

God, he was pathetic.

It wasn’t love. Not the kind other people understood. Not soft or clean. It was a sickness. It was rot. It was obsession chewing through his ribs and using your name as oxygen. You lived in his bloodstream, in every violent impulse, in every nightmare and every fantasy alike.

He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and slam you into the wall and scream that he didn’t know how to be gentle but he’d rip his heart out if you wanted it.

He wanted to beg.

He wanted to bleed.

He wanted to taste the skin behind your knees and press his mouth to your collarbone just to see if you’d whimper. He wanted to burn the scent of that doctor off your skin with his teeth and replace it with his fucking fingerprints.

But all he did was stand there.

Watching.

Waiting.

“Sit.” you said, finally. You nodded at the bed.

He obeyed like it was instinct.

“You look like you’re gonna explode.” you whispered.

He swallowed. “I might.”

You nodded, slowly. And said nothing.

Maybe he really was just some kind of broken animal that only ever learned how to bite.

His eyes locked to yours like it physically hurt to look away.

He shut the fuck up for once in his life.

“I can’t do this.” you said. “I can’t do this if it’s going to be like this.”

You didn’t yell. That almost made it worse. Your voice was calm. Raw, but calm. Like something final was being carved out of your lungs.

“You don’t get to treat people like this, Niragi. You don’t get to destroy things, then act like it never happened just because you’re afraid of being left alone.” You stopped walking for a second, stared at him. “I don’t care how messed up you are. I don’t care how much it hurts. If you’re just going to drag me into the dark with you, I don’t want it.”

And still, he said nothing. He sat on the edge of your bed like a statue of himself. A hollow version.

You were walking around. Your feet were bare, silent against the floor.

“You know what this is, Niragi?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you. “It’s not love. It’s not even close. It’s pain. You hurt, so you make other people hurt, and then you call it something romantic when they stay. That’s not love. That’s—That’s fear. That’s you trying to glue pieces of yourself back together using me.”

That hit him.

Good.

You didn’t stop.

“I don’t want it if it means waking up in the middle of the night wondering if you’re gonna snap again. I don’t want it if I have to wonder how far you’d go to keep me. If I’m just one more thing you’re scared of losing, not a person. Not a choice.”

Niragi’s fists trembled against his knees. He looked down. His mouth opened once, closed again.

“Because I’m not yours.” you said, quieter now. “And if you can’t look at me and understand that—I mean really understand that—then this thing between us is already dead.”

He could taste the iron in his mouth, feel the edges of your sentences scraping bone.

And fuck, you were right.

He knew you were right.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

Because he couldn’t love you the right way.

He didn’t know how.

All he knew how to do was break and bite and ruin. That’s what he was made for. That’s what people like him were good at.

But still—he wanted you. God, he wanted you.

He wanted to scream. Tear the room apart. Grab you and beg, press his face to your stomach and cry like a fucking child. He wanted to dig his nails into your back and kiss your mouth until it bruised and give you everything he was, even if all he was now was dirt and blood and ash.

But he couldn’t.

So he sat.

Burning.

Sick.

Obsessed.

Obsessed in the way that made his ribs tighten every time you looked away. Obsessed like he’d bite the face off anyone who touched you. Obsessed like he’d carve open his own wrists just to show you the parts of him no one else was allowed to see.

You were his religion.

His hallucination.

His fucking fever dream.

And hearing you say “I don’t want it” felt like choking on glass and swallowing every shard just to keep your voice inside him.

And yet he deserved it. That was the most disgusting part of it all. He knew he deserved it. But it still made him want to burn the whole world down. Just so you wouldn’t leave.

You were right in front of him now, standing between his knees. He didn’t lift his head at first. He just stared at your legs. At your bare feet. The towel you’d dropped earlier was forgotten on the floor somewhere, and he could see the soft line of your stomach rising and falling.

Then he looked up.

And those eyes—god, those eyes.

Dark. Shiny. Something haunted hiding in the corners, but still beautiful enough to make your breath catch. They were violent eyes, terrifying eyes, but somehow they still made you want to crawl into his lap and let him fuck you dumb until the world didn’t exist.

And for a moment—for just a heartbeat—you wanted to lean down.

You wanted to kiss him.

To forget everything. To throw all the warnings out and fall.

But you didn’t.

You clenched your jaw instead. You crossed your arms tight around your chest, your fingers biting into your sides. Your feet refused to move. You stayed planted. Because you knew.

You knew who he was.

You knew what he did.

You knew what he’d do again.

He wasn’t a good person.

He wasn’t safe.

You’d seen blood on his hands, not once, but always. You’d heard the screams in the night. You knew the rumors. You knew.

And still—there was something inside you that hurt at the sight of him now.

Not because he looked sad. Not because he was broken.

But because you wanted him anyway.

“I’m not a toy.” you said, voice lower. “You don’t get to pick me up and break me and pick me up again. You don’t get to look at me like that and say nothing. You don’t get to love me in this… sick way, Niragi. That’s not love.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the shape of it.

He stared up at you. So quiet. So still.

And you knew that quiet in him wasn’t peace. It was something worse.

“I see you.” you whispered, stepping in just half an inch closer. “You’re not fooling me.”

But Chishiya fooled you, Y/N.

And still, he said nothing. His knuckles were white. His shoulders locked in place.

He wanted to grab you.

He wanted to drag you into his chest and hold you so tight it bruised. He wanted to bite you again, leave something on your neck so everyone knew. He wanted to tear a hole in the floor and bury you in it, just to make sure no one else got near. He wanted to take a scalpel and carve his name into your ribs. He wanted to kneel at your feet and beg for something he couldn’t even name. He wanted to rip his own face off just to show you how ugly he was under all of it.

But instead… he just looked. Looked at you like a dying thing.

Because he was.

He was dying.

He didn’t have the words to fix this. Didn’t have the skills. Didn’t even have the right to ask. But fuck if his chest didn’t hurt. Like a nail was hammered through the center of it.

He wanted you.

Bad.

Ugly.

Starving.

Like an infection that spread, like a sickness that couldn’t be cured.

You swallowed. You knew what you were standing in front of.

Not a boy.

Not even a man.

A monster.

With a beautiful face. A broken body. And a soul full of teeth.

You knew.

And still, your chest ached.

You stepped away. A shift in your breath, a retreat in your chest, and the slow spin of your body as you turned from him, putting your back to his eyes, his shadow. You didn’t know what you were going to say next, but your heart was slamming against your ribs and your mouth moved anyway—

“I can’t keep doing this with you, Niragi. I can’t keep pretending like—”

And then his fingers wrapped around your wrist. Tight.

You didn’t move. You didn’t look back at him. Not yet.

He stood up. Stepped closer.

“I’ll change.” he said.

Simple.

Firm.

Bullshit.

You blinked hard. “Niragi—”

“I will.” he bit.

Your fingers twitched in his grip, and he didn’t let go. His touch wasn’t tender. It wasn’t soft. It was real. Raw. And still trembling with something violent.

“You think I don’t know what I did?” he asked. “You think I don’t know I fucking ruined you? I do. I know. I know exactly what I did and I’ve done worse and I’m not saying I’m a good man—”

“Because you’re not.” you snapped, turning your head just enough for your voice to hit him. “You’re not a good man, Niragi. You’re cruel. You’re violent. You made me—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The words caught fire in your throat.

He stepped closer. Still holding your wrist. “Yeah. I did. I’m a bad man. I’ve always been a bad man. But you—” He paused. His jaw twitched. “You’re the first thing that’s ever made me think maybe I didn’t have to be.”

Was that true, Niragi?

You scoffed. It was almost a laugh. Bitter and broken and more sad than angry. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You’re soft. And good. And you looked at me like I was more than some fuckin’ animal in a cage. Do you know what that does to someone like me?”

You turned your head fully now. Met his eyes.

And god, they looked so human when they shouldn’t have.

“You think that makes it okay?” you asked. “That you saw something beautiful and ripped it apart because you didn’t know how to hold it?”

His face cracked then. Just a flicker. The ugly truth bubbling under that beautiful bone structure.

“You think I wanted to fuck it up?” he hissed. “You think I wanted to lose you? I don’t even know how to want things without ruining them. I’m not like the doctor. I don’t know how to lie pretty and hold your hand and pretend I’m not fucked in the head. I only know how to take.”

“You took everything.” you whispered.

He dropped your wrist. Just like that. It fell back to your side like the weight of it hurt him.

“I’m gonna get you back anyway.”

“That’s not how this works.”

He tilted his head. That grin tugging at his mouth wasn’t happy. “Isn’t it?”

You hated that he still got to you. That even now, you could feel your heart trying to beat for him. Still.

“I’ll change.” he said again. Slower this time.

“You can’t just say that and expect me to believe it.”

“I don’t expect you to believe it.” He stepped forward again. “I expect you to see it.”

Another beat.

“I’m gonna show you.”

His voice dropped.

“One way or another.”

You didn’t know what he meant. And you didn’t ask. Because even now, your heart stuttered. Even now, his voice—rough, ruined, real—felt like something you didn’t want to admit you missed.

You were tired. Not just the kind that crawled behind your eyes, but the kind that lived in your chest. The kind of tired that felt bone-deep. The kind that made you vulnerable. And god, he knew it.

He always knew.

“Y/N.” Niragi said, softer now. Like he’d peeled off the skin of the monster and slipped into something more bearable.

“Don’t.” you warned. It was so quiet.

“I know I’m not the one you should be trusting.” he said. “I know I’ve done everything in my power to make sure you don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

You didn’t answer.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? The trying.

He’d say anything. He would. You knew he would.

Because Niragi didn’t love with his heart—he loved with his teeth.

And still… Still.

“You remember that first time?” he said, and god, you knew it was a trap. A perfect trap. “The first time you looked at me? When I woke up?” He scoffed a little, smile crooked. “You looked at me like you saw me. Like I could be something else.”

“I was stupid then.” you muttered. But it was weak. Not real.

“No.” he said, shaking his head. “You weren’t. You were hopeful. That’s what I liked about you. You had this… light. And I didn’t even want to kill it.”

Your breath hitched.

God.

What a line.

“Niragi…”

“You don’t have to say anything.” he interrupted, taking one more step, close enough now that you could feel the heat coming off of him. “I just wanted to talk. I miss your voice. That’s all.”

“You miss my voice?” you asked, skeptically.

He tilted his head. “I miss a lot of things. But your voice—yeah. That one hurts the most.”

That shut you up.

Because god, how could he do that? Say the exact thing you needed to hear. With the exact tone.

And it worked.

It always worked.

You exhaled. Shoulders heavy. Face tipping back toward him like gravity just liked him more than you.

“I’m mad at you.” you whispered. It was your last shield.

“I know.” he said. His voice didn’t waver. “You should be.”

Then he stepped closer again—barely inches between you—and reached out slowly, like he was testing the water before jumping in. His hand brushed your elbow. Barely.

“And I know I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured. “but you look at me like that and I forget what I did.”

That was it. The collapse. The warmth in his voice. The hollowed-out guilt that still felt like an apology. That addicting contrast—rage and ruin and affection all in one beautiful, cruel boy.

So when he touched your cheek next, when his thumb grazed just under your eye and you didn’t pull away—

You knew.

You folded.

Oh, Y/N.

You broke your own rules for him. Again.

Because even if it was manipulation—even if every word was laced with intention, and control, and strategy—even if his mouth was a lie and his eyes were a trap—he still made you feel wanted. And that had always been your weakness.

You leaned into his touch. Just a little. And he smiled like he won something. Because he had.

You.

Again.

“I’m sorry.” Niragi said. It came out too fast. Too clean. Like he had it on hand, rehearsed in the mirror for the hundredth time since you left him standing in his own rot.

You blinked. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

His eyes flicked up. Calculating.

Which crime?

Which thing was safe to admit? Which version of himself was palatable enough for your forgiveness?

He smiled like it hurt. Like he knew the answer.

“All of it.”

Oh, how convenient.

So clean. So non-specific. So Niragi.

“That narrows it down.” you said flatly, voice heavy with sarcasm.

But still, you didn’t pull away. Because even if his mouth was full of lies, his hands were warm. And your skin was lonely.

He stepped closer, like you hadn’t just poked a hole in his performance. Like if he closed the distance, the cracks in the scene would blur.

“I fucked up.” he said. “Okay? I lost you. And I hated it. I hated the quiet, I hated not knowing what room you were in, hated wondering if you were laughing with someone else. I missed your voice. Your eyes. The way you get all fidgety when you’re nervous.” he went on, and god, he had the details down. “I missed the sound of you walking down the hall. Missed your shampoo on my shirts.”

Your lips parted like you wanted to interrupt. But nothing came out.

“And I know.” he said, brushing your cheek again, thumb warm. “I know I don’t deserve you. I know I’m too far gone and too fucked up and too everything you don’t need.”

Another beat.

“But I want you anyway.”

Of course he did.

You were soft. Beautiful. You loved too much. You were a prize to a boy who never won anything real in his life.

And this? This was the chase.

And Niragi never lost the chase.

So yes, he was saying everything right.

Every “sorry.” Every “I miss you.” Every beautifully polished half-truth stitched together into something that almost looked like sincerity.

But beneath it? It was rot.

He didn’t want redemption. He didn’t want healing. He wanted you. Back under his thumb. Back in reach. Back where he could taste that sweet little gasp you made when he brushed too close. Where he could feel wanted.

Niragi didn’t apologize because he meant it. He apologized because it was a tool. Because manipulation in his mouth sounded like affection in someone else’s. And he knew your heart was soft enough to believe it.

“I would do anything.” he said. “Anything, just to have you back. Say it. Say what you want me to be and I’ll be it.”

You looked at him long and hard. Felt that ugly tug in your chest. That need. And you almost folded again.

God, Y/N.

You were right there.

But you looked at his mouth. You remembered the lies that spilled out of it like silk. So you lifted an eyebrow and said, “You’d be anything, huh?”

He nodded, that spark of confidence flaring behind his eyes again.

“Well,” you said dryly. “how about honest?”

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for the mask to slip, just slightly.

He forced a smile. “I’m trying.”

Sure you are.

But the damage was already done. He saw the way your lip quivered. He saw the way your arms didn’t cross, the way you didn’t move away, the way you let him stay close.

That was enough for him.

Because Niragi never needed truth. He just needed access. And god, you were giving it to him.

He had studied you. Watched every soft edge you tried to hide. Memorized the cadence of your voice when you were scared, angry, heartbroken. Knew what made you tick and what made you crumble.

So—he knew how to do this.

Knew exactly when to soften his tone, when to look away like he was ashamed (he wasn’t), when to touch you like you were something he couldn’t believe was real.

He’d walked into this room with nothing but a sick desperation and a plan.

And now here you were.

So close.

And folding.

Just like he knew you would.

Because Niragi was a fucking predator, and you were warmth and vulnerability. You wanted to stand tall. But you wanted him to be better just a little bit more.

So he fed that.

Fed your hope.

“You’re the only thing I ever gave a shit about.” he whispered, voice calm. “You know that, right?”

And your heart twitched. Because you did want to believe that. You wanted to believe this broken boy was broken just enough to change.

But god—he was good.

Too good.

Smart enough to know just how much remorse to fake, how much vulnerability to weaponize, how much truth to bury beneath something pretty.

“I don’t sleep.” he said. “Not really. Not since you left. My head’s loud, you know? It’s always loud. But when you were next to me… fuck—at least I felt something good.”

You turned your head, just slightly. Your lip trembled. That was all he needed.

“You make me better. You always did. You make me feel like someone real.”

God.

That one almost made you cry.

Because you wanted to feel like you mattered. Like your love did something.

“You’re the smartest person I know.” you whispered, eyes fluttering. “That’s the problem. You know what to say.”

He grinned. Just a flicker of it. Like a wolf spotting a limp.

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

And that—that was the worst part. Because it sounded true. He said it soft. Measured. Like someone who just couldn’t lie to you even if he tried.

You turned your face again. “You don’t mean any of this. You just want control.”

“No.” he said. “I want you.” Then softer, closer: “I need you.”

And maybe it was pathetic. Maybe it was twisted. Maybe it was all a game to him.

But his voice cracked just right. And his hands were so warm.

You stood there, trying to hold on to your strength. To the truths Kuina told you. To the way your heart ached for something real. But Niragi knew your balance. He knew exactly how long to stay quiet, exactly when to inch closer. And god—he knew how to watch you fall.

Manipulation, for Niragi, was art.

And baby, he just got his masterpiece back.

“You’re the only thing that ever felt good here.” he said, voice low, dripping with the kind of sweetness that felt like honey—warm, golden… and so sticky you might not ever get it off. “You know that, right?”

Oh wow. A monster with feelings. Give him a medal.

But his eyes? Soft, lips parted like every word cost him blood. He looked at you like he might die if you pulled away again.

And you wanted to believe it.

Because wasn’t that what you always wanted? To be the exception. The one that made the villain feel like a person again.

“You’re it.” he whispered. “You’ve always been it for me. Even when I didn’t know how to say it right. Even when I messed everything up.”

A beat passed. Then another.

You knew what was coming next before he even said it.

And still, your breath caught when he did.

“…Can I kiss you?”

Four little words.

Simple. Bare.

Deadly.

Fuck off, you knew better. But the ache in your chest was already moving forward, taking your body with it.

And when his hand slid around your jaw, tilting your head toward him, your eyes fluttered shut like he’d flipped a switch in you.

And when his lips touched yours—it wasn’t gentle.

No, it was desperate.

It was a kiss that said I’m sorry and I need you and don’t go all at once.

His mouth crushed against yours with the kind of hunger that had been starving for days. And it made sense—he was. For this. For you.

For control.

Your fingers clutched his shirt without meaning to, needing something to hold onto, something to brace against the pull of it all. His hand slid to the small of your back, dragging you closer.

You were kissing him like you missed him. Like you hated him. Like he ruined you and you still wanted him anyway.

Because maybe he did.

And maybe you did.

You woke up alone.

Again.

Which would be fine if you hadn’t gone to sleep thinking—idiotically, embarrassingly—that he might still be here in the morning. That maybe this time, after he kissed you like a man begging for oxygen, after he whispered he’d change, that he’d do better, that he’d be better—he might actually stay.

But no. Of course not.

You blinked up at the ceiling of your room. Big bed. Silky sheets. What a joke. Hatter’s idea of spoiling you. Keep the princess comfy so she doesn’t notice the blood in the water. And you played along, didn’t you? Sleeping on cloud-soft pillows while pretending last night didn’t happen the way it did.

God. You were such a fucking idiot.

Niragi was all heat in the moment—hands, mouth, voice—but give him time and it was all ashes. He kissed you like he meant it. Whispered like he wanted to be someone else. Someone better.

But he wasn’t.

You knew that. You knew it. But for those three seconds—those cursed, beautiful, venomous seconds—you let yourself believe him.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

You sat up, hair a mess, heart worse. The mirror across the room caught your reflection and you wanted to smash it. Not because you looked bad—no, you looked like a dream. Soft skin, big eyes, that little helpless pout Niragi always loved. You looked like a girl worth destroying things for. That was the problem.

They all saw it. Saw you and mistook softness for salvation.

And what did you do? You let them.

You rubbed at your eyes like it might scrub off the night before. It didn’t. You could still feel his hands on your waist, still hear the quiet desperation in his voice, the way it cracked when he said your name like a prayer. And fuck you, but part of you missed him already.

The bastard.

He hurt people for you. Akira didn’t deserve what Niragi and Chishiya did to him. And what did you do? You stopped talking to them for a whole week. Wow. Real spine there.

But last night? Last night Niragi looked like he might shatter without you. Looked like he’d fall to his knees and beg if you so much as breathed the right way. And that’s what always got you. Not the violence. Not the threats. Not the fire.

It was the fear in his eyes.

The way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling off the edge.

And you liked that. You hated it, but you liked it. It made you feel real. Important. Like maybe all the blood on your hands meant something if it kept someone from drowning.

So you let him kiss you. You let him lie.

And now you were alone. Again.

He said he’d change.

Yeah. And maybe Chishiya would grow a conscience.

Speaking of, he would probably show up soon. Chishiya always had a sixth sense for when Niragi fucked up. Like a predator smelling blood. Let you pretend he wasn’t lying through his teeth.

You knew the truth, but you still wanted what he gave you. The warmth. The softness. The illusion.

You could forgive almost anything, couldn’t you?

Hell, maybe you deserved what was happening to you.

Because somewhere deep down, you didn’t want to let go of either of them. Not really. Not Niragi, with his burn-the-world love. Not Chishiya, with his beautifully constructed lies.

They needed you.

And god help you, you needed them too.

Just not like this.

You exhaled, slow and shaky, and stared out the window. Sunlight filtered in. Maybe you’d get up. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe today you’d pretend to believe someone again. Maybe you’d keep breaking your own heart just to feel something.

Niragi lit the cigarette with shaking hands.

Didn’t mean to. Didn’t think he’d shake at all, honestly, but there it was—the faint tremble, the twitch of his fingers as the lighter sparked, flame catching like it fucking knew he needed the hit.

His balcony was quiet. Too quiet. Early morning mist still clung to the edges of the Beach.

He dragged hard on the cigarette and exhaled.

His knuckles were still bruised.

He didn’t even think about it. Not really. One second he saw the way Akira looked at you and the next there was blood on his hands.

He felt it.

Jealousy. Rage. Panic.

Because what if you looked back?

What if you smiled at that little bug?

What if you chose someone soft?

And what did that make Niragi?

Fucked.

That’s what.

He took another drag, this one deeper. Not that he was sorry. Not really. But you didn’t look at Niragi the same after that. Your eyes had been cold. Not angry. Not even afraid. Just disappointed.

He could handle anything else. You could scream at him. Spit in his face. Slap him, even. He wanted that. Needed the heat of it. But that look?

He almost fucking begged.

Instead, he kissed you.

Because that was what he could do. That was what he had. Hands, lips, heat—he could kiss you until you forgot why you were mad. He could whisper that he’d change. That he wanted to change. That he’d do anything, anything for you. That if you just gave him one more second of closeness, he could be good.

Whatever the fuck “good” even meant.

But the truth? The truth was last night wasn’t about change. It was about getting you back.

And not even all of you. Just a piece. Just enough to touch. To taste. To feel like he existed somewhere outside the chaos in his own skull. You were the only thing that ever made him feel real. And that was the sick part. Because it wasn’t even about you being perfect. Or kind. Or soft. You were, all of that, but it wasn’t the reason he crawled back to you over and over.

It was because you were the only one. There was nobody like you. There would never be.

He leaned his elbows on the railing and stared down at the Beach below. Some drunk bastard was yelling. Two people fucking behind a curtain. A girl crying on the stairs. This place was a circus, and somehow, he still managed to be the worst of the bunch.

But not to you.

He never wanted to be that to you.

He didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t even know if he wanted to fix it. He was rot, inside and out, and every time he tried to put himself back together it just looked like a more charming kind of monster.

But he couldn’t let you go.

He wouldn’t.

Even if he didn’t deserve you. Even if the only thing he was good at was ruining everything he touched. He’d always come back. Always kiss your skin like an apology. Always beg with his body because he didn’t have the words.

Fucking pathetic.

A desperate, broken thing standing on a balcony too high off the ground, thinking too much about what he’d do if you left for good.

He’d burn the place down, probably.

Or just himself.

He finished the cigarette and flicked the butt off the edge, watching it fall like a dead star. Smoke clung to his shirt. His skin. His soul.

But he didn’t hate you. That was the one clean thing he had left. The one thing that didn’t rot when he touched it.

You. You, with your fucking sad eyes and sweet voice and stupid, stupid heart.

He didn’t know if he could change.

But he knew this: you kissed him last night.

And for a second, he wasn’t in hell.

He lit another cigarette.

Now that you were back, getting clean from smoking suddenly wasn’t that important, was it?

Didn’t even wait a minute. Just sparked the next one like he was trying to choke himself out with the smoke. Like maybe if he inhaled fast enough, he wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

Didn’t work. Never fucking did.

Because underneath the nicotine and adrenaline, underneath the black clothes and last night—you were still there. In his head. Under his skin. Sweet and soft and carved into the inside of his fucking skull.

He couldn’t get rid of you.

And god, he didn’t want to.

Because the truth—the kind of truth he’d never admit, not to you, not to anyone—was this:

He worshipped you.

Not loved. Not wanted. Not desired. Those were too clean, too normal. He worshipped you like a sinner worships a god they know will never love them back. Like something holy he could never touch without dirtying.

And still he touched you. Still he kissed you like his mouth was the only part of him that could tell the truth.

Change was a word he used to get your hands on him again. A performance. A script he repeated every time you pulled away. But what he meant—what lived under the bullshit, under the manipulation, the theatrics, the violence—was simpler:

Don’t leave me.

That was all it ever was.

He’d kill for you. Burn the Beach down for you. Ruin himself for you. And the worst part? You never even asked for that. You never wanted him to fall in love like that. You just existed—warm, kind, too good for this hell—and he fell apart around you.

It was disgusting.

He was disgusting.

There were nights he’d sit alone and think about the way you looked at Chishiya. The quiet, hesitant softness in your eyes. The way you wanted to trust him. Niragi wanted to cut that look off your face. He wanted to rip the elegance out of Chishiya’s mouth, wanted to grind his pretty lies into dust and scream He doesn’t fucking see you like I do.

Because he didn’t.

No one did.

Not like Niragi.

Niragi? He saw everything. The dark parts. The pain. The parts of you that screamed at night and stitched yourself back together by morning. He saw you.

And he fucking loved you for it.

He loved every inch of your broken, bleeding, impossibly soft heart. And not the way people were supposed to love. Not in a way you could take out into the daylight. It was uglier than that. More desperate. Like you were oxygen and he was already halfway drowned.

Because without you? There was nothing. Not the Beach. Not the games. Not the drugs or the sex or the fire or the power. Without you, he was just a monster with a gun and no reason to stop pulling the trigger.

You gave him a reason.

And maybe that was crueler than anything he’d ever done.

Because you cared. Even when you shouldn’t. Even when he hurt people. Even when he hurt you. You still saw the broken little boy underneath the sadist. You still believed, in that dumb, brave little heart of yours, that he could be saved.

He pressed his forehead to the railing, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and exhaled.

He needed you more than he needed to breathe. That your smile—just the ghost of it—was the only thing that kept him from putting a bullet in his own head. That when you touched him, even just your fingers brushing his arm, he felt alive.

And he didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve you.

But he’d take you anyway.

Rip you out of heaven and keep you in his hands even if he crushed you by accident. Because that’s what he did. He ruined things. And he’d ruin you too. And maybe you already knew that. Maybe that’s why you pulled away, why your eyes looked so fucking sad lately. Maybe you were starting to see the truth:

He wasn’t going to change.

He wasn’t capable of it.

But he’d lie. He’d lie until his throat bled. He’d beg on his knees. He’d crawl through glass. He’d do anything to get you to stay.

Because in the end, Niragi was nothing but a desperate fucker on a balcony with a half-burned cigarette and a mouth full of ash, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d come back.

And if you didn’t?

He’d burn.

And take the whole Beach with him.

Three soft taps on Chishiya’s door.

Polite. Almost shy.

Like you hadn’t stood in front of that door for five straight minutes trying to decide if this was the right thing to do. As if that mattered anymore. As if anything made sense now.

Your knuckles lingered against the wood, just for a second. Just long enough to feel the pulse in your fingers, the nerves jangling beneath your skin like a warning.

You should’ve turned around. You should’ve gone to Kuina’s room. Or Hatter’s. Or anywhere that wasn’t here.

But of course, you didn’t.

Because you were the kind of girl who wanted to fix things. Even when they were built to be broken. Even when the person behind the door had blood on his hands and sugar in his voice.

Chishiya opened it like he was expecting you.

He always did.

“Hi.” you said softly.

A heartbeat of silence passed. He tilted his head, like he was trying to decide what version of himself to be for you tonight. His eyes flicked over your face, your mouth, your hands. Not because he didn’t know you. But because he knew exactly how to make you feel seen.

He stepped aside. “Come in.”

Like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t kissed him yesterday with shaking hands and watery eyes and a heart caught between betrayal and yearning.

You stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you. Trapped. Not physically—but you felt it all the same.

You turned to him, tried to smile. “I just… I wanted to talk. Again. About Akira.”

He didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll his eyes. Just looked at you. Patient. Open. The perfect performance of concern.

“Still bothering you?” he asked, voice smooth, low.

You nodded. “I keep thinking about what happened to him. What you did.”

Chishiya’s face didn’t change. Not even a twitch.

“He wasn’t innocent.” Chishiya said simply.

That again.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “You said he did bad things.”

He nodded. Calm. Controlled. “He did.”

You hesitated. “But what things?”

A pause.

This was the part where he should’ve told the truth.

He didn’t.

“He wasn’t who you thought he was. He was working against Hatter. Trading information. Selling people out to other groups. I didn’t want to tell you yesterday because I knew it would hurt you.”

Liar.

It came so easily. So clean. And god, you wanted to believe it. Wanted it so bad your heart ached from how tightly you clung to the thread of it.

“That’s not what Kuina said.”

Chishiya blinked. Just once. “Kuina doesn’t know everything.”

You looked down at the floor. It was too much. The space between you. The way he could lie without blinking, without sweating, without caring. And still, your heart pulled toward him. Because yesterday, after you confronted him, after your voice cracked and your hands trembled—

Kissiiiiiing.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It had been dark, needy, electric in the worst way.

But it felt like something real.

And now here you were. Still hoping for the real thing.

“I don’t want people getting hurt because of me.” you whispered.

“You didn’t do anything.” he said.

“But—”

“You’re not responsible for how people feel about you. Or what they do because of it.” His voice softened. “You can’t control that.”

You swallowed hard. “I just… I want it to stop. The lying. The killing. I can’t—”

And then his hand brushed your cheek. Gentle.

What he said wasn’t true.

You knew that.

And yet, you leaned into his touch.

Because sometimes a lie that feels good is better than a truth that kills you.

And Chishiya knew that. Of course he did.

He wasn’t going to stop lying.

Not ever.

Because if he told the truth—really told it—you’d leave.

And Chishiya Shuntaro didn’t lose things he wanted.

No matter the cost.

He didn’t say anything sweet. Never did. Not his style. You wouldn’t get baby or darling or I’m sorry, please don’t go out of him. Chishiya didn’t do apologies. He did soft, calculated lies with just enough emotional weight to make them stick in your chest.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” you said, too quietly.

“I want you to be okay.”

Simple. Clean. Not too much. Not too little. Exactly what you needed to hear.

You searched his face for something real. Some crack in the armor. But there was nothing. Just that soft, sleepy-eyed gaze that made you feel like the only person in the world.

“You don’t even care.” you whispered. “Do you?”

He tilted his head, watching you. “Of course I care.”

“But you let Niragi—”

“You blame me for what Niragi does?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you said.

He nodded, like he understood. Like he forgave you. “You’re upset. That’s fair.”

You hated how calm he was. Hated how right he sounded even when you knew—deep down—you were being lied to. Hand-fed comfort from a man who had killed someone you cared about. A boy who didn’t deserve to die. And yet, here you were.

Chishiya stepped back. The warmth of his hand gone instantly. Like he was never even touching you at all.

“You came here to make things right.” he said. “But what does that look like to you?”

You blinked. “I don’t know. Honesty, maybe.”

“Honesty.” he repeated. And then, softly—cruelly: “People lie all the time. You do too.”

You stared at him. “I’ve never lied to you.”

Every micro-expression. Every breath you tried to hold in. He saw you like no one else did—and he didn’t even need to say he missed you. He didn’t need to get on his knees and beg.

He just stood there. Quiet and cruel and undeniably yours.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, small and shaky. “This isn’t normal.”

“No.” he said. “But nothing here is.”

“People die here.”

“I’m aware.”

“You killed someone.”

“I kept you safe.”

You flinched. “From what? From a boy who liked me?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Didn’t apologize. Because Chishiya didn’t regret it. Not for a fucking second. He regretted that you saw it. He regretted that it made you look at him different. That it made your voice shake when you spoke to him now.

But Akira? Dead weight. A threat to the calm, stable grip he had on you.

Because whether you knew it or not, Chishiya had never wanted anyone before. Not like this.

He didn’t even know he was capable of it.

He’d used people, played them, watched them like ants. He saw their moves before they made them. Saw right through them. And for most of his life, he’d been fine with that. Detached. Floating.

Until you. You—with your stupid, soft eyes and your stubborn morals and your ridiculous, impossible kindness—you cracked something in him. And he hated it. He hated the flutter in his chest when you knocked on his door. Hated the way his hands got warm when you touched him. Hated the ache that bloomed behind his ribs when you walked away.

He hated it.

But he couldn’t stop.

So no, he wasn’t sweet. He wasn’t desperate.

He just knew how to make you stay.

“You don’t have to believe me.” he said. “You don’t even have to trust me.”

You looked up at him. Searching. Always searching.

“I just want to know if you’re mine.” he said.

You froze.

The silence hung between you like a noose.

And he watched you. Calm. Patient. Waiting for the answer he already knew. Because despite everything—despite the lies and the blood and the cold, calculated cruelty—your body was leaning toward him. Your heart was still on the fucking table.

Your voice came out fragile, too small: “…I don’t want to be anyone’s.”

Chishiya nodded once. “Fair.”

Then he stepped forward again, slow and sure, until your back were almost touching the wall.

“But if you were.” he murmured, “you’d be mine.”

You didn’t stop him when he kissed you.

Because the scariest part wasn’t the manipulation. Wasn’t the lies. Wasn’t the coldness behind his touch.

It was how good it felt to be wanted by someone who never wanted anything.

He didn’t rush. He pressed his mouth to yours with the kind of stillness that made your pulse spike, the kind of confidence that said: You came to me. You always come to me.

And fuck, he was right.

You kissed him back.

Even though you shouldn’t. Even though there were bodies behind him—real people, with names and histories, people who were dead now—and you still kissed him like he was something holy.

Because it felt good.

It felt so fucking good to be wanted like this. Not as a weakness, not as a plaything. But like he saw something in you no one else did. Like you were some rare, tragic little miracle in this shithole world, and he was the only one smart enough to hold on tight.

His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head just slightly, just so he could kiss you deeper. He still didn’t touch you like a lover. He touched you like he was studying the architecture of your heartbreak. Like he wanted to memorize the exact angle of your suffering.

Your breath caught.

Because beneath all that coldness—beneath the silence and the lies—was something. Something real. You felt it. In the way his mouth lingered against yours like he didn’t want to pull away. In the way his thumb traced the soft skin beneath your eye, where you’d cried hours ago. In the way he leaned in closer, lips parting slightly, your teeth almost grazing.

You were so soft with him. So stupidly, recklessly soft.

And he loved it.

He didn’t show it. Didn’t say a fucking word. But he did something else.

He kissed lower.

You gasped—barely—but he heard it. You felt his mouth drag down, just slightly, from the corner of your lips to the line of your jaw, then down to the place where your pulse thudded, frantic and hot, just beneath your skin.

Chishiya kissed your neck. Slow. Unapologetic.

And then he bit.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough to make you feel it. To leave a mark. His lips closed around your skin and sucked, slow and deep, and you could already feel the bruise blooming beneath the surface.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. You didn’t push him away.

(AN: guys idk if he wears a jacket or a hoodie, if I write one of them just know I think of that white fuck he wears okay?)

You tilted your head and let him.

And god, it felt—it felt like punishment and prayer and pleasure all at once. Like maybe if he hurt you gently enough, it would balance the rest out. Like maybe this was how he said I feel it too without saying a fucking word.

Because he did.

He felt it.

Chishiya had never had a crush before. Not this bone-deep ache that made him want to destroy anyone who touched you. Not this gut-twisting hunger to be the one you ran to when the world went to shit. Not this—

Longing.

That was the word for it.

He wanted you in ways he didn’t understand. Didn’t like. It wasn’t just physical. He wanted to belong to you. Wanted you to look at him like he mattered. Like he wasn’t just some cold bastard with too many deaths on his hands.

He wanted you to choose him. Even if you shouldn’t.

And so, he marked you. Right there on the curve of your throat, where everyone could see it.

Where Niragi would see it.

Where Kuina would.

Where the Beach would.

He pulled back finally, lips pink, eyes dark, watching the slow realization settle in your eyes. You touched the bruise with trembling fingers.

You looked so sad.

God, your sad fucking eyes.

That crushed little look like you knew what you were doing. Like you knew you should walk out right now and never come back. Like your heart was breaking for him—and for yourself too.

“You didn’t have to do that.” you said, softly.

Chishiya just looked at you. Didn’t say sorry. Didn’t explain. But his hand brushed your wrist as you touched the mark, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“You wanted to feel wanted.” he said finally, voice low. “Now you do.”

And fuck you—he was right.

You did.

Even if it was wrong. Even if it hurt. Even if it meant dragging yourself through this hell with a liar’s mouth on your skin and a bruise blooming just below your collarbone.

You didn’t walk away. You stayed. Because the truth was simple.

You liked him.

You felt too much. And so did he. Even if he’d never say it.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, heartbroken, lips parted like maybe—just maybe—something kind would come out of his mouth. Something sweet. Something real.

But Chishiya didn’t do sweet.

Oh, you could feel it—he was thrilled.

Not the kind of happiness you could see. No smiles. No bright eyes. Nothing soft. Just the sick, simmering satisfaction of a man who had just checkmated the entire board.

You gave him a problem—your suspicion, your heartbreak, trembling little “I want honesty”—and he’d solved it. Not by confessing. Not by apologizing. By fucking kissing you. By biting into your skin like it was his. He didn’t even need to ask, that was the worst part.

You should have slapped him. You should have turned around, ripped open the door, and told Kuina everything. You should have screamed at him and made him pay for what he did to Akira. What he did to you.

But instead? You leaned in. Your hands curled into the front of his hoodie, gripping the soft fabric.

You kissed him.

Not out of lust. Not even entirely out of longing.

You wanted him to need you.

You wanted him to burn for you.

And he did.

The second your lips met his again, he made a sound so small, so low, it barely registered—but it was there. Like the tightest breath of relief, pulled from somewhere deep inside. Like the itch in his bones finally eased.

You kissed him soft this time. Your lips slow. Searching. Almost sad. And he let you. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t deepen it. He just stood there, letting you pour every drop of doubt, grief, love, into the shape of your mouth against his.

And behind that silence? He was gloating. Not in a loud, arrogant way. No, Chishiya’s satisfaction was quiet. Hidden under layers of calm, behind that stare. But it was there. Thick in the air.

Because he had you.

Again.

Still.

And god, the control of it. The elegance of it. This wasn’t Niragi’s kind of victory—bloody and loud and furious. No. Chishiya’s wins were clean, undetectable, undeniable.

He didn’t need to beg for you. Didn’t need to cry or yell or break. He just needed to exist. And you came back. You always did.

Your lips were pink when you pulled away. Your cheeks flushed. And the hickey—god, the hickey—was darkening already.

You looked wrecked.

And he looked so fucking pleased.

Not with you. With himself. Because this was all going according to plan. You, soft and trembling. Him, untouched. Collected.

But under that—under the surface, in the quietest, darkest place inside him—he was obsessed. With your voice. With your fucking mouth. With your loyalty, fragile and stupid as it was. With the fact that he was the one you came to. Not Niragi. Not Hatter. Him.

The only person in this whole godforsaken hellscape who’d never said “I love you.”

And still had you by the throat. Without lifting a finger.

You stepped back. Not much. Just enough to give yourself space to breathe. Space to think. But even that felt like a betrayal. Your hands dropped from his hoodie. And god, they missed it already.

“I should go.” you whispered. Your voice barely made it out. It was cracked. Small. Still soft. You always were. “I just… I needed to know.” you said, looking down. “If you still felt it. Or if I was just—if I imagined all of it.”

You didn’t cry.

But it felt like you should’ve.

Because you still loved him.

You shouldn’t. You knew better now. You saw what he was—how he lied like it was breathing, how he played you like it was nothing, how he twisted every truth into a weapon he could aim back at your chest. You knew.

But love doesn’t give a fuck about knowing.

You loved him anyway. Because he kissed you like he knew you. Because he looked at you like you were something worth keeping alive. Because he didn’t scream, didn’t panic, didn’t beg—he stayed. Always stayed. Right where you could find him.

Even if he’d ruined everything.

Even if he’d lied about Akira.

“I just want things to be okay again.” you said.

And maybe that was your fatal flaw. Always wanting okay. Always trying to patch holes in a ship that was already sunk. Always loving people who didn’t know how to love you back.

But you were still here. Still standing in front of him like your heart hadn’t been shot out of your chest.

“Things will be okay.” he said quietly.

A simple lie. Soft. Easy. Perfectly cut to fit your shape.

And fuck, you wanted to believe it.

Your hand twitched at your side. Like you were about to reach for him again. Like you couldn’t help it. But instead, you turned. And you walked toward the door. You didn’t slam it. Didn’t cry. Just left with love still clinging to your bones, like a ghost that wouldn’t go.

Chishiya watched you leave. Didn’t stop you, didn’t move. But behind that stillness, he was burning. Quietly. Beautifully. The kind of slow, obsessive, controlled fire that ate through everything in its path.

Okay, total lie. He controlled none of this. Control the situation? Sure. Control himself, his feelings? Eeeeh…

Your door was cracked open.

Not wide. Just enough to unsettle you.

You’d closed it when you left. You were sure.

Your heart, already fragile from Chishiya’s fingerprints, gave a quiet stutter as you pushed it open. The air in your room had changed—warmer, thicker. It smelled like smoke and cologne.

Sitting on the edge of your bed. Legs spread, elbows on his knees, a cigarette dying between two fingers, smoke curling lazy and thick into the ceiling.

Niragi.

“Hi, sweetheart.” he said, voice low. Smooth. Too calm. “Miss me?”

You weren’t ready for this. Not now. Not right after Chishiya’s mouth had been on yours, not with your brain still swimming and your heart beating itself raw against your ribs.

But you were soft. So fucking soft. So you didn’t scream, or shove him, or tell him to get the fuck out. You stepped inside, slow. Cautious. Confused.

“…What are you doing here, Niragi?”

“You were with him, right?” he said, and he didn’t say the name, didn’t have to.

He didn’t sound angry. Not yet. He sounded… curious. And that was worse. Because Niragi was smart. Too smart. Everyone underestimated him because he acted like a psycho and shot people for fun—but he knew. He watched. He read people like books, tore them apart.

You sat on the edge of the bed beside him, leaving a few inches between you. Small, shaky, but there.

“Niragi,” you said quietly. “I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to fix things. You and I—we haven’t even—”

He laughed. A short, breathless thing.

“You always want to fix things.” he said, turning toward you. “You think this place is made for fixing?” And then, softer: “You think he loves you?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

All you knew was that you kissed Chishiya like he was the last safe place on earth—and left feeling more lost than when you arrived.

But you looked at Niragi now. And for all his madness, all his obsession and violence and chaos—there was something real in his eyes. Something wild. Something desperate.

He was smart enough to play it cool, but underneath? He was burning. You could feel it. He was a powder keg in a pretty body. Explosive with need. Drenched in love he didn’t know how to carry.

“I’m not mad.” he said, tilting his head. “Okay? I’m not mad.”

Liar.

“But it’s driving me fucking crazy that he touched you. That you let him. That you’re confused.”

His hand reached out and rested against your knee.

“You don’t have to be confused, baby.”

Your breath hitched.

“You just have to choose me.”

You looked at him, at this boy made of teeth and fire and fragile need, and you felt everything and nothing all at once.

Confused. Warm. Sick. Wanted.

Loved.

God, he loved you.

Wrongly. Violently. Obsessively.

But completely.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Your voice came out small. Honest.

“I do.” he said, without missing a beat. “I know what you need. I know what he is. I know what I am. And I know—I know—you still fucking love me.”

He was right.

Somehow.

Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to taste like blood and smoke and someone else’s mouth still on your lips. It wasn’t supposed to rip you in half.

But it did.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked, eyes wide. Then your fingers—hesitant, slow—came up to your collarbone. You brushed over the hickey.

“Is that from him?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. You looked away, that was enough.

He stood up so fast the mattress shook. Walked away like he couldn’t stand the sight of you for a second—but only made it three steps before he turned around.

“You let that cold, dead-eyed snake put his mouth on you?” he asked. Quiet. Too quiet.

Not screaming. Not yet.

But it was coming.

Still, you didn’t speak. Because what could you say? You didn’t want to lie. And he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

And yeah. You let him. You let Chishiya. Because you were weak, and lost, and wanted to be wanted. And Chishiya knew how to make you feel like the center of the universe without ever saying a word.

“You know what’s fucking crazy?” he said, looking right at you. “I could’ve killed that little freak the second he touched you. I wanted to. Still do.” He stepped closer. “But I didn’t. Because I thought maybe—maybe—I could show you something different. Not… sweet. I’m not fucking sweet. But I thought if I tried…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Because even saying that much tasted like weakness. And weakness was death in this place.

He stopped in front of you. Looked down at your soft, small frame, your hands still protectively curled around your own collarbone like you were trying to hide what had already been done.

And that’s when it hit him.

You weren’t trying to flaunt the hickey.

You weren’t trying to show off the kiss or the boy or the moment that had happened before him.

You were trying to shield it.

From him.

From his rage.

From what he might do.

And god help him— It hurt. It hurt in a way he didn’t have words for.

Because you looked scared. Not terrified. Not of your life. But scared of him. Scared that he’d lash out. Scared that this would snap something in him that could never be put back together. And not because you were afraid for you. But because you were afraid of what he’d do to someone else.

“You think I’m gonna lose my shit?” he said, voice dull now. Almost hollow. “You think I’m gonna put a bullet in his mouth just because he got there first?”

You swallowed. Didn’t meet his eyes.

He sat down beside you again. And for once, he didn’t say something cruel to cover the pain. Didn’t call you a slut. Didn’t throw Chishiya’s name like a knife.

He just looked at your face.

That sweet, tired, aching face.

He wanted to touch you.

Not to own you. Not to fuck you. Not even to mark you.

He just wanted to feel you.

Because you were the only thing in this godforsaken world that wasn’t poison to him. Even when you let other men kiss you.

You were his only clean thing. And he was too broken to say that. Too broken to be the boyfriend you deserved. Too full of guns and ghosts and smoke and rage.

But he felt it. God, he felt it. And he fucking hated how much.

“You look tired, baby.” Soft. Too soft for a man like him.

Your head turned, just a little. Surprised.

And he smiled. Not his usual cocky shit-eating grin. Not teeth and threat. Just a smile. Small. Like maybe—maybe—he meant it.

His smile was so beautiful.

“Yeah.” you said, voice thin. Honest. “I guess I am.”

He hummed. Stared straight ahead.

Like he hadn’t just committed psychological warfare yesterday. Like he hadn’t ripped a man’s thigh to shreds last week for getting too close to you. Like he was just a guy. Just a boy with tired eyes and too many bruises.

“You never rest.” he said. “Even when you’re alone. Even when you’re safe.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because how the fuck did he know that?

“You ever think about letting someone take care of you?” He looked at you with such pretty eyes. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, angel.” he went on, voice low, slow, dangerous in its quiet. “You don’t have to fix everybody. Not me. Not Chishiya. Not this fucked-up place. You’re not a glue stick. You’re not a band-aid.”

“But I like helping.” you said, small. “I want to.”

Of course you did. You were you. Sweet. Soft. Delusional in the best, most heartbreaking way. And god, he loved it.

He leaned closer. His shoulder bumped yours.

“Then help me.” he said. “Stay with me. Let me be close. Let me feel you, baby.”

His hand came up, slow, delicate, and brushed your hair back from your face. Not with greed. Not with heat. Just with that hunger. The kind that hurt to hold in.

And Niragi—violent, obsessive Niragi—felt something awful bloom in his chest.

It was feeling.

Real, sick, aching feeling.

And he hated it. But he needed it. He needed you.

He looked at your face again. Your soft lashes. Your sad little mouth. Your hands.

And fuck, he fell harder. Like gravity just doubled in this room.

He was close enough to see the hickey again, the bruise from someone else’s mouth—and for the first time, it didn’t send rage through his spine.

It just made him want to make his own.

Quiet. Private. Just for you.

“I can be better.” he whispered, nose brushing yours. “For you, I can.”

You didn’t pull away. Didn’t believe him, either. But you wanted to. And he could see that wanting in your eyes.

You were so confused. So soft. So fucking sweet even now.

And he was drunk on it.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore.” Your voice was small. Raw.

Niragi didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stared. At your mouth. At the tremble there.

He knows who you are. You’re his.

“I try so hard to stay good. I try to… to hold on to it. To the part of me that isn’t broken yet.”

Don’t hold on. Let it break. He’ll keep the pieces. He’ll lick the fucking pieces clean.

You looked down at your lap. Twisted your fingers. “I keep thinking if I help people, if I just love enough, everything will make sense.”

You don’t have to love everyone. Just love him. Just fucking love him.

You looked at him, and the pain in your eyes almost killed him. “But it doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense. People still die. People still lie. And I… I let things happen I shouldn’t.”

His jaw tensed. He wanted to ask. Wanted to scream what did he do to you, wanted to take Chishiya’s little smirk and beat it off his face.

But he didn’t. He stayed still. Because you were trusting him. Finally. Bleeding truth right into his hands. And he liked the blood.

“I let people use me.” you whispered. “I let them talk their way back into my heart. Even when I know better.”

He’s already in your heart. He built it. He planted himself in there like a weed. Good luck ripping him out, baby.

“And I miss things that hurt me.” You didn’t have to say it. You didn’t have to name him. Niragi already knew.

You miss him. You miss his fire. His teeth. His fucked-up way of loving you. You miss it. And he’ll give you more. He’ll burn for you. He’ll set himself on fire if it makes you stay.

“Do you ever wish you could be… different?”

He laughed once, short. Bitter.

Different? No. Better for you? Yes.

His voice came quiet. “Only when I look at you.”

You smiled. Tired. God, you were so tired. And so sweet. Even like this. Even torn in five directions and covered in everyone else’s fingerprints. You were still trying to love. Still trying to make sense of it all.

“I’m just tired of being everyone’s lifeline.” you said. “No one ever asks if I’m okay. They just need me. And I let them.”

He needs you. He needs you. But he’ll ask. He’ll check. He’ll watch. He’ll obsess. He’ll memorize your every blink until he knows what it means when you twitch in your sleep.

“You make me feel safe.” you said, almost shy.

That one hit him like a sledgehammer to the ribs. Because he knew it wasn’t true. But you believed it. Or maybe you just needed to say it. Needed it to be real. And that was worse.

You’re his. You trust him. You chose him. After everything, after that fucker Chishiya, you came back to him.

Your head dropped against his shoulder.

And Niragi just sat there. Still. Breathing hard. Staring at the wall.

His hand came up, hesitant, slow. And he wrapped it around your waist. Not like a boyfriend. Not like a lover. Like a man holding onto the edge of the world. Because you were the edge. And he was so close to falling off.

Don’t leave. Don’t ever fucking leave. He’ll be good. He’ll fake it. He’ll learn it. Just stay. Just be here. Just keep talking to him like he’s someone worth talking to.

You exhaled. Soft. Calm. “Thank you for listening.”

And he almost said it.

Almost.

I love you.

But it caught in his throat and turned to smoke.

So he just held you tighter.

And thought it louder.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“You need anything?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Water? Food?”

You blinked at him. Slow, surprised.

Because since when did Niragi ask what you needed?

Not tell. Not demand. Not twist your arm.

Ask.

Soft.

Gentle, even.

“You don’t have to go.” you murmured. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” he said. “You don’t have to be strong with me all the time.”

God, say thank you. Cry in front of him. Let him clean up the mess he made and call it love. Let him be your fucking hero just for a second.

You smiled at him. Soft. Stupid. Hopeful. Like maybe you thought he meant it. Like maybe this was the turning point. And he liked that look. That sparkle in your eye that hadn’t fully died yet.

He’d die before he let anyone else put it out.

“I just want to take care of you.” he said, and meant none of it, and meant all of it.

He wants to chain you to his bed and feed you from his hand. He wants to peel the skin off anyone who makes you cry. He wants to wrap himself around your ribs and stay there, choking the air out of your lungs but calling it protection.

You laid your head against him again. And he rested his chin on your hair. Like he wasn’t rotting inside. Because oh, Niragi was sick. He was sick in ways language couldn’t hold. Sick in ways even he couldn’t understand. Twisted and blackened and barely human in the ways that counted.

He didn’t know how to love. He barely knew how to want without destruction riding shotgun.

This wasn’t affection.

This wasn’t devotion.

It was consumption. Worship in the most feral, unholy sense.

He wanted to carve his name into you. Dig it into your soul so no one else could ever touch you without bleeding for it. He wanted you on your knees, crying his name, begging him to be good.

And he wanted to fail at it.

Because deep down, he didn’t believe he could be good.

And he wanted you to stay anyway.

He wanted you to cry in his arms and still say, “It’s okay.” He wanted to ruin you just slow enough that you wouldn’t notice.

So when you whispered, “I’m glad I’m not alone.” he smiled. A sweet, tragic little smile. And didn’t say anything about the hollow in his gut. The part of him screaming, You don’t deserve this. You’re poison. You’re going to kill her soul.

“You should sleep.” Niragi murmured, voice barely there.

You didn’t move. Just kept sitting there, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. You felt warm. Maybe too warm.

He brushed your arm gently with his fingers. Idle. Soothing. Like he hadn’t nearly ripped the head off a man last week. Like this was who he’d always been—gentle, protective, safe.

You don’t even know what you’ve done, letting him this close. He’ll rot everything you are. But fuck—if you tell him to stop, he’ll cry and kiss your knees and promise you the world. Then do it all again.

You exhaled, slowly.

The moment had teeth in it. You could feel them. Right there beneath the softness. But you didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Because… what was the point?

“You make it feel less lonely.” you whispered. “You always know the right thing to say.”

He leaned down and kissed your hair.

That light, perfect kiss.

The kind of kiss that could make you forget who he was.

He wants you to think he’s good. That’s all. Just long enough to fall harder. Just long enough to be his in every fucked-up, irreversible way.

You swallowed. Something twisted in your gut. You didn’t know what. Couldn’t name it. It wasn’t fear. Not quite. Just a voice. Far away. Saying, this isn’t right. But your heart answered back: but it feels good.

Niragi’s hand slid down your arm once more. Then he stood.

And just like that, the bed felt colder.

“I’ll let you sleep.” he said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going far.”

He’ll never be far again. Even if he’s not in the room, he’ll be in your head. He’ll be in Chishiya’s head. He’ll be everywhere.

He turned at the door, eyes trailing over you.

And you smiled at him. Just a little. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Smile at monsters and hope they don’t bite.

“I’ll see you.” you said softly.

He grinned.

“Bet on it.”

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut. And the silence settled like a wet sheet over your skin.

You stared at the ceiling. Alone again.

But not alone.

No, never really alone.

He was still here. His fingerprints were still in your hair, in your chest, wrapped around your lungs like ivy.

And you…you felt off.

Like the sweetness was rotting at the edges. Like maybe you’d swallowed something sharp and didn’t feel it yet.

Your body curled tighter. Searching for that warmth again.

And all you found was him.

Even when he wasn’t there.

Even when you knew something was wrong.

You were just too fucked over him to stop.

Tonight, Niragi’s head was full of you.

Of your voice, your trembling, trusting voice. The way you’d looked at him like maybe—maybe—you didn’t see the devil sitting across from you. Maybe you saw something soft. Something worth keeping.

God, he’d fake softness forever if it meant he got that look again.

He hadn’t told you the truth. Not even close. He’d left the ugliest parts of himself in the dark, behind the door, behind a pretty face and a few gentle touches like he was some kind of angel.

But he felt it.

He felt it, and it was so big it was making him nauseous.

His skin buzzed. His chest felt too tight.

He couldn’t stop replaying the way your fingers curled into his shirt, like you didn’t want him to leave.

And wasn’t that something?

Wasn’t that fucking everything?

He lit a cigarette and stepped out into the hallway from his room, couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he walked. He wasn’t thinking about the next game. He wasn’t thinking about Chishiya, or the other guys who looked at you too long, or the fact that he’d tortured an innocent boy in the last week just for saying your name too sweet.

No.

He was thinking about your sleepy smile. The way your voice caught when you told him you felt safe. He was thinking about your perfume. Your shampoo. How you still smelled like a life.

And how he was gonna keep that smell. Bottle it. Drown in it.

He turned the corner too fast, smirking, lost in it—

And passed Kuina.

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t break her pace. Just kept walking.

But her eyes narrowed, flicking up and down his body.

Because Niragi?

That bastard was smiling.

Not the usual shark-grin. Not the “I just stabbed someone in the spine” grin. Not even his “watch me fuck with the world” smirk.

No. This was different.

Quiet. Self-satisfied.

Content.

And it made no sense.

Not from him.

Not from the walking trauma response with a gun over his shoulder.

Kuina’s stomach turned.

Because she knew what that kind of smile meant.

It meant he got something.

And if Niragi got something, someone else lost something.

She didn’t stop to ask. Didn’t call him out. They weren’t friends. She hated him. Everyone did.

But her chest clenched. Her gut twisted.

Because there was only one person soft enough, kind enough to let a smile like that exist on his face.

You.

Fuck.

(AN: guys I know Y/N’s deep in it again, but just again, she WILL get back up. She’ll be fine I promise. I know the boys are horrible but this is their only tool to keep her)

@lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii @potato-vagina @cherryyserenade @l5byrinth @soaplickerrr @sillyenemyarcade @miellette @sk1ndx0 @stopcallingmeimovedon

#alice in borderland #aib niragi #chishiya alice in borderland #aib chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #niragi suguru #niragi x reader #chishiya x reader #niragi alice in borderland

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bunny-jpeg · 4 months ago

Text

sinful sentences (three)

lance stroll - "no touching right now. that comes later."

tags: smut/pwp, canadian winters, keeping warm, teasing, broken heater/power outage, slow & sensual, dirty talk, sex in the dark, flat iron position/modified doggy style

a/n: i love you montrealllll, i love youuuuuu!!! <3333

the sinful sentences catalogue

montreal, quebec, canada. a beautiful city in a beautiful part of the world. there was a lot to do and the perk of being in it with lance meant you saw the city through the eyes of someone who lived there.

but that almost meant seeing the less glamourized side of the city. the traffic, the construction, and that it was so cold. you thought you were used to cold, but thanks to the water that surrounded the island on montreal. everything was left teeth chattering cold.

and after another blanket of snow coated the city, the chill had gone into your bones and when you stumbled back into the rented apartment for the month, you wanted nothing more than to strip of your clothes, turn up the heat and get under the covers with lance.

but when you tried to turn a light switch on. nothing lit up.

online was a flurry about a power outage caused by the high winds that ripped through the city. multiple neighbourhoods were experiencing black-outs. and on a night like tonight, it was the worst time to be without power.

you and lance got to work in the dark of the apartment. you used your phone flashlights to find emergency candles, and extra blankets. everything was put into the bedroom and you stripped out of your clothes. you used the sweaters and hoodies you packed for the trip to add to the blanket fort you two had created until the power came back on.

lance did like the sight of you in the near dark trying to take out your contacts in nothing but his aston martin sweatshirt, thick black socks (also his), and underwear (which was yours). you got spooked when you turned around and say the outline of him in the door way.

"lance!" you shouted.

"sorry, babe." he chuckled as he got further into the washroom. he winced when you shined the flashlight in his eyes, "no need for the interrogation spotlight." he wrapped his arms around you. he was a bit more accustomed to the montreal cold, but still had heavy sweatpants and a shirt on while out of the nest of blankets. he wrapped his arms around your waist.

he leaned in to kiss you and you smiled up against him. he held onto you a little tighter before you turned off the flashlight and lance guided you back to the bed. clothes were taken off and you bought sought refuge under the covers. you were curled up in one another. naked. not even a thin pair of underwear could separate you two.

"contact like this is good to keep warm." he said. the wind howled outside, it kicked up the snow and pushed it through the city. you were happy you didn't have to near ice pelts against your face as you tried to get from place to place. he rubbed himself up against you and his breathing got a little heavier. he couldn't help but get a little excited. even in the dark without the visualizes of your body, he could still get a good picture with his hands trailing up and down your sides. from your shoulders, across your stomach and to your thigh. he placed a large hand on the side of your right thigh and he smiled to himself in the dark.

you two felt like you were in your own little world. just you two. in the dead darkness of a cold montreal night. he pressed further into you and you reached for him. your hands on his toned chest.

he said to you quietly, "no touching right now. that comes later." he pressed another kiss against you. his lips touched yours, his hands continued to roam your body, "no idea what you do to me. you feel amazing my dear." his breathing grew as he felt the arousal grow in his body. under the covers, the heat only grew.

there was a slight racing in your heart as lance continued to feel you up. you let out a small moan when his pointer and middle finger traced across your slit. it made you nearly jump and he pressed against you further with his shoulder, his weight on top of you.

"fuck, baby. all feels so good." his breathing was heavy pants. both of you were definitely protected from the hardness of the night's cold. especially when lance started to nudge his cock up against your hip. making its presence known, "got me all riled up tonight. how could i not? you always look so good, that sweater i bought you. those jeans that made your ass look amazing." his words were crass, but it excited you. you knew that it made your stomach twist in wanting knots.

"let me touch you." you exhaled deeply.

"aw, should i let you have some fun too? i bet you'd love that." he said somewhat teasing. it made you shudder and your breath hitch for a moment before you reached for him and pulled him in by the shoulders into a heated kiss. he melted against you and continued to feel you up. you two kissed for a while, taking small breaks to breathe before you went back to kissing under the covers.

your bodies fit perfectly together as the warmth of want coursed through both of you. eventually the sensual petting wasn't enough for you two. under the cover of night, you ended up on your stomach with lance behind you. you propped yourself up on your elbows and spread your legs. he laid up right against you, had enough access to press his cock right up against your needy slit.

he buried his nose in your hair and took in the warm scent as he held onto your middle for a moment. he grinded up against you, his hard cock nudged against your soft lower back as he kissed behind your ear. you moaned, your nipples grew hard from the sensation, it left you with goosebumps before he sank into you lovingly.

under the covers, your warm bodies together as your lover moved against you. you moaned and helped onto the white sheets under your bare chest. it felt a bit weird having a fair bit of lance's weight on top of you, but as he worked his cock slowly into you. it felt good, the pleasure curled itself inside of you as he moved.

in the darkness of a rented apartment for the time you'd be in the city during a windstorm that only made the snow worse. the city blanketed in white while the two of you made love. this was his home, even though he had been away from it for a good amount of time. you felt warmed having it shared with you, being so close to lance in that moment.

the bed creaked a little but lance maintained a slow, steady pace. the kind of pace that left you gasping. you learned a long time ago that sex wasn't a race to a finish, but rather an erotic exploration of each other's bodies. and with lance pinned up against you, you were becoming quite familiar with the shape of him.

he kissed the back of your neck and shoulder, he smiled against your warmed skin. he held you tightly as he moved against you. the breathing between you two was heavy as you two shuffled under the layers of blankets. he asked cheekily, "warm?"

"hot." you moaned in response as the pleasure continued to move through you. the heat was intense, that the sexual gratification bloomed into heavy heat that settled on your skin. it was only fueled by the kisses of your lover across your neck. how he hold you, how he made loved to you.

"good." he replied, "you feel amazing. every time it catches me off guard." he chuckled lowly and placed another kiss on your skin. he took in the scent of you, sweaty and warm, but the smell of your body wash cut through. he closed his eyes a little, couldn't see much in the dark, and let his other sense guide his movements, "i love you."

"and i love you." you replied as you pressed your cheek against the pillow and looked out into the dark room for a moment as the edge of the blanket was below your eye line so you could breath. your eyes closed too, no use in such a dark room. your short painted nailed held onto the pillows under your head while he continued to work your body. bring pleasure to the forefront of your mind with heavy yet slow movements of his hips.

it made your toes curl with a certain want as the bed continued to creak. you panted a little heavier against the bed and your noises became a little higher as pleasure zapped at your brain.

"this is better than any other time i could think of." he said softly, "better than that pool in italy or the private beach in australia. or even that hotel room in france where you tied that ribbon around your throat like a present. letting me up-wrap you." his voice was heavy with lust and it curled at a certain part of your brain that made your core wet. he could remember almost every time you made love, even the quick moments in breaks in your schedule.

the slow, long intimate moments together and the quick, firecrackers of euphoria. both made lance fall more in love with you. his kisses continued as he felt the pleasure started to mount in him. the same with you, it was coursed through your blood thanks to the quickening of your pulse. you moaned softly into the covers as he continued to move against you. the feeling was intense and it made you hungry for more.

you yearned for your lover. lance stroll was the type of lover that made you feel a certain excitement in your soul. you held on tighter, letting him move faster. he swore in quebecios french and gave you another kiss closer to your pulse point as he rocked against you.

"lance." you said softly, "i think you've ruined me for anyone else."

he chuckled softly and kissed you again, and then again, "good, because you've done the same for me. and i honestly wouldn't have it any other way. not when i can have you." he said with utter affection which only made the arousal so much stronger.

the pleasure built further up and you two felt it. it was keeping you warm. and with lance's heavy breathing in your ear, you held on tightly and eventually you reached you peak of climax. you moaned his name and tensed up, you felt it all come crumbling down on you as your lover continued to work your body. the movements became faster as you came, you near bit the pillows at the intense feeling of it all.

"that's it, that's it." he purred, "fuck, baby. you feel so good. so fucking good for me, eh? all pretty for me during the day and letting me fuck you at night. i love you." he then groaned before he finished inside of you. he slowed to a stop and rested most of his weight against you while he panted heavily against your back, "shit."

you both laid there in a hot mess, even had to push the covers further down to allow a little air to breathe. but despite the lack of power in the apartment, you were both very warm as was the bedroom you were sharing. as you both came down from your euphoric highs, you both felt a sense of amazement in each other's company. you loved one another, and lance kissed you on the forehead with a tender affection that only made you lean closer to him. capturing all his warmth and love.

come morning the power had returned and plows got the snow off the roads and sidewalks. it was like the storm never happened, but as you had breakfast together, you could feel a subtle ache between your legs. <3

#bunny writes #sinful sentences #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula one smut #f1 smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one #lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll #lance stroll smut #lance stroll x reader #ls18 smut #ls18 x reader #ls18

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pervertwhore · 10 months ago

Note

(omg ok first time doing this but)

ok this is a safe space (saw piss kink n my neurons ACTIVATED) so while having ur throat clogged w his cock u taste piss n ur obv disgusted by it so u (softly) bite in protest trying to let him know what's wrong n instead of letting you up he keeps your head in place n gruffly says in his alcohol fueled voice "can you taste my piss, bitch? hm? can't be still without having something in your mouth, and now you're bitching *again,"* he says w a grunt as he forces himself deeper down ur esophagus making you gag n retch— 🔇

tw. piss drinking & dark! leon kennedy under cut!

NONNIE! THIS IS SOO HOT!!! hello my dearly beloved omfg this…i want you so bad, when i tell you my hand teleported into my pants when i read this for the first time like how did that happen!!1!1 no cause when i say piss kink this is what i’m talking abt i need to consume this man’s acid piss 🔥

YES!! this is a safe place i promise, never be shy to talk to me abt anything cuz chance is i’ll match your freak .. i hope to see you in my ask box again soon.. xx

if you don’t like piss, save yourself and skip this post LMFAO it’ll be easier for the both of us 🔥

but yeah! i can definitely see it :(( your knees are all bruised up and achy while leon’s cock was shoved inside your mouth uncomfortably. you bopped your head, taking him in and out, your warm tongue pressing on his shaft, feeling the veins that adorn his skin against your muscle.

while your throat is occupied, leon is lounging, his hand gripping the back of your head while his nails scratched your scalp. he’s lazily rolling his hips against your face while a familiar pressure in his lower tummy ached.

leon had to piss, of course he did, he was shooting back some whiskey like it was water. one thing about alcohol was, not only does it give you a nice buzz, but it makes you piss more.

as you eagerly sucked his cock, leon could feel the pressure building up more and more. sure, he knew he should pull out and go take a leak, but where’s the fun in that?

so, without warning, he just started to piss, not caring about your feelings on the matter. the warm salty liquid overtook your mouth before you could even realize what the hell was happening — once you did, you gripped his thighs, manicured nails digging into his flesh as your teeth pressed against his shaft. you had tried to pull your head back, but his grip on the back of your head tightened, his grip was firm, keeping his cock shoved down your mouth, forcing the piss to travel down your throat.

you didn’t want to choke, so swallowing was your only choice.

you tried to struggle against him, but all he did was shove you down his cock. his free hand moving to pinch your nose, blocking air flow. “stop bitching,” he grunted, his brow furrowing, trying to bite his cock? are you stupid? “it’s just some piss, you’re not going to die.” leon scoffed, letting go of your nose so you could breathe, but he kept your pretty face pressed flushed against his crotch, your nose pressing against his pubic bone.

by now, tears are slipping past your waterline, the taste of his piss and the feeling of his cock blocking your throat was making it hard to keep yourself from fighting against him. your body curled, gagging and retching against his cock, your drool pooling onto the floor while some of his piss left your lips — you clawed at his thighs, wanting to pull away, you didn’t want to throw up. god, the idea made you shiver and gag.

leon, on the other hand, didn’t care how much you gagged and retched, he let his body relax as the pressure in his lower belly relieved itself.

letting out a low groan, leon leaned his head back against the couch when the stream ended.

once you forcefully swallowed back the last gulps of his piss, you immediately tried to pull away from him — to catch your breath and cough, but leon’s hand remained firm on the back of your head.

“ah-ah,” he huffed, a lazy smirk curling on his lips, “i’m not done yet.” he reminded, thrusting his hips up against your pretty face, why would he let you pull away? his cock was still hard, and he was making that your problem.

#tw.piss #♡ 、fanmail!#〜 thirsts !! ☆#— nonnies!#dark!leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n

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a-jynx · 2 years ago

Text

care to stay? (astarion x reader)

i'll let you guess, it's kinda angsty!

warnings; a lot of blood talk, injuries, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst to keep it spicy, and maybe some ooc astarion! enjoy!

Sharp whines pierced your skull, licking at the contents inside as your eyes twitched open. Squinting at the ache in your thundering bones, you slowly rolled onto your back, sitting up onto your elbow with a groan.

What in the Hells happened...? Pushing up with your shaking limbs, you staggered, falling into a cracked and crumbling wall. Squeezing your teeth that caused a dull ache behind your jaw. Glancing around, you watched as the flames flickered and danced among the rubble. The crumbling surface around you reeked of smoke powder and copper, along with the putrid stench of smoked flesh. Swallowing thickly at the dirt that coated your throat, you gripped your side while stumbling through the scattered bodies. Flashes rippled through your groaning and thrumming mind.

Your party. Your brain scattered, thinking of everyone within the walls. Shadowheart, Gale, Karlach... Astarion.

Goblins had ambushed you. Shadowheart and Astarion were busy trying to keep them off of you and Gale, whilst Karlach had gone into her fit of rage.

The smoke powder barrel. You remember shouting as the Goblins fire arrow whizzed past your lot, your eyes wide as you all ran towards the exit as the explosion boomed.

Groaning, you dragged your feet through the clutter, your boots catching on jagged stones and the thick, blackened goop of blood stuck to your boots like sap. Swaying towards another door, it's once oak colored darkened from the blast, a handprint of blood smeared across the handle. Wetting your lips, you drew your dagger and shouldered through, only to sigh as you spotted Karlach helping Shadowheart with Gale's wounds.

"My Gods," Karlach laid Gale back against the bed, quickly moving towards you as you stumbled into her hold, not caring about the sizzling as she moved you towards the other bed. "Solider, are you alright? You took the blunt of the blow, if I'm being honest, I'm shocked yet thrilled to see you alive."

You winced away from the burning sensation as your back met the soft, yet dirt-covered mattress. "Thank you, Karlach," your voice rasped, soot still coating it and resting among the blood in your teeth. "Where's Astar-"

"He went to find-"

You jumped as the door slammed open. "I can't find them anywhere! There's more goblin guts and d" his voice staled when his eyes landed on your shaking figure, Karlach's hand still hovering over. "By the Hells! Watch where you're aiming those torches," he hissed, moving to the other side of the bed, his arms over his chest as Karlach rolled her eyes.

"They're fine, Astarion, they're our fearless leader, remember?" Her comment held bite as you winced, searing pain rippled through your melting mind. Astarion's lips moved to speak, his eyes glanced towards you as he gently gasped. Blood leaked from your ears, decorating the mattress and your hair below. Eyes clenched shut as you gritted your teeth, more pain shooting through as if your jaw would splinter.

"Heal them now, dammit!" Astarion shouted as Shadowheart finished healing over Gale, who slowly sat up in bed, groaning and clenching his shoulder. The cleric moved quickly, her hands already glowing a crisp, bright blue before laying them on your temples. More searing caressed your aching skull, yet this time it felt calming. Like that of an animal licking at its wounds. Soothing. Your body shook, feeling the bond shake and mend within your soup-like mind. The sharp whines became whimpers of your own voice. A gasp ripped through your burning throat as the crackle of your rib mended itself back into place.

"Is it working? Will they be alright?" Karlach stood closer to Shadowheart as she sighed, her fingers began to shake. She was growing weak...

"I'm not sure how much more I have in me-"

"You'll continue to heal them until Avernus freezes over if it'll help them," Astarion snipped, one of his hands had moved amongst the blood and dirt, caressing your fingers in a way of saying 'I'm here'. Your chest clenched as a blood-curdling scream wretched through your throat, rattling your still bubbling mind. Shadowheart grimaced, yanking her hands back with a shout, her hands stung with a rose-like red blistering her palms. Karlach gently caressed Shadowhearts' armored shoulder and moved towards Gales' bed, who stood in shock. Astarion had moved to sit on the bed with you, his arms holding onto your shoulders as you shook and cried out.

Her healing had worked, but its' effects worked through each injury like a professional seamstress. Weaving through your veins, smothering in and over your bones' marrow, and licking at your popped eardrums and rattled brain damage from within. You withered in Astarion's grasp, shaking as tears streaked down your dirty cheeks. "I- I tried to save us," your voice shook. Astarion frowned, his thumb brushed against your skin. "Just rest, darling.." His voice was a gentle whisper, his cool skin pressed against your sweat-covered skin. Sighing against his chest, your eyes fluttered close. The soot and dirt caused a soft grimace, yet there was a comforting scent hidden amongst it.

*******

You blinked awake, wincing as you slowly sat up from the bedroll beneath you. "What the Hells," you winced more at the sound of your gravel-like voice. Humming, you took in your surroundings. Soft pillows and carpets surrounded you, a gentle candlelight flittered within the bright red tent. Goosebumps travelled up your skin as you glanced down, noticing your tunic missing and dull-white wrappings secured around your ribs. Crimson blossomed across the wrappings causing you to frown.

Jumping as the tent flaps opened, revealing Astarion with a bowl and prime white wraps resting across his forearm. His movements paused, your eyes met as he sat the bowl down and moved towards you, grabbing your flushed cheeks and slamming your lips together. You gently moaned into the kiss, flinching at pain that shot through your side. "Thank the Gods you're awake," he mumbled against your lips, resting his forehead against your own. "I thought you were gone..." His voice lower, barely a whisper.

With a smile, you rested your jaw against his rough palms, relishing in the callouses he's gained over your time together. "And leave you all alone with Gale? I couldn't." You couldn't fight back the grin as he rolled his eyes, leaning back on his calves and helping you lay back against the cot. "Because you know he'd be insufferable for me to endure alone," he smiled gently, brushing your hair from your eyes. Sighing, you leaned further into the bedroll, Astarion reached back and grabbed the bowl, dipping the piece of cloth into the cool water and dabbing it against your sweltering forehead.

"How're the others?"

"They're fine, we need to worry about getting you back to proper health, my dear," he hummed, dropping the rag back into the bowl. His fingertips dragged gently over your ribs, watching as your body jumped from the soft touches. Your brows furrowed, gently grabbing his flittering touches. "Star... Please,"

"They're alright, my love, I promise.." He sighed, gently undoing the wraps and frowning at the snarled wound. The blast had cut through your flesh like butter. Soot and dirt had embedded itself into your wound and clung to your hanging flesh, it had caused him to cringe inward at the sight of your gnarled flesh. He worked quickly, dabbing the wet cloth against the charred skin, sighing as you flinched away. Wrapping the new bandages, he sat back while wringing out the blackened and bloodied rag. "And how're you...?"

The water dripping ceased as his lips pressed into a tight line, the rag dropped next to your arm as you pushed up onto your elbows. "Star..?" You frowned, rolling onto your non-injured side as he turned towards you, his hand cupped your jaw as you reached up, catching his with a sigh. Tears brimmed his ruby colored eyes. "I thought we lost you when you fainted. There was just... So much blood. Your blood mixed with that dirt and soot, and I couldn't-" His voice caught, choking in his throat as he shook his head. "The mere scent of your blood mixed with such retched things; it made my stomach churn. Caused the bile to claw up my throat."

You stared at Astarion - you both had found safety in one another. Trust had built quickly with how many battles you both had gotten into together, the stories shared amongst with goblets of wine, confiding in one another when everything seemed hopeless. And of course, with your shared comfort came... Feelings.

Astarion hated it.

He wasn't supposed to fall for you, it was the simplest plan for him to follow, yet here he was. On the verge of crying while he coddled you close, his fingertips ghosting over your new bandages. Gently wrapping your arms around him, you tugged him down to the bedroll, racking your fingers through his thick, white curls. You shared a comfortable silence as he wrapped his arms around your chest, as carefully as he could, his hands still trembling. You fitted yourself against his chest, sighing while twisting a wild curl around your finger.

"You can touch me, my Star, I'm not made of glass-"

"No, but you need your rest... I should go-"

"Please... I don't want to be alone," you murmured into his shirt, tightening your arms around his waist as he moved to leave. Blinking, his hands hovered over your shivering skin. His lip slightly trembled before he swallowed thickly. "Ask me to stay," his voice shook as you squeezed him close, feeling your own tears well up. He believed he would hurt you more than help you. "Ask me to stay, and I will." Leaning up onto his chest, you leaned up and pressed a tight kiss to his lips.

Your mouths moved together. Teeth and tongue clanking and grinding against each other. Astarion's hands settled on your hips, soft circles tugged at your loose pants, his nails scrapping by the edge of your bandages. A gentle shudder ran through your bones as you maneuvered yourself on top of his lap, gritting your teeth to keep the pained moan buried in your throat. Pressing soft kisses to the corner of your mouth, his lips trailed down your throat to the scarred bite mark. Your body moved gently against his lap, rolling circles into his hips before he rolled you off of him, chest heaving.

"Astarion, wait,"

"We're... Resting." His voice slightly wavered, his nails gently digging into your shoulders before he moved to lay beside you. Tugging your body closer, smothering his nose into your hair, deeply inhaling as you wrapped your arms around his chest.

"When you're not constantly bleeding," his voice muffled as you rolled your eyes. His fingers gently pinched at your thigh. "Then, we'll have all the fun you deserve, my darling."

*****

You awoke to quiet murmuring - distant, gentle - as if not wanting to break the silence the moon had brought on. Lighting your pinkie, you moved to light the candle beside your bedroll, only to jump when a pair of arms tightened around your waist.

Astarion's body quivered against your own, his arms tightened. You cringed at the pain shooting through your body, but gritting your teeth, you turned over as much as his grip would allow. Grasping his shoulder, you gently shook the somewhat whimpering elf.

"Astarion, honey, wake up." You murmured into the air, huffing as he released your waist, one arm slipping from around you as it grasped at his tunic, tugging on the slightly tattered tunic. "My star, please," his fangs dipped into his bottom lip, blood dribbled from the nibbled skin. "Astarion, wake the hells up!" You shook him more, ignoring the searing pain as his claw-like nails dug into your skin. His eyes snapped open; a gasp choked through him as tears leaked down his cheeks.

Elvish ripped through his lips before he could even comprehend the words his tongue spilt. Your eyes widened, quickly setting up on your knees, both hands grasping his sticky cheeks. "Astarion, my love, breathe, please." Grasping one of his shaking hands, you placed his palm against your heaving chest, your heart beating heavily. His eyes caught yours, more tears leaked past your hands as you rubbed your thumb against his cheeks. "Breathe, my Moon, follow my rhythm."

His hands trembled against your skin, slowly his eyes blinked as he seemed to finally focus on your eyes. Swallowing thickly, he licked his lips and slowly reached up, locking his hands through your locks. Astarion tugged you into his body, his hands shook as he held you close. His breathing shook as he tightened his grip, making you whimper in his hold.

"Astarion, are you alright... Do you need a minute?" Your voice was low, attempting to keep the peace within your shared tent. You held each other close, gentle kisses caressed his skin as he leaned further into you. "Ask me to stay, and I will." You murmured into his hair, cradling him further into your body. You wanted to shield him away from everything. The fear and anger that tries to eat away at him. He looked up, slowly leaning back, but keeping his hold on you. Astarion licked his lips slowly, a shaking sigh passed through him as he moved to hold your cheeks.

"Care to stay?"

#astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #astarion x you #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #reader insert #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate #astarion ancunin #baulders gate 3

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hidtired · 1 year ago

Text

Unfortunate Timing [Part 1]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

5.7k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, smut, reference to abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

Pre Apocalypse

You had moved to a small town in Georgia to get away from your parents. Your Aunt Mary had a little boutique and offered a job. Your parents didn’t like you weren’t married yet, not even dating either. So they have been shoving men at you for the last few years. They thought by your age you should have been married with kids. They wanted grandkids. Your brother was married but him and his wife struggled with fertility. The final straw was trying to get you into an arranged marriage with one of your father’s business buddies kid. You had only just turned 30.

It had freaked you out how your parents made it seem like you didn’t have a choice. So you packed your bags, your mother pleaded for you to not go. You broke the lease to your apartment and left without telling them where.

You like the simple life you were leading now. Helping your Aunt's business. You lived with her because she was a widow with no kids and wanted the company. You had some interesting neighbors across the street. You had just driven into the driveway taking notice of a man fixing his truck. It was hot outside and his arms were covered in grease.

You walked into the kitchen where your Aunt was doing dishes. You decided to help making idle talk about how the shop was until you looked out the window to still see the sleeveless man. Your Aunt caught you looking, "Thought you came here to get away from boys?" You smile shyly at being caught, looking back down and handing her a wet plate to be dried. "Never said that... Just the one my parents choose. Didn't have time to look for a date when men were thrown at me randomly by them." Your Aunt was amused to say the least. "That's Daryl Dixon, him and his brother live there. You have to watch yourself with a Dixon. But Daryl has helped me with a few things that broke around the house. He replaced the battery's in the fire alarms for me a week before you came."

You gave her a sideways look, "You trying to set me up now to?" Mary laughs, "Fine fine, granted I do bake something for him every time he does something for me. Could just have a sweet tooth." You look back out the window, ‘Daryl huh?’

It was a week later that you got a call from your brother. You went on a walk to take the call. He was anger that your father was on him for a kid because you had disappeared. The pressure had turned to his wife who was already having a hard time with infertility. It was when you were walking back to the house did the conversation get heated.

"Grow a back bone and yell at them Mathew! Why are you coming at me for!?" He responded with his own venom, "Why couldn't you just do what they asked! But go ahead die alone for all I care!" He ended the call abruptly after. You clenched your teeth tight and closed your eyes trying to compose yourself. A voice called from across the street, "Ya doin alright over there?" You turned to see Daryl beer in hand with the hood of his car open. You sighed shoulders sagging, "Sorry for the yelling." Daryl pick up another beer showing it off to you, "Sounds like ya could use one of these." You put your hands to your hips before deciding to walk over. You grab the beer he handed you with a smile, "Thanks..."

You cracked the can open taking a sip. Daryl stare at you for a second before saying something, “Yer boyfriend causing you trouble?” You chuckled at the thought, making a small face of disgust at it even, “No, that was just my brother being an ass.” Daryl took mental note of that ‘single’. He huffed and looked back down into his trucks hood. “Oh trust me I know how that is.” You look at him as he refocused his attention to his car, ‘That’s right, that’s what your Aunt had said.’ You lean against the truck. “Your Daryl right? I’m Y/N” Daryl looked back up at the mention of you knowing his name, “Oh so ya heard bout us.” He sounded a bit disappointed at the thought. You lean to look inside the car, smiling over to him, “Only the things my Aunt said.” He perked a brow at that, “Who’s yer Aunt? What she say about us?”

“Mary.” You pointed over your shoulder to the house, “And she mentioned you might have a sweet tooth.” Daryl looked over to the house of the lady he often did things for, her niece chiming in again. “Always see you fixing this truck across the street.” He pulled a red rag from his back pocket wiping his hands, “Ya damn thing always seems to be breakin.” He took notice of the girl fully now. You took slow sips of the beer he gave you while starring into the hood. “Well if I have any trouble with my car I know who to ask.” You looked up to him with a shy smile. “I’m useless when it comes to knowing anything about cars.”

That’s how they both started talking. You watching him fix a couple spark plugs while talking about things. Getting to know each other a little. Like how you were helping Mary with her shop. “Ah, so you just moved here.” You nodded, “Mmm about a month. Have no clue where anything is and have no friends so…” you shrug. A breeze started as evening was setting in. Daryl hesitated before saying, “I could show you some local spots.” He bit the side of his thumb nail waiting for an answer. You had bit your bottom lip looking up at him and smiled, “Sounds like fun to me.”

He was worried for a second he messed up, “There’s a bar that everyone knows, real popular on Fridays.” You nodded while looking at him staring down at your watch seeing you had been talking for about a hour. It was getting late so you slowly started to walk backwards to your house. You smile with a glint in your eye, “Sounds like a Date… see you Friday!” You waved and all he could do was look on with wide eyes. Did you just- “Pick you up at 8!” He yelled. He was in slight disbelief at the out come. Had you been flirting with him the whole time?

You had handed him a tool before he could even ask. You had known how to do it all along and played stupid to talk with him. He smiled down as he closed his hood. ‘Oh you were trouble.’

When Friday came he was kicking himself. This was unlike him to go on dates. But he wouldn’t deny he liked you. You were also looking forward to a date for the first time in a while. Preferring it more than being tricked on to one with some guy your parents liked. Daryl probably didn’t fit that kind a guy they would. Oh but your kind definitely. Your Aunt watched you try on an outfit before deciding to go with a floral casual dress that went to your knees. She gave you a smug look and you only rolled your eyes. You had a long black jacket over you, knowing it was already cool outside.

Daryl knocked on the door and off you went in his truck to this bar. He was slightly nervous when he saw you dolled yourself up, and for him? He had lied to Merle where he was going and doing. He was desperately trying not to blow this, “Ya look pretty…” he had said it at a stop light looking over to you. It’s everything a girl wants to hear, and it sure made you smile.

When they got to the bar the bartender seemed confused to see Daryl with a girl. He was normally there with his brother. Mostly to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid he had noticed. “Well if it isn’t a Dixon, tell your brother he still owes me for the glass he broke.” Daryl cringed at the mention of his brother. You just simply took a seat on a stool. “What can I get you two.”

You had a few drinks you’ll admit. You tried a classic drink that the locals had. You were grossed out at the drink causing you and Daryl to laugh. He only had a drink with the need to drive you both home. You had tried to play pool but decided you were a little to inebriated at how many times you missed the ball entirely. You were standing in a corner of the bustling bar talking. You held a bow empty cup dying laughing at a story had told you about his childhood. Sometimes kids dumb actions, like jumping off a shed in a hero outfit, were just funny. You had lost a little balance at your laughing and place a hand onto Daryl’s chest. He only looked down to you putting a hand to your waist to steady you. You had tears of laughter in you eye, you fanning your face to no ruining your make up. He was definitely enjoying this more than he wanted to.

You had been at the bar for about 4 hours with Daryl. You now walked leaning into him in the parking lot. He had an arm around your shoulder leading you to the car door. He started the car and looked over to you, “Should have told me ya were a lightweight.” You gasped offendly, “Lightweight! I’ll have you know I’m just tipsy.” He looked at you questioningly humming. You relaxed into the car seat, “Ok, I’ll admit I haven’t done this in a while- might be a little rusty on the drinking game.”

You both continued to joke around until getting to the neighborhood. He back up in your drive way to later drive into his own. Him doing that thing with his arm as he back up. You bit your lip at the sight. When he parked and looked at you you spoke, “Thank you for this Daryl, I had fun.” He nodded, “Was my pleasure…” you had slowly moved closer crossing the middle seat. He looked down at your flushed face, mostly done by the alcohol. That liquid courage probably giving you the strength to grab him by the chin and slowly kiss him. He leaned into it grabbing your hip. You pulled back with a bashful smile,

“Same time next week?”

He had fully smiled at that, “Ya bet your sweet ass. Now get out of here miss ‘tipsy’.” You giggle wiggling your way out of the car. Waving goodbye with a stupid smile on your face. He felt his heart skip a beat, ‘oh he was real screwed…’

That night he even thought back to how you were looking at him on the way back. He had caught you leaned against the window with hooded eye. When he looked at you, you tried to fight a smile. Oh and how could he not think of the kiss. His hands dragged down his face at the thought.

This went on for a little over a month. You would see each other throughout the week but Fridays you would go out. Small touch’s and kisses here and there. It wasn’t until you ended up back at that bar that things changed. You were only 2 drinks in. You sat in a booth with Daryl. Head on his shoulder and hands intertwined under the table. You pulled away getting up, “I’m going to get another drink and you a beer. Then I’ll wipe your ass in a game of pool!” Daryl chuckled, “Let’s hope you can hit the ball with your cue this time.” You stuck out your tongue at him while walking to the bar. You had only been waiting for your drinks when a man slide up next to you.

“Whats a pretty thing like you doing with a Dixon? He blackmailing you?” The man held a sleazy smirk. You only look at him with disgust ignoring him. It was when he put his hand to your arm pulling you closer did you talk to him, “Hey back off!” The man’s grip tightened, “What you a hooker or something? Only way a Dixon could get some pipe is by paying for a slut.” You had yanked your arm from him, you falling back a little before landing against someone behind you. A arm rapping around you, you recognized it instantly, Daryl. His voice growling and rumbling against you, “Back off my girl.”

The man who was bothering you only rolled his eyes, “Maybe keep your slut on a leash-“ You had felt Daryl lean forward behind you before you even saw him sock the guy in the face. You had gasped and turned to push Daryl back from the guy. He stumbled and held his nose. You whispered to Daryl, “Ok it’s time to go…” You tried to push him closer to the door but the jackass decided to spit out another comment, “Ya let your bitch drag you away pussy!” You felt Daryl lean forward and resisted you leading him backwards but you spoke softly up to him, “Please…” His eyes briefly met yours. He looked back up to the guy who was probably drunk but, Daryl’s blood was boiling with rage. He relented at your plea and walked out the exit.

He was quiet as he walked back to the truck. Walking a little faster ahead of you. When he got into the drivers seat you had said his name but he wasn’t listening. He put the key in the ignition, turning it on but your hand rested onto his arm and you said his name again, “Daryl…”. He slumped a little and turned the car back off. He slowly turned to look at you. You scooted closer into him. You closed your hands around his face so he would look at you. You gave a small smile, “Thank you.” You gave him a quick peck before leaning back to look at him.

He signed and placed his forehead to yours talking a moment. He thought maybe he was gonna scary you off at the out burst. He whispered, “Hope I didn’t scare ya.” You chuckled shaking your head, “They opposite really. I was scared of that guy and then you came and I felt ok again.” He inhaled a breath before I closing his arms around you. He pulled you into him more and you rapped an arm around his back. You sat there for a moment before you spoke, “Soooo, Your girl huh?”

Daryl froze in place. Didn’t even register he said it in the moment. He pulled back from you, mouth agape, stuttering before he gave up at trying to say anything. You placed a hand into his hair playing with a strand of hair, “I’m your girl?” You had almost whispered it. Daryl cleared his throat, “Will you be?” You let out a breathy sigh,

“Yeah, thought you’d never ask.”

That is when you officially started dating. Sat in the truck, in the parking lot, making out for a good 10 minutes.

You were enjoying the new found established relationship. Over the next week was filled with your Aunt seeing you cuddle on the couch watching a movie. You had even managed to give him a small haircut in his bathroom, “Hmm, I think you would look good with long hair.” Sometime you would find yourself in Daryl’s room laying on his bed just talking when Merle was away.

Speaking of Merle he had later found out when at the bar that his baby brother started a fight over his girlfriend. He had thought nothing of it until he asked his brother if it was true. When it was confirmed he laid hurtful comments at him. ‘No one can love someone like us!’ ‘Like you really?’ It was a definite damage to his ego. But some of the things he said about you rubbed him the wrong way. It made him defensive, ‘She a good lay?’ ‘got you pussy whipped.’ They had yet to even cross that line.

You know understood why Daryl had not wanted you to met his brother at first. He made rude and sexually comments to you. Often either being sexist or racist any time near him. You mostly tried to say clear of him.

Then there came the drama that followed from your parents. Apparently your Aunt let it slip to your brother you were with her. He told your parents and now here you were getting a call from her shop. You picked up the business phone and before you could even spit out your prepared greeting you heard your father’s voice boom over the phone. “Now you listen to me little lady you’re coming back home!” You pause shocked. “Your little tantrum is done and you will do as you’re told!” You could hear your mother in the back telling him to calm down. You to in a breath and replied calmly, “Dad, I will do no such thing.”

He was yelling more. You had caught something about a wedding date and some name before your mother took the phone from him. “Honey, you need to come back home ok?” You really couldn’t understand why, “No Mama I like it here.” She went to go on, “We are just doing what we think is best for you. We just want you to be happy with a husband.” You had enough snapping at them for the first time, “You want what’s best for you. If you wanted me happy you would have listened to me! I’ll have you know with the time I’ve been gone I finally feel free. I even got a boyfriend!”

Your mother gasped, “In the town you’re in! What redneck white trash could you possibly find out there!” You were surprised at the way your mother spoke. But you were also mad at it. You angrily replied, “His name is Daryl Dixon! Fuck you! Never call me again!” You hung up seething. You had closed the shop a little early.

After the call from your parents you walked to the bar. The bartender seemed surprised seeing you without Daryl before asking, “Your usual?” You nodded with an appreciative smile. While waiting for the drink you noticed Daryl’s brother with a few other people. You ignored him deciding you would have the one drink and go home, not really in the mood to deal with Merle.

You had just finished your drink when you heard a commotion behind you. Merle and another were arguing. It was getting really heated. You had stood about ready to leave when the other guy threatened Merle, “I’ll kill you for this!” When you had turned Merle was smug looking and unaware of the knife being pulled from behind the man’s pants. You had yelled, “Merle!” In a panic you lobbed your glass at the man. It shattered over his head sending him to crumple to the side on a table. The knife slipping from his hand and landing in front of him. Merle looked down at the knife before looking up to where the glass came from, spotting you. You were shocked with your mouth open looking at the man holding his head in pain, before looking back to Merle. The few other men that were sitting with them getting up displeased.

Merle realizing he was out numbered started to run toward you. He had grabbed you by the arm and dragged you with him to the exit. The bartender yelled as you got dragged away. “Hey!” You had yelled back before the door closed, “Sorry Lawrence I’ll pay you back later!” Merle was still dragging you along to his motorcycle. The door had swung open and the angry men started to pursue you both. Merle had yelled at you when you pause to look at the door, “Get the fuck on!”

You had hopped over the seat and sat behind him. Not having a moment to hold on before he started to speed off. It wasn’t until he pulled into his driveway that you started telling him off.

Daryl had heard Merle’s motorcycle pull in but he wasn’t expecting to hear you yelling right after it. “Goddamn I’m already having a shit day!” When he walked out the front door to see you telling Merle off as he just sat there on his bike silently taking it. He had never seen his brother not throwing words back at someone. “Are you an idiot!” Not even that got a reaction from him. Daryl knew that would normally get replied by violence. It wasn’t until he spoke did you turn at his voice, “The hell is goin on?” Your anger soon crumpled into tears, you were overwhelmed and maybe a bit scared still body pumping with adrenaline. Daryl almost got whiplash at the sudden mood shift.

That didn’t stop him from hugging you as you started to cry. He shot a look to his brother who still sat on his bike. Merle looking weirded out at the sudden tears. "The hell you do ta her?!” Merle rubbed the back of his neck, "May have got into a bit of a fight at the bar with some folks. She kinda stopped me from being stabbed." He had felt you shaking in his grasp now. He knew you hated conflict, told him about the pit that would form in your stomach. But you stopping Merle from being stabbed? "How she do that?" Merle chuckled, "Threw her glass across the room! Knocked him clean on his sorry ass." He seemed almost impressed by you.

Daryl started leading you back toward your home. Daryl turning to yell back to his brother, "Whatever man piss off." He had gotten you into your house before you spoke, "My Aunt went on her Cabo trip with her book club friends. She'll be gone a week... stay?" He gulped, "If ya really want me to." You nodded, "I don't wanna be alone." He saw you were scared.

He lay next to you in your bed after you calmed down and ate dinner. "Want to talk bout it?" You moved closer to him leading him to put a arm over you. You sighed into him, "I was at the bar because I had a rough conversation with my parents. Somethings were said. Their the reason I moved here, to get away from. I saw Merle and then the knife- then all those men chased us." Your hand rose to pinch the bridge of your nose, "Just been a- a shit day." You move to look up to Daryl's blue eyes a smirk rising to your lips at the worried and tight look he was giving you. He relax a little at your attention. He dragged a hand up your arm to your face, "Merle seems to think your a badass now." He himself was a little proud to hear what you did. You grunted into his chest, "He'd better. Saved his dumbass."

You were talking for a while after that. Seeing the clock blinking 1am now. You were sleepy but enjoyed talking to him to much to fall asleep. Sleep was pulling at your eyes and a question that should have been a inside thought slipped out, "Why haven't we had sex yet?" Daryl was a little taken back but not to shocked at the question, he hummed, "Honestly not a clue, I like you to much to mess anything up." Maybe the tired feeling was making his lips a little loose to. He paused before continued, "I've only had meaningless sex. Nothing with feeling behind it." He smirked down to your hazy eyes, "Why? You tryin to get in my pants?" You chuckled adding a little shrug, "Perhaps. Take me out to dinner and we'll see how the night goes from there." That made Daryl's heart beat a little harder. Of course he has thought about it before just didn't know how to act on it with you. He held you a little tighter to him, goofy smile to his face, "Yes Ma'am."

Take you out to dinner he did. Nothing to fancy but by the end of that night you offered him to follow you inside. You were laughing while bumping backwards into things as you both kissed. You stripping buttons down his shirt when he paused face looking uncomfortable. You stopped at the look. He sighed squeezing his eyes tight. Reminding himself it was you. "Uh sorry, just forgot to mention- just look fer yourself..." You softly pulled the shirt down off of him. Revealing scars along his body.

You dragged a finger along one. You look up at him with round eyes. He looked away before saying, “M’ Daddy was a drunk.” You intake air and release it at the information. You leaned down and kissed the scar you touched. Everything turned slow from that point, more sensual. He rolled into you at a pace he never had before. He was used to chasing a feeling, getting it over with. But every time he would push into you he couldn’t help but love the groans you made. You sure loved the noises subconsciously coming out of him as well. You would move up into him. The slow motion had sent you crazy. Leading you to claw at him begging for more. He didn’t go faster but harder.

Your moans filled your bedroom. Daryl was sucking on your neck while rutting into you. He was huffing out air and grunting in exertion. The tight clench he felt around him damn near knocked the wind out of him. He had pulled out and rested his head on your chest while trying to catch his breath. You dug your hands into the back of his hair.

That night lead to many more like it. Which is what lead you to the current situation going on. You were in the bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test. Not just one but three. You sat on the floor contemplating, 'How did this happen?' 'Do I keep it?' 'How do I tell Daryl?' You and Daryl had been only officially dating for 3 and a half months now. The first test had you in denial, the second had you begging. The third had you close to acceptance. At least you weren't ugly crying anymore. Before anything you needed to tell Daryl. So you called him over saying it was urgent.

He opened the front door and jogged to your room seeing you crisscross on the bed looking distraught. He kneeled down at the front of your bed looking up at you. You took in a nervous breath before talking, "If you need a moment after I tell you this, its okay, I wont be mad." Daryl's heart dropped to his ass, 'were you about to end stuff between them?'

"I'm pregnant."

His eyes slowly widened and he looked down to your stomach then back to you. He abruptly stood up then paused again. His mind moving a mile a minute but also not at all. The one thing to click was "A father? ME?' He slowly walked out the room. You sat there with tears burning in your eyes watching him leave the room. He paced back and forth hand running into his hair. The fight or flight in him was telling him to run, he was overwhelmed. Then he heard a small sniffle come from the room he had just come from. That stopped him in his tracks. He thinks he loves you. You both hadn't gotten to saying it out loud to each other. He didn't know what love felt like but this was what he imagined it to be. He hated to see you cry. Made him feel like maybe he would to if he didn't fix your tears. When he heard you he slowly made his way back into the room. Realizing you were most likely as terrifies as him, more so even.

You felt his arms around you making you cry harder. You had run the possibility of him leaving in your mind. Fully aware of his lack of a good father in his life. When you pulled away to look at him he also had tears going down his face. It was the first you have seen him cry. You had now put your arms around his middle and pulled him down to now lay on top of you. You had a tight hold on him and he you. You both calmed down and you knew he wasn't leaving, then he also whispered into you, "I've got ya. Both of ya."

It was rough that first day. It didn't feel real. You told Daryl how you were going to make a appointment in the morning. You asked if he was wanting to go with. He had slowly nodded deep in thought. You had said they could talk about everything in time.

You both had time.

You had an appointment in a week, the receptionist suggesting you go and buy prenatal vitamins before then. You also broke the news to your Aunt, she was supportive. Saying she would love to help with anything you needed. You and her walked a few blocks to a small store connected to a pharmacy. You looked to the shelves of pills. You held two big bottles, different brands, of prenatal vitamins. The sound of screaming alerting you to a disturbance in the store. You turn to your Aunt with a questioning look. You both peaked around the aisle spotting someone on top of the other, a fight perhaps?

Gun shots to your left making you jump. You turned seeing a man backing down the aisle beside you shooting rounds into a woman approaching him. You witnessed the women not even flinch to each shot. Your Aunt pulled you by the shoulder backwards down the lane. Another person who was pale with foggy eyes rounded the corner. It grabbed your Aunt and before you could blink took a bit out of her neck. You watch in horror as she dropped to the ground with that person on top of her. Blood from her throat being ripped out had splattered across your face. You screamed terrified. The lady the man had been shooting at now turned the corner from the aisle they were in. Now she was covered in blood though. You look down to your Aunt who had stopped moving. The thing taking notice of you. So you ran.

You had just seen your Aunt being brutally murdered. You ran out the door of the building pill bottle still in hand. You saw people running, cars crashing. Others getting hit by cars. It was a nightmare but you felt like you need to keep moving. You ran down the road back to your house. Dodging anyone covered in blood.

Daryl had kicked the door open to your house. Merle was packing stuff into the truck across the road. He screamed your name looking for you anywhere. When he couldn’t find you he ran back to the car, “I can’t find her!” Merle rolled his eyes, “Forget about her! She probably died someone where let’s get are asses out of here!” Daryl yelled back at him with rage. “THE IS NO WAY IN HELL IM GOING ANYWHERE WITHOUT HER!” The yell had shocked Merle. Daryl had never talk to him like that. “We can find you a new lady we gotta go!” Then Daryl did something more unexpected. He shoved Merle back. He had hit the side door of the truck, Merle was about to hit him when he yelled, “She’s pregnant man!”

Daryl had a panicked and pained expression on his face. He started to stuttered out, “I-I gotta go look—“ The sound of his name being yelled from a distance made him turn in the direction. He was relieved to see you running full speed toward him. His relief flooded by panic at the sight of blood painted across your face and cloths. He ran the rest of the way to you. Crashing into each other in an embrace. You struggled to regain breath after how long you were running. Daryl had held your face seeing were the blood came from. Tears forming in your eyes, “It’s not mine…” Merle’s voice cutting in, “Come on love birds we gotta go now!”

Daryl lead you to the car opening the door and making you jump in, “Stay here I’m going to get some of your stuff.” He ran off back to your house and Merle started tightening the cables to the bike in the back. He sat down in the driver seat and looked over to you. You had two pill bottles on your lap and you stared at your hands shaking. He then noticed all the blood on you and decided to keep his mouth shut. Daryl ran back throwing a duffel bag in the back before going to the passenger side. You sat in the middle still a little stunned. Like a bird who flew into glass.

Daryl’s arm went behind your head resting on your shoulders. You leaned into him. Merle had started to peel out of the space driving off into a direction. You heard little of the talk between them. Choosing a quarry they know to get away from the towns and head into the woods.

All you knew was the world was changing.

Part 2

Feedback welcomed and requests open!

Sorry for mistakes I to eepy its 2 am. I'm dyslexic and struggle with it and normally reread 10 times to fix mistakes but this is so long I wanna go to bed.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #norman reedus #angst #fluff #smut

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