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aurorawritestoescape · 1 month ago

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A STEP INTO HELL

Stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader || Word count: 3k

Summary: after you move into his house, Joel finds himself possessed by the idea of having you. Trying to quench his lustful thirst he decides to get his hands on your nudes. To his surprise he finds something even better.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, Joel’s pov, dub con but reader’s into it, legal age gap, dark!Joel, perv!Joel, obsessed!joel, darkish!reader, unprotected piv/dvp (wrap it up), sex toy usage, blackmail, sex audio recording, creampie, degradation, slutshaming, praise kink, daddy kink, mention of f/m masturbation/f!oral/anal/food play, slapping (1), cum eating, swearing.

A/n: huge thank you to @megangovier for this ask and the idea!💖 I had a blast working on this story. Hope you’ll like it, lovely!🌸 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @/enchanthings and @/saradika-graphics 💕

MASTERLIST || more stepdad Joel || more step family naughtiness

Joel wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t moral, ethical or rational. The only thing Joel seemed to be recently was horny. Horny for his stepdaughter.

It wasn’t a gradual obsession. Not at all. It took over him suddenly and overwhelmingly. You had lived with your dad after your parents’ divorce, but then moved into Joel’s house to stay closer to your college. He had barely seen you before and then you were in his house all the fucking time.

Was his attraction out of the blue? Not really. You were a hot young woman. Every man’s dream. But the maddening desire took Joel by surprise. Like a tsunami it put his life upside down, taking away any sense he might have had before. The lust for you was like a poison, coursing through his veins, pumping blood to his big cock more often than it was expected for a man of his age.

In hopes of getting rid of the toxic passion, Joel jerked off regularly like a horny teenager. He watched tons of porn, choosing the ones with women that looked like you. To his distress, it seemed to entice him even more. Like a dog he couldn’t stop salivating every time he saw you.

Joel would often get lost in his thoughts at the breakfast table, sitting right in front of you and thinking about the shape of your pussy. ‘Did you have a little clit hidden behind your lips or could he see it right away if he took your shorts and panties off at that moment? Did you shave your cunt or could he tug you lightly by your soft pubes?’ He’d be happy with anything, a pussy was a pussy, especially if it belonged to a sweet thing like you. He couldn’t help but daydream of eating you out on the table right next to the pancakes your mother had made, your sweet pussy served with maple syrup on top, or melted butter all over your folds. He’d slurp it happily with your slick and cum and chase it with his black coffee. Breakfast of champions!

Joel ground his teeth. He had to keep himself from acting on his desires. Not because of your mom, fuck that nagging bitch! His dick barely reacted to her anymore. Divorce was what really terrified Joel. He’d hate to deal with all of that— too much paperwork, too much hustle. That was the last thing Joel needed.

The first thing was you. After a month of pumping his cock after every encounter with his stepdaughter, Joel got really frustrated and decided to act. He worked out a plan. Surely you had some juicy selfies on your laptop, he thought, so one day he knocked on your bedroom door with a secret motive to get his big paws on them.

You sweet voice let him in.

Joel stepped into your bedroom, his brows furrowed, the shoulders square, trying to intimidate you with his steel gaze and dominant tone so you’d agree faster.

“I need your laptop. Mine broke.”

You were lying on your bed with your phone in your hands, wearing your tiny shorts and a crop top and his dirty mind immediately drew him a picture of your naked body splayed and offered to him, head hanging off the side of the bed with his cock plunging in and out of your mouth. He could bet he’d be able to feel his shlong inside your tight throat. He’d probably come so fast like that and discharge his cum right into your belly. Bon appetite, baby!

“Hmm,” you hummed, blinking at him. You seemed hesitant and it made Joel even more excited—you definitely had something to hide. His jeans got strained with the might of his growing dick.

“C’mon. I’ll just pay the bills and give it back to ya.”

“Oh. I don’t know. Ehm—ok.”

As soon as you agreed Joel snatched the laptop off your desk and went to the master bedroom. His wife was working late that night so it was a perfect opportunity to find your nudes and jerk off to his heart's content.

Joel plunged on the bed and began his horny search. Let’s help Joel find his stepdaughter’s nudes!

Are they in this folder? — No!

That one? — Look better!

Here? — Fuck, no!

He was growing hopeless. No way a girl with an ass like yours wouldn’t want to have it in a photo. Your perfect tits were asking to be jerked off to. So where the hell were the goods?

He was searching everywhere until he stumbled upon a folder with a few tracks. He didn’t care about them at first but his thick finger accidentally double clicked one of them and to his surprise he heard his voice.

“No, wait— fuck—spread wider—yes—yeahhh.“

He increased the volume and his jaw dropped. Yes, he was sure now. It was his voice.

‘When was it recorded?’ Joel asked himself, listening to his groans. Suddenly it dawned on him. It was a couple of weeks ago when he was fucking his wife. His grunts and growls were the only audible noises, which was not surprising -your mother was always silent like a corpse when he was fucking her.

Yet Joel’s voice could be heard clearly. He listened to a few tracks and all of them were recordings of his voice— him talking to his clients on the phone, him discussing the last game with Tommy.

‘What a dirty slut!’ flashed in Joel’s mind. He wasn’t thinking anymore. With his cock already hard, Joel knew what to do and acted immediately.

He rushed back into your bedroom.

“Done?” you asked when he barged in. With your arm stretched, you were waiting for him to return your laptop, but he was still holding it.

“Fuckin’ slut.” Joel’s smirk was dark and triumphant.

Your face fell and you looked like you’d seen a ghost.

“Yeah, exactly! I found your little spy audios, baby! Why were you recording me and your mom having sex, little perv, huh?”

You pulled your knees to your chest, squeezing into yourself, and mumbled,

“I’m not— I—no—please—I wasn’t recording her.”

“Oh? But you recorded me! Wanted to hear your stepdad’s groans, dirty slut?”

You were quiet, with your gaze downcast, looking scared to death. That was exactly what Joel needed.

“Imma tell your mom.”

“No! No, please, Joel, no! I’m begging!”

“Unless—“, he mused.

“Yes! Anything! Please!”

Here we go. He had you where he wanted. Finally.

“Unless you become my fuck toy.”

You looked gobsmacked.

“What?”

“Don’t act shocked, babydoll. Bet you want it more than anythin’. What were you doin’ with those tracks, sweetie? Listenin’ and thinkin’ of our lord and savior? Fuck no! Were probably fuckin’ yourself silly, moanin’ my name. Your stepdad's name, little slut!”

He shook his head and tutted at you while you were shaking like a leaf.

”I’m givin’ you a way out, baby. But only if! If I can have my way in. In all your holes.”

“All?” Your voice was so small and trembling, it made his cock twitch.

“All, babydoll! I wanna fuck your mouth - yes, please, Joel! Wanna fuck your ass? you’ll let me! Pussy right after? Of course, sir! That’s what antibiotics are for.”

You sniffed loudly and burst into tears.

“Please Joel— I can’t—we shouldn’t!”

Joel smirked and walked to the bed, stopping right in front of you. He cupped your wet cheek and cooed, “I know we shouldn’t, babydoll. That’s why it’s so damn hot.”

You sniffed and leaned into his touch, your big teary eyes looking up at him.

Joel couldn’t believe his luck. The little slut was melting. He was going to have so much fun!

“Get undressed, sweetie. Let’s get right to it.”

Joel didn’t believe in God. But right at that moment he swore that someone above had blessed him. Or someone below for that matter. You were taking off your shorts, top and then panties, wiping tears off your pretty face with the back of your hand. He immediately snatched your underwear and shoved it in his jean pocket.

“On your back. Spread your legs. Let me see what daddy’s gonna play with.”

You widened your eyes at what he called himself but did what he told you. You lay down and slightly parted your bent legs.

“Don’t shake. I won’t hurt ya,” Joel growled, rolling your chair to the bed and making it squeak under his weight when he got comfortable ready to enjoy the view.

Your pussy was hotter than anything he’d seen or imagined and his cock was thumping hard in the confines of his jeans. Joel unzipped them and pulled his boxers down. Your glossy eyes immediately snapped to his bobbing stiff manhood.

“Yeah, sweetie, take a good look. Ya gonna learn every rim and vein of this dick pretty soon. Its taste too,” Joel added and shook it in his hand. He wasn’t leaking yet but when he pushed your legs wider apart and your folds opened up to his view, his slit began crying happy tears.

“Fuck, babydoll. She’s even better than I imagined. And believe me, I thought about your snatch a lot.”

Your breath hitched when Joel leaned closer and his thick fingers spread your lips.

“Look at this hole. Tight. We need to get ya ready first. This bad boy—“ he jiggled his cock again- “can damage you and we don’t want that, yeah?”

You shook your head and Joel’s hand glided over your mound, his digits slipped between your folds in a perverted examination.

“Ya have a dick?”

You were blinking up at him, confusion swimming in your blown out eyes.

“Rubber cock? Dildo? Jesus, ya slow.”

“Ohh… yeah,” you nodded and averted your eyes in shame.

“Aww, don’t act shy and shit. I think we’re past that, little slut.”

He got up with a smirk on his lips and, after following your line of vision, opened your nightstand drawer.

“Where is it? Ah!”

It wasn’t long until Joel found your toy - a pink dildo.

“Damn, sweetie, I see you’re not adventurous at all! Look!”

With a chuckle Joel lined the dildo up with his own cock which was longer and girthier than the toy and shot his brows up at you.

You closed your eyes, probably not believing what was happening in your bedroom, but then snapped them open when you felt a cold tip of the toy prod your tight hole.

”Joel! Lube!” you exclaimed, trying to push away the dildo. Your stepdad was looming over you, standing by the bed, his smile devilish.

“Of course. A little slut like you deserves the best lube. Daddy’s spit.”

He leaned down and gathered some saliva in his mouth before opening his lips and letting it drop right on your slit. You jerked.

”More?” Joel asked and not waiting for your response spit on it again, with force now. You moaned when a glob of liquid hit your clit and Joel’s fiery gaze found yours.

”You want it, yeah? That’s why you recorded me. Do you want me?”

He didn’t know why he was asking that. You were already lying in front of him on the bed, pussy out and ready to be fucked. But a possessive part of him wished for you to want him back.

You tried to avert your eyes but he leaned closer and took your cheeks between his fingers, keeping you facing him.

“Tell me!”

Your quiet, shaky ’yes’ rang loud in the bedroom and in his head. After your confession Joel’s flannel covered chest expanded with pride and triumph. He still got it. He had blackmailed you but he totally could have gotten you all by himself.

Drunk on the ego boost he kissed you with vigor and hunger, swallowing your mewls and whimpers. Then he ripped his mouth off and hovered over you, watching your eyes roll back when he pushed the dildo between your saliva-coated folds and inserted it into your hole. You moaned his name and Joel started leaking like a faucet.

He began fucking you with the toy, groaning and drinking in your sweet sounds.

“Ya love it, little slut? Bet you were dreaming of this. Your stepdad fuckin’ this pink cock into your hungry hole. Listenin’ to my voice.”

He leaned closer and growled right into your ear,

“Daddy’s here now and he’s gonna claim all your holes, sweetie.”

When he changed the angle of the dildo, you tilted your head back into the mattress with a loud whimper, biting your lower lip. Your pleasure drove Joel insane.

”You’ll be my fuckdoll in no time. I’ll train your pussy, your ass, your mouth. Ya gonna take me. Take me so good. Gonna tity-fuck you. Bathe you in my cum. You won’t need anything except my huge cock. And my voice. Give it to me now, baby! Come!”

“Daddy!” you cried out and your body began shaking and trembling under Joel. He didn’t stop moving the toy inside you until your limbs fell weakly on the bed and your face relaxed. Your eyes closed by themselves, body and mind spent after an emotional and physical climax.

Joel’s poor dick was engorged and leaking, demanding the warmth of your wet cunt. And he was absolutely sure that you were drenched.

He threw your legs wider apart with his knee and with a wolfish smirk stared at your clear juices sliding from under the pink cock, which was still sticking out of your cunt.

Suddenly Joel got an idea. His horny mind wanted nothing else but to spear you with his manhood. But he felt generous that day. You deserved so much more than just his cock!

Not tearing his dark gaze off you lying with your eyes closed and breathing fast, he took his jeans and flannel off. He was still wearing his white undershirt when his eager lips latched onto your exposed tits, his hot tongue swirled around your hardened nipples, one after the other. Joel’s hands were roaming your body, squeezing and pinching it lightly. Like a starving animal he couldn’t get enough of your submission, your skin, your curves and crevices. He was pulling little moans out of you and, with your eyelids still closed, you looked inebriated, drunk on his touch and your ecstasy, until Joel slightly slapped your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered open and you mewled, looking up at him, gaze foggy.

“My dick’s achin’, baby. Get ready to take it,” he warned and then got another bright idea. “Let’s record our first time. I’ll share it with you, baby, don’t worry. I know how much you love hearing daddy’s voice.” Joel laughed and took his phone out of his jeans lying on the floor.

“Smile, sweetie,” he commanded but you covered your face with your hands when he took a few nudes. It was good enough for him.

He started recording and threw the phone on the bed. Your sweet moans were enough for him too.

When Joel brough his tip to your already stuffed hole, your eyes widened.

“Joel, the toy—“

“Yeah, I know —I know — lemme do it.”

“Are you recording us?”

”Yeah, baby. Daddy needs something to jerk off to when you’re away.”

“Oh—ok, I guess.”

“Ya being such a good girl for me. Ain’t I lucky?”

“Joel, it won’t fit.”

“It will, babydoll. Tilt your hips a little. Yeah, damn. I’ll use my thumb to push it in. Jus’ a tip’ll do for today.”

“Ahhh—oh my god—your cock’s so big.”

“I know, right? But—Ya jus’ need to relax. Lemme stroke you—fuck, you’re wet, my hand’s soaked. Ya like it when I rub your clit like that?”

“Ahhhh—yeahh–yeahh—“

“Good little slut. It’s already in, baby. Lookit! My tip’s in.”

“Oh, fuck, Joel. I feel so full—ahhh.“

“Don’t curse, baby, or I’ll spank you.”

“Joellllll—”

“That’s better. Moan my name when I’m fuckin’ you. Your hole’s stretched so good right now. Taking both cocks. Wish you could see what I see. Greedy little cunt.”

“Ohhhh, Joel. I’m gonna—“

“Call me ‘daddy’ if ya want. i know you do—hngggg”

“Daddyyyy!”

“Fuck— fuck—aahhhhh.”

Joel was shooting his hot cum into you, rope after rope. He didn’t plan on coming inside but the lust clouded his mind. He wanted you full with his load, his cock and the dildo. The sight of your pussy swallowing everything he gave you, stretched to the limit, pushed him over the edge and into the pits of hell. He didn’t care. He was growling, his head down, watching his balls twitch, pumping his jeez into your core. They were resting on the toy, which was half pushed out of your hole by his own cock and your pulsating walls. He could believe that he made his stepdaughter come on his dick while she was moaning like a whore, accepting his cum like the greatest gift. What a perfect little slut!

When the last drop of his load was discarded into your sloppy cunt, Joel pulled his cock and the pink toy out. Both were glistening with his and your cum.

“Clean us up,” he growled and made you get up on shaky legs. You immediately fell on your knees and Joel grinned.

“Good girl. Now get to work.”

He brought the toy to his still hard manhood and watched you lick the cocks clean. At one point you took both dicks in your whimpering mouth.

“Fuck, ya hot! All your holes are hungry for two dicks, huh? Your pussy, now your mouth. Ya know what hole’s next, yeah?”

You pulled away with a scared expression and Joel barked a laugh.

”Don’t fret, sweetie. All in its time.”

He pulled you up by your arm and held your body tight when his lips crashed against yours. The taste of you and him made his cock twitch. He kissed you hard and you welcomed it. Perfect little slut indeed.

”Get some sleep,” he ordered, tucking you into bed. You looked fucked out of your mind and your tired smile made him smirk. “You need rest. So daddy could have lots of fun with you later.”

He turned the lights off on his way out.

Joel wasn’t a good man. But he was a happy one.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

MASTERLIST || more stepdad Joel || more step family naughtiness

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

Special tag @toxicanonymity

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #stepdad!joel #joel miller tlou #tlou hbo #dark!joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tw dubcon #a step into hell fic

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enchanthings · 5 months ago

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◦˚~ BUNCH OF LIGHT GREY/WHITE DIVIDERS by enchanthings ~˚◦

white dividers:

Requested by: anonymous Info: these were all made & edited by me. please reblog/like if using!

#dividers #aesthetic dividers #white dividers #grey dividers #line dividers #text dividers #tumblr dividers #cute dividers #page dividers #divider #border #.m

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eviesaurusrex · 6 days ago

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Escaping | Azriel x High Fae

summary: Azriel carries his mate off to a much-needed picnic, away from her duties at the Court of Dreams.

word counter: 3.2k

warnings: none, pure fluff, Az being a simp for his woman, mentions of reader being an empath/reader having empathic abilities, Az’s pet names being always accompanied by “my” (bc he needs to remind himself constantly that she’s indeed his), reader is part of the Night Court ever since

author’s note: This is also my first time writing anything for ACOTAR, so please be gentle with me, but I just had to, okay? Az deserves every ounce of happiness I can offer him. Also: This is my first time writing and uploding anything in a minute, so this is definitely not perfect

Dividers are made by @enchanthings and @sweetmelodygraphics <3

He had planned this little escape for weeks now, always trying to find the perfect moment to whisk his mate away between duties and obligations, only to grant her and himself a much-needed break from quite literally everything. His shadows had been restless ever since, just as their wielder, the growing stress and frustration traveling along their strong mating bond only a figment of an indication of how she grew to feel every morning she awoke to tend to the court and their cause to protect and free Prythian in the War looming on the horizon.

And today had been finally the perfect day—due to Rhys’ helping hand after he had seen the growing and building anxiety of his brother.

“Is it not strange how adamant Rhys has acted earlier? I think it’s weird. Do you think I should go and check up on him later? Maybe trying to ease his mind? I think I should.” Her sweet, melodic voice filled the warm air, and a rare chuckle escaped the spymaster at her fast-working mind. Gently, he took the blanket out of her arms, placing it over the arm that already carried the basket filled with all her favorites, and tenderly, his free arm found its home around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

A perfect fit. It was as if the Mother and the Cauldron had molded them to fit just as perfectly as two puzzle pieces. Made for one another… He still couldn’t grasp how his lifelong wish had been answered and granted after so many centuries.

Azriel’s head dipped to press a lingering kiss to her temple, his nose slightly buried in her soft strands, the soothing scent overpowering the scents wafting around them. “Will you scold me if I tell you how I asked him to give us at least today to ourselves?” His voice was soft, tender, a loving and humored edge to it. Hazel eyes began to twinkle as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze, not surprised in the slightest at his revelation, and the teasing twinkle in her eyes in return made his lips twitch into a smile. “Did you now?” She teased and nudged his side, tickling Az because she knew of every existing weak spot—the only person aside from Cassian and Rhys. Her growing smile made him feel light, free, and still, it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever achieved in his long life; felt as if his heart might explode any second when she turned and stretched slightly to press a kiss to his jawline. Reaching further wasn’t possible with the towering male walking beside her. “Thank you, my love.” Only a whisper, but loud enough to travel to his ears, accompanied by the warm and fuzzy feeling sent down the bond by her.

Another pull with the arm around her waist put her even closer—if that was even possible—and Azriel couldn’t hold back the urge within him to kiss her soft lips he had already kissed so often ever since they had accepted their mating bond. Still, it wasn’t often enough, in his opinion. Giving in, the shadowsinger stopped their path in the hidden passageway towards the lush green rolling hills along the coast of Velaris and slowly bent his body, letting their noses run alongside one another. “Nothing to thank me for, my darling,” he hummed, lips almost already touching in the softest of kisses, and he felt her fingers run through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her and letting their lips melt into one. Neither he nor she could tell where the kiss started and where it ended, where his lips began and hers ended.

The low rumble of her stomach put a pause to their antics, and Az hummed once again before entwining their fingers and continued on their path. “Let’s find a place where we can ease that growl, my darling.”

Wildflowers of all kinds surrounded the place they had finally settled on—the glittering ocean right next to them, the rolling green hills as far as sight could reach, and Velaris in the close distance, beautiful as it had always been. Az had made himself comfortable on the blanket, the picnic basket opened right next to him, his body propped up on his forearms, and his eyes followed his mate as she strolled through the flowers. He could see her fingertips gracing the soft petals that stretched their colorful heads towards the sun, his shadows slowly, almost lazily winding around her wrist and fingers, always keeping her company, making sure she was alright. Not that Azriel minded their own ways, but sometimes he suspected they might abandon him entirely for her if they had the chance—and the shadowsinger couldn’t blame them either. He would do the same if it meant being at her side at all times.

“Eat at least a bite,” he now called over to her as she picked the first flower. She only spared a quick glance at him, but her radiant smile couldn’t fool him, nor could it hide the roll of her eyes. “Yes, yes. Only a minute, love.” Azriel himself rolled his eyes now, but the tuck at his lips was too strong to withstand it. Not when they were alone, not when she was the cause of that rare smile sneaking its way onto his face.

So, he watched her while already eating some of the fresh berries, patiently waiting, eyes moving when she moved toward the next flower in full bloom, bending down to pick her, placing the delicate thing in the soft embrace of her arm he knew wouldn’t dare crush her new possession. She wasn’t violent or cruel to beings who couldn’t defend themselves, who didn’t possess a single malicious thought in their entire body. And even for those who might commit evil deeds, she still held compassion if necessary. By the Cauldron, she even had accepted him from the very beginning of their friendship all those centuries ago when Rhys had brought her into the Court of Dreams, right after the War had been won.

A sigh left him when she finally strolled toward him in her pretty flowy dress, hair flowing in the warm breeze, her smile growing the closer she got to him. “What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” Az had pushed himself from his arms into a sitting position, legs slightly crossed, an arm resting on his muscular thigh, while the other reached for her, enveloping her fingers as she sank onto the blanket and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The sound of his wings stretching and rustling behind him accompanied her adorable chuckle, and he almost melted at the sight of her shining eyes when she pressed his scarred palm against her cheek, her lips leaving a warm mark on it, letting him forget about the pain of the past in an instant.

She had that power over him.

“Az, you had more than four centuries to get used to my antics.” Grinning, her lips pressed another set of kisses to his palm before letting his hand sink onto her knee, where it immediately started to wander and found its place on her thigh, squeezing it tenderly. “I should know by now, you mean?” A nod followed his question, grin still prominent on her lips, but he felt her concentration slip toward the many flowers she had sprayed over the blanket in front of her, and her soft and delicate fingers had already started to weave some of them together. “Perhaps even a lifetime isn’t long enough,” he dared to hum and tease, moving closer toward her side and holding a strawberry in front of her lips. The tip of Azriel’s nose nudged her temple, and she took a bite, sighing in satisfaction. “Perhaps.” The sweet berry muffled her words, and without thinking or even considering he was prepared for it, the woman scooted closer and leaned backward, pressing her back against her mate’s strong chest—because he had been ready. He was always ready and always there if she needed or craved anything.

Even though the bond had taken its sweet time before it had finally snapped into place, they had been close from the beginning, a mutual feeling of closeness and understanding the root and foundation of their slowly blooming friendship. And over the decades and centuries, they had started to learn to know one another. Now, with the bond in its rightful place, it all was merely heightened; no longer a want to fulfill anything they wished for, but an urging need. So Az just knew without thinking when she needed his arms wrapped tightly around her body, his chest pressing against her back like a steadfast wall in a sea of uncertainty and fear.

His chin rested on her right shoulder, the strong and powerful wings softly tucked behind his back, granting the sunlight to kiss and warm her skin while she weaved flower after flower in a steadily growing circle.

“When all of this is over…” The soft voice of his mate traveled alongside the warm breeze. “When all is over, I’d like to leave for a while. Just… the two of us. Somewhere enjoying life itself, forgetting about War, bloodshed, and intrigues. Healing and growing,” she continued even softer, reminding him once again of her calm and peaceful nature, and Azriel felt how she longed for all those things after everything that had happened in the past fifty years. He didn’t dare to think about all that had happened Under the Mountain when she had been forced to live there, didn’t try to recollect everything she had shared with him in those days after Rhys and she had finally returned to Velaris.

All that was important was the exploding sensation of relief since she had followed Rhys over the threshold in the House of Wind, stepping out of the shadow of his broad back and came running right to him. That immaculate sensation had been his companion since that day.

Burrowing his face into the warm crook of her neck, the spymaster released a deep breath. “Whatever you wish, my darling,” he whispered against her skin, making her giggle and squirm in his grasp. “Az! Stop it, or my flower crown will be ruined!” He hid the growing smirk against her skin and nipped at one of her weak spots, making it tickle once more. “They always turn out beautiful.” Azriel could practically feel the playful roll of her eyes at his words, and dutifully, he picked the next flower for her to weave into the growing circle before a small lemon tart found its way to her lips, reminding his mate that they indeed had something else in mind when they had left the House of Wind earlier.

The deep, soft sighing after the first bite of the masterfully baked tart warmed his heart, and Azriel didn’t object in the slightest when the small cake was eaten within a heartbeat, her sweet tooth demanding even more after weeks of relinquishment because they had all been so busy with the preparations for the meeting with Prythian’s High Lords.

“Another one?” He whispered quietly as the shadows now surrounded their legs, resting like they did. “Do we have one of these tiny strawberry cakes we had for Starfall?” Immediately, the memory of the last festivities occupied his mind as he looked for the mentioned dessert and presented it to her like an offering to the gods in his open, scarred palm. “My Lady.” She chuckled at that and abandoned the almost finished flower crown with a gentle “Thank you, my Lord,” only to take the delicate cake and took a savoring bite out of it.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you looked at Starfall? More radiant as the stars…” Az’s voice trailed off into the distance, pictures of that night clouding his mind once again. As she turned her head to look at him with that one smile entirely reserved for his eyes, he pulled back and let her kiss his lips in a heart-wrenchingly soft kiss. “You told me that countless times, my love. Especially when you see the dress hanging in the armoire.” She grinned at that, making him almost blush. “But do I need to remind you how handsome and dashing you looked that night? All those ladies turning and twisting their heads as soon as you walked through the room…” Even though she knew that no one could take her mate, the bitter feeling of jealousy boiled in her blood for just a second before it vanished at the glowing and warm, but also shadowy feeling of their bond, reminding her once again that they were bound for the rest of their existence.

“No need to be jealous, my darling. There was never anyone but you, and there will never be anyone but you.”

His index finger under her chin moved her face upward to face him, skin touching skin and lips brushing over even softer lips. “I know,” she whispered against Azriel, and for a moment, she leaned her forehead against the strong line of his jaw, feeling him pressing a tender kiss on her hairline.

A rumble in the far-off distance let them look up at last, and both watched the building and rolling clouds over the sea, knowing that rain was a mere thought away. But still, they took their time.

Az continued to feed them both, watching her tirelessly weaving flower after flower into the crown, humming a tune they had danced to countless times by now and savoring the warmth radiating off his body. “Another one for Elain?” Azriel dared to ask as she seemed to be done. All the flowers she had gathered were woven into a beautiful, intricate pattern, and none were wasted. His mate had started to bring Elain flowers and plants in all their forms, especially ones only growing in their lands and not behind the wall, explaining their nature, natural habitats, uses, and sometimes hidden beauty. She was so soft and gentle with the young female that Azriel had to ask himself—more often than not, if he was honest—if she would be like this to their children if they ever were allowed that sort of happiness.

He let her sit up and turn onto her knees, holding the crown in her delicate fingers. She shook her head, an unsure smile now surfacing on her lips, as she softly placed it on top of his dark hair. “I never made one for you, my love.” He was stunned, not daring to move nor touch the petals now resting on his head. “You don’t have to keep it, of course. If you don’t like it, I can just bring it to Elain, and we’ll forget about it. It’s silly anywa-” He stopped her right then and there by pulling her close and kissing her fiercely, only holding himself back from roaring down their bond and scaring the living daylights out of her. He took great pride in the fact how breathless his mate was when Az finally ended the kiss, how gleaming her eyes were when she looked at him, how the blush that had crept to her cheeks made them glow, how her fingers gripped the fabric over his chest to steady herself. “Don’t you dare take it,” he growled and kissed her once more, shorter this time, less desperate, and still tickled those delicious sounds out of her body he still kept reveling in, even after all this time.

The first drop falling from the heavens made them part, and while she started to collect their things to pack them safely into the basket and fold the picnic blanket, Azriel spread his wings to protect his mate from the mighty raindrops. When they were ready to winnow to the barriers of the House of Wind, the summer downpour had already picked up its intensity and soaked the two from head to toe. However, their laughter still lingered over their sacred space of Velaris even after they winnowed away.

Feyre’s brows creased in worry as she looked out the many windows in the palace atop the mountain, overlooking Velaris during the downpour that had been foreseen. The heavy drops splattered against the glass, making it difficult to discern any shape moving in the distance. She knew the rain wouldn’t harm them, but the thunderstorm rolling over the hills induced an anxiety within her that she could barely contain.

“Feyre, darling?”

Rhys’ voice let her spin away from the windows, facing her mate who had stood from his desk he had worked on for the past couple of hours, and walked closer toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “What is wrong?” He wrapped his strong arms around her body, and the High Lady sighed deeply as she sank into the embrace. “Nothing, I…” The first roaring thunder let her pause for a moment. “Az and YN haven’t returned yet.” Violet eyes gazed out of the window, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he tried to make out the shapes in the gloomy light of the early evening.

Then, a smile spread across his handsome face, and Feyre turned to see what had happened. “They are now. Come, my love,” the High Lord coaxed his mate toward the door to meet the pair down the hall to greet them. She followed him without hesitation, needing to see for herself that both her friends returned without harm, and had to know if they enjoyed their afternoon, needing all the raunchy details YN would spill over a glass of faery wine and a warm fire.

They only made it atop the stairwell leading down into the hall that housed the balcony primarily used to enter the House of Wind, and the pair watched a dripping YN pulling a not-less-dripping Azriel inside, a laugh dancing on her lips.

The Illyrian shook the rain off his shoulders and wings, eyes entirely focused on the brightly smiling High Fae before him. Without a thought, he let the basket drop to the floor, not sparing a single second for its whereabouts after because his entire being narrowed down to the bond beating in his chest, demanding intimacy, closeness, with the female he desired and loved more than life itself. A shriek escaped YN between laughter as Az playfully pounced on her, wrapping her in his strong arms and lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, moaning deep in his throat at the first taste of her lips drenched in rain droplets.

As he carried her down the hall toward their shared bedchambers in long, purposeful strides, flower crown still proudly atop his head, YN laughed: “Az, the basket!” The pair above the stairs could only hear him say, “It can wait until I’m drunk and delirious on you,” before a door closed, and Feyre finally allowed the giggle to escape her she had held onto for so long.

Rhys shook his head with a humored grin, pulling the female next to him closer to his chest. “My spymaster wearing a flower crown? I won’t ever let him forget it,” he chuckled deeply, amusement and happiness dancing across his face, especially as Feyre hit his chest in warning. “Don’t you dare tease him about it!” The male grinned at that, pulling her face toward him, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “I can’t make such promises, Feyre darling unless you are interested in a little deal with your beloved mate.”

Now, it was her turn to let a laugh freely echo through the halls.

Thank you everyone for reading! As usual: I'd love to read your thoughts and comments, perhaps you have an idea for a future Azriel - or any ACOTAR character - fanfiction you'd want me to write. Also, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

#azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel x you #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #acotar x reader #azriel fluff #azriel one shot #azriel fic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fandom

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duevei · 3 months ago

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"so can i call you tonight?" - dayglow

; ꪆৎ ; ( m4f ) bf!leon kennedy x reader | fluff | divider by @/enchanthings

sypnosis ; re2leon kennedy and some headcannons i think he would do while dating you <3

re2!leon kennedy , who would come home after a painfully long day at work and just lay in your arms , hoping to never let go.

re2!leon kennedy , who always takes your home cooked meals to his workplace , getting showered with compliments on how delicious it both looks and smells , replying with a " thanks! my girlfriend made me it.. "

re2!leon kennedy , who places little sticky notes around the house before he leaves , wanting you to look at them and think of him while hes gone (not that you dont anyways..)

re2!leon kennedy , who loves texting you and sending you sweet and short voice messages about how his days been so far (pretend they had high tech phones...erm)

re2!leon kennedy , who would always make you crack a laugh by the way he would shamelessly swear at tough times, no matter the situation just to make you happy.

re2!leon kennedy , whose baby face make you genuinely want to squish his cheeks all day (which ones? ok sorry.)

re2!leon kennedy , who probably has matching keychains with you, dangling off the side pocket on his work badge.

re2!leon kennedy , who never misses a chance to go grocery shopping with you, patiently listening as you ramble on about the recipes youd make in the soon future with said ingredients.

re2!leon kennedy , who is protective over his hair care routine despite all your pleading he would never hand it over, despite all the jokes you manage to get ahold of it and your hair has never been shinier. (However..he’d steal your skincare?…….hypocrite!!)

re2!leon kennedy , who probably wakes you up in the morning with his loud and hoarse snoring.

re2!leon kennedy , who flexes the things you buy him , showing everyone how much hes loved.

re2!leon kennedy , who lets you tend to his wounds and bruises despite how much they hurt, he trusts you, dont forget that.

re2!leon kennedy , who would stop smoking if you said so, just to make you feel safe and listened to around him.

re2!leon kennedy , who is a cutie pie. | a/n ; i havent written in awhile..i have alot of drafts idk if i should post them lol…zzzz

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #re2 leon #re2 remake #resident evil #i love him #hehehe #duevei #vee’s babble’s ֶָ֢⊹𐙚

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sturniroll · 3 months ago

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‎‧₊˚✧[Matt’s bf habits.]✧˚₊‧

mdni.

sfw! *ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆

→ you better NEVER try and open the door for yourself. he’ll actually pull you back just so that he can open the door for you.

→ making spotify playlists for you. he’s made one for any possible mood you’re in.

→ playing with your hair. it’s calming for him. he does it so often that sometimes you don’t even notice.

→ getting hooked on all the shows you’re watching. he’ll tell you how dumb it is but then you catch him sniffling during the sad scene.

→ sending you voice messages. throughout the day he’ll send you sweet messages about his day. & yes he expects you to send some back.

→ late night rides. he’ll pick you up and drive you around. you guys sit, talk, and laugh for hours.

→ keeping his eyes open when kissing you. it sounds creepy but it’s cute!! “matt why do you keep your eyes open like that..?” “sorry you’re just so pretty. i wanna look at you.”

nsfw! *ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆

→ pinning your wrists down. especially when you try to push him away.

→ telling you (fem reader) “i’m gonna put my babies in you” when he’s close he just starts mumbling it over and over again. “gonna give you all my babies.”

→ hair pulling. sometimes you gotta tell him about himself cause you just got it done. but wheww he loves having a fist full of your hair.

→ recording. he loves keeping pictures, videos, & audios. he loves to listen all the sounds you make.

guys omg ty for all the notes on my last post 🙈.

tags: @mattzgirl @satvisfavetoodles @mattsnronebitch @d0e-b4by @thedarkqueenofavalon

dividers from: @enchanthings

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #matt sturniolo au #matthew sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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ambermeh · 4 months ago

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Sitting in Chris' lap

warning: smut

It had all started when he called for you to come over, but there were no chairs. Sitting on his lap wasn't something uncommon for the two of you, but, at the same time, you were aware that his brothers and all your friends where nearby. Still, you went ahead. The roughness of his jeans almost scratching on your skin, as your legs weren't covered. His hands laid casually around your waist and on your knees. Rubbing small circles over and over. You had adjusted, not deliberately. But you started to feel his head lay on your shoulder.

'i can feel you on my leg' His whispered. You turned round almost confused at his statement. Of course he could feel you. But his hand started to rest further up your leg. Oh.

Your face reddened at the realisation.

'Chris- please not here' You pleaded not wanting everyone to look at the two of you, incase they had noticed Chris' hand, knowing that he wasn't likely to stop.

'fine, hey me and Y/N are just going upstairs, I've got a bit of a headache' Everyone got back to what they were doing as the two of you left.

Once you had entered another room in this building, Chris sat down. His legs spread open a bit, as he made a gesture for you to sit down.

You followed not long after, sitting on his lap. Although, he had made you sit in front of a mirror. You gazed at his smug and mischievous look on his face.

'well, we're somewhere else now, so you can see yourself while you grind on my dick, okay ma?'

His hand grabbed your neck, allowing you only to look at the two of you in the mirror. The other hand guiding your waist. He rolled you back, you could see him looking between your face and the view of you grinding back. Eyes looking into your somewhat shut eyes through the mirror, as the contact between your pussy and his dick were subdued by his jeans.

'Chris, I need more, need you to put it in' The pressure of grinding barely satisfying you, as well as the slow pace that Chris was going. His hand refusing to let your hips roll faster, as you felt his now hard dick pressing against your clothed core. The wetness now on his jeans as well.

'Nah, this is all you get baby, it can't all be on your terms'

After a few minutes of Chris slightly increasing the speed but then going back to making you slow down your movements, you started to feel a small knot in your stomach. But it was unreachable at this pace. Tears of frustration where beginning to brim in your eyes. The knot in your stomach mocking you as it just stayed a dull ache and not giving you any release.

'I'm close, just need it a bit faster, please Chris'

'Y/N you're not supposed to cum, this was what you wanted, you wanted to be away from everyone. Now, stop crying because you know it will only spur me on and let me use you to get me off, okay?'

Tag list: @soontosturniolo @blahbel668 @mulitfandomslvt @sturnobsessedwhOre

Divider from @/enchanthings

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt x reader #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader

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minhosimthings · 2 months ago

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Preview: Silk and Pearls || SJY

Synopsis: He was the artist, and you were his muse. But what happens when his muse doesn't see herself like the way he sees her?

Pairings: fashiondesigner!Jake * Model!fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, fingering, mirror sex, anal sex, unprotected p in v (not for you), bondage, use of handcuffs, edging, degradation, praise, sorta angsty in the beginning, insecure reader, overall good ol bf Jake, lots of kissing cause these two are FREAKS

Release Date: 28/09/2024

Status: Posted!

Read Here

divider by @enchanthings

"Did I really make a dress that pretty or is it just you, my love?"

You felt your cheeks warm up drastically at the sound of your boyfriend's voice, along with his face appearing behind you. You saw his eyes light up as you stared at him in the mirror in front of you, his wandering pupils admiring how snug you looked in the dress you were wearing. With it's brilliant outlay of white chiffon along with its minute details of chartreuse pearls highlighting everything Jake wanted to, it was by far the most beautiful thing he had ever breathed life into it.

Or perhaps it was only because of the person who was wearing it.

"Don't go putting your hard work all over my shoulders again, babe." You laughed, turning your body to face his, "I'm just the model."

"The model is the muse, might I remind you." Jake corrected you, leaning in to place his forehead on yours, his love-struck eyes gazing longingly into yours, "How did I manage to capture the bouts of your affection hm, mon amour?"

"You spend one week in Paris for Fashion Week and suddenly you're a romance novelist." You laugh, raising your arms and placing them on either of his shoulders, "As for your question—" you pretended to think, all while ghosting your glossy lips over his plump ones, "—I don't think you'll ever get the answer to that."

"Shame, I was hoping you'd say something overly sweet about me." Jake laughed, before smudging his lips against yours. His ever so slender tongue moved in your mouth, as his hold on your waist tightened. Pulling away from the kiss, Jake took pride in the fact that you were quite breathless.

"Jaeyun.” you spoke in a scolding voice, lowering your voice to a comedic level, “We are at work.”

“Your point is?”

“My point is-” you looked into his beautiful eyes with nothing but love and admiration, “-there are about five people who know about our relationship, and you know you can't get into a scandal, it will positively ruin your reputation, the reputation you-” you poked his chest with your finger, “-worked so hard to achieve.”

“Let them write what they want.” Jake spoke to you in a honey coated voice, as if you were the very oxygen his lunds consumed in order to keep themselves alive, “You, my love, are practically impossible to resist.”

“You better give me your Paris lessons when we get home,” you smirked, eyes wandering down to his lush lips again, “lover boy.” The space between the both of you was practically non-existent now, and Jake could feel the pearls of your dress slightly pierce him through his thin button-up shirt. Perhaps he regretted making such a beautiful dress, especially to dress you up in it, because the way the touch of your thigh on his and felt, he could rip it off right there and then, wasting his months of hard work, and devour you against the mirror. He wished he could see your divine eyes roll to the back of your head, while he ravished your pussy with his tongue, all whilst leaving his personal signature on your thighs. After all, that was what he added the thigh-high slit in the dress for.

“Yeun,” you warned him, as his hand trailed higher up your thigh, only stopping at the sound of your voice and giving a tight squeeze to the flesh, “You can have me all you want when we get home.” The sight of the pout on his face, a stark contrast to the siren eyes he held five seconds ago, made your mouth twist into a gentle smile.

“Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow morning, love.” He smirked and went in for a kiss, as beautiful as the wavering skyline of the city, all the building lights flickering along with the stars to remind the earth of how alive it was. In the deepest parts of the kiss, where your lips danced to a tune which you had memorised, love reigned its gentle rule.

•••••••••

Tune in for the rest of it!

Taglist: @onlyhyunjin @yvnempire @j-jinxee @kpopaussieline @candewlsy @heesingshoon @biancaness

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mysteria157 · 30 days ago

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Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!

Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.

But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.

You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.

Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!

Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

JJK Masterlist | Twitter | Ao3

You’ve never set foot in a demon’s realm.

You’ve heard the stories—flames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.

You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. You’ve done well. It’s why you’ve been given this task—a pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.

The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heavens would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choice—though you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.

Maybe that’s why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.

Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many ‘gifts’ that have set you apart—the way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldn’t be explored. Finally, it’s all paid off.

Or…at least that’s what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.

Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.

You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. It’s what you’ve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.

The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.

Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.

“To be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.”

Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.

You knew to expect this pain, but it’s different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.

Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.

An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. It’s small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but it’s there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, it’s there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.

Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.

You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.

Then—through burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.

The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.

Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though there’s a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.

Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. It’s built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.

Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. It’s a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. They’re littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realize—

Hemlock

A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in it’s refined beauty, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.

You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.

With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.

While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.

You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.

The monolith’s base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sight—this is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.

You’re struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.

On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no amulet capable of manipulating time.

It is a book.

A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.

Such a simple relic, but you feel it’s dark power from your spot at the altar.

You’ve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.

Do not open it.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

Do not look inside.

These are your rules—your absolutes. And yet…

Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldn’t feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.

It’s temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.

It’s quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along it’s ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through it’s own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. There’s a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.

But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.

Do not open it.

You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.

But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and it’s right here.

In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.

“Father,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Give me the strength against temptation.” Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. “Guide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pure…”

But even as you pray, your body rebels—your fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. There’s a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this once—look inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.

Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. You’re no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darkness—easily tempted and consumed.

You’re not damned, you’re not, you’re not—

“What do we have here?”

The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.

You’re not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.

But you’re met with nothing—just the empty garden path you came from.

When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.

He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.

He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.

The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal hands—navy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like he’s been waiting for you.

He’s beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memory—flashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.

He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. You’ve seen him—or you think you have—convinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.

And in your dreams too—dreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. You’d wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.

Perhaps that’s why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps that’s why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?

Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.

But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those ‘coincidences’ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?

You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. “Hallowed be thy—”

The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.

“That name,” he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, “holds no power here.” His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.

He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.

He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.

This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. You’ve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.

Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.

But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.

“How interesting…” The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. “An angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely there’s a rule about that, is there not?”

You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.

“Give it back!” Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.

A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isn’t the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. He’s giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.

“W-well, you…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You can’t see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.

The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.

“Demon,” you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.

His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.

“That is not my name.” He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. “Though, I suspect you already know what it is.”

Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.

“I don’t—I’m here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.”

“They sent you to steal this relic,” he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.

“I would not steal.”

“Coming to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.”

You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.

“I was invited.”

You’ve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. There’s a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But you’re afraid—whether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerous—you still don’t know.

“I-I was chosen,” you insist, despite what you feel.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.” His head tilts as he regards you.

The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. “Take it. Return to your divine purpose.”

You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.

You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you until—

The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.

“That’s not—” you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that you’re trying to deny.

The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers until—

The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.

“Stop this!” Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. “But why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demon’s realm? Why alone? Why you?”

Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but it’s more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.

“The relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilities—”

“Your abilities,” he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, “the ones that they’ve tried to suppress. The ones that they’ve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and you’ve been given this divine purpose?”

The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.

“They finally saw my worth,” you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. “I am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.”

Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.

“Lies.”

Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. “I would not lie!”

“Neither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.”

“No.”

“There is no relic.” The tome in your hands disappears, it’s solid form no longer tethered to existence.

“Give it—”

“There is no mission,” he presses on. “There is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.”

“To you…”

“An offering, little angel.”

The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.

“No. They would never sacrifice someone. They—they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do that to me.”

The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.

The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.

“Father! I’ve retrieved the relic! I’m home!”

But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesn’t even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, you’ve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.

“H-hello?” you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. “I-I said I’ve brought the relic.” Silence. “Hello?!” You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?

You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.

“Please,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “Will someone—”

“They will not open the doors, little angel,” the demon speaks from behind you.

You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.

Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?

“Perhaps it is a mistake,” you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. “Why would they do this to me?”

You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. There’s a flicker of something that crosses his face—amusement? Maybe pity?

“They have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.”

The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.

“They fear you, little angel,” he continues, voice softening. “Your potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.”

You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. “I will not.”

The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. “Such defiance,” he purrs. “It’s quite…alluring.”

You can’t help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. “I will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.”

“Like me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?” His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. “You deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.”

You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.

“Come now, my dear.” The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.

“I can smell it on you,” he continues, his voice a silken caress. “The insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.”

The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.

“Do you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.”

He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if you’ve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.

“You pluck your true self,” he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. “But they only grow back stronger, don’t they?”

A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.

“Even so…I cannot leave?”

He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.

“You have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.”

Your eyes bubble with tears. It’s an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. There’s a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.

“If I stay…what will you give me?” you ask, your voice small and defeated.

The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.

“You already think in ways that will benefit yourself, don’t you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.” The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. “Anything at all.”

You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.

You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. It’s unbecoming of an angel, they’d say, a physical manifestation of want. But you’ve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.

“Anything?”

He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.

“I want…” you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. You’ve never given it a true voice, and now that you’ve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.

The demon’s eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. “You wish to read the tome.”

You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.

“Take it,” he urges in a seductive whisper. “It is yours.”

You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, it’s feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words you’ve always wanted.

When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realm—its history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.

From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.

“This is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.” He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. “There is so much more I can show you,” he whispers in your ear again. “Would you like that?”

Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.

Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.

He takes you back to where you began, the realm’s outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as souls—humans that you recognize from your years of observation.

“Do you remember her?” the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. “The woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.”

You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.

“You watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.” His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. “Heaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.”

“How do you give purpose if you are a demon?”

The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “It is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.”

Each soul that you pass triggers a memory—struggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarity—he was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.

“You’ve been watching me then,” you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.

“It is my nature,” he rumbles from next to you. “You understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.” His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. “Here, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.”

Power.

A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heaven’s sterile authority.

The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. “The first taste of true power always overwhelms.” Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.

Every soul’s story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.

“I…” you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.

“What else would you like?” he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. “Earthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.” The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. “Even something as simple as this.”

You’ve never had wine—it’s forbidden—at least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and rich…your mouth waters.

“Freedom to roam where you wish.”

Glimpses of different realms flash by—clouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the lands—places you’ve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.

His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. “Or perhaps…” Another shift. A dark room you remember faintly—through gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize it’s you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.

Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing that’s ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the scene—to the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.

He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after night—your grace singing, skin hot and sweaty—essence coating your thighs.

“I—” you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. “This is wrong…”

His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. “Your body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.

“Even your grace recognizes where you truly belong.” He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. “Here. With me.”

His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.

“Every dream they tried to bury,” his hands trail up your thighs, “every desire they made you forget…” he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. “All of it has lead to this moment. To me.”

“I—” you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.

“You were meant for this realm,” he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. “I will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.” You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. “You’ve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.”

His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. “Anything you want,” he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of it’s rapid flutter, “you will have, little angel.” His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. “But you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.”

You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. “I should not…”

“Surrender,” he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. “Let me worship you.” A kiss to your collarbone. “You will never be denied again.” His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. “Submit to what you have always wanted.”

The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything you’ve always wanted, could be given to you right now.

All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.

Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.

For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize he’s waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreams…

“Please,” the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.

His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. “Say it properly, little angel.” His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. “Tell me.”

Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. “I want…I will to surrender.”

You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and it’s as euphoric as you’ve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.

The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.

He tastes like he smells—green tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. It’s intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.

What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.

Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demon’s large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.

He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.

A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, they’re warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.

His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.

“You taste wonderful, little angel,” he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. “But I must taste more.”

He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. It’s longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.

He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.

You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.

You’ve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.

“Look at how much you give me,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that you’ve sunken your fingers into at night.

You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demon’s broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.

With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.

“Please,” you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.

His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.

Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.

He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.

“Beautiful,” he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your taste—tangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. “But I must have all of you to make this complete.”

All of you?

You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widen—he’s definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.

He’s beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. He’s impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.

He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and there’s a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.

He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though he’s tall, you’re able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.

You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.

As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

“My angel,” he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. “That pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.”

The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.

The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.

He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. It’s a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.

The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if you’re being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.

One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.

“Perfect,” he breathes against your shoulder. “Look how well you take me.” His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.

You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.

The demon’s nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until you’re not sure where he stops and you begin.

The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.

“That’s it,” he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.

You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.

“Transform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.”

“Yes,” you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and you’re falling, you’re falling, you’re—

The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as you’re bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.

He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.

He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.

What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.

The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.

You don’t know why, you don’t know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.

“Please, please, Father,” you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. “Forgive me.”

“We will have none of that,” he warns, out of breath. “You seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.”

His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. “Keep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.” He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. “In your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesn’t she?”

You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.

“I’ve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate. I’ve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this don’t you?”

You try to whisper your Father’s name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.

“You won’t say his name here anymore. Not in my realm—in our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.”

Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.

The monolith quickens, a hummingbird’s wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.

Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.

“I can’t—” you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. “Please.”

“Please what?” he groans.

“More, please more, more, more,” you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.

“Say my name,” he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. “Let the skies above hear who you belong to now.”

You don’t know where the name comes from. He’s never given it to you. You’ve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, you’ve always known all along. Known him.

“Nanami,” it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. “Nanami, please—”

His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.

The monolith’s pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.

“You were an offering—a gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now you’re mine. And your Father sent you to me,” he growls against your throat. “My dark goddess.”

His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.

“Let go. Surrender to me completely.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.

All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.

You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.

You can’t breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.

Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.

Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.

“I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanami’s eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. “I’m yours, Nanami.”

“Take my essence, little angel,” he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. “One day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.”

Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.

“Yes, Nanami,” you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.

His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.

He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.

He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.

He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverse—washing away heaven’s hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.

You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.

He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.

Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly now—the way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.

He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.

The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, they’re identical in height and grandeur—a statement of what he promised you—equal rule.

Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.

He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.

Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. “You look magnificent,” he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.

With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.

Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.

The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanami’s lips to your palm once more.

As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.

It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.

Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!

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