#mild religious undertones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mysteria157 · 28 days ago

Text

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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lalunanymph · 5 months ago

Text

𖨆♡𖨆 ran haitani x fem!reader, hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ yearning for revenge after the untimely death of your father, you come to discover an underground organization called bonten and how its executive may have all the answers you need. the big catch? you were the first ever girl that broke his heart.

: ̗̀➛ explicit sex, a/nal play, mentions of a miscarriage, grief, religious undertones, drinking, smoking, (f) oral receiving, mild exhibitionism, c/um eating, public sex, mentions of pregnancy, ran’s untameable daddy kink

masterlist 🌙

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟒

No one can say that Ran Haitani was a man who broke his promises.

Not when he had his beautiful girlfriend in a mating press, one hand around your delicate neck and the other tracing tight circles on your puffy clit.

“R-Ran—ah-ah—slow down!”

Your whines were overshadowed by the obscene squelches coming from your joint bodies, and all your boyfriend did was chuckle.

The promise in question that he had to fulfill? The word of honor he had given himself to fuck you in that little tight dress the moment you both came back from the mission.

And, oh—did he carry out his promise with zeal.

This was your—what? Fifth round? Sixth?

You had lost all concept of time the moment you stepped back into your shared apartment and the doors closed behind your tense forms. Ran had instantly pressed you against the wall, ripping off your dress—ripping it, not even caring enough to remove it from your frame—and taking you on the floor like a lust-crazed animal; Kisaki’s blood staining between your bodies and smearing the pristine marble floors.

After finding your first release of the night, he had brought you into the bathroom, intent on cleaning you up before he got distracted by the suds clinging like a second skin onto the curves of your breasts. In the wake of christening the bathtub with your loud moans, he took you once more in the shower with your palms pressed to the glass partition where all you could was mewl pathetically and take everything he was giving you.

But Ran was not that mean to deny you rest after such an arduous night. He did let you rehydrate yourself with some cranberry juice before bending you over the couch arm, the ecstasy in his veins second to the exhilarating feeling of your cunt muscles massaging his cock.

Flooding you with his seed, he had finally—finally—brought you to bed where you could rest your aching limbs. But this respite didn’t last long and he soon slid his insatiable cock into your already swollen walls, fucking you from behind before putting you on your back, right where you are now.

“Where’s all your bravado, baby?” he grunted, that same bright grin of bloodlust now purely filled with lust. He didn’t care that your thighs were unceasingly quaking or that it had been a full three hours of non-stop fucking. “‘I’d probably like it, Rin’—were you fucking serious? Did you know how much I wanted to slap that pretty pussy of yours for saying shit like that to my baby brother of all people?”

“Didn’t mean it, Ran,” you mewled, gripping his amethyst locks tighter, tears clinging to the ends of your lashes. “I was just—ah—high on the kill.”

Your pathetic rebuttals were choked back when his palm tightened around your neck. Manhandling you with ease and setting you onto your hands and knees, your eyes snapped wide open when you felt the head of his cock nudge past the tight ring of your ass.

“Ran—”

“I know baby, I know,” he soothed, leaning over to slide open the bedside drawer to uncap a bottle of lube. The warmed drizzle between your cheeks made you seize in anticipation and he kneaded your hip. “Relax, baby. I’ll prep you.”

With his lubed thumb, he pushed past the star-shaped circle, your forbidden walls almost expelling the foreign pressure until you felt his other hand cup your mound, middle finger tenderly rubbing your engorged clit. Shivers of pleasure spiked down your spine and he used that distraction to settle his large thumb fully into your anus.

Unable to hold yourself up for any longer, you crumpled forward, ass pushed even higher for him to do anything he pleased with it.

“You good, baby?”

All you could do was make a soft sound of confirmation.

“Gonna fuck your pretty ass now, ‘kay?”

Your soft okay was swallowed when he pulled you closer, thumb replaced by the fat head of his cock. Through it all, Ran paced you, constantly rubbing your clit to get your muscles to relax until eventually—

“God, baby,” his guttural groan could’ve probably woken Rin up on the other end of the hallway. “S’tight f’me—fuck!—your ass is perfection, princess.”

With the sheets bunched under your white knuckles, you were nothing but a fucked-out sexdoll for him to do as he pleased. Every push of his hips—every rut of his cock deeper into your throbbing ass—made you expel full-bodied moans, the sounds unlike that one filthy porn video he had once made you watch while he ate you out.

“Ran, Ran, Ran,” you keened out his name, completely lost in the feel of his cock making its mark in your ass; the sloppy sounds of his thrusts and the lube dripping down your thighs getting you high enough to release high-pitched moans at every hot thrust.

If this didn’t wake your neighbours, you were convinced not even a shootout could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Y/N...” You peeked back to find him with his teeth bared, dreamy lilac eyes lowered in complete pussy drunkness, those soft violet locks stuck to his forehead with sweat. His palms were hot presses on your stomach, gently tweaking your nipples, and the pleasure was too much—all too much that you had to alleviate it; fucking your trembling pussy with two fingers as you came for the sixth and final time tonight.

Pulling his cock out, he sprayed his seed onto your back, harsh breathing loud and hot on the inner shell of your ear. There was no way you were tethered to earth; crashing down onto the mattress where he followed, completely exhausted from the numerous rounds. Outside, a milky dawn was peeking past the curtains and you flickered your tired gaze to the alarm clock, unsurprised to find it a little past 6AM.

Ran placed one shaky kiss into your hair and reached for the box of tissues you had prepared on the side of the bed, wiping his release from your back and tossing the soiled material onto the floor. Bringing you into the warmth of his embrace, he fished in his bedside table for his cigarettes, lighting one up and passing it to you. Your hands shook when you took it from him, inhaling the first drag of nicotine which lifted your already satiated body to all new heights.

The two of you laid in silence, no sounds beyond the slight crackle of both your cigarettes after every inhale. Ash was spilling onto the bed, but neither of you could find it in yourselves to care.

“So, what’re you gonna do now?”

Ran’s voice jolted you out from your reverie and you glanced up at him. Those lilac eyes appraised you with curiosity and despite one whole night of fucking, you still blushed at the intensity of how he was staring at you, dropping your gaze shyly to your palm laying across his stomach. You traced the tattoos on the left side of his body that curled around his skin like the tendrils of smoke he exhaled, drunk on his warmth.

“I guess I’ll live now,” you murmured. “Dad’s killer is dead and it’s time to think about rebuilding my life.”

A beat of silence. “Mikey’s offer still stands, y’know?”

You tried hard not to get carried away by your silent excitement, clearing your throat. “You sure you want me in Bonten?”

“The spot’s all yours, babe,” he teased and wrapped one arm around you, tiredly nuzzling the back of your head. “‘Sides, it’ll be hot to see you kick ass all the time. You have great potential as a spy—Bonten’s little honey trap.”

Smothering a smile at his nickname for you, you quipped, “You sure you’ll be alright if I have to seduce other men?”

He smothered his cigarette into his own ashtray and dusted his hands, grinning. “As long as I’m the only one who can fuck your brains out by the end of the day—sure.” Ran’s reasoning was simple and you had to snort at how easy he made it all sound.

You took one last drag and extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray on your bedside table.

“Okay.”

Just like that, you sealed your fate as part of Bonten and of his life. His sculpted arms draped you closer across his chest, his heartbeat under your cheek. There was no need for you to look up to know that he was grinning like a Cheshire-cat.

“Ouch, fuck—”

“Stay still, miss,” the tattoo artist Mikey swore by as the best in the city reassured you.

He patted your arm and your gritted teeth was part of a melange of sounds which included the gentle whir of the needle currently jabbing into your skin with the speed of a thousand pricks. Beside you, Ran snickered at your expression of pain and you leveled him with a glare. You were going to kick his ass if he kept this up.

“We’re almost finished.”

From his words, the smarting pain lessened and a second later, a cool salve was spread onto the skin above your right thigh. He wrapped your tattoo in a bandage and gave you a thumbs up. “All done Mrs. Haitani.”

You were in too much pain to correct him of your true relationship status, and winced at the inflamed skin.

“Remember—you would need to disinfect it twice a day starting from tonight.”

Ran handled the payment while you fixed the hem of your blazer dress. One glance down at your leg and pride bloomed hot and fresh in your heart. The Bonten tattoo—modeled after Izana’s earring—stood out like a proud smirk on the expanse of your skin.

“Looks good,” Ran commented, quick to eye the same design he sported on his neck that was currently on the soft skin of your thigh.

“It’s pretty,” you cooed and took his offered hand, leaving the tattoo shop located near Roppongi. The afternoon sun was warm on your skin, draping over both your forms like a blanket of honey.

Once in the car, you admired the design, pulling up the hem of your dress to trace the tattoo with your eager eyes.

“Can you see it peeping past my dress?”

“Are you trying to flash me while I’m driving?” You didn't have to look at him to know that he would be smirking.

“In your dreams, Haitani.”

“Y’know you’re about to be a Haitani, too, right?” He brought your left hand up and skimmed his lips over your ring finger’s knuckle where a silver band with a 2 carat marquise-shaped diamond was nestled snugly upon your digit.

“Of course—you wouldn’t stop reminding me.”

“You love it when I remind you,” his quick reply made you want to blush; akin to admitting defeat when it comes to your bickering sessions with your now-fiancé.

“Yes,” you said softly, dropping your gaze to your lap and shyly squeezing his hand. “I love it, too.”

“Huh? I couldn't hear you—could you speak up?” This motherfucker… you could practically hear the grin in his tone and you hitched your shades up higher, smoothing down the front of your blazer dress to buy time to retort.

But, Ran was endlessly patient, especially when it came to your confession on your true emotions.

His grin was unbelievably—and unfairly—handsome. Purple locks fell softly in his face, his toned frame powerful under his neatly pressed three-piece suit, tie snugly fit in a pristine Windsor knot that he insisted you helped him do every single morning. Your fiancé was too alluring for his own good and as the both of you had walked the streets of Roppongi where you had both called home once, there was no denying the many eyes of the women (and some men) that lingered on him.

If you pointed it out to him, he preferred not to make a comment, merely smirking in that same smug manner. So, you decided to give in—just because you were in a good mood.

“I said I love you, you dork.”

“Oh—love you too, babe.”

Bonten HQ appeared, a covert building that housed Japan’s most notorious gang in the façade of a hotel that was under Mikey’s name. Scanning your name tags at the front desk, the both of you took the lift to the penthouse suite that was the main Bonten members’ offices.

The sprawling room was touched with a large window where Mikey’s desk stood on an elevated flooring, Sanzu on his right and Kaku on his left. In the front—Rindou and Ran’s desk, and beside Senju and Takeomi was your designated table. Your fiancé made small talk with Kokonoi who had his own private office to work over the numbers, while you noticed Senju’s absence and asked Sanzu about it.

“On a mission,” Bonten’s number two said, and raked his eyes up and down your figure. “You got the tat?”

“Oh yeah, I got it.”

“Can I see?”

“Gotta ask Ran first—hey babe, can Sanzu look at my tattoo?”

Without even sparing his superior a second look, Ran said, “Sure—if he wants his eyes gouged out.”

Haru raised his hands in mock surrender and fixed you with a smirk. “Sheesh, fine. I ain’t high enough to enjoy the pain anyway.”

You spared him a small smile as your phone vibrated, a quick reminder to where you were supposed to be in an hour’s time. Casting a quick glance at Mikey, you addressed him, keeping your voice soft and pliant to not arouse suspicion.

“Hey, boss? Is it alright if I take a quick hour to check on something?”

Mikey looked up from his computer screen and raised a brow. “Didn’t you and Ran just come back from lunch?”

“It’ll be quick,” you said and gestured towards the door. “I’ll be in and out in an hour.”

Your soft question caught the other’s attention and sensing the wandering gazes of his comrades, Mikey decided that an hour was not too long of a period to let you go and attend to whatever you needed to do.

“Sure.”

“Thanks. I’ll be leaving now.”

Ran gripped your wrist when you passed his table, brows knitted. “Where are you going?”

“Just on… an appointment,” you took his hand with your free one and squeezed. “I’m heading into the city for a bit.”

Sensing that you wanted to be alone, he nodded, releasing his grip on you. “Okay.”

The moment the elevator doors closed behind you, Mikey quipped over the neutral silence in the wake of your departure. “Ran, I want you to follow her.”

He was in no position to deny his leader, and nodded, working out the logistics. He had brought a white shirt and a pair of jeans that he could change into, and since his car was as familiar to you as the white C8 Corvette he had gifted to you for your birthday, he went with another option.

“Sure thing, boss. Hey, Kaku—can I borrow your bike?”

The dark-haired man looked like he wanted to say no, but when Mikey’s gaze touched his, he sighed, fishing in his pants pocket for his keys.

“Here—catch.”

Ran caught the jangling bundle in his larger palm and grinned. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t dent it,” was Kakucho’s low warning. Ran snorted.

“And hurt the love of your life? I won’t,” he snickered and knowing Bonten’s number 3 could not deny him, he picked up his comrade’s helmet as well, bracing it under his arm.

“I’m serious, Haitani,” Kakucho grumbled, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and index finger. “If I see even one tiny scratch—”

“I’m dead, I know, I know,” Ran sing-songed as he made his way to the elevator. “I heard you loud and clear, Kaku.” The doors closed on Kakucho’s sour expression and Mikey’s impassive one. Alone, Ran let his cockiness drop and he wondered out loud what had gotten into you. “Where are you going, baby?”

Your Corvette was not in the private parking garage when he strode past your allocated spot, and he hurriedly dressed in the back of his McLaren before donning on the helmet and walking over to the majestic beauty that was Kaku’s Blackster 883 Harley. Checking his phone, he noted that you still had your location shared with him and followed that tiny blue dot downtown to the city where he caught sight of your car and trailed it all the way to… a jewelry store?

Parking Kaku’s bike between two alleyways that gave him a prime view of you, he let his eyes rake over your flushed cheeks, the slight panicked gleam in your eyes. He watched you until you disappeared into the shop, deciding it was a good time to lower the helmet’s visor and keep his languid gaze trailed on the front door to keep tabs on you.

As for you, there was not even an inkling of suspicion that you were being followed. The cool blast from the air conditioner blowing in your face made you shudder and your presence was announced by the soft clinging of a bell above the door.

“Mrs. Haitani—hello!” the young salesgirl with her whitened smile greeted you at the counter. “Are you here to refit your ring?”

“Oh, I’m not married yet,” you quipped, lifting your hands and waving them sheepishly, much to the other girl’s oh my gosh sorry, I forgot! It wasn’t that big of a slight and you leaned forward as if conspiring with her. “I’m actually here to get something custom-made.”

Her answering grin was as bright as the jewels on display. “Right this way.” Leading you towards a back room, you kept your guard up. Valhalla may be gone, but it’s minions could still be around at any time.

However, the coast remained clear and you were brought into another room where double doors were pulled back for you to enter. The head jeweler bowed his head low and offered you a wide smile. “Mrs. Haitani. How good it is to see you. I heard that you wanted something custom-made?”

Smiling thinly at your mistaken marital status, you pulled out some designs from your folder and placed the drawings on the table for him to peer down at it. “I would like to create a custom-made locket with tanzanite encrusting on one side.”

“May I ask why tanzanite, Mrs. Haitani? It is not as sturdy as diamonds”

Because it would’ve been my baby’s birthstone, you wanted to snap but reigned in your anger. This man was just trying to do his job. “Because I like tanzanite and I would pay a high price to have this done. Can you help me?”

At your insistence, he bowed his head once more and gingerly picked up your designs. “Give us half an hour.”

You smiled. There was a reason why you had chosen this place which was known for its speedy welding and precise craftsmanship. Of course, such swift care would come with a high price tag, but you paid it no mind. You would give the last penny in your bank account to commemorate the memory of your little one.

“This is the locket you requested for, Miss L/N,” the head jewelry appeared exactly thirty minutes after he had left you alone to peruse the displays. “What shall I engrave on it?”

The words that were traced on your heart but never had the chance to see the light of day spilled past your lips like healing water. “Could you engrave—’to the one I never got to hold’ on the back?”

A tremor of rawness passed between the both of you, and he seemed to understand what occurred for this to be your request. He nodded, expression turning rueful, and said, “Of course, Mrs. Haitani. We’ll be back with your necklace in no time.”

While you were waiting for the final touches to your necklace, Ran was growing impatient in the afternoon heat. He glanced at his Rolex and clicked his tongue, a surly mood that did not help with how the hot sun seemed to beat down on the back of his neck. Thank goodness he wasn't in his three-piece—he would be in an even shittier mood if he had to deal with the humidity in his custom-made suit.

A jewelry store. Mikey made him leave the cool shades of the office so that he could trail after his fiancée while she was in a jewelry store? Despite how much his boss’s paranoia was annoying him, Ran reasoned that Mikey must’ve wanted you to be watched in case you thought of threatening him again. Sano Manjiro did not trust easily and once that faith was broken, he would be a fool to keep his jugular exposed in any manner.

“Where are you going now, Y/N?” he murmured to himself, trailing after your reappearance outside the store, and absorbing every minuscule detail with his perceptive gaze; the sun glinting off your hair, the slight dip in the corners of your mouth, how you were resolutely keeping your eyes down to the ground before you closed the car door.

The route was unfamiliar to him and he made sure to keep a few meters away from you, the back of your white C8 Corvette still in his sights as he maneuvered Kaku’s Harley in between the streams of traffic. The gravel road became narrower until it tapered off to a lone building in the middle of a quiet field that was surrounded by dense trees.

He killed the engine, getting a vantage point upon a low hill where he had a clear view of you stopping the car in front of a lonesome little church. There you were—all sharpness and large shades, head bowed with a golden glint around your neck that he noticed you did not have before you left the jewelry store. What are you doing in a place like this, baby?

Ignorant to your clandestine audience, you disembarked from your car, the large shades you wore hiding a few tears you had shed while driving to this destination. The newly minted necklace felt like a hot brand against your clavicle, heavy to the touch; you steeled yourself with a deep breath and looked up at the blue sky for one brief moment before entering the sanctuary.

It had been years since you last entered a holy space.

Your father used to be a devout congregant, and church days were a staple in your little family until you turned 15 and didn’t feel like honoring this tradition, preferring to spend your weekends with your friends and Ran while your father did his duties as a good Christian man.

A part of you felt like you were coming home; the blow of nostalgia hitting you the hardest when you smelled the sweet incense, walking past the same pew your father preferred to sit on every Sunday. You could retrace every step like it was muscle memory—three pulpits down from the altar, always on the furthest side closest to the wall so he could let pregnant women and elderly couples slide out easily for Holy Communion.

Years later, his daughter would find herself sitting in his usual spot, staring up at the large crucifix of a tormented savior gazing down at her with doleful eyes. You had expected yourself to feel like an open wound—throbbing, and tender to the touch from all the sins you had committed; all the lives you had stolen.

Yet, all you felt in this instance was an unceasingly pervading sense of peace.

Completing the sign of the cross—you grasped the necklace in between your pressed palms and slid to your knees; praying for your father’s soul, hoping he was taking care of your unborn baby and giving them the love you never had a chance to give in this lifetime. You prayed for your safety and a better life with your fiancé—to be kept safely away from harm despite how dangerous both your occupations inherently were.

Through it all, the tears never ceased, your mind growing light-headed as you continued sobbing softly in this quiet sanctuary. It felt like you were sitting at the bottom of an ocean, peace saturating the air and fitting around the revered space like a jewel in a crown. Finishing your prayers, you did another quick cross and sat back on the hard wooden surface, staring up at the beige walls with your tear-clogged eyes and reddened nose.

“Peace be with you.”

That soft voice jolted you out of your miserable reverie, and you lifted your watery eyes to find a pair of kind ones staring down at you with a familiarity that reminded you of the past life you had tried so hard to bury.

Her lined face was sagely and a name tickled in the back of your mind. I’m helping Sister Teresa tomorrow with the catechism syllabus, the voice of your father echoed in your mind.

A face from your once the murkiest of your memories appeared like a shimmering holy light and you blinked back the tears, stuttering out, “And with you, sister.”

“May I?” She gestured to the empty space and you wished you could’ve scrambled to put on your shades so she could not see your tear-swollen features. Nodding, you discreetly swiped the remaining tears from your cheeks, forcing your features into one of contrition.

“I’m sorry—am I not allowed to enter during this time?”

“Everyone is always welcomed back to the House of God, my dear,” she said kindly and then, “I remember you—Mr. L/N’s daughter—my, my. It has been too long since we last saw you.”

Deciding that you could not deny her recognition, you faked a smile that most likely appeared grotesque through unmistakeable sorrow.

“I have been… busy with life, Sister Teresa.”

“So, I’ve heard,” the older woman hummed, sweeping her veil to the side and fixing you with those kind eyes that seemed to pry into your soul insistently to bring up your deepest hurt. Your desire to bolt from the scene and stammer out an apology was extinguished when she murmured, “I am sorry for the loss of your father. We all prayed for him, and for you, too.”

Stunned that she still remembered you despite your pervading absence all those years ago, you remained quiet, shifting your attention to the sanctuary so you could avoid her piercing gaze.

“How have you been, Y/N?”

You sensed that she wanted to reach out to you—to understand your disappearance from this church and subsequently, from this town; you had, after all, up and left from everything that once remotely held a shape of familiarity to you. Deciding that it was safe to speak to her, you recollected how open she was to you as a younger girl and your tongue loosened, eager to bridge the gap between your old self and this new Y/N; aching for a slice of your old life back even if it was just from this minute interaction.

“I… reconciled with my old ex-boyfriend,” you lifted your left hand up for the matronly woman to spot the engagement ring. “We’re getting married soon.” Her wide smile dampened your reluctance to speak and you divulged to her the real reason you had sought out sanctuary away from the world for a few moments. “I’m here not just to pray for my dad… I lost a baby.”

She did not judge you on your marital status or even pin the blame on your lascivious new lifestyle that landed you in this position. Rather, all she said was, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

It was funny how such a simple show of kindness had your walls fracturing and you fingered the locket around your neck. “I got this necklace made for my baby.”

Sister Teresa's dark eyes were warm when she regarded you. “They are with the Lord.”

“I just pray my dad is taking care of his grandchild.”

Her kind smile never wavered and she reached out to you. After years of sexual and even violent physical contact, you couldn’t stop the flinch. But, there was no ulterior motive to the warm press of her hand on yours beyond unadulterated sympathy and understanding “I’m sure he is. And I’m sure he’s proud of the woman you are today, Y/N.”

You had doubts if your father would be proud of how his sweet daughter became a prostitute-turned-gangster, but the holy woman before you did not need to know the truth. Deciding that you would break down and tell her everything that happened the longer you stayed here, you cleared your throat, tentatively squeezing her frail palm in yours.

“I have to go, but it was so nice to see you after so long, Sister Teresa.”

Your hesitance must’ve been scrawled on your face. She nodded and released her hold on your hand. “Of course, Y/N. God bless you.” Trailing after her when she left the pew, you bowed your head before this holy woman, thankful that you were given this piece of interaction to put your past behind you.

“God bless you, too.”

“Take care,” the older woman hesitated before adding, “we’ll always be waiting for you should you wish to return, Y/N.”

Somehow, that was enough reassurance that you were on the right path after years of running through an endless dark forest; you could see the light—you were allowed to see the light.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sister. Thank you.”

The figure of the woman he loved stepped out of the church and Ran straightened from his languid position on Kakucho’s bike, wondering what you had been doing inside.

But he didn’t have to ruminate for long; before approaching the Corvette, you dabbed at your eyes which he could see were red-rimmed even from this distance, lifting your shades to hide your sadness from the world once again. He sighed, already knowing what had transpired from his years of being intimately acquainted with you.

He brought his phone to his ear, carefully watching you close the car door and speed off towards the highway—back to Bonten HQ.

An answering click on the other end. “Everything alright, Ran?”

“Yeah, Mikey,” he sighed, “she made a trip to a jewelry store and went to a church. She was—is—still grieving.”

The head of Bonten did not need to ask him what you were mourning over. Everyone who was there on the day you pulled a gun on Mikey knew, despite how high you placed your walls in an effort to detract anyone from scaling it. The other man was quiet as he absorbed this fact.

“Take the day off—both of you,” was his curt response.

“Boss—“

“I don’t think I need to tell you twice, Haitani.”

There was no bite to Mikey’s bark; he sounded amused rather than threatening and Ran did not want to seem ungrateful for this show of kindness. Perhaps he could use this day to take you out shopping or try this one cafe you both had been meaning to visit for a while; anything to replace the red-eyed remorse with your usual sparkling smiles.

“Yes, sir.”

Dribbles of champagne dotted the counter when the men toasted, flutes clinking together, the sparkling flavor lost on your tongue as you chose to sip on a glass of water tonight.

Raucous laughter filled the space, hoots of this bar is so cool warming up the crevices of your soul at how bright everyone seemed tonight for the second Haitani bar opening in Roppongi. The writhing mass of bodies outside seemed to be muted when everyone was in this VIP room, the music vibrating through the walls almost drowning out Sanzu’s next words when he leaned in closer to you and said:

“So, I guess you’ll have your hands full with this new baby.”

“You can say that again,” you grinned up at your superior and nudged his shoulder. “But, don’t let Ran hear—he wouldn’t let me return to Bonten if you called our new bar that.”

Your fiancé was flitting around the room as befitting of the new co-owner of this establishment. Smartly dressed in a new three-piece Zegna that you had bought for him, the only thing more catching than Ran Haitani for tonight would be the tasteful decor and walls splashed with hues of dark purple that made you feel like you were nestled in the middle of a brimming, lively forest; the snatches of LED light almost akin to bright flashes of lightning—here for one split second and then gone.

“Pfft. I would drag you back myself. No one is as good with numbers as you are—well, besides Koko.”

“Glad to hear that my business acumen is helping us speed up our money laundering efforts,” you teased and Sanzu winked at you, cheekily retorting:

“We’d be lost without you, darling.”

A tap on your shoulder and you excused yourself from the pink-haired man’s side to address Mikey.

“I’ll be heading back soon,” he said and swept his dark gaze over the lively VIP room where only selected guests were allowed to mingle and enter. “Thanks for inviting me—it’s a good spot.”

“Of course,” you agreed with a fond smile. “Do you need me to call your driver, boss?”

“I have a ride,” he clarified and you didn’t pry; Mikey may have unfinished business and you sensed he didn't want to burden you with that knowledge.

“Just call us if anything comes up, okay?”

A fleeting smile lifted the corners of his lips and he bobbed his head once in acknowledgment. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“‘Night, Mikey.”

You watched him walk out of the room with his head bent and hands in his pockets, mentally wondering if you could perhaps lift some of the weight that hung on his shoulders by prepping him dinner tomorrow. A part of you wondered—did Mikey even eat? You’ve only ever seen him smoke and drink, but never consume a proper meal. That had to change soon; you couldn’t risk your boss withering away from the stress.

“Hey. Mikey left?” Ran’s voice jolted you out from your reverie and you made a sound of confirmation.

“Yeah—he said he had to go.”

Lilac eyes darted to his watch and he kissed his teeth. “It’s a little after four. I guess we should wrap this up.” You nodded and went to inform the bar to stop the flow of drinks. The dance floor outside was still in full swing, but slowly, lights were coming back to life, signaling to the inebriated crowd that the club was going to close soon.

At the VIP table, Kokonoi was counting a wad of cash despite how Ran told him to lay off his finances and Rindou was chatting to Takeomi who had a cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. A few random prostitutes hung around, some of them you recognized from brief meetings when you were once in their shoes, and others brought in by your future brother-in-law to keep the atmosphere lively in the room.

One of them was cuddled up next to Kakucho, and you sensed that he would most likely take her back home before the sun rose. Mochi had gone back before Mikey, and Sanzu was on his best behavior—nose clean, literally and figuratively, as he was sprawled next to one of the whores, letting her admire his scars.

From the corner of your eye, you saw one of the girls who was emboldened enough to sway over to your fiancé, sitting on his lap as he was speaking to one of the investors. Lifting a brow, he regarded her coolly, and you took that as your cue to walk over to her, gripping her shoulder in one tight hand and glaring down at her.

“You’re in my spot,” you spat, and pushed the drunk woman off his lap, ignoring her squeak of indignation.

Locking eyes with her, you straddled your man’s lap and touched your gaze with his to find him staring down at you amusingly. The short satin dress you wore had hitched up to your thighs, exposing the globes of your ass and you didn’t care to make yourself decent despite your status as the co-owner of this bar.

What you did instead was run your lips down your fiancé’s throat, nipping on the slightly salty skin softly before standing up, cognizant of how the girl was staring at you in incredulity. “I forgot something,” you said in a sickly sweet voice and nodded towards the investor who was trying hard not to stare at the plush flesh of your thighs as you strode away, making sure to brush against the stunned girl when you passed her.

As you spoke to the bartenders and took into account the stock for tonight, you felt an arm slide around your waist and lips in the crook of your neck. “Y’know… you’re incredibly hot when you’re jealous.”

Feeling pouty because he didn’t immediately push the girl off him, you huffed and pried his hand off you. “I’m closing up, Ran.”

Proving that he was persistent, those same warm lips trailed towards your ear, nipping your lobe affectionately. “I really was going to tell her to fuck off, baby. You were just faster than I was.”

“Hmph,” was your retort and you felt the low vibration of his chuckle in the pit of his chest.

“You’re so cute.”

Cute? Oh, Ran Haitani was really asking for it tonight.

You turned around in his arms and lifted yourself onto the counter. Under the strobing lights, his handsome smirk was all you could giddily keep your eyes on, and you tugged him closer by his belt, letting him into the circle of your legs and trapping him there with your thighs around his waist.

“Damn, baby—right in front of my investors and colleagues?” he teased and traced his fingers down your bare thigh.

“You should’ve paid me more mind, then,” you pouted and he leaned forward, kissing you on the plump of your lower lip. Letting his hand drift to your waist, neither of you cared that eyes were on you; he let his lips meet yours and you sank your fingers into his purpled locks, gasping when he sharply bit on your lower lip which gave him easy access to slip his tongue into your mouth. Despite the atmosphere growing hot and heavy, you kept your head leveled and swallowed the urge to moan into his mouth when his larger palms skimmed down your back, making you shiver with anticipation.

Pulling your mouth away from his enticing one, you breathed in deeply, raising your gaze beyond his shoulder and catching your colleagues’ eyes. The men shamelessly drank in your shy smile and how you tossed your hair to the side so Ran could suck on the exposed skin of your neck, your fingers tangling in his locks possessively. This little club-warning session was officially over for you.

“Bar’s closed!”

Your voice rang with undeniable authority and the bouncers responded to your orders. In the distance, a low groan from Rindou who had enough of you and his brother sucking each other’s faces off in front of everyone, and a come on, man from Sanzu who was just about to bring that whore into his lap.

If your colleagues were pissed, they dared not show it, not in yours and Ran’s turf. They knew their place.

Once the VIP doors closed with the last employee who staggered out, you released a low, dulcet moan.

“Ran—baby,” you panted, weakly pushing his face off your neck, the numerous love bites he left in his lustful oblivion starting to throb slightly. “N-not fair. You let me chase them out while you were enjoying yourself.”

He hummed, dipping his head lower to your cleavage, his tongue leaving warm curls of saliva on your heaving chest. “I knew you had it under control, baby.”

Squirming in his hold, you gasped when he pushed one thin strap off your shoulder, burying his face in the crook of your neck, drunk off your vanilla scent that made his cock all but jump at the thought of finally tasting you. “‘Sides, it was sexy watching you trying not to lose it.”

“Kaku shook his head at me,” you tried to keep the whine out of your tone, but failed. “The whole team probably thinks I’m a slut.”

“So, what?” he purred and looked down at you with those half-mast amethysts. “Even if you are, you’re my slut. And I don’t share what’s mine.”

The truth made your clit twitch and every fiber in your body was aching to have him.

His lips touched the clavicle of your throat where your necklace hung and he reached out to it. “This is pretty.”

“I had it made about two months ago,” you mumbled, thinking back to that darkest moment in your life when you were still grieving over your lost baby. Though the wounds were still there, it did not feel as tender as before; a scar replacing the throbbing, hot laceration with the veneer of time.

“It’s tanzanite.”

You affirmed his observation. “I got it done for… our baby.”

A rueful expression overcame him. You had expected him to be surprised or even point out why you would be doing this for a child you barely even knew—but all Ran did was trace his thumb over the engraved words. To the one I never got to hold. “I know. Mikey told me to trail after you that day at the jewelry store and the church.”

This did not surprise you. “Oh. I suppose he still doesn’t trust me.”

“He does,” Ran closed the distance and pressed his forehead to yours. “It was just that one time.”

You hummed and drifted your fingers to his tie, unlooping it, putting all thoughts of Mikey, your baby, and the mistakes you made out of your mind. Ran—he was the only thing you wanted to focus on tonight. You undressed him, starting with his loose tie, then his suit jacket and the creaseless vest to expose the white dress shirt underneath.

He got your message and pushed your other strap off, exposing your lace strapless bra from underneath the soft satin. There were no more words exchanged; warm puffs of his breath teasing your neck and leaving goosebumps down your arms when he pressed hot-open mouth kisses in between your breasts before gently drawing down the slinky cups; wrapping his lips around one turgid bud. You sighed, enjoying his attention when he shifted his mouth to the other nipple.

“Baby,” you whined when he slid one calloused palm down your thigh to touch the wet spot growing on your matching black panties. Pulling the scrap of lace down and tucking it into his pocket, he flashed you one cheeky grin before kneeling; tall enough that he easily came eye-to-eye with your pussy. Ran settled himself in between your thighs and you gasped when he used two large fingers to pry your soaking lips apart before his tongue slipped out to part through your folds.

Leaning back on one hand, you bit your lower lip, the music in the distance becoming mellower, the lights turning into one solid color of the softest shade of purple that matched the dilated lilac pupils that were cataloging your every reaction. There was a knock on the door and the both of you paused.

“Sir, ma’am? The club is officially closed,” the voice of your head bouncer drifted through the cracks.

Clearing your throat, you retorted, “Thank you. We’ll b-be out in a bit.” Your voice faltered when he started to suck on your clit, the sounds that came from the man in between your legs could rival the nastiest porn out there.

“Shall I leave the key with you, ma’am?”

Ran took the opportunity to slip one finger into your pulsing hole, enjoying your soft grunt of pleasure.

“U-um—just leave it on the table outside!” you chirped, flashing your infuriating fiancé one glare to tell him to cut it out. But, Ran was enjoying how quickly you were falling apart at the seams, your hips no longer under your control and grinding down on his tongue that was currently drawing maddening circles on your puffy clit.

“Alright. Goodnight Mr. Haitani, Mrs. Haitani.”

“G-goodnight,” you called and waited until the front door closed before releasing your restrained moan. The man below you only snickered, a devilish smirk on his angelic face.

“You’re s-such an asshole, Haitani.”

“Hmm? Hard to tell that you’re mad when you’re literally dripping over our counters, baby,” he mocked and straightened, chin shiny with your juices. You opened your mouth to retort, but the words were stolen from you when he brought you down from the high surface and pressed you to his chest. One hand slipped under your skirt, two fingers plunging deep into your depths.

“Ran!” your squeal bounced across the room; no sounds now beyond your heavy breathing. Using his free hand, he pushed your head forward, your cheek pressed into the glass counter.

“Look at the mess you made, you filthy girl,” he cooed and you were shocked to find a puddle where your pussy was just a few moments ago. “Lick it.”

“Ran—”

Those long fingers of his easily grazed your sweet spots, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. The hot bubble deep in your belly was threatening to burst, your orgasm promising to wash over you in an act of vengeance. If it wasn’t for his arm locked around your torso, you would’ve probably slid down to the floor into a puddle; similar to the pool of your juices on the once pristine surface.

“Lick it and I’ll make you cum.” His breathy yet gravelly tone left you conflicted; those slim and nimble fingers felt blisteringly good and you were close enough to start clenching down on him. But, Ran did not give in, did not press on your swollen spot and your clit in that way which would always make you seize around him.

“Baby—”

“Come on. You’ve eaten my cum before and you’re shy to taste yours? You’re the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had—shame that you don’t experience it. Do it, Y/N.”

Flickering your gaze up to him, the hand on your neck did not seem to yield and you shuddered at how intently he was looking at you. There was no room for you to beg and worm your way out of this. Slowly, your tongue slipped past your glossed lips and you lapped at the almost creamy liquid, the taste of musk heavy in the back of your throat and making you feel filthier than the mess you had left behind.

Literally slurping your own cum, your cheeks were burning, the cold glass barely extinguishing the flame of embarrassment at how this was turning you on beyond the point of return. Those lilac eyes never left yours, occasionally flitting to your progress, and once the counter was spotless did he grin and nod approvingly.

“Good girl.” Ran didn’t give you any breathing room; fucking you vigorously with his fingers, your slick sloshing around his digits, and with his other free hand, he teased and tweaked your nipples, breath hot in the shell of your ear.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, the fog of lust making you throw out all caution, your needy sounds bouncing all across the walls. “Daddy—please…”

“Cum for me,” he breathed, “Cum for me like the little slut you are, Y/N.”

Seizing around his fingers, you keened out your orgasm, all but humping on his fingers like a bitch in heat, panting and moaning out his name. A suspended moment in time where you were purely made of just sensation—white filling your vision and you opened your clumpy eyes, your mascara surely smudged by now.

Ran had that same shit-eating grin scrawled across his face. “Earth to Y/N?”

You couldn’t speak, the orgasm that still pulsed through you rendering you mute, only capable of breathing hard. Taking advantage of your blurry state, he pushed your tiny dress up; your body automatically folding forward, ass up, arms folded, and head resting on them—a mare waiting to be bred by her stallion.

The flash of pain when his palm collided on your ass felt like the wildfire spread of ant bites. “Ran!”

“Uh-uh. It’s Daddy, you little bitch,” he cooed. The clinking of his belt as it fell to the ground faintly registered in your hazy mind and you grunted when he pushed his cock through the tight ring of your pussy.

“Daddy—” you gasped, jolting forward from the force of his first thrust, standing on your tiptoes to curve your body into a back-breaking bow to take his cock.

“Fuck… your pussy was made for me, darling,” he grunted softly into your ear, the press of his larger body into yours would’ve suffocated you, but you were already at a point that you did not care.

“Daddy, Daddy,” you chanted over and over again, every drag of his heavy cock through your already rippling walls making your tits sway back and forth like a pendulum; your vocal cords only knowing how to rasp dulcet Daddy’s, the second wave cresting and rising—threatening to drag you down into the crushing depths of your second release.

“Can feel you squeezing me so well, baby,” he growled, and nipped your pulse point, one finger coming to rub sloppy circles onto your engorged clit. All you felt was him—the weighted slap of his balls on your skin, the drenched sounds of your pussy receiving his every thrust, the smell of sex curling in the air together with his cologne, the imprint of his lips on your neck, that same finger running clockwise, clockwise, clockwise—

“Daddy!” you shattered around his cock and he moaned, spitting out curses and your name. You didn’t have to wait long to receive his long-awaited gift; his hot seed filling you all the way to the brim, plugged by his large cock still pumping a huge load of cum into your quivering cunt.

One last spurt and he slumped onto you, droplets of sweat dripping onto your bare shoulder. Ran grunted and unglued himself from you, removing his softening cock from your creamy depths. Warm dribbles of cum trickled down your thighs and a laugh slipped past your intumescent lips.

Your fiancé turned softer, lifting you into his arms and carrying you to the nearest sofa, spreading you onto his lap and adjusting himself so you could drape your head over his chest.

Shaky fingers carded through your hair and he pressed a kiss onto your sweat-slicked temple. He straightened your bra and slipped your straps back in place, one last kiss placed onto your neck.

There was no doubt that there were stars in your eyes and he fought back a smirk at how softly you were smiling at him in this instance. Ran was no less affected—a tender smirk on his face as he drank in your features.

“I have something for you.”

“Hmm?”

Leaving the warm impression of his chest and lap, you walked over to your purse and removed a small box from it. “Close your eyes.”

Ran adjusted and made himself decent, following your request and sliding his eyes closed. You sauntered over to him and sat back on his lap. “Okay—now extend your palm.”

You could see the apprehension suffuse across his face, but he did as you said; one palm up.

“If you drop a lizard into my hand, I’ll end you, Y/N,” he threatened and you pressed your lips together to keep from bursting out into peals of giggles, remembering how much he abhorred those scaly critters. Setting the square in his outstretched hand, you marveled at how much smaller the box seemed in his larger palm.

Sensing the weight, his lips twisted in a question, but you spoke before he could. “You can open your eyes now.”

Sleepy lilacs widened at the sight of a pair of baby shoes in his hand; still wrapped neatly in the clear plastic box they came in.

“I’m pretty sure these would not fit,” he joked and twirled the square between his long fingers. “If you forgot my shoe size, it’s a size ten, babe.”

Refusing to be swayed by his antics, you rolled your eyes good-naturedly and poked his cheek. “Those aren’t for you.”

Whether through sheer divine intervention or his common sense returning after a mind-numbing orgasm, your fiancé stared at the shoes, dumfounded.

“Y/N… you’re…”

He dared not even say those words out loud and you nodded, lips still pressed together to keep a smile from spreading too wide. You cataloged the questions that flashed through his eyes; the ever quick-witted Ran Haitani was stunned by this one bit of information that he could not keep up with.

You put it into words for him.

“I’m pregnant, Ran.”

“Is that why you refused the champagne?” was the first question he asked and you couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound pure and filled with happiness at this shared good news with him.

“Mhm hmm.”

“Fuck,” he swore and brought the shoes closer to his face; a pair of yellow sneakers. “How long have you known?”

“I took a test last week and today again just to make sure.” You fidgeted with the necklace around your neck, waiting for him to speak.

As if the sun had pierced through amethyst clouds, his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas and he chuckled, burying his flushed cheeks into your neck and rubbing them back and forth—nuzzling you to his heart’s content.

“You really made me a daddy,” he choked out and you threaded your fingers through his hair, nodding emphatically.

“We’re gonna be parents—for real this time.”

Rather than launching into a ton of questions, he preferred to admire the yellow sneakers in his larger grasp.

“We gotta talk to Mikey to let you take your maternity leave earlier.”

“Huh? But I’m barely in my first few months,” you mused at how he was already jumping ahead.

Ran snorted and raised his brow. “There is no way I’m letting you onto the field when you’re carrying my baby. Don’t even fight me on this.”

You clamped your mouth shut on the protests that were fighting to leave your tongue. “So, what? I’m just going to be your pretty little housewife now?”

“We’ll get maids to help around the house and the cooking,” he said and mistook your pout for your resistance. “Why? Are you against that idea?”

“It’s just…” you trailed off, unsure how to tell your fiancé that you wanted your privacy now that you were both expecting a baby. How could you share with him that you wanted the absolute freedom to walk around naked in your own home? That you wanted him to be the sole person to dote on you, to be able to fuck you anywhere around the house—on the dining table, by the balcony, in the bathroom, even in the living room—an act that you both could not partake in if there was going to be eyes on you every day?

“I wanted to—y’know… keep this between us,” you trailed one finger down his angular jaw and hummed. “I want to… indulge… at this moment with you, baby.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gave him a shy smile. “Just with you.”

Seeming to catch your drift, your soon-to-be husband chuckled, looping his fingers with yours. “Ah, you just want me all to yourself, huh? Don’t be scared to tell me the truth, baby.”

“Yeah,” you admitted and his grin grew.

“Fine. It’s about time we moved to a bigger penthouse, anyway. Rin was thinking about shifting, too.”

“He’s not going to stay with us, right?” you couldn’t keep the apprehension out of your tone, already pitying the younger Haitani for having to put up with your exacerbated hormones and newly… carnal urges for his older brother.

Ran chuckled and shook his head. “Nah. It’ll be hell for him. ‘Sides—” there was an edge of wickedness in his smile now. “I can’t fuck you freely if my little brother is in the next room, right?” He hummed, heart growing lighter at your small giggle. “I’ll move us to a penthouse and Rin can take the other unit in another building. At least we’re still close-ish.”

You sighed, “Sounds like heaven.”

“You’re heaven, baby,” he said and you didn’t doubt the sincerity in his tone.

Never in your life would you expect a plot of revenge to bring you such a wave of felicity in your life; the ugliest parts of your history turning into a happiness you had not felt for such a long time in those hard five years you spent parted from your better half—the love of your life and now the father to your unborn child.

“What do you think about a wedding, baby?” Ran’s bright smile was contagious and you allowed yourself to be swept up by his impulses.

“Now?”

“Tomorrow,” he said and placed one palm on your belly. “Our little bean can’t be born out of wedlock, y’know. I wanna make his or her mommy an honest woman first.”

Throwing all caution and plans out, you pictured how pissed off your wedding organizers would be when you decided to take matters into your own hands; disregarding their careful preparation all for a shotgun wedding because of the little angel now growing in your womb.

The old you, the one who trod through life with a looking glass to catch the smallest detail in case you would miss it; the one who lived in fear of what the next day would bring, no longer held any sway to your decisions. You were a free woman—fuck the shackles of your past. You would not be weighed down by them anymore; you were free to love, to exist, to just be.

You were free to just live.

“Deal. Let’s do this, Haitani.”

THE END.

a/n. if you all had no idea, this story was actually (partly) inspired by the k drama 'my name' and was a different genre i dabbled in at all those years ago to try my hand at dark content and heavier topics teehee <3 even though its been a while since i reintroduced this series, but i wanted to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for sticking with ran and y/n's story since it's first conception in 2021 till the final reuploaded chapter today <3

if you're still hungering for more daddy ran, don't miss out on my other series 'blackmail kiss' which is currently ongoing !! luv u all and see u soon <3

#🦢 writes #ran haitani #ran haitani smut #ran haitani angst #ran smut #ran angst #ran x reader #ran x you #ran haitani x reader #ran x y/n #ran haitani x you #ran haitani x y/n #tokrev ran #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers angst #tokrev smut #tokrev angst #series: pretenses

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abbyandersonslove · 2 months ago

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♡ May Her Love Guide Me ♡

Plot Summary: You’re a Seraphite and you catch Abby’s eye one day while she’s out on patrol

Warnings: Kidnapping, canon typical violence, not so canon typical Abby, mention of gunshots, mild religious undertones, loss of consciousness and slight angst

Word Count: 1.7k

Abby Anderson was madly and indisputably in love with the enemy. Every negative feeling, every Scar she had killed suddenly left her mind when she laid eyes on this girl. It was supposed to be just another patrol. Clear out the area Issac was having problems with, and leave. No big deal. That’s what Abby had thought when she left the stadium, and what she continued to think until she saw you.

When she first laid eyes on you, she had just removed her foot from a Scar’s smashed in head. She had turned to see where Manny was and locked eyes with you. Her heart dropped. Fuck, you were beautiful, she could never bring herself to kill you. Your hair was done in intricately woven braids that she had no clue how to even attempt, but she would learn them in an instant if it meant getting close to you. Your brown leather robe shone in the dim light from Seattle’s constant onslaught of rain. For once, Abby thought the traditional scars marking all Seraphites were endearing, not a hideous proclamation of stupidity. You trembled slightly, holding your drawn bow. Blood splattered your clothing and face, you looked deeply frightened. You, Manny and Abby were the only people left here.

“What should we do with this señora?” Manny asks Abby cockily, knowing they had the upper hand here. Abby is conflicted on how to answer. On one hand, she wants to do her job as Issac’s right-hand woman and get the job done but on the other hand, she wants to spend the rest of her life with you, protecting and loving you. Wait what? Abby’s lost her fucking mind. She can’t want this. Maybe she should just kill you right here, right now and absolve any feelings she has. But the thought of killing you makes her sick. She should let you go back to your village. Maybe that would stop the Scars from invading on territory that isn’t theirs. But then she might never see you again. “Abs? Hello? Have you suddenly been surrounded by overwhelming guilt for all your actions? Joking. I know you’d never feel remorse for these pendejos. Seriously though, she we take her into custody?” Abby didn’t think about that. They could take you back to the FOB. That way, she’d be able to see you every day, but you’d be tortured for information. Possibly until death. Abby doesn’t want that either.

Abby’s head was swimming with anxiety and guilt, but her mouth speaks before she can make up her mind. “Let’s take her back to the FOB, she’ll have information Issac can use” Abby says, adjusting her backpack straps. Abby points her gun in your direction. “If you move or resist, I will shoot you” Abby says. The words demand confidence, but her voice betrays her. If they can take you back to the FOB, at least Abby can keep an eye on you. “Please, I have a little sister I have to take care of” you say, shaking. “Haven’t you taken enough precious lives?” “Shut up Scar, we don’t need your whole life story” Manny says, sneering in your direction. Abby regrets that she gives you a small sympathetic smile. She knew this wouldn’t work out, so why was she entertaining the idea? She needed a good sleep and some time with Alice and that would shake her out of things.

For now, Abby tries to push you out of her mind. You were encroaching on WLF territory after all. Gun still pointed in your direction; she advances towards you slowly. Manny follows suit and closes in behind you. He swiftly grabs you by the shoulders, causing you to lose the tension on your bow and drop it. You had been holding it drawn the entire time but never struck. Why was that? You started to cry, saying something unintelligible. Abby had to look away and step behind Manny. “If she tries anything I’ll shoot her” Abby says flourishing her gun. “Truck should still be parked where we left from. It’s a bit of a walk though.” Manny begins walking down the road, shoving you along in front. You try to look behind you, but Manny takes a hand off your shoulders and grabs your head. “Eyes in front señora. I am not against putting a bullet through your head,” he says shoving you a bit harder down the road.

Abby has checked out mentally, she’s cold, tired and covered in muck. She wants more than anything to be back in her room, freshly showered, watching one of Manny’s anime movies. But no, she’s here in the piss pouring rain, kidnapping the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen. She thinks about her dad. He wouldn’t want this for his girl. She wishes things had turned out differently. If her dad hadn’t died, she’d still live in Salt Lake City, still be in her boring but stable relationship with Owen, Mel wouldn’t completely hate her and most of all, she would’ve never met you. She can’t dwell on this other life for too long. It made her want scream and cry.

By the time Abby has clocked back into reality, they’re approaching the truck. Manny has been talking for God knows how long about his latest fling. “Yeah man, that’s great,” Abby says non-convincingly, having very little clue who he was actually talking about. “I might actually see this one again,” Manny says excitedly. “You say that about a lot of people Manny, be real with yourself here,” Abby says, going ahead of you and Manny to grab some rope off the truck. She jumps off the back of the truck and lands in front of you, Manny moves to your side, holding your arms to your side so that Abby can tie you up.

While tying you up, Abby can look anywhere but your face. Usually, this part gives her a massive power trip but now, all Abby can feel is regret. Your cheeks are stained in tears, and your choked out sobs barely come out with how much you’ve been crying. She looks you in the eyes, for a second, she thinks she sees your expression change briefly, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. She kneels down on one knee to finish her work with a knot and flicks her head towards Manny. He lets go of you. “You’re not going to get away with this, her love will come and save me,” you say, wiggling around in your binds. “If you keep moving around like that, you’re gonna get rope burn,” Abby says partially because she doesn’t want to see you get hurt, but on the other hand, she wants you to know that it’s stupid to try and escape this.

“We better get going Abs, Issac wanted us back a while ago,” Manny says climbing into the back of the truck. Abby grabs you bridal style and steps onto the back of the truck. She places you down on the floor of the truck and sits behind you, legs caging you from getting up. “All clear,” Manny yells to driver and the truck starts moving. Abby tries to make small talk with Manny, but your whispered prayers distract her. You look up from the floor, first at Manny, then at Abby. She tries to look anywhere but you. Craning your neck to try and get eye contact with Abby, you say, “I see how you look at me. Is it regret? Is it longing? You feel remorse about what you’re doing to me, so why not let me go?” Abby looks down at you frustratedly. She hates that you’ve clocked her already. “Just shut up Scar, you’re already in a hole, don’t dig yourself deeper,” Abby says. She thinks about your words, she does long for you, and she regrets coming here today. Fuck, right now she regrets even joining the WLF. Maybe in another life, Abby thinks. Maybe in another life the two of us aren’t so different.

Back at the FOB, things are pretty quiet. It’s around 7 and most of the evening patrols left an hour ago. Issac is in one of the nearby medical tents, talking to Nora. When he sees you, Abby and Manny, he quickly excuses himself. “You two should have been back an hour ago. What the fuck happened out there?” Issac asks, annoyance laced in his tone. “There were a lot more Scars than you had told us about. And this señora was providing a bit of difficulty,” Manny says matter of factly. “We think she may have some information to give you,” he adds.

You struggle in your binds of rope. “If you think I’m going to willingly give up information, you’re mistaken,” you spit in Issac’s direction, punctuated with a glare. He looks down at you with general disinterest in his eyes. “We’ll see about that, Scar,” he says, applying pressure to several points on your neck. You try and escape his grasp but you quickly fall unconscious. He picks you up and talks over his shoulder to Abby and Manny. “You two are dismissed, you may go back to the stadium.”

Abby feels numb, she wants to turn around and grab you from Issac, never looking back once but she knows better. “We missed the shuttle truck from here to the stadium. We’ll have to walk home,” Manny says, stretching out his arms and legs. What a great way to end a great day, Abby thinks.

As the pair walk out the gate, Abby looks back one more time. Maybe by tomorrow you’ll be dead, beaten to death by Issac. But that won’t stop her from at least coming to check on you. She knows this whole idea is crazy, but just for a while, she wants to savour it as if it could happen. So tomorrow she’ll come back, but until then, you’ll occupy her thoughts and dreams.

Authors note: My first real post on this blog! Reblogs and notes are super appreciated <3

#abby tlou #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #eventual smut #tlou #the last of us #light angst #wlw yearning

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enchantedlandcoffee · 6 months ago

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April and May Fic Recs

Happy (belated) 28th!! Here's a list of a few fics I enjoyed in April and May! (Unfortunately without summaries because the list was getting long)

⋆⋆ Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson ⋆⋆

⋆ where we landed by @blueskiesrry ⋆

Mature | 70k | Slow Burn, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Sickfic

⋆ ocean wave blues by @babyhoneyheslt ⋆

Mature | 49.3k | Pirates, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics

⋆ Quiet People Have The Loudest Minds by @2tiedships2 ⋆

Mature | 38k | Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mute Louis, Sign Language

⋆ Checking Them Out?: How To Use Your Library Science Degree To Get an Alpha by @insightfulinsomniac ⋆

Explicit | 19.9k | Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Smut

⋆ In-flight entertainment by @lunarheslwt ⋆

Explicit | 6.8k | Light Dom/Sub, Watersports, Established Relationship

⋆ Glass Closets and Greenhouses by @tiredtiredtz ⋆

Explicit | 60.9k | Strangers to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Fake/Pretend Relationship

⋆ Save Me From Myself by @imogenleewriter ⋆

Explicit | 159.3k | Strangers to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Light BDSM, Light Dom/Sub

⋆ If You Like Causing Trouble Up in Hotel Rooms by @cc-horan28 ⋆

Explicit | 3.4k | Smut, Harry Styles is Obsessed with Louis Tomlinson, Dom/Sub Undertones

⋆ Needing You More and More, Let's Give Love A Try by supernope ⋆

Explicit | 33.9k | Friends to Lovers, Mpreg Harry, Lawyer Louis

⋆ deep in my heart i know there's only you by ballsdeepinjesus ⋆

Explicit | 23.1k | Mpreg, Friends to Lovers

⋆ Screaming But Daddy I Love Him by @wishingforloushair ⋆

Explicit | 21.8k | Loss of Virginity, Religious Guilt, Religious Discussion, Really Mild Homophobia

⋆ Sugar, Sugar by @parmahamlarrie ⋆

Explicit | 25k | Alternative Universe - Sugar Daddy, Alternative Universe - Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers

⋆ oh so familiar by @insightfulinsomniac ⋆

Explicit | 13.2k | Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, vampire!Louis, witch!Harry

⋆ On Love's Doorstep by @hellolovers13 ⋆

Teen and Up Audiences | 1.6k | Fluff, Harry Styles Wears a Dress, Flirting, Awkward Flirting, Meet-Cute

⋆ A Hand to Hold and a Hand Held by @londonfoginacup | LadyLondonderry ⋆

Not Rated | 5.6k | Mpreg, Famous Louis, Non-Famous Harry, Alternate Universe - Teachers

⋆ i would know you from touch alone by @harruandlou | staybeautiful ⋆

Explicit | 72.8k | Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, Organized Crime, Slow Burn

⋆ the very last drops of an ink pen by @harruandlou | staybeautiful ⋆

Explicit | 47.5k | Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Music Industry, Miscommunication, Angst, Getting Back Together

⋆ The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by @kingsofeverything ⋆

Explicit | 109k | Infidelity, Sexuality Crisis, Older Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Miscommunication, Falling In Love

⋆ you, in every color by @blueskiesrry ⋆

Explicit | 38k | Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Fluff

⋆⋆ Rare Pairs ⋆⋆

⋆ you gave me a ring, lad! by @theeliampayne | wemadethishome ⋆

Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson General Audiences | 236 | Friendship, Rings, louis got his ring!!

⋆ crying, denying, and movie nights by @theeliampayne | wemadethishome ⋆

Zayn Malik/Liam Payne General Audiences | 466 | Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Movie Night, Cuddling & Snuggling

⋆ I'd Follow You To Any Place by @cc-horan28 ⋆

Niall Horan/Harry Styles General Audiences | 5.9k | Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Niall Horan Loves Harry Styles, harry and animals, niall and animals

#28th appreciation #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #hlsource #hlcreators #1dsource #yourlarrysource #1d source #one direction #ao3 feed larry #larry fanfiction #fic recs #fic rec #september fic rec

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mammonsfeatheraccessories · 2 years ago

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possession

summary: a demon has come to visit you in the middle of the night. how lucky are you?

pairing: lucifer/gender-neutral, AFAB reader

genre: smut

cw: consensual fear play, mild degradation, religious undertones in some places, lucifer’s demonic features (including tongue/genitalia) and mentions of the blood/violence demons are capable of (but not toward reader), oral sex (reader receiving)

***

the lights blink, more than they flicker.

slow and deliberate, staring down at you as if you had, in some unknown, grave way, disappointed them.

the air was colder, too. it yoked the warmth from your flesh and left you too chilled to properly shiver. your pillows, your blanket, the soft loving nest of your bed were suddenly suffocating, scratchy and tight and you wondered how you’d ever been able to sleep there. you untangled yourself from them, gasping for air that turned to ice in your lungs:

the lamps gave you one final, lengthy glare, before the light was snuffed out, and not even the moon could reach in to guide you.

footsteps replaced the rhythm of the lights; they clicked despite the carpet beneath them. they were meant to be heard. you were meant to be frightened.

they stopped at the edge of your bed. suddenly, the ring you wore on your left hand glowed a harsh and striking blue. it sought permission, or perhaps even approval, it’s brilliance puffing like peacock feathers in the black night.

the quick, assuring jerk of your chin was all that he needed.

“didn’t anyone ever tell you?” cold fingers danced over your exposed ankle, before forming a tight and painful coil. a rough tug yanked you to the edge of your bed. “uncovered limbs invite the monsters into your bed.”

now that he wanted to be seen, he gave off a gentle glow, almost angelic in the way he lit up the room. how strange it was to see him handle you so roughly; his strong hands were built to be clasped in prayer. how awful that his eyes sliced you to pieces under his knowing gaze; they were so beautiful when gazing at the heavenly skies.

his beauty almost soothed you. he was meant to be looked at. created to be adored, but then broken down to be feared. his crimson eyes were framed by his thick, dark lashes. they were the color of fresh blood. his lips, stern-set but sweetly pink, were parted by the sharp points of his fangs. his face. his lovely, perfect face, marked only by the diamond etched onto his forehead — how was it possible for it to twist with such fury, the way it did now?

but that was where it ended, his similarity to the angels.

for next there was the curve of his onyx horns. from experience you knew the tips were sharp as needles. they would draw blood, even on accident. they were not meant to protect the demon — they were meant to gore. to gut. to hunt.

the feathers of his wings were said to contain an immense power, bringing an exacting savagery to any hex or curse or potion even the weakest sorcerer might conjure. but you couldn’t imagine him letting a single feather fall without consequence.

spread before you now, the span of his wings enveloped your vision, the frame to the exquisite portrait of his nude body. once divine and entirely wicked, your eyes could not help but wander from the prideful lift of his chin to the gleaming expanse of his chest. his skin looked so soft. so soft, even stretched over tight muscles, cold blood and eons of unveiled rage.

he must have kept all that in his dick. it demanded respect, swinging heavy between his thick thighs, the bulbous tip shining a pretty metallic teal, darkening indigo to black as it reached the base. the underside was scaled. it looked smooth, oddly vulnerable. the valley of bumps that formed over his shaft were fun to traverse with your tongue. he was already erect, impatiently so, and it was the one tell in the whole scene, the crack in the facade of your mock corruption; damn it, how he had missed you.

your hands trembled, sought creature comfort in the sheets bunched in between your fingers. he tugged you even closer to the edge of the bed and spread your legs wide.

his nostrils flared, his pupils constricted. your cheeks warmed up in shame, already knowing where this was heading. “this excites you. i can smell it.” he clicked his tongue. “humans are vile. predictable. and worst of all, they are weak.”

and so he went to prove it.

you were wearing shorts to bed. you were pretty sure you’d worn panties, too. now they were gone. you hadn’t heard them tear, you hadn’t felt the slide of them down your legs, nor had you lifted your arms for the removal of your shirt, but you were exposed, needy, and utterly humiliated in a matter of seconds.

“congratulations,” he spoke, eyes to roaming over your form almost distractedly, petting your thigh before sinking to his knees. he slipped his fingers between your legs, coating them in your juices. “you have one of the most powerful beings in all three realms kneeling before you.” a smirk overtook his features as you watched him play with the mess you made, eyes catching yours to mock you. “aren’t you proud of yourself?”

you couldn’t speak. his skilled fingers found your clit and coaxed it to come out and say hello. “so cute,” he sighed, circling it with his thumb. “i hope your pussy is as obedient as you are.”

shit. your legs tried to close, flames licking a little too hot in the pit of your stomach. he’d be pissed if you came this early, not when he’d traveled such a long way.

but you couldn’t move at all. he’d paralyzed you — when? you hadn’t heard him cast any spell. you could only watch him, wide-eyed and nervous when he let his tongue unfurl before you.

you considered it the most demonic thing about him, both in its appearance and what he made it do. it was long, navy and pointed, slick where he’d allowed saliva to pool and drip over your pussy.

he was every bit the monster in your closet, coming out to devour you whole, his fangs glinting brilliant and evil as he teased you with their proximity to your most vulnerable place. he turned his face, reaching under you to pull you closer to him, legs draped over his shoulders. the tops of his teeth gently grazed the inside of your thigh, a simple reminder: he could kill you from here, kneeled between your legs like a supplicant.

but then his tongue soothed over the spot, even though he hadn’t bitten down. he sucked kisses into your skin that were maybe a bit too reverent for a demon trying to steal your soul. he caught himself and firmly corrected it, sinking his nails into the fat of your thighs. they were more like claws, and you gasped at piercing sensation. it made you so much wetter, and him so much cockier, the fragility of a useless, desperate human making his mouth water.

“look at me,” he demanded, and your body complied without thought. so you could move, as long as he willed it, similar to the way you could control him under your pact. how odd. how freeing. “you’re mine,” he said, eyes flashing something ancient and primal. “i don’t kneel for just anyone. you understand that, don’t you? nod. let me see that you understand.”

you nodded.

“good human,” he grunted, then finally lowered his face.

ah. ahh. the lights came on again when he tasted you the first time, then shut off with a bang. his tongue dipped inside of you and moved, unnervingly dexterous and all-knowing, dragging your slick juices to your clit to suck it the way he knew you liked best.

lucifer was a methodical demon. he knew nothing other than to give his very best. which was why it was so hot that he sometimes lost himself in you, dragging down by your hips to bury his face in your cunt when he was supposed to be teasing you. it was hotter still that he’d turn around and blame you for it — he could do no wrong, after all — clearly you needed to be punished — clearly you’d have to try again, and don’t cum this time, be good for him —

his tongue could reach places even his talented fingers couldn’t. it was your downfall every single time you did this. by now you’d learned that in this act alone, lucifer would purposely set you up to fail because he liked it when you did. you’d know the moment he’d grown too frustrated at not being inside you, because suddenly his vicious tongue would lash out with such ferocity it made your very atoms submit to him, twisting, and curling inside you as he lapped at your g-spot, how the fuck-

maybe he’d lost too much focus or your own power had broken through the barrier, but your hips flew up when your orgasm finally crashed through you, painting his clever tongue as your walls pulsed around the wiggling muscle. you clutched his horns and rode his face until it was too much, and it wasn’t until you caught your breath that you realized you’d both failed this roleplay, but it was going to be your problem.

for he was still kneeling between your legs, glaring at you, annoyed.

“i see you have yet to learn your place,” he chided, drawing himself to his full height. now he towered before you, monstrous cock bobbing in front of your swollen mouth.

“i think it’s time you kneel for me.”

#asdgksajda it’s been years since i’ve written and i’m self conscious but i miss it #not edited and written on my phone 😬 so bound to be full of errors #i’m also not a luci simp so i’m surprised he’s the first one i’ve written something spicy about?#anyway #hope it’s ok!!!#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me smut #obey me lucifer #obey me x reader #obey me x mc

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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 1 year ago

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𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕾𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖓 𝕸𝖞 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓

𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔰 𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔰

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Dark! Father Paul x Fem! Reader (OFC)

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 When Erin leaves Crockett to have her baby, the teaching position becomes vacant in the dominical school, so the Town Council decides to call in someone from the mainland to fill in the vacancy left behind.

Lydia Hatcher accepts the proposal without thinking twice, when she catches the Breeze she meets a mischievously handsome man to which she feels immediate attraction. The same happens to him, but what she doesn't realise is that he has way more planned for her than she might conceive.

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 AU — Canon Divergence; Dark fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Rape/Non-con Elements, Gaslighting, Angst, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Catholic Guilt, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Gore, Non-canon Character Death, Use of Biblical passages as a way of gaslighting, Attempted Murder, Poisoning, Extremely Dubious Consent, Suicidal Thoughts, Stalking, Dom/sub Undertones, Smut, Distorted Ideals of Romance, Obsessive Behaviour, Horror, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Religious Fanaticism.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 WIP

𝔈𝔵𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔲𝔪 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔫

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Dark! Father Paul x Fem! Reader (OFC)

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 AU — Canon Divergence; Dark fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Rape/Non-con Elements, Past Rape/Non-con, Distorted Ideals of Romance, Non-Canonical Character Death, Mild Gore, Animal Death, Blood Drinking, Murder, Coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, Catholic Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Canon-Typical Violence, Gaslighting, Dubious Consent, Dom/sub Undertones, Horror, Pregnancy Kink, Smut, Angst.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

𝔑𝔬𝔩𝔦 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Dark! Father Paul x Fem! Reader (OFC)

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 AU — Canon Divergence; Dark fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Rape/Non-con Elements, Past Rape/Non-con, Distorted Ideals of Justice, Non-Canonical Character Death, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking, Murder, Coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, Religious Fanaticism, Cult, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Canon-Typical Violence, Gaslighting, Dubious Consent, Dom/sub Undertones, Horror, Attempted Murder, Smut, Angst, Major Character Death.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

More notices to be added if needed. Let me know when something requires to be added to the warnings/tags, I’ll probably forget something.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊

First of all, I feel that I require to warn you that English isn’t my first language, so might happen you find some writing mistakes, I also don’t have a beta reader, again I’m sorry for any errors. If you feel comfortable, you can tell me about them, so I can fix it.

Initially, this story was planned to be a 2nd person reader fic, but I turned into a 'character x OFC'. However, don’t worry, dear grasshopper, as everything has been handled as vague as possible so that everything can be read as a reader fic.

If you desire to be tagged use this Google form to inform me, please, so I can keep it organized =)

This series has a playlist on Spotify, you can find it here, or just by searching for ‘the blood you spill in my garden’ in the search bar.

THIS IS A DARK FANFICTION! Be aware that you will find descriptions at least unpleasant for the more sensitive, if these obscure topics are not your thing man, don’t read, seriously DON’T READ!

If you, dear reader, have decided to ignore all warnings about this story, you are on your own, I am not responsible for anything you find. By the way, minors, this is obviously not for you!

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

@stardustandgunpowder, @liesandghosts, @pruitts-tight-fucking-jeans, @girlwiththenegantattoo, @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade, @sterwild, @thegardenarcher, @snapessecretdiary, @judarspeach, @hungrhay, @midnight-mess, @ledzeppelindeanmon, @novywhere @un-kiss-de-breakfast @vivi-venus

If your name is striped, it’s because Tumblr don’t let me tag you for some reason. =(

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incesthemes · 3 months ago

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For day 31 of @spnficrecfest's event! All-Time Favorites or Free Space

American Myth by candle_beck

As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me.

SamDean // Mature // No Warnings Apply // 11,524

Tags: First Time

My Notes: This fic literally changed my life. The Sam characterization in particular is so on-point and insane that it fundamentally altered how I interact with him as a character. Jesus Christ.

Camdon Inn by dragonspell

In the backwoods of Northern Michigan, Sam and Dean are on the trail of what they think might be the area's fabled 'Dog Man.' What they find instead in the small town of Silver Lake is a suspicious sheriff, a shady innkeeper, a closed mouth town and a lot more than they bargained for when the supposed overly large wolf that they were hunting starts hunting them back. And, much to Dean's horror, he can no longer seem to keep his hands off of Sam.

SamDean // Explicit // No Warnings Apply // 44,412

Tags: Dubious Consent, Something Made Them Do It

My Notes: I'm convinced this author lives inside my brain to make all of my dreams come true. I can't believe they wrote my favorite kind of trope, wrote it well, AND gave it a satisfying ending. This is the fic that convinced me Sam has been in love with Dean for as long as he could love. I also enjoyed the struggle Dean had with his repulsion toward pursuing an incestuous relationship; not my exact headcanon, but it's developed well and I enjoy the strange, needy ambiguity and dubcon of it all. The author has a tendency to skip over words, but while it's confusing enough to make note of, it's not so confusing that it hinders the reading.

watch you weigh your powers by according2thelore

“Is this…You couldn’t speak because I told you not to?” Sam asks. “Like Ansem?” Dean’s face twists, and he looks at Sam guiltily. “No, c’mon.” He scoffs, shifting so his legs slide away from Sam’s into the passenger footwell. Sam blinks at him. Sam then looks straight ahead, at the steering wheel, uncomprehendingly. Sam’s mind spins, unhinged from its moorings. He tries to think of every order he’s given Dean in the past six months. Hand me that. Scoot over. Shut up. Pass the remote. Go talk to the coroner. Turn it down. Kiss me.

SamDean // Explicit // No Warnings Apply // 8,266

Tags: Codependent Winchesters, Blow Jobs, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Season/Series 02, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Mildly Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Mild Breathplay

My Notes: Incredible fic that has made a home in my brain forever. The focus on Sam's emotions, the fear and guilt and horror of what he's been doing to Dean, really makes me feel insane.

#spnficrecfest #wincest #supernatural #.txt

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nowoyas · 2 months ago

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Edible Arrangements Masterlist ‖ vampire!Midoriya Izuku/Reader

Navi ‖ FAQ/Rules ‖ About ‖ Master Masterlist ‖ read this fic on ao3

status: completed!

summary: In a fit of financial desperation, you turn to the internet to find yourself a sugar daddy. Izuku Midoriya is far from the respondent you expected, but you find that you like this arrangement much, much better. (vampire!sugar daddy!Izuku x human!college student!reader)

warnings and tags: Blood, biting, swearing, mild angst, frequent mentions of organ trafficking, brief religious/christian undertones, panic attacks, alcohol use (not underaged), some sexual content, seriously why does organ trafficking come up so often I swear I’m a normal human being, vampire hunters and their feelings towards vampires

mainline EA

🩸First Bite: (Blood) Sugar Daddy ‖ After some time of talking, you meet your prospective sugar daddy in person. He’s not what you’d expect, not by a long shot—he’s so much better.

🩸Second Bite: Move-in Day ‖ After a week of packing and dealing with your old landlord, you move in to Izuku’s house, explore a bit, and then go out for coffee with a friend.

🩸Third Bite: Libraries ‖ Your search for information turns up two checked-out books and a campus occult club that meets every Tuesday. You spend some time organizing Izuku’s library and also scaring the shit out of your roommate.

🩸Fourth Bite: Hunting ‖ In your hunt for information, you attend a meeting of the campus occult club. You meet some people there you’d rather not meet a second time.

🩸Fifth Bite: Lunchin’ ‖ You go to your monthly lunch date with your three closest friends. They’re just a little bit concerned about your new roommate.

🩸Sixth Bite: Meet the Parents ‖ The day of the dinner party arrives. Izuku tries his best to make a good impression, while you try your best to convince your friends to give him a chance.

🩸Seventh Bite: Afterparty ‖ After the dinner party, you and Izuku cope separately, together.

🩸Eighth Bite: New Information ‖ You have a lunch date with Tenya to discuss Friday’s dinner. Today is not a good day.

🩸Ninth Bite: Shopping ‖ You cool down from your shitty day with a much-needed distraction.

🩸Tenth Bite: Taking Notes ‖ You study, sleep, avoid questions, and at the end of the week, finally actually meet with Hitoshi to work on the group project.

🩸Eleventh Bite: Doors ‖ You search for the missing book in Izuku’s library. If anything else happens, you can’t say.

🩸Twelfth Bite: The Weekend ‖ Days pass. Izuku begins acting weird, and you try not to act weird, yourself.

🩸Thirteenth Bite: Exploration #1 ‖ You complete draft one of the project, explore a suspicious place, and harass Hitoshi with all this sweet new information you learned about serial killers instead of working on said project.

🩸Fourteenth Bite: Rumbling ‖ The natural conclusion of the knowledge you’ve gained.

🩸Fifteenth Bite: Knots ‖ You wake up with a very large housecat on top of you. Business as usual. Later, you have an unprompted lunch date.

🩸Sixteenth Bite: Smash ‖ Hitoshi comes over to work on the presentation. It devolves.

🩸Seventeenth Bite: A Talk with Tenya ‖ It’s once again time for lunch with your friends. You have an argument to smooth over first, though.

🩸Eighteenth Bite: Aid ‖ Izuku picks up the pieces.

🩸Nineteenth Bite: Habit ‖ Night falls. Three times makes a habit. There’s only one bed.

🩸Twentieth Bite: Friendship ‖ Tsuyu and Mina pay the Midoriya household a visit for updates on Tenya’s condition.

🩸Twenty-First Bite: Unraveling ‖ Tsuyu and Mina learn some things. Izuku learns some things. [REDACTED] learns some things.

🩸Twenty-Second Bite: Awakening ‖ Everyone’s awake now. The dust has to settle eventually.

🩸Twenty-Third Bite: Working on It ‖ After several days of recovery, you finally return to classes and confront your problems head-on. Also, you get asked on a date.

🩸Twenty-Fourth Bite: The Halloween Episode ‖ You force yourself through the rest of your meeting with Neito and lay out ground rules. After that, a dinner date for the best Halloween of your life.

🩸Twenty-Fifth Bite: Apology Fruit ‖ After a saved date, you and Izuku return home, where he pops the question he’s been toying with for a while. Preparations and work ensue.

🩸Twenty-Sixth Bite: Vampire Kitten ‖ You and Izuku acclimate Sbeve to the house. The day of presenting finally arrives, and then you work on your OTHER group project.

🩸Twenty-Seventh Bite: Friendsgiving ‖ It’s nearly Friendsgiving! You finalize your project with Neito and have a good time with your friends.

🩸Twenty-Eighth Bite: That Night ‖ You and Izuku share a relaxing night after your friends go home.

🩸Twenty-Ninth Bite: Anchor ‖ Winter break begins. You and Izuku spiral separately together.

🩸Thirtieth Bite: New Year, New You ‖ You host a New Year’s Eve party for friends and foes alike, and ring in the new year the only way that matters.

🩸Thirty-First Bite: January ‖ January flies by as you begin a new semester. Izuku falls deeper and deeper. You begin to fear you may never pull him out

🩸Thirty-Second Bite: Genres ‖ Life isn’t just the romance genre.

🩸Thirty-Third Bite: Recovering ‖ Neito attends his first therapy appointment. You head out with Tenya to cope.

🩸Thirty-Fourth Bite: Heist ‖ Fuck yeah axe throwing and heists!

🩸Thirty-Fifth Bite: Safety ‖ You wake up in the hospital.

🩸36 ‖ [name] finds somewhere to stay. The world moves on.

🩸37 ‖ Some pieces are picked up. Some are put back together. Some fall back apart.

🩸38 ‖ Izuku’s nightmare scenario, and the silver lining. For just a moment, he catches a glimpse of you among the despondency.

🩸Thirty-Ninth Bite: Snap ‖ You’re making amazing strides. So is the hunt.

🩸Fortieth Bite: Polycephaly ‖ You remember everything now.

🩸The Final Bite: Thirst ‖ You wake up.

spinoffs and extras

🩸Almost Wet ‖ Izuku doesn’t sleep often, but when he does, it’s not uncommon for him to dream, and dream vividly. ‖ smut

🩸EA!Izuku waking up next to you ‖ Drabble of an early morning holding each other close. ‖ fluff

🩸Enemy Spotted ‖ In which you have a pen with a built-in laser pointer. ‖ crack

🩸He wakes up in your arms ‖ Short alternate POV drabble for Fifteenth Bite. ‖ fluff

🩸Legs Spreadable Arrangements ‖ You dream sometimes, too. Tonight, you dream of Izuku. ‖ smut

🩸Vampzuku and a reader with periods ‖ small snippet regarding how our favorite Broccula would act around the reader when they have a period

#admin stuff #masterlist #my fics #ea stuff

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selunesdreams · 5 months ago

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Chapter 39: Idleness and Dissipation

A flicker of irritation flashes across his face and he looks away with a scoff. “Do not mistake self-control for self-loathing, darling.” Astarion sneers. “Self control?“ She releases a bitter laugh. “You really expect me to believe that you’re suddenly interested in exhibiting self-restraint?” Irritated, he runs his hand through his hair and lets out a huff. “I wanted to give you time… I didn’t want to take more from you than necessary…” “You lost a lot of blood tonight.” She says, “now isn’t the time to practice moderation.” With a forceful motion, he pulls her through the water, trapping her against the ledge with his hands on either side. She braces her palms behind her, shivering as her spine touches the icy chill of the marble against her back. His eyes rake over her face, then down her naked body in a predatory fashion, somehow both unnerving and alluring. “Is this what you’d prefer?” He grips her waist and chuckles softly. “I’m trying to be better ,” he says, pressing his lips to her shoulder, “for you, as difficult as it’s proving to be.” He holds her in place by her arms and drags his tongue up her neck, delighting in the reactions it evokes - the racing of her pulse, the arching of her hips as she seeks contact. “I won’t argue.” His voice is low and dangerous. “But say the word, and I’ll stop.”

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+. SMUT. Praise kink, biting, blood, blood drinking/vampirism, fingering, rough penetrative sex (PIV), restraint, dom, discussion of murder/death, sexual assault/abuse/trauma mention (end of chapter), religious trauma. Soft Astarion, mild possessiveness, fluff.

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Astarion groans, his hand instinctively reaching for his pounding head as he opens his eyes. There’s an unsettling silence in the room and no sign of his companions. Only Celeste remains, her arms wrapped around his bare torso, asleep in her bloodied gown, as if afraid to leave his side.

He grunts and pushes himself to a seated position, surveying his surroundings. His stomach appears to have healed, and the effects of the poison have faded, leaving only a throbbing headache and a persistent hunger clawing at the back of his mind and throat. The mattress is stained enough of his own blood that he realizes he’d underestimated the severity of his injury.

Tenderly, he reaches out, rousing Celeste from slumber. She startles and sits upright.

“You’re awake.” She breathes.

“You say that as if you were worried.”

Her voice carries a bitter undertone as she speaks. “I wasn’t sure if we could trust your... friend.” She emphasizes the word with disdain. “But you’ve only been unconscious for a couple of hours, so I suppose it’s a good thing we listened to her.”

His gaze flickers across her face. He reaches out, fingertips tracing her jaw, down her chin, and coming to rest at the column of her throat.

“What did I miss?”

“The Selûnite guards have secured the upper floors and evacuated the temple,” she explains. “There were no other casualties. Everyone is in shock over Seraphina’s death, and the new high priestess has taken over her duties. We’re to meet with her tomorrow morning. I suspect they’re only allowing us to stay the night as a courtesy. No one is allowed in or out for the foreseeable future.”

“Disappointing that we didn’t get to finish our dance this evening.” He says with a sad smile, staring at the bloodstains marring her clothes. “How are you…handling things?”

“I wasn’t close to Seraphina, but she was the last connection I had to my parents. All the answers to the questions I have about them died with her.”

Something akin to sympathy crosses Astarion’s face as his hand remains nestled against her neck, his thumb rubbing idly against it.

“I should have gone with you when she pulled you away.”

“She never would have allowed it.”

“As if that would have stopped me.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed. “What did she want, anyway?”

“To introduce me to the new high priestess,” she replies, her voice laced with annoyance. “She took the liberty of disclosing my secret without my consent. And expressed her disapproval regarding... us.”

“Us?”

“She didn’t approve of my association with you or our friends.”

He leans close, his lips brushing against her jaw. “Did she find me to be a bad influence?” He asks, lingering at the base of her throat. “All those dirty little parts of you existed long before I came around,” he says, his voice low and seductive. “Like that thing you do when you-“

She shoots him a withering glare, but he only smirks, touching her chin, running the pad of his thumb along her upper lip. “Oh, don’t give me that,” he says with a mock pout.

With a sigh, she pulls away, inclining her head towards the bath. “Come on, we’re covered in blood,” she states matter-of-factly. “I can’t believe I fell asleep like this.”

“I quite like you this way.”

Celeste makes a noise of disgust and stands from the bed, crossing the room and slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulders. The gown catches around her waist, teasingly revealing the curve of her hips before gliding down her legs and pooling on the floor.

She casts a glance over her shoulder and Astarion follows her, fumbling with the laces of his trousers as he walks.

Mindful of the slick spots on the tile where stray spray from the fountain has made it slippery, he trails behind her down the marble steps into the bathing pool. Celeste’s naked form inches underneath the surface as it laps against her, obscuring more of her body with each step. Only the tips of her breasts are visible when she wades into the center and bobs her head underwater.

As she resurfaces, she tosses her wet hair over her shoulders and drags her hands down her face, brushing water from her eyes. The dried blood on her skin fades, swirling like watercolor paint beneath the pool’s surface until it vanishes completely. Her fingers trail down her neck, her movements deliberate and enticing.

An invitation.

Astarion steps out of his trousers and discards them next to the pool before plunging in after her. He wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing himself against her. As the water hits him at waist level, it cascades down his abdomen, rinsing away all evidence of his injury with it.

“Blood washes away so easily.” She comments, looking down at herself, a somber look shadowing her face.

“All of life gets washed away. Blood, people…even gods.” Astarion rests his chin on her shoulder and drags his hands up and down the lengths of her arms. His palms glide across the surface of her skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

“You’d think I’d get used to it.”

Astarion emits a low hum and turns her towards him, cupping her jaw.

“Look at me,” he says, eyes locked with hers in a hesitant exchange. “You are going to live a very long time, Celeste. You’ll become well-acquainted with death long before it claims you.” He says, his touch remaining gentle, but his voice growing firm. “You can’t feel guilty about outliving them dead. It will bury you.”

His gaze is unwavering as he looks down at her, his hands framing her face, cupping the edge of her jaw, stroking her cheek with a slow, back-and-forth pass of his thumb.

“Is this what your nightmares have been about? Since I’ve returned, you thrash and cry out in your sleep-“

She snorts dismissively. “The nightmares were there long before that. Did you think I was sleeping in Shadowheart and Gale’s bed for fun?”

“I should hope not.” A mischievous glimmer dances in his eyes. His slender fingers trace the soft planes of her throat, his touch growing possessive.

“The dreams have nothing to do with you, if that’s what you’re implying.” She says, eager to drop the subject.

A shadow falls over Astarion’s face. “I never said they were.”

With his mouth near her ear and his fingers softly encircling her throat, he leans down. “What’s tormenting that pretty head of yours, Celeste?” He strengthens his grip, more an assurance than a threat. “No more secrets, remember?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Astarion, my waking life is full of horrors. It shouldn’t surprise you that my dreams are too.”

“You know what I find interesting?” He asks, his hand falling away. “There are very few things that seem to truly bother you. You are remarkably unflappable. And yet, this is what you decide to be stubborn about.”

“I’ll tell you about my nightmares when you tell me why you’ve been treating me like a porcelain doll as of late.”

Astarion stiffens and retreats, eyeing her warily. He leans back against the ledge of the pool. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“You’ve been subsisting on leftover, cold animal blood since you’ve returned, refusing to drink from me even when I offer.”

He’s silent for a moment, watching her, his eyes narrow as he evaluates. “Why do you think I do it?��

She grazes his bottom lip with her thumb, revealing a hint of a fang. “Guilt.”

A flicker of irritation flashes across his face and he looks away with a scoff.

“Do not mistake self-control for self-loathing, darling.” Astarion sneers.

“Self control?“ She releases a bitter laugh. “You really expect me to believe that you’re suddenly interested in exhibiting self-restraint?”

Irritated, he runs his hand through his hair and lets out a huff. “I wanted to give you time… I didn’t want to take more from you than necessary…”

“You lost a lot of blood tonight.” She says, “now isn’t the time to practice moderation.”

With a forceful motion, he pulls her through the water, trapping her against the ledge with his hands on either side. She braces her palms behind her, shivering as her spine touches the icy chill of the marble against her back.

His eyes rake over her face, then down her naked body in a predatory fashion, somehow both unnerving and alluring.

“Is this what you’d prefer?” He grips her waist and chuckles softly. “I’m trying to be better ,” he says, pressing his lips to her shoulder, “for you, as difficult as it’s proving to be.”

He holds her in place by her arms and drags his tongue up her neck, delighting in the reactions it evokes - the racing of her pulse, the arching of her hips as she seeks contact.

“I won’t argue.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

Her fingernails dig into his back and Astarion relents, smirking at her stifled gasp as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder. Each space between heartbeats is a fight against his thirst as he forces himself to drink with caution.

“Wicked thing.” He growls between pulls of her blood, “you enjoy this, don’t you?”

His hand dips beneath the water’s surface to the apex of her thighs, drawing a finger across her center. Celeste’s pulse thrums in her veins.

With each stroke, her moans intensify, and her legs tremble. He holds her tightly with his free arm encircling her as he feeds.

As the flow of blood slows, he laps at the wound on her neck before examining her with a brooding intensity.

“Look at you, falling apart already,” he purrs, his thumb and index finger positioned just under her jaw so that he has complete control of her face. His hands tighten around her throat, but there is an affectionate hesitance in his touch as he tilts his head to the side, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

His hands move to her legs, effortlessly lifting her out of the bath, and she wraps them around his waist, her arms securing themselves behind his neck as he carries her out of the pool. She nips at his shoulder the moment they leave the pool, teeth scraping against his skin. Astarion laughs, gripping her thighs to hold her against him.

“Careful, darling. I’ll bite back if you keep that up.”

Forgoing the bloodied mattress, he eases her to her feet on a plush rug in front of the fireplace.

“Lie back.”

He gives her a gentle push towards the floor and sinks to his knees, crawling over her as she reclines backwards. His hands rest at her sides as he hovers above her, eyes roaming over every inch of her body.

“Is this alright?”

She nods, her wet hair sticking to her skin.

With a feather-light touch, he traces circles on the sensitive spot just below her ribs, noticing the uneven rise and fall of her breath against his thumb. She moans, a soft, breathless gasp of his name, as her hands clench the fibers of the rug. His mouth travels the unmarked side of her neck.

“Have you missed me inside of you, darling?” He murmurs against her skin.

She tries to summon a response, but her mind is a hazy mess of overstimulation, her own body writhing and squirming under his. One hand holds her in place as he shifts above her, nudging her legs further apart with his knee. He slides the other hand between her thighs, teasing her arousal that’s formed there for him.

“This is where you’d hoped we’d end up when you offered me your blood, isn’t it?” his fingers glide against her, coaxing a confession. “ Admit it. ”

He pushes two inside of her, and his fangs graze her skin, the threat of a bite.

“Well?”

His thumb brushes her clit, and the sound that escapes her is sinful. A broken gasp leaves her as her hips buck against his hand, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. He watches her intently, his ruby eyes hooded with desire.

“You’d do anything to finish, wouldn’t you?” He taunts. She lets out a frustrated whine, her plea echoing through the room.

“Go on then.” His free hand comes up to grip her hip, holding her still as his fingers continue to play with her, crooking and twisting, driving her closer to her peak. “I want to feel you.”

Every inch of Celeste reverberates with release as her legs wrap around his middle. Her body arches towards the ceiling, then falls against the rug, her fingers twitching against his ribcage. Astarion wrings the last of her orgasm from her with his fingers, gently toying with her as she comes down, the aftershocks causing her to shudder against him. He hums in approval and slides his fingers between her lips, still slick with her climax.

“That’s my girl.”

She whimpers as he touches her tongue, tasting herself, and looking up at him with glassy, bliss-filled eyes. There’s no mistaking his own arousal throbs against her thigh, hard and wanting.

He withdraws his fingers from, taking a few moments to admire the scene below him. Her hair is nearly dry from the heat of the fire, splayed across the rug, her half-lidded eyes glazed over.

“Still with me, darling?”

“Yes,” she pants, her cheeks flushed.

“Good.”

Astarion captures her lips in a demanding, possessive kiss, his tongue chasing hers, licking into her mouth as he moans. She whines and her hands move to his biceps, gripping the muscle there for support as his hips grind against her in a languid motion.

“As enticing as this is…“ he murmurs, his breath catching in his throat, “I’d rather not finish like this.”

“Then don’t,” she says in a challenging tone.

He considers her, pinning her beneath him.

“Is this really what you want? Right here on the floor?” He taunts, his hips rolling against her in a slow, measured movement, the sensation intensifying with each deliberate thrust. “Hardly befitting of a goddess’ prodigy.”

“I don’t care ,” she hisses.

“Just can’t get enough, can you?” His grin widens and in one swift motion he reaches for her hips, flipping her onto her hands and knees. He bends over her, his chest pressed to her back, and positions his aching length at her entrance, nipping at her ear.

“As you wish.”

She tenses only for a moment as he eases himself inside, stretching her just on the fine line of pain and pleasure. He gives her time to adjust to him, his hands gripping her hips as he holds her close. When her body’s tension dissipates, he rocks against her, a strangled noise escaping him as he throws his head back.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “I almost forgot how good you feel.”

Her hands curl into fists as he rewards her with another long stroke. Her name spills from his lips as he sinks deeper into her, the wetness of her arousal gliding against his length. He desperately tries to slow the mounting pressure in his stomach as she squeezes him inside of her.

“I’m not going to last long,” he whispers against her, his grip on her hips almost bruising as his fingers dig into her skin. “You’re too damn beautiful , darling, I need-“ his words fade into a choked-off litany of gasps and curses as he thrusts into her.

“Come for me, Astarion.” She says, the words coming out as a taunt.

As she tries to make him move faster, he grabs her chin and inhales sharply through his teeth. “Gods below,” he mutters, his voice strained as he releases her, “just a little longer, pet. Let me at least try to be a gentleman-”

“I don’t fuck you because you’re a gentleman.”

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