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fxtalitygod · 10 months ago

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X. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 6-10x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), dubcon/noncon (not any actual smut other than vague mentions of sex), implied postpartum, implied survivors guilt

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Today is a new day and after I got home from work and did some fine-tuning, I finally posted the FINAL CHAPTER (not including the epilogue) of Survival!!! I honestly find it funny that I had originally planned for this story to be a short series and it just spiraled into two years of writing! HAHAHAHAA!!!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

Emptiness.

It was a feeling that you bitterly greeted after having abandoned it six years ago. It was disappointing, but welcome nonetheless. You wished it was under different circumstances. You did not know which circumstances but knew it was anything other than this.

After the destruction of your life, everything went back to the beginning. You were rehomed in a new village and a different temple, though you could not tell much of the difference. Those blank walls still drove you to insanity. The marriage ceremonies had resumed and more children began crawling the halls in a matter of months.

Sukuna had seemingly lost interest in you after the incident. You had finally snapped, extinguishing the anticipation for the hopes that you would one day. Despite his seeming lack of interest, you were still watched over with diligence, still resided in his chambers, and still acquired a caretaker.

Your mental forces were deteriorating, and it was clear from the blank expression that graced your face. You assumed that Sukuna acknowledged that and decided to have a sitter stay on top of you if you were to do something unexpected– much like what you had done to your village.

The curse user knew the extent of your rage, but he did not quite expect you to leave your home in ruins, to burn your family into nothing but ash. Little to your knowledge, a part of him admired you for that; however, the words that left your mouth after the act had been done brought him a discomfort that neither himself could explain.

From the way he was rutting in you currently, you could not tell. Another attempt of impregnating you. Years ago, you would have had a mind to beg him to stop, and when you could not accomplish that, feign pleasure. You used to want to please Sukuna not for his benefit but your own. Now all you cared about was embracing the feeling of that emptiness as you merely felt the man fucking you: soundless, motionless, thoughtless.

It took a matter of months before you were with child again; however, unlike before, this pregnancy was worse. In the physical aspect, you were overall healthy, but your mental health was far from good. You were a husk of the woman you once were, having lost all ambition for your future. Even when spontaneous thoughts of what life would be like outside the temple, you could not help but feel nauseous.

Guilt.

There were times you wished you could have blamed it on your pregnancy and escape the reality of the issue, but your mind would not allow it. You were repulsed with yourself and could not help but feel like you were betraying your twins by just the simple notion that you were alive, and to think of a future for yourself without them revolted you beyond compare. Your pregnancy did not make it any better.

Most women in the temple thought of pregnancy as a fresh start after losing their previous offspring; a new chance to impress their husband– a sickening point of view; however, you could not be upset with them. Deep down, you believed they had been just as afraid as you were upon their arrival when their village elders proclaimed them the next tribute to Sukuna. They more than likely had a plan to make it out of this hell and made promises to return to their families, but somewhere down the line, all the manipulation, physical strain, and mental stress, caused them to accept their fates and try to make the best out of it, losing themselves in the process.

You were not so lucky.

If pregnancy was a punishment before, it was a curse now. Knowing you were to have another child brought you great remorse. Anytime you were to look or even feel your bump, you could not help but think of the past... to think of your twins. It felt like you were betraying them, trying to unconsciously replace them even though your pregnancy was out of your control.

The way you would eat at yourself could have been considered torture.

Besides the normal work around the temple, you would spend most of your evenings in a dark and unoccupied room, keeping to yourself. No one dared to disrupt you, mostly out of fear due to the knowledge of your power. Few left you space out of respect, knowing the pain you were going through; however, sometimes you wished they would walk through that door, hoping they would attempt to comfort you.

It would have been a good distraction from your running mind.

Those dark and quiet rooms gave you time to think and reflect. You realized there were many things you had undermined and denied for your own sanity. The list could go on, some minor, some major…and the major miscalculations stuck out like a sore thumb.

Trimester One.

Despite your efforts, your village nor your family would have ever accepted your children– Sukuna's blood coursed through their veins, and that was enough to consider them a monstrosity. Your hopes of escaping with them and living a happy life were an illusion you conjured up to keep a drive in you.

Trimester Two.

Whether you liked it or not, your twins would not stay innocent forever. The twins were under Sukuna's guidance, no thanks to your pact, and they absolutely adored him. The twins blindly trusted him with their entire beings and would have believed anything Sukuna had taught them was for good, and you knew for a fact that is how your partner would have spun it. Their acts would have been malicious and cruel and they would not have even known...and despite your want to tell them the truth, the constraints of your pact would have stopped you from doing so.

Trimester Three.

Even if you had successfully run away with your son and daughter in hand, the life the three of you would have lived would have been far from peaceful. You and the children were proven valuable assets to Sukuna; to think that your husband would give you all up so easily was foolish. The curse-user would have hunted you down to the ends of the world until you were back in his grasp.

And as you sat there holding your new baby girl, tears streaming down your face as you listened to her whimpers, you hoped she'd grow up to be a fool; a strong, but foolish girl. If your daughter grew up to be a fool, the world could not hurt her as it had hurt you. If she becomes a fool, she would not have to feel the burden you were feeling.

You hated that you hoped for her, hated the fact that you loved and cared for her after laying eyes on her small figure. The whole scene was pitiful. The arms of a mother holding her child close to her bosom as if shielding them from the world– the effort could be appreciated but was futile because the looming threat was already hovering over you as he inspected his creation. If his presence was not unsettling enough, his hum of satisfaction horrified you, causing you more tears.

"I should have killed myself that morning. It would have saved me a lot of heartache..." you whispered, repeating the words you had mentioned over a year ago.

Months back into motherhood you found yourself questioning yourself and your emotional availability every time you looked at your daughter. You were doing all the right things, but performing the tasks felt heavy on your shoulders, and the smiles you painted on your face felt like they were caked on. None of it felt real. There was no doubt you cared for your little girl, but you had to admit that the task was tiring– caring was tiring.

You thought the feeling would end, believed it was temporary, but days turned into months, and months turned into a year.

You had just finished your daughter's first inspection and were now in your sleeping chambers with your husband. You both stood there silent and unmoving, staring at each other with hardly any indication of who was willing to speak first. Fortunately, your daughter was the first to break the silence, whining as she clung to you. You sighed as you understood the child needed attention, moving the baby into a better position to lightly bounce her, attempting to calm her down.

"You know, I thought you would be overjoyed to be blessed with another child, Y/n," Sukuna sounded as he studied you.

"Whatever do you mean? I am nothing but pleased," you blankly responded, focusing entirely on the little girl bouncing in your arms.

Silence once again.

You could feel his stare burning into you; feel his agitation radiating off his skin as he looked for a real answer. Sukuna was not an idiot, you were aware of that, but his meaningless probing was getting on your nerves. You would much rather he got to the point than play his mind games. If he was going to be indirect, you would only do the same.

"Do you think of them when you look at her?"

There was a halt in your movements, breath hitching as you did so. You slowly moved your head to look at the man before you, your gaze piercing. You had every intention to avoid the question, but your mouth betrayed your mind.

“What do you think?” You snipped, a grimace forming onto your features.

“I could make you forget, simply remove them from your memory to rid you of this…ailment.”

For what felt like the thousandth time of your life, you could feel your eyes widen, however, this was the most appalling statement your husband had made. Had he really suggested ridding your memories with your twins? Had he no remorse? Of course not, why would he? The children were a means to an end, nothing more than a few pawns in his plan. Any love and affection the father had shown his son and daughter were shown with calculation and precision– there was no meaning behind those affections.

"You sick bastard."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Y/n, I would advise that you watch your tone," a warning glare, "If I did not know any better, I would say that you were speaking out of turn when I am offering you such a gift– I do not offer such things lightly."

"Well it is good that you know better," the seething anger bubbling in your chest was choosing your words at this point, "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I am doing you a mercy, Y/n, you are letting the past consume you from the inside out, and sooner or later you will become the image of your agony."

"You know nothing because if you did you would be in the same state as I am. You speak as if you know sympathy, but your words are honeyed to keep me in your grasp!"

Your breath was heavy as you confronted Sukuna, glaring daggers into his soul as you watched him step closer.

"Your perception can be quite bothersome at times, Little Flower; however, I believe it is what I admire most about you. I think it is why I chose you...why I love you."

Love.

"Love."

Your laughter was hysterical. The tears welling up in your eyes from pure disbelief and humor. Sukuna Ryomen himself has admitted to loving you for the second time. This time claiming he chose you because he loves you.

What a joke.

"Love me?" you choked between giggles, "Sukuna, you would not know love if it hit you in the face. Like I said before, your words are coated with the sweetest sugars to keep me around, to bring me hope, and quite frankly, the sweetness has become dull and bitter," a pause as you caught your breath, "You do not love me Sukuna. As I have stated, you love what I can provide you."

Silence had greeted you both for what seemed like the millionth time, but you could have been wrong, you lost count at this point.

"I understand the concept of love, more than you think, Little Flower; however, love has little meaning. So you are right, I do not love you, I value you. Is that not greater than love?"

You scoffed.

"You are going to die alone and I am glad that you will."

A soft chuckle sounded from your husband before feeling a strange feeling at the back of your head. You could feel the kanzashi pin moving in your hair as Sukuna played with the accessory.

"I highly doubt that."

Those four words had caused your heart to sink, bringing you more fear than you had ever experienced in your entire life. Without thought, you backed away from the man towering over you. You shook your head as you held eye contact with Sukuna, almost stumbling on your feet as you felt for the door and clumsily exited the room. You had your daughter close to your chest as you entered the hallway.

What little you had of your life came crashing down instantly as the gravity of your reality unfolded to its full extent.

You would never be free and although that was a realization you had made long ago...this time you had no hope to convince you otherwise.

So what did you do?

You ran.

You flew through the corridors to the gardens, arriving with heavy breath. Scanning the grounds you searched for the only individual who could help you right now. The moment your eyes registered the woman, you quickly approached, hardly paying attention to anything along your path as you made your way over.

"Y/n-"

"I have something for you!" you interrupted, holding out a pin you had stored and concealed for years, never knowing the right moment to give it to the woman before you.

The woman who had lost her sick and poor son on your very first inspection day.

You watched as her eyes welled up immediately, taking the pin and inspecting it as if to make sure it was real. When she was able to confirm the little trinket was indeed not a figment of her imagination, she held it close to her chest, letting her silent sobs escape before looking at you.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you giving this to me?"

You looked around hesitantly before pitifully looking at her, letting your walls crumble to reveal all your pain and suffering.

"I need your help."

"Uraume!"

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the right hand responded.

"I would like you to gather the women and children from the inspection, I have an announcement."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama, I'll get right on it."

With that Uraume disappeared, leaving Sukuna in his quarters alone. The man paced in his chambers, reflecting on the prior conversation from earlier. The talk did not have the most satisfying ending, but much like the other unfortunate discussions that had been held between the two of you, this would be another problem that would resolve itself in due time.

The move would help move that process faster.

This village had quickly bored the tyrant, as they were quick to promise vengeance and destruction upon his empire. Same-old-same-old. So with that, it was time to move on to the next village after leaving this one behind in ashes.

"Sukuna-sama, the women and children do not appear to be in their chambers or the gardens, the workstations are abandoned too.

"What?"

Without a thought, Sukuna stormed out of the room and into the halls, those blank walls making the temple look more abandoned knowing that everyone had seemingly disappeared. He looked through every room he managed to pass, even using his abilities to sense the faintest amount of cursed energy. For a while, he came up with nothing, but after catching a familiar aura, he briskly started to follow the direction it was coming from.

The curse-user found himself in the main hall, where he saw his wives and children gathered. The husband would be lying if he claimed he was not confused with the situation, but he would not show that. Instead, Sukuna decided to try and decipher the scenario.

Upon first glance, it had seemed that the women and children were gathered for a usual gathering, but upon closer observation, something was off. The looks of the individuals in the room seemed to differ. Some women seemed relieved, others looked almost proud, and others...well, the last of the women looked as if they were being held there against their will.

As the monster-of-a-man continued to scan the room, he finally managed to find you, standing in the center of the room, your head held high; however, you looked exhausted, broken. It brought that familiar discomforting feeling to Sukuna, the same feeling when you had spoken those words after you had burned down your village.

"What is this, Little Flower?" Sukuna questioned with some amusement behind his voice, masking his indifference.

"Do not call me that," you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as it softly echoed in the room.

"Y/n-sama ple-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" you yelled, successfully silencing the crying woman who had shouted for you.

The atmosphere was tense, and he would tread carefully because Sukuna was no fool.

"What do you want, Little Flower? An apology? I can, obviously, give that to you, but we both know it would not solve much. So what is it you truly want?"

"To leave..." you weakly announced, watching as Sukuna gradually approached before stopping in his footsteps.

"Well then, Little Flower, you have gathered yourself and all your companions just in time, I was ready to announce our departure from this village. You get what you want, righ-"

"That's not what I want." you interrupted.

Sukuna was silent, his brow twitching in irritation as he stared at you, stopping mid-stride.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the offer you gave me back on the table?" you quickly responded.

"And what offer would you be referring to, Little Flower?"

"On my very first inspection with my twins, you offered me to kill everyone in this room– I want to change my answer."

Your husband chuckled, "Do you not think the circumstances have changed a little, my dear? I gave you that option years ago, what makes you think that is something I am still willing to offer?"

"Because you love me..."

"Now you are willing to embrace that love?"

"Only if you do this one last thing for me. I will let you love me until my last mortal days, and me in return, just as long as everyone in this room dies."

A sly smirk, "As you wish, Little Flow-"

"By my hands!" you interjected.

Delight was an expression that Sukuna could not hold back at those words.

"It's a deal, Y/n."

"Perfect."

With those words sealing the pact, you took no further wait in your next actions. You ignored all the shouts and screams of those who wished to live, ridding yourself of whatever empathy you once had– you had to admit, it made things a lot easier when setting the room ablaze. Hearing their screams of agony and pain was a lot easier when you managed to wash out the humanity within you.

You could only feel relief after hearing all the shrieks and wails die out into nothing but silence. The room was filled with nothing but fire, bone, and ashes, the smell of burning flesh was prominent; however, that did not stop him from approaching you.

"I love you, Little Flower." Sukuna proclaimed, bringing his forehead to yours before softly kissing you.

He pulled away to look into your eyes, admiring them momentarily before smiling softly. Some may have mistaken it for a look of endearment, but it was a look of satisfaction. He had successfully taken your pride, dignity, and hope– he had taken all of you.

"I love you too."

And because you had no pride, dignity, or hope, left to hold on to...

It made it so much easier to bring that poison-coated dagger to your flesh and slit your belly.

For Sukuna everything went in slow motion, immediately swatting the dagger from your hand to the ground before cupping your wound, blood covering his hand in seconds. The desperate individual tried using his reverse curse technique to revert the damage, but it was pointless as you were resisting. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuine fear as he watched you slowly slip away from reality. And as everything started to play back to speed, Sukuna had a realization.

"Where is our daughter?!" The four-armed monstrosity yelled upon notice of your empty arms, continuing at attempts to stop your bleeding with little success.

Your smile made his heart drop.

"Gone." you sputtered, blood slipping from your cooling lips before going completely limp.

"...Gone where? Little Flower..."

"Little Flower!"

"LITTLE FLOWER, ANSWER ME!"

"Y/N!!!!!!!!"

You upheld your deal...you loved him for your last mortal days, it just so happened that day was seconds into a day, and as Sukuna sat there holding your motionless form, he could not have regretted anything more in his life. Making that deal was the best thing to happen in your life because in the end...

...You won the game of Survival.

And you hoped that your daughter could one day do the same.

Until the epilogue yall... (｀∀´)Ψ

Taglist:

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toshisdecadence · 2 months ago

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The Devil Wears Zegna

PAIRING: devil!suguru geto x archangel!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, noncon, dubcon, gore (descriptions of blood, body horror), coercion (suguru slips corrupted ambrosia aka roofie in reader’s drink), religious themes, corruption, rough sex, humiliation, degradation, praise, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), dacryphilia, unprotected sex (do angels and demons even conceive idk i didn’t worldbuild that far), thighfucking

WORD COUNT: 11.4k

SUMMARY: Your former colleague, Suguru Geto, now Devil and overseer of Hell, is extremely unprofessional.

“Archangel Michael has entrusted one of his duties to you.”

Unperturbed by the sudden and abrupt delegation of such duties—it wasn’t unusual for your fellow seraph to push some of his duties from his plate to yours on a last minute’s notice—you turn to afford Megumi, the cherub angel, a curious glance.

“What task has he left me?” you inquire in a calm voice. Thoughts flit through your mind; several considerations of the possible duties Archangel Michael could have delegated to you. A part of you hopes for something simple that can be carried out within the cushy confines of the Heavenly Realm.

“The annual visit to the Demonic Realm,” Megumi, a tall, beautiful cherub with milky skin and calm emerald eyes reminiscent of the shade of the shrubbery in the Garden of Eden, supplies. The large blue-pupiled eyes on his four feathered wings that peek from behind the flawless glossy white fabric of his tunic seem to bore right into your figure in a judgmental assessment of sorts.

Nonetheless, dread fills your immortal being when the words leave Megumi’s lips. The visit to the Demonic Realm, again?

“. . . Very well,” you sigh with resignation, having been in this position twice before in the past century and a half. In the grand scheme of things, you could perhaps interpret this as Archangel Michael possibly slacking off on assessing the status of the Demonic Realm during the annual visit, or perhaps he’d simply grown tired of having to constantly meet the audacious Suguru, the infamous fallen cherub angel turned Devil and Ruler of Hell.

If Megumi senses your hesitation and lack of desire to do such duties, he makes no comment on it. His expression remains skillfully blank. His cordial attitude remains. “Do you require any assistance?”

“No,” you reply. “I’ve prepared for this occasion.”

Though, you shouldn’t have to.

You regard the young cherub with a raised brow. “What occupies Archangel Michael to have made him relinquish such an important duty to me?”

“A matter concerning one of the higher dominion angels was brought to Archangel Michael’s attention,” Megumi informs you with a stoic expression. You note the roots of his thick, long lashes as they extend out into long strands of silky dark individual lashes that brush against the ivory surface of his cheeks whenever he blinks. He stares down at the parchment he holds in his hands while reporting its details to you, none the wiser to the more than curious look you were affording him.

“He was ordered by the Almighty God to personally oversee the jurisdiction and judgment of the dominion angel.” The cherub pauses, then frowns, lines temporarily lining the beautiful surface of his skin as he seems to read through a line in his report that he deems unsavory, before he continues. “. . . A case of sinning through the flesh, it appears.”

“The flesh, huh?” you repeat, almost absentmindedly. A series of possible angels who could have fallen to temptation crosses through your mind, before you finally voice out your curiosity. “And who might this dominion angel be?”

The cherub flips to another page of paper. “Elijah.”

At the mention of the familiar dominion angel’s name, your expression falls into one of stoicity. “Elijah,” you parrot his name, remembering a beautiful dark-haired dominion angel who handled his duties as an overseer of the lower angels fairly well, despite having quite a ravenous appetite and desire for carnal flesh.

You had the displeasure of first meeting the aforementioned higher Dominion angel over four centuries ago at a Divine Ministry meeting that required the presence of the seraphim, with you being the one seraph that happened to be available at the time. You had an unfavorable experience with Elijah, as you personally bore witness to his attempts of wooing you over. Of course, as a seraph and one who is considered to be only behind the Archangel Michael himself, you coldly admonished his attempt to ingratiate himself with you, to which you recalled him to have responded with a coy smile and a pretty flutter of his beautiful wisteria eyes.

“It surprises me that it took him this long to finally give in to the sin of carnal flesh,” you comment, rather unperturbed. You found it more surprising that he had not fallen to sin sooner, and the fact that he had fallen to the sin of carnal flesh of all the sins, you found it most fitting.

There’s a furrow on Megumi’s rich, dark brows as he seems to read through more lines on the report before him. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he mutters to himself in a hushed and scandalized tone. “The atrocity that this dominion angel has committed—!”

Curiosity overtakes you, and mindlessly, with a wave of your fingers, you let your Celestial power gently grab the parchment from Megumi’s hands. The cherub gladly lets you take the parchment from his hands. Megumi himself even seems to recoil away from the paper, a sour expression on his handsome face as he chants prayers under his breath to banish the images that were conjured up by the words written on the parchment.

You read the lines on the paper.

Elijah the dominion angel has fallen to temptation by copulation with four succubi.

“Four succubi?” you repeat in disbelief at first. However, as you remember the unpleasant and slimy countenance of the dominion angel, a chuckle leaves your lips. “How fitting. Now I understand Michael.”

You hand back the parchment to Megumi, who reluctantly takes the revolting piece of paper back. “He must be furious because another second order angel has gotten involved with demons and fallen to temptation under their machinations,” you murmur. “Replacing Elijah and finding someone to temporarily oversee his obligations and responsibilities as a dominion angel would be inconvenient. Michael himself would have to briefly take Elijah’s work under his wing until a proper replacement is found.”

“Archangel Michael was indeed troubled when he happened upon the news,” Megumi agrees as he used his Celestial power to have the parchment disappear, before he produced a small bottle of holy water from thin air. You watch him curiously as he pours a few generous drops of the sacred liquid onto his right palm, before he makes the bottle vanish with a gentle flick of his left hand.

“What of Archangel Satoru?” you hum, remembering your cherub colleague with hair resembling the softness of the clouds of Heaven and eyes reminiscent of the glittering blue seas of the Human Realm at dawn. “Could he have been available to take up overseeing the Demonic Realm?”

Megumi shakes his head as he starts to spread the liquid onto his hands, making sure to douse the areas in which he had held the parchment paper that cited such unholy words with the most concentration of holy water.

“Regrettably, he was not,” the cherub replies. “Archangel Satoru had just left a month ago to take care of things in the North with the virtue angels, but even if Archangel Satoru had been present, I doubt that he would have attended given his history with the Devil.”

You exhale, mulling over Megumi’s reply. Of course, Satoru likely would have found some other excuse or business to occupy him to avoid going to the Demonic Realm. You almost cursed Archangel Michael’s overzealous approach in his work as God’s most trusted chief of all angels. He had so much faith in his fellow Archangels that he always believed Archangel Satoru’s attempts to dodge work, happily taking the duties under his wing.

You exhale, mentally preparing yourself for the addition to your workload.

“Archangel Michael will return to the Heavenly Realm by next week,” Megumi reports to you. “He has instructed me to inform you to finish your duties at the annual visit to the Demonic Realm before he returns.”

“Very well. Let him know that he owes me another drink for this favor.”

The cherub offers a polite nod of his head, bowing.

Then, with a sigh, your six majestic white wings spread out from behind you, unfurling like the petals of a lotus in bloom. With a nod of acknowledgement of the young cherub before you, you finally take flight, ascending into the countless clouds of the Heavenly Realm.

You wholeheartedly loathe the Demonic Realm’s environment, and you were not the only angelic being that shared this sentiment.

As a sharp contrast to the cool and dry environment of the Heavenly Realm, the Demonic Realm’s hot, humid, and arid environment was everything that angelic beings detested. The discomfort of staying in such a warm place had a tendency to sour the moods of the visiting angels who had business in Hell. Unfortunately for you, your stay was to be three days.

As luck would have it, the annual visit to the Demonic Realm has always taken place in Hell after Suguru’s rebellion against God. This was how it has always been, given that demons could not take a single step inside Heaven’s pearly gates unless they wished to be mercilessly smited by the cherubim angels that stood guard of the gates. The Human Realm was also off-limits to both parties, as the consequences that came with humans spotting angelic and demonic beings were too big to risk. That left the Demonic Realm, a place where angelic beings could freely waltz into without being harmed by any demonic being, so long as they did not give into any form of temptation.

Hell’s infamous Obsidian Palace was always the annual meeting’s place of choice—it has been since the establishment of the Demonic Realm after Hell’s ruler, a former cherub angel, questioned the Almighty God.

You are no stranger to the midnight palace, having visited here for more than hundreds of times in the millenniums that you spent as a seraph, but even those hundreds of times that you had visited pales in contrast to the amount of times that Michael had taken that position as the Chief Seraph overseeing the annual meetings for countless millenniums. Despite his strict nature, Michael is a dear when it came to doing the work that no other seraph was interested in. His devotion is insistent and pure, earning him his undisputed position as the highest-ranking seraph among the Seven Archangels.

You go through the motions as the presiding seraph for this year’s annual meeting. Your six-feathered wings flutter gracefully as you land before the entrance of the Obsidian Palace. The white halo that surrounds your frame casts a discernible light that sends demons recoiling away.

The halo was a sign of your power; God’s trust in you. And despite not being Michael, you were the Seraph that came after him in terms of power and seniority. The purity and fierceness of the light that emanated from your celestial body caused much of the demons who were dressed in plain black suits to hiss back in fear.

Your figure that was fully clad in a blinding white silk button up shirt with white flowy pants and golden heels beneath, reminiscent of office wear donned by humans, only further amplified your brightness. Your gaze was steely, cold and detached as you regarded the pale expressions of the demons who were waiting for your arrival.

A frown settles on your face. The humidity of Hell’s climate was starting to grate down on you. Your wings retract behind you in a snap of irritation. You felt your wings’ feathers poofing up even further, and you merely utter, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph under your breath in resignation, before you finally properly regard the demons sent out to escort you inside.

“Lead the way,” you exhale.

Suguru greets you with a devilishly charming grin on his angelic face. “How benevolent it is of you to grace us with your holy presence.”

You enter the room, and the several other demons present in the room stand in attention as you make your way to the head of the long table opposite the Ruler of Hell. You recognize a few Princes of Hell and seirim demons. They bow their heads reverently. You don’t acknowledge them, your gaze steely.

“I wish I could say the same,” you respond dryly, your six wings contracting behind you to fold neatly before you take your seat at the head of the table. As you sit yourself down, you look up to meet the Ruler of Hell’s glimmering dark amethyst eyes opposite the table.

He spreads his arms invitingly, the taut muscles stretching the dark fabric of the blazer that he wears to hug the firm slopes of his arms. His long silky dark hair fell over the fine fabric of his clothing, shining faintly under the light of the meeting hall, framing his unreal beauty. You gaze at him pensively, recalling the prophet Ezekiel’s description of Suguru. A dazzling angel guarding the gates of the Garden of Eden. The anointed cherub. The seal of perfection.

“You seem rather displeased to be here,” he comments in that silky smooth pleasant voice, a handsome grin spread across his lips. His eyes regard you in that fond narrow crinkle that it does whenever he meets someone he finds interesting. Narrowed into slits like a treacherous serpent. “Might it have something to do with the fall of a certain dominion angel?”

You quirk a brow at his words, your expression stony. “You seem highly interested in Heaven’s affairs, Devil,” you reply in a flat tone, unperturbed. You gesture for a demon to bring you some refreshment. “Seems hardly fitting for the Ruler of Hell, does it not? You must stretch yourself quite thin to be able to find concern for a realm other than your own.”

His sandy skin glistens deliciously under the warm chandeliers that hang on the vaulted ceilings. His smile deepens, his purple eyes narrowing. Whether it was out of fondness or malice you didn’t bother to decipher. Suguru was as cryptic as ever, even back when he was a cherub.

“Heaven’s affairs is something that I do not care for,” he informs you plainly, watching as a demon brings over a goblet of water for you. “And please, call me Suguru.” He leans in closer, resting his elbows on the other end of the long meeting table and joining his fingers together with a cordial smile. “Will you not refer to me by my name now as well?” His amethyst eyes open, like the deep pools of a dark abyss unfurling like the petals of a black-purple rose, regarding you. “I thought we were good friends.”

“Acquaintances would be a more appropriate term,” you icily correct him. “And even then, labeling our relationship as that of acquaintances is still entirely too familiar. I believe coworkers would be most accurate.”

You eye him with a stoic expression, taking in the four wings that sprout from behind his broad shoulders, the remnants of the form that he once assumed with his former position as a high cherub angel. The original four pristine white wings symbolic to cherubs have now changed. The top two wings have long since morphed into two black bat-like wings—indicating his transformation into a demon, while the bottom two are his symbolic midnight black wings—the ones that had first appeared when he fell from Heaven and God’s grace as the first fallen angel.

Lucifer. The former Lightbringer. The Morningstar. Your former colleague.

Suguru’s devilish grin remains the same. “I forget how dismissive angels can be,” he croons in a sing-song tone. “And I thought Archangel Michael and Archangel Satoru to be rather harsh. It appears to me that you’re the coldest yourself, Madam Seraph.”

Your expression remains blasé, and your tone lowers in ire. “I did not come here to this inferno of a humid environment to exchange pleasantries or to discuss the manner in which I address a grave sinner by,” you state in a clipped voice. “I came here to discuss what needs to be discussed. Do not deviate from that.”

“I digress,” Suguru hums, purple eyes swirling mirthfully as he stares at you.

The first day of the annual meeting lasts for the course of a few hours. This year’s proceedings went on much longer due to the increased amount of demon activity as well as the troubling amount of angels falling to temptation, subsequently causing a higher amount of fallen angels to roam freely within the demonic realm.

This did not spell well, as confused and often grieving fallen angels resulted in bouts of insanity as they attempted to fathom their current helpless situations, as well as the celestial power that was not stripped from them. The drastic change of an angel’s wings from its pure snow-white state, to a midnight black was not the only change that takes place when an angel falls from grace.

An angel, depending on their rank on the Order of Angels, can get their celestial powers fully stripped away from them if they were a third order angel; have some of their powers stripped away, while having the remaining power left change into demonic powers, if they were a second order angel; or completely retain all their celestial powers, but the celestial and holy power is then changed to demonic powers, like what would happen to a first order angel.

The most common example of the last one was Suguru. He was a former high-ranking cherub, an angel belonging to the first sphere, and when his fall took place, none of his powers were stripped away from him. Rather, his celestial powers morphed into demonic powers, complimenting the darkened and sinful nature that Suguru now adopted as he fell to temptation. A third of the angels followed him in his dissent from God, emerging as his underlings in Hell.

He had always been a queer being. A charming devil that inspired rebellion among the angels. God’s former favorite. The fairest angel. A contradictory individual. Even during his time as a cherub, his beautiful smile was always accompanied with a condescension, a curious lilt of his velvety voice, a glimmer of defiance in his deep eyes even as he bowed before God at His throne. Those same eyes currently transfix on you as you sit opposite him on the meeting table.

His comely face rests on his hand, regarding you with a curious yet almost sultry look. He gazes on, an expression that you couldn’t quite read on his face. His presence is domineering, his figure hulking, almost stretching the fine fabric of his suit. And yet he utters not a single word save for the times when he needed to speak or pitch in. Every now and then you would catch the movement of his wings, withdrawing to fold, or extending out as he would lounge back against his seat.

You will yourself to focus on the words of the demon standing before the presentation detailing the annual reports.

The next two days went on just like that.

He would greet you when you entered, dressed in one of his fine suits, his silky dark hair glinting under the candlelight, fixing you with those dark amethyst eyes. His signature smirk spreads across his glossy lips, staring you down intently.

Sometimes, you would find yourself distracted, looking up to the face of a concerned demon. Silence hung in the room, and everyone stared at you, seeming to wait for a reply or some form of comment. You would manage to say something, passing your silence off as mere moments of rumination. But a glance toward Suguru reveals his pleasant smile, his purple eyes narrowed in mirth.

You tried your best to ignore it. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The knowledge that he was getting under your skin. Even Archangel Satoru didn’t unnerve you this much.

As the final bits of the final day of the annual meeting took place, you let out a big sigh of relief as you witnessed the lanky demon—an intern, you surmise—putting away the last papers concerning the presentation. As the demon closes the manila folder holding the papers, you rise from your seat, itching to just leave the Obsidian Palace and return to your accommodations in the Hell Citadel. You were scheduled to leave in the evening.

No one dares to stop or question you, a seraph, as you start to make your way towards the exit of the door.

None except Suguru, that is.

The tall Ruler of Hell blocks your path. A pair of muscular arms stands in your way, large hands tucked into the pockets of his custom pants, and an irritated expression laces itself on your face as you crane your neck up to look at the devilish man. He casts a shadow over you with his domineering height, his wings extended out, almost as if you cage you in under midnight.

“Do you perhaps have any further business with me, Devil?” You do not hide your malice.

Suguru, on the other hand, seems unbothered by your cold attitude. A glance towards your side reveals the other demons—the ones who work directly under Lucifer, you inferred—gulping and looking at you fearfully.

You briefly consider smiting the sinner before you with your Celestial powers. In terms of power, Suguru was by no means weak, being the Ruler of Hell, but you were far stronger than him, given your status as a seraph. You could inflict considerable damage to him and leave him incapacitated for days—weeks, if you tried.

But you would not do that.

Harming the Ruler of Hell would mean more paperwork than you already had, and you refuse to work longer hours simply because Suguru got under your skin. The damned Devil was not beneath reporting you to the HR Department of the Heavenly Realm for ‘disrupting the workplace environment.’

“I do have business with you,” he says, still grinning with that damned smile. His obsidian wings retract behind him. “I wanted to discuss possibly implementing a different way of sorting human souls.” His head cocks to the side, and he pushes back his silky strands of hair, fixing you with that stare. “Perhaps you could relay my ideas to the Heavenly Realm before you depart?”

Truthfully, you did not want to. But you also did not want to write another report to Archangel Michael explaining that you let the Devil get under your skin, causing communications between the Heavenly Realm and the Demonic Realm to sour, and ultimately complicating the long and arduous process of determining whether a human soul should go to Hell or Heaven. It was a situation you had the unfortunate chance of being familiar with due to Suguru reporting you to HR some centuries back. The conflict caused a mess in the sorting of human souls, which were especially abundant at the time due to the number of wars, as the Ruler of Hell refused to sort the human souls until he received an apology from you.

That occurrence has left you with a sour taste lingering in your mouth every time the Ruler of Hell was brought up in conversation, and while you begrudgingly apologized the first time, you refuse to repeat that incident once again.

With a resigned sigh, you look towards Suguru’s deep purple eyes, smiling at you in that devilishly charming way.

The Devil is a liar and a half.

The “business” he apparently had with you entailed visiting a bar in hell and drinking. It has been an hour since you both departed the Obsidian Palace for business, and not once has the damned Ruler of Hell mentioned a word about this so-called ‘new system’ of implementing a faster way to sort out human souls.

Suguru must feel your piercing glare directed at him. You regard him angrily through the crystalline rim of your untouched demon mimosa, decorated with pomegranates. Your six feathery wings bristle behind you, slightly extended out.

His eyes narrow at you in that irritatingly charming way that you refuse to admit has any sway on you. He is nursing a drink of his own, a bloody old fashioned with dragon fruit shavings, and looks at your untouched demon mimosa.

“You’re terribly boring,” he says with a sigh and a disappointed face, his black wings tucked behind him. “I knew Archangels were prudes but we’re at a club, sweetheart. The demon mimosa won’t hurt you.”

“And I knew demons are liars yet I came here,” you snap. You snatch the demon mimosa, bringing it to your lips and taking a swig, grumbling the next words. “I should’ve just written that damned report to Michael.”

He grins, a little too gleefully for your liking. His purple eyes linger on the drink briefly, before they inspect your face. A laugh escapes past his lips, a small laugh that oddly sounded as if it was accompanied by gentle ringing bells.

“You still hold a grudge about that?” He asks, clearly finding this more amusing than you do.

Irritated at his joy, you slam the demon mimosa down to glower down at him, your wings retracting with a flutter of your ivory feathers.

“Do you wish to die by my hands?” you threaten.

“Now, now,” he grins, “I don’t intend to die here so why don’t we—”

“Give me a legitimate reason as to why I shouldn’t just leave you here and return to my lodgings,” you state, failing to see what he finds so amusing about making you angry. “The annual visit is now finished. I’d prefer not to see you any longer than I have to.”

“That’s heartless, sweetheart,” he feigns hurt, his wings drooping behind him. “Do you dislike me that much?”

“I view you the way I view mosquitos in the Human Realm,” you deadpan him. “Annoying and persistent. With that said”—you rise from your seat—“I’ll be leaving. Do not ever waste my time like you just did. Do you understand, Devil?”

“I don’t know,” he drawls in a voice that causes your stomach to dip in a way you are not familiar with. You quickly bury the sensation. His wings extend lightly. His eyes track the expanse of your standing figure, a pair of amethysts gleaming with interest. “I quite like it when you're mad at me. Maybe you’ll have to teach me again, sweetheart.”

So, that’s what it’s about, you think to yourself humorlessly.

“Devil,” you begin, pinching the bridge of your nose, regarding him with a chilling gaze, “if what you needed was to satisfy yourself, I’m sure you have a handful of succubi to help you with that problem.” You regard him properly this time, though his figure blurs momentarily. “Who knows? Your new friend Elijah, the former Dominion angel, might be able to refer you to some of his favorite succubi.”

“Regarding that,” he shrugs, his dark wings rustling behind him, regarding you with a sultry half-lidded gaze, “I was looking to see if you’d be a dear and help me out?”

“What wishful thinking,” you drily respond, shutting down his suggestion immediately. “If I suggest the idea that you’ve been involved in coercing angels to sin to the Celestial Realm after this encounter, I wonder how you would be dealt with. Michael is not keen on dealing with all the extra work that follows the fall of an archangel, and should he catch wind of what has transpired today… However benevolent he is, he will certainly not let it slide.”

But even as you speak, his grin remains. Rather, it deepens.

You feel an odd sensation swirling in your stomach. Your gaze blurs, and you shake your head, trying to rouse yourself. It must be the exhaustion, you reason. All the more reason to leave this place immediately.

“Then, I’ll get going,” you state, rising from the bar stool, giving him one last glare before turning on your heel and walking away.

A sudden throb of pain has you stopping. Your steps stutter, and you blink away the blurriness in your gaze. You feel sluggish. This is odd. You were tired, sure, but surely not enough to feel like this.

When you are about to stumble on another step of yours, a firm and large hand holds your arm to steady you. A warm presence, looming and large, overwhelms you, casting a dark shadow over your frame under the dim and moody lights of the bar. You feel his frame brush against your wings, a hand of his wrapping around your waist.

A warm breath ghosts over your ears.

“Careful there,” Suguru’s smooth voice croons, sending shivers down your body.

Ire grows in you, and you try to yank your arm away from his hand, but to no avail. He was unflinching. Like an unshakable marble statue. An insurmountable presence. A glance behind your shoulder reveals his handsome face, albeit a bit blurry. You blink up at him, and all you can pick out is the hypnotic purple of his eyes, oscillating like flickering lights, and the satisfied curl of his lips.

That is the last thing you remember before everything turns black.

“. . . you’re up.”

Your eyes blink open, gaining consciousness as you rouse, sitting up with. Your head is pounding. You feel almost feverish. Your body feels numb. Your eyes glaze over, your blurry vision focusing on the sight before you. The lights are moody, warm, and there's a void before you, a large frame that blocks out a portion of your vision. When your eyes squint, the darkness becomes a dark silhouette.

A firm and chilly hand cups your chin, forcing you to gaze up.

Amethyst.

Your brows pinch together groggily, and your gaze clears up enough that you can make out the individual before you. Your blood runs cold when you make eye contact with the silhouette.

“Had a good rest?” Suguru croons, almost mockingly, gazing down at you with a handsome sneer.

You realize you are on a wide bed with dark silken sheets. Your body feels sluggish, and even if you will yourself to try to move, your body is weak. You can barely lift a finger without great exertion. To your surprise, you notice no restraints on your body, only that dull pounding in your head, and a feverish sensation throughout your limbs. Your clothing is still intact, though you notice that your shoes were nowhere to be found.

Suguru stands before you, left in his dark slacks and a loosened white silk dress shirt, revealing a generous amount of his taut and tan chest. His dark wings are loosely spread behind him. His dark silky hair frames his face, his features highlighted by the shadows from the faint candlelight of the chandelier in what you presume to be his personal room.

“What did you do to me?” you demand in a low snarl.

His charming eyes narrow, smiling. “Nothing yet,” he replies coolly.

He saunters across the room, and you watch him with malice as he grabs a crystalline glass bottle with a shimmery golden liquid in it, pouring it into a goblet. The trickling of the liquid fills the dead silence of the room. The gold liquid swirls in the goblet, glowing hypnotically. He approaches you afterward, the goblet tangled in his pretty fingers.

You eye the drink warily, scowling up at him to the best of your ability in your weakened state. “‘Nothing yet’?” you snarl, fury welling up within your being. “Do you even realize what you’re—”

There’s a drawl of irritation that rumbles out of his throat. Suguru regards you with that blank, dead stare in his amethyst eyes. He utters his next words with such a cold indifference that it sends chills down your limbs.

“You were much more tolerable when you couldn’t speak.”

You fall silent for a few moments from his words. Confusion, and then anger. Deep hatred. A piercing cold sensation that burns through your being.

“What did you do to me?” you demand. Your voice is louder now, booming throughout the space. As your anger boils, the ground begins to tremble. The chandelier in the room chimes and clinks from the prominent tremor that overtakes the Demonic Realm. The celestial halo around you burns bright, almost blinding as you muster the rest of your remaining strength to maim him. “God won’t let you get away with this, Devil.”

Suguru looks unbothered. He simply approaches you while his wings, looming over your figure, the goblet cradled in his hand. The gold glimmers brilliantly, as if he had plucked sunlight from the Heavens, and you notice faint specks of crimson and obsidian in the shimmery substance, flickering. Fading in and out.

“He won’t let me get away with this?” Suguru scoffs, a twisted sneer on his perfect face. “Oh, angel. I already have.”

He takes a swig of the gold liquid, gripping your chin tightly with his free hand. He leans down, his hand squeezing your cheeks together for your lips to part, and he inches forward, swallowing your lips in a sweltering kiss. You can taste the cool golden liquid on your tongue. A sweet nectar reminiscent of honey, ripe fruits, and floral notes that coats your tongue in pleasure. It tastes like paradise, like sipping from the beams of sunlight that trickle from the Heavens and onto the Human Realm, warm and comforting.

You feel your strength dissipate, your celestial halo waning as you ingest the liquid. Your eyes widen, and you try to pull away, but your weakened body is no match under his unyielding grip. The liquid is smooth and velvety, gliding effortlessly down your throat. A comfortable warmth spreads from your mouth to your chest, filling your limbs.

Mingled in with the sweet golden liquid is the sensation of the Devil’s tongue, mingling with your own, swiping against your lips, feeding you the liquid. He continues until you’ve drunk every last drop he has to give you.

When he pulls away, your head feels light, and you register a string of drool connecting your lips to his own. His thumb swipes over the swollen flesh of your bottom lip, severing the trailing gold strings between your lips, regarding you with a look of satisfaction.

You gaze up at him in confusion and hostility. Suguru withdraws, sauntering over to a nearby table to place the empty goblet down. His head turns to your direction, appraising your state, walking back to you.

You feel a pleasant warmth buzzing throughout your limbs. It feels good. A part of you hates to admit it. You know better than to trust the Devil right before you. If you weren’t weakened, you would have finished him off already. You would kill him with your bare hands. Lop off his limbs one by one. Consequences be damned.

Suguru seems to relish in the heated gaze of yours on him. He sits down on the foot of the bed casually, regarding you with a bemused curl to his lips.

“You look like you want to kill me,” he croons languidly. A hand of his reaches out, cupping your face in his cold hands. You could see the sick delight in his beautiful features. You can see him shiver from arousal, his amethyst eyes narrowing into gleeful crescents. “Ah, this expression of yours is exciting.”

The warmth in your body is now turning into an uncomfortable one. Your body trembles, feeling the heat sinking deeper into your being, wrapping your very skin with a heavy, cloying sensation. The heat swelters, turning into a burning heat that borders on painful, spreading through your limbs, making your body feel even heavier. Sluggish. Weak.

“What did you make me drink?” you demand in a hoarse snarl, scowling up at him.

“Something to loosen your inhibitions,” he replies coolly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You have a degree of resistance to the effects of corrupted ambrosia as a seraph. It’ll only make you feel sluggish.” He smiles wolfishly, leaning in closer to whisper the next words in your ear. “I’m not fond of unconscious women.”

“You—”

Your words are interrupted as a firm hand of his sends you down to lay down on the bed in a display of strength. The bed dips under Suguru’s weight as he hovers above you, relishing in the sight of you, weak and incapacitated below him. His silky dark hair falls over you, his handsome face regarding you as he leans down, caging you under his broad form, his four dark wings spread out behind him. His ivory silk shirt droops, allowing you to get a generous view of his perfect form, tan firm and muscular pectorals, down to the dip of his abdominal muscles. His eyes seem to glow under the shadow of his hair. And he’s so close. All you can see and feel is him. His perfect face. The sly curl of his lips.

And his scent. It’s overpowering. A dark amber. Spiced incense. His face leans in closer, and he’s so warm, you feel as if you might melt from the uncomfortable burning within your body from the corrupted ambrosia. Sandalwood enters your nose. Then the faint waft of burning embers.

“Ah, you look beautiful like this,” he whispers in that low and smooth voice of his, velvety like honey. His cool fingers cup the sides of your face, his soft fingertips rubbing over the flesh of your lip. He leans down, kissing your jawline. His soft lips nip at your skin, trailing, soft like the petals of a black rose, leaving a trail of fire in its path as he descends to your neck.

Your hands muster everything you can to try to push at his broad chest. Weak smacks to his chest. To his arms. To his face. Even a tug at his silky hair. Yet his body remains immovable. His lips continue to pepper kisses along your neck.

“I’m going to kill you,” you grit out.

A firm hand of his wraps around one of your wrists. He smirks down at you, bringing your hand to his face. His amethyst eyes are smoky, peppering kisses on your palm and wrist. The curl on his lips deepens.

“Kill me?” he muses. “How will you manage that in this state, sweetheart?”

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“What crude words from a pretty mouth,” he chuckles, pinning both your wrists above your head with a single hand. His fingers dance over your button-up shirt, lingering on the buttons. Languidly, he plucks each button off with a faint rustle of fabric.

As your bare skin is revealed to him inch by inch, your face burns in shame and anger. It’s humiliating. You are a feared and powerful seraph. An Archangel in service of God. You pride yourself on your righteousness, your purity, and your steadfast avoidance of sin and temptation. Your unwavering loyalty and adherence to the Word. Yet the Devil was unwrapping you like a present, and there was nothing you could do about it.

His amethyst eyes are reminiscent of the slits of a serpent’s eyes, regarding you. You felt powerless beneath him, your body considerably weakened. You felt like a tiny white rabbit facing the bloody jaw of a hungry wolf.

“How beautiful,” he appraises, regarding your smooth flesh. His hand wraps firmly around a mound of your breast, and he relishes in how the fat spills past his hand, his fingers twisting and squeezing at a soft nipple. You burn in shame and rage from how it hardens under his fingertips. “To think nobody has had the chance to see you like this in eons. Isn’t it such a shame?”

“I’m going to kill you,” you grit out again, but the breathiness in your voice betrays you.

Suguru’s lips curl at that, but he doesn’t address the threat. He leans down, his tongue descending on your nipple. It flicks against the hardened bud, swirling. His mouth is swelteringly warm compared to the cool touch of his skin. His hand cups your other breast, kneading it beneath his palm, his thumb and index finger pinching the nipple. You grit your teeth, pressing your lips shut. You ignore how your traitorous thighs press together from the sensation. You refuse to give the Devil the satisfaction of knowing that you’re feeling something from this.

Your teeth bite down on your lip. You refuse to make a sound. You refuse to give in to the foreign tingling sensation that begins from where the Devil is lapping up at your breast and is spreading through the rest of your body. You don’t know why your body is throbbing. Why that place between your legs is pulsing.

Suguru takes his time.

He languidly moves to the other nipple by pressing kisses onto your skin, leaving a burning trail under his lips. Your weakened body betrays you. You knew you couldn’t push him off even if you mustered all your strength.

Suguru’s fingers work at your pants. He finally lets go of your wrists that he was pinning above your head to pull off your pants.

You use this opportunity to grip at his broad shoulders in an attempt to push him off. He doesn’t even budge. He remains undisturbed, as if your strength wasn’t even enough to make him falter, and he successfully slides your pants off your legs. He tosses it to the floor of his room.

He grips your thighs, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. You can feel the silk sheets drag against your wings. He parts your thighs, his face leaning in as he inspects your panties.

Your feet kick at his shoulders, but he simply pins your thighs, keeping your legs spread for him. His gaze is intense, simply focused on your panties. You want to burn in shame.

“White lace,” he observes in amusement. “Very cute.”

“When this wears off, I’m going to tear you limb by limb, Devil,” you inveigh, your words laced with poison. “I’m going to make you regret ever crossing my path.”

“You say that,” he hums pensively. His thumb leans in, rubbing at a graying spot on the center of your panties. “But you’re all wet, sweetheart.”

You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. You had been ignoring the stickiness between your thighs. How as his tongue moved and suckled on your nipples and your skin, you felt yourself getting damper and damper. You reasoned that this wasn’t of your volition. Your body was betraying you. You were not enjoying this. You refuse to sin. You were not going to fall to temptation. Not with the fucking Devil. Hell would freeze over before that happened.

“Do you think I’m going to take you by force?” he muses, regarding you from between your parted thighs. “No, angel, that’s not what’s going to happen here.”

You glare at him, indignation filling your being. You didn’t believe a single word that was coming out of his mouth. You were certain that he planned on making you fall into temptation. He was not beneath forcing you into it. Your blood boiled at the thought.

His amethyst eyes glimmered in amusement, and his voice drops into a low and soft croon, almost innocent sounding, if not for the fact that he was the fucking Devil himself.

“I’m going to make you beg for it.”

“Your thighs feel heavenly,” he whispers into your ear from behind.

You were sitting on his lap, your thighs pressed together as he rubbed his fat cock between your thighs. His cock repeatedly rubs against your clothed clit, the flushed red tip rubbing against the dampness of your cunt. You suppress any sounds that threaten to escape your lips.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” he hums, kissing your neck.

“It doesn’t feel good,” you grit out roughly.

It was a lie, of course. It did feel good. Too good. The friction from the way his fat cock rubs against you renders you a bit breathless. You didn’t quite understand it yourself. You are one of the almighty Seven Archangels, the loyal servants of God himself. You are not tempted by mortal pleasures or material possessions. You are above them.

His fat tip repeatedly rubs against the hood of your clothed slit. Your panties were long disposed of at this point, laying in disarray with your other clothes on the floor. A wet pap accompanies each pump of Suguru’s hips. The sensation was toe curling. Enough to have your mind blanking here and there. A traitorous part of you briefly thought that this must be the reason why the sin of the flesh was one of the most prominent temptations to fall to.

“It doesn’t feel good?” Suguru muses, though you had an inkling he didn’t believe you. You had a hard time believing yourself as well. Your nipples were erect. Your breaths were hitched. And you were soaking his cock in slick as he rubs against you.

“It doesn’t,” you grit out, though the quiver in your breath failed you.

It wasn’t a convincing statement. But you were going to convince yourself.

You will not fall into temptation. You will not sin.

“I should work harder then, hm?” he whispers into your left ear. You could hear the smirk on his lips.

His hand slithers down to the dampness of your cunt, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs tensed, quivering from the sensation. His fingers are gentle and languid, pinching the engorged pearl of your clit, rolling it between his fingertips.

“You’ve never touched yourself,” he murmurs in that velvety voice of his. “Never let yourself taste the pleasures of the flesh.”

He lifts you easily, setting you down on your back on the bed, pressing your thighs together for him. He settles between your legs, pressing his girthy and lengthy cock against your glistening pussy lips. When he lets go of his cock, your traitorous eyes drink up the sight. It was huge, heavy enough to be unable to stand on its own. You don’t understand why your thighs tense. One hand of his settles under your knees, pressing you down to keep you still while also keeping your legs together, as his other hand guides his meaty tip to rub against the hood of your clit.

He fucks your thighs, rubbing against your cunt, never slipping in or pushing in. The sound is lewd, sending heat to your body at the wet paps. Suguru is nasty with it, grunting softly as he uses you. He smears your cunt and your thighs with a glossy sheen of your slick. His purple eyes narrow in mirth as he gazes down at your twisting expression, how you clamp down on your bottom lip to not let any sound out.

Then, as if he’d grown tired of it, he pulls away, tucking his hard cock back in his pants, settling down between your thighs, his face inching closer. Gently, his pillowy lips plant kisses on your inner thigh, lapping up at the slick. He stares at you seductively with those amethyst eyes, a curl on his lips as he presses a kiss to your cunt. Then his tongue flicks out, teasing your flesh.

Your hands fist the sheets, the sanctity of self-control slipping through your fingers like sand. His tongue moves languidly, tasting, teasing. Each deliberate flick against your swollen clit sends sparks of sensation through you, threatening to drown out the anger that smoldered within.

“You’re trembling,” Suguru murmurs, his voice a low hum against your flesh, the low drawl sending a pleasant vibration throughout your body. “It’s adorable, really. You’re trying so hard to resist what your body already knows it craves.”

“No,” you grit out, breathless.

His chuckle was dark, like the quiet roll of thunder before a storm. “No? Then why are you soaking me, darling?” His tongue drags slowly over you, savoring the way your thighs quiver with each flick. “Your mouth can lie, but this?” He presses two thick fingers to your cunt, not pushing in, just teasing the slick folds. “This tells me the truth.”

Shame courses through you, bitter and hot, even as your hips betray you by arching ever so slightly. You want to spit words of defiance, but they tangle in your throat, choking on the treacherous whimper that nearly crawled out of you as his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks.

Your wings, usually so steady and unfurled in their glory, flutter weakly at your sides. Every nerve in your body screams. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, warring with the cacophony of pleasure and anger that conflate and well within your body.

“You hate this, don’t you?” Suguru’s low voice is sin itself—soft, coaxing, a siren’s song. His lips hover just above your clit as his fingers slide lower, parting your folds, tracing it. “Hate that it feels good. Hate that I’m the one showing you.”

“I fucking hate you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

You feel him smirk into your cunt. He presses a languid kiss, licking up a stripe. “No, angel,” you can hear the smug and cruel smirk on his lips. “You hate yourself.”

His fingers press into you then, stretching you at last, a teasing pressure that has your thighs clenching despite yourself. The sensation is foreign—maddening. Your nails dig into the sheets, curling into your palms, sinking into the flesh, leaving reddened crescents in their wake. The sharp bite of your own pain grounds you for a fragile second before it dissolves under the next wave of pleasure.

“Don’t!” you try to command, but your voice wavers, trembling with something you refuse to name.

“Don’t what?” he asks, mock innocence dripping from his lips. His smirk widens as he pushes a second finger inside you, slow and deliberate. “Don’t do this?” He curls it just so, pressing against a spot that makes your thighs jerk against him.

The breath punches out of you in a shuddering exhale, your body betraying the fragile defenses of your mind. Suguru works you slowly, watching each and every expression, listening to every sound that escapes your parted lips, with those piercing amethyst eyes, moving his fingers in and out in an unbearable rhythm.

“There she goes,” he murmurs affectionately, his voice a gentle caress. “See how your body opens up for me?” He slows the strokes of his fingers, letting you feel every drag of his fingers through your walls, letting you hear the slick that soaks his palm, tainting the sheets beneath you. “You can deny it all you want, angel, but you’re made for this.”

You want to scream at him, call him a liar, but the words are stuck in your throat. Instead, your hips roll into his hand, chasing the maddening friction his fingers created. You bite your lip hard, the metallic tang of blood grounding you for a moment before his fingers curled against, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through you.

“Stop!” you hiss out, though it almost resembles that of a weak whimper.

He laughs softly, darkly. “Stop moving? But it’s you who’s moving, darling.” His thumb finds your clit then, pressing down with a maddening precision that leaves you breathless, coupled in with his two fingers that continuously pump into you. “You’re the one begging without even realizing it.”

“I’m not begging!” you spit out, glaring down at him, but your voice cracks.

His smile deepens.

“No?” His fingers plunge deeper, the wet sound of your slick filling the room, shame mixing with the sweltering heat inside of you. “Then why are you dripping all over me? Why are your hips chasing my hand like this?”

His words are like a whip against your pride, but the shame only seemed to feed the inferno building inside your core. You clench around his fingers, your eyes rolling involuntarily, head tipping back slightly from the bright flash of pleasure that overwhelms you, your body betraying you further as your legs fall open wider.

“Ah,” Suguru coos darkly, his thumb circling your clit. “I think I understand now.” He leans down, his dark hair falling around you, the fragrant strands entangling you in his cloying scent. Suguru’s face hovers just above yours, beautiful in a way that feels unnatural, almost blasphemous. His amethyst eyes burn with an unholy light, framed by lashes so thick and dark they seem almost painted on. The sharp cut of his jaw softens only by the teasing curl of his lips, which glisten as he runs his tongue over them, savoring your expression—your anguish. He looks like a serpent poised to sink its fangs into its prey, his smirk a venomous promise of your undoing. He leans down further, overwhelming your senses, his breath hot against your ear.

“You want more, don’t you?”

“No,” you finally whimper, but for the slightest moment, you waver. You feel the craving growing inside of you, an unbearable hunger that his fingers alone couldn’t satisfy. Your body aches for something deeper, something that would finally extinguish the fire consuming you.

He smiles wolfishly. “Your body says otherwise,” he hums. His voice is low, dangerous, confident. His fingers withdraw suddenly, and he pulls away, his cloying scent receding from its attack on your senses, leaving you clenching around nothing, the absence hitting you like a wave.

A small, broken sound escapes your lips before you could stop it, your body motioning to sit up, eyes widening and gazing up at him in disbelief.

Your body runs cold at the smirk that graces his lips.

“There it is,” he says, almost lovingly. “The real you.” He leans in closer, amethyst eyes regarding you with mirth, drinking in your expression. “Desperate.” His other hand pulls you to sit up, holding you firmly, his lips curling. “Hungry.”

He presses his slickened fingers against your lips, forcing them to part, laying itself against your tongue, smearing your slick against them as he whispers, “Go on. Taste yourself. See what your holiness is worth now.”

You can’t turn your head away even if you try, tears burning in your eyes, but your body betrays you again, hips shifting restlessly against the sheets, seeking him out.

Your tongue flicks out, lapping at his fingers. Tears flow down your cheeks, shame and anger and something else you still refuse to name coursing through your body. You can taste yourself. Taste the evidence of your body’s betrayal.

“Good girl,” Suguru coos, amethyst eyes regarding you almost fondly. His fingers withdraw from your mouth, his thumb dragging against the flesh of your lips. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, his lips as soft as the fleshy petals of a rose, devouring you.

When he pulls away, you feel your breath escape you, gazing up into his amethyst eyes that glimmer in satisfaction. His absence only grows the sweltering heat between your legs.

“Sweet,” he hums, his hand cupping the side of your face. “But not sweet enough. You’re still holding back, angel.”

“…I’ll never give you the satisfaction,” you breathe out, your chest rising and falling.

He chuckles darkly, his hands settling on your waist, easing you to lay down on the bed. His face hovers above yours, so close that his breath ghosts over your lips. “You will,” he says simply, his certainty cutting through you like a blade. A dull hum that anticipates your compliance.

He moves lower, languidly taking himself out of his pants. You hear the rustle of clothing as he knelt before you, his flushed thick cock—hard, erect, weeping—held by his hand. He shifts closer, resting his cock against your cunt, the heavy, throbbing weight of it resting there without pushing in. An itch wells within your body. Your breaths are heavy, eyeing his cock, wondering—heavens, you hate yourself for doing so—how exactly it would feel insi—

You force yourself to stop that thought, your body trembling. It was infuriating, humiliating, and maddening all at once.

Suguru smiles down at you sweetly, shifting to hover over you as he slaps the heavy tip of his fat cock against your cunt. The lewd paps, slickened by your arousal, only serve to heighten the burning sensation spreading throughout your limbs.

“Is this what you need, angel?” His voice is a velvet whisper as he leans down to press a kiss to your trembling lips. It’s soft, tender even, and it makes your stomach twist in revulsion and longing.

That sweltering heat between your legs only grows. Anticipation bubbles in your lower stomach. You’re trembling, helpless.

“Just say the word, sweetheart,” he coos. He tilts his perfect face, those amethyst eyes—aposematic in nature, upon your reflection—regarding you. They glint, his face framed by the inky cascade of his silky dark hair. “Say the word, and I’ll fix that emptiness you feel. The ache that my fingers won’t satisfy.”

You hate yourself. Every throb of your cunt, the sensation of his heavy cock resting, rubbing against the hood of your clit—so close, yet so far—seem to ignite a deeper hunger within you; a hollow, gnawing need to be filled. Your breaths come in shallow, broken gasps, your wings trembling at your sides as you fight the warring forces within you.

“I…” your voice falters, shame choking you as your hips involuntarily buck against the heavy weight of his cock, seeking friction, relief—to be filled.

“Yes, angel?” Suguru purrs, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck. “Tell me what you need. Say it.”

Your teeth clench as hot tears prick at your eyes, hot, and stinging. You gaze up, silently begging for forgiveness from Him. “I need nothing from you,” you growl out, though the words felt hollow and empty as they left your lips.

Your mind screams at you to resist, to fight, to remember what you stand for. You are a mighty Archangel, the trusted servant of God. You are above mortal pleasures or temptations. But your body… Your body is betraying you with every shiver, every arch of your lips, every breathless gasp that escapes your lips, every sinful thought that invades your mind.

You clench your teeth, feeling the hot tears staining your cheeks. The sight of Suguru’s handsome face hovering above you blurs through your tears. The last fragments of your ironclad result crumbling under the unbearable ache inside of you.

“I hate you,” you whisper, though the words lack conviction.

“And yet,” he murmurs, leaning down, licking up your tears, tasting his sweet victory, his lips curving into a triumphant smirk against your skin, “you need me.”

The shame is unbearable, but the hunger is worse. Your wings tremble, your fists clench, and your thighs fall open just a fraction wider, as if your body already made the choice for you.

The gesture doesn’t escape his amethyst eyes, and they narrow almost fondly.

“There’s my good girl,” he coos.

You don’t resist as he grabs his furious cock, aligning it to your slick cunt. You can’t peel your eyes away from the sight, the way his meaty tip presses against your folds. Your body offers little resistance, with Suguru praising you as he presses his fat tip in past the initial tight ring of muscle.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head from the pleasure, clamping down on him from the foreign sensation, gasping out as tears prick your eyes.

“You’re taking me so well, angel,” he whispers, sliding in, finding little resistance. Your thighs quiver as his thick cock fills you, overwhelming your senses. Your mind can’t think of anything else but the sheer relief that envelops you.

His hands shift down, resting under your knees, and he’s folding you, pressing your knees against your shoulder. The motion knocks the breath out of your lungs, earning a weak whimper as you feel his heavy balls slap against the curve of your ass. Your mind blanks as he bottoms out, filling you to the point of discomfort.

His purple eyes glint with a sick satisfaction as he gazes down at you, and you barely have a chance to utter a word before it feels as if he’s punching himself in. You sputter, your lips parting in broken mewls and moans as he sets an inhuman pace. It’s too fast. Too much.

“I should’ve fucked you a long time ago,” he grunts out, his hand resting at the juncture of your neck, pressing down on your windpipe. Your cunt clenches down on him, earning a groan from his lips.

You sob out weakly, shame and pleasure coursing through your limbs, manifesting in hot tears. They do nothing to deter Suguru or his pace. If anything, his hands tighten around your neck, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He swallows you. A voracious serpent claiming its prey, strangling you in its cold and scaly embrace, sinking its teeth into your flesh.

You feel lightheaded. You don’t feel like yourself. Your body is on fire. You can feel each and every drag of Suguru’s fat cock through your walls—can feel each vein, the way his meaty tip bullies your insides. It’s so painfully overwhelming that it throws you into the throes of burning white pleasure.

You cry out as you cum, your cunt fluttering around his cock, soiling it in creamy translucent strings, staining the fabric beneath you. His hand loosens around your neck, giving you temporary relief.

“There you go, angel,” he groans out, his hips stuttering from how tight your walls got from your orgasm.

You quiver beneath him, momentarily blanking out from the intense sensation.

Suguru grunts, smiling in sick glee as he pulls out with a lewd squelch. As if you weighed nothing, he quickly maneuvered you onto your face, hoisting your ass up, bending your body into a pretty arch. He admires the creamy mess smeared all over your cunt, trailing down your thighs in pearly drops.

The sight before him is angelic. The unfurling of your six ivory wings behind your back, a visage that was as beautiful as the creamy slick coating your cunt and the base of his cock.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

He wastes no time, aligning himself to your soppy cunt, entering. He claims you easily, fills every empty crevice—satiates that absence and emptiness that you feel.

Your toes curl from this position. It feels like he just might pierce your lungs. Like he intends to imprint himself upon your very being. Your nails dig into the sheets, trying to grip onto something—some semblance of control that you were slowly losing.

The room hangs heavy with the aftermath, the scent of sweat, sin, and debauchery clinging to the charged air like an unholy fog. Suguru’s broad chest rises and falls in a lazy rhythm as he leans back against the dark silk headboard, his lips curling into a pleasant smile that drips with cruel satisfaction.

You lay beside him, trembling, your body quivering from more than just exhaustion. The act is over, but its weight bears down on you like chains, each link forged from shame, regret, and disbelief. Your skin felt foreign—an unrecognizable vessel tainted by what you had done.

Above your head, your halo, once a radiant crown of the Almighty God’s trust, shimmers faintly. It had been brighter than any star that decorates the skies of the Human Realm, a perfect symbol of God’s favor. Now it wavers, its golden light dimming, the edges darkening as though something rotten gnaws at it from within.

You close your eyes, desperate to summon the connection you had known all your existence. The warmth of His presence. The light that answered every thought and prayer. The voice that reassures you and guides you to the right path. You whisper a trembling, “Father…”

But there was nothing.

Your chest sinks, as though a cold draft had come over your body.

“No,” you breathe, your voice breaking. Your trembling hands reach for the flickering halo, desperate to touch it, to hold onto the last vestige of your purity, your honor, your identity. Your fingertips brush its edges, and you cry out as an unfathomable pain sears through you, the once comforting light burning you like fire.

Your hands tremble further as you inspect your palms, your lips quivering as you gaze down at the reddened and burnt flesh of your fingertips. The silence was deafening, broken only by Suguru’s dark chuckle.

“Oh, little angel,” he murmurs in a sing-song tone, his voice syrupy with mockery. You meet his gaze, feeling your composure crumbling away. His amethyst eyes pin you with those sultry eyes, almost fond, as if he was regarding something he found beautiful. “Do you feel it? The unraveling?”

The room seems to shift. The air tightens like a vice, and all of the sudden, the chilly room feels too hot. Sweltering. Like a presence that constricts you into a tight vice. A sudden crack splits the tense silence, sharp and visceral, accompanied by the loud crackle of thunder. Pain explodes throughout your back, yanking a raw scream from your dry throat. You claw at the sheets, sobbing out, your bloody fingers leaving their trails on the fabric, your nails tearing through the fabric as agony tore through your body.

Your wings—six magnificent, holy appendages—erupts from your back in a grotesque display. You choke out blood, dripping down your chin, your eyes widening. The once-blinding ivory feathers were now black as onyx, their edges fraying, dripping with a viscous, tar-like ichor. Each feather seems to curl inward, shriveling and decaying right before your bloodshot eyes.

“No—please—” you sob out, your voice raw, writhing on the bed. Your arms reach behind you, fingers clutching at the jagged remains of your wings—your position as God’s favored—but the ichor burns where it touches your skin. Blood pours in thick rivulets from the gashes where the wings connected to your warmth, pooling beneath you in a sickening warmth.

Suguru sits up, watching you with a gleam of dark satisfaction. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his tone almost reverent.

Your screams turn shrill, raw—animalistic, your body convulsing as your wings shed their corrupted feathers. The exposed bone splinters, cracking apart with wet, nauseating sounds until your once brilliant, magnificent wings lay mangled and useless.

Above your head, your halo dims further. The golden circle crackles like fragile glass, spreading fissures across its surface. Your shaky hands weakly reach for it again, your hands bathed in blood and ichor.

“No,” you whimper, your hot tears mingling with the crimson streaking your face. “I didn’t mean to—”

The halo shatters.

They fall around you in jagged shards, the light snuffed out as they slice into your skin. The room falls deathly silent as the last piece hits the bloodied sheets.

The emptiness that follows is resolute.

“Do you feel it?” Suguru asks softly, leaning in closer, uncaring of the pool of blood staining the sheets. His soft hands brush your crimson cheeks almost tenderly, his amethyst eyes glowing in an aposematic manner. “The silence? He’s gone, little angel. You’ve severed yourself from Him, too.”

Your body shakes with sobs, your voice cracking as you cry out, “No! He’s not—I can still—He’ll forgive me—”

Suguru’s handsome smile, charming as ever, widens. Cruel and taunting. “Forgive you for what?” he muses, his smooth tone dripping with derision. “There’s nothing to forgive, angel,” he whispers. “This is just who you are. Not holy. Not pure. Just flesh. Wanting. Craving. Taking.”

Your lips quiver, your crimson tears flowing freely now. “No,” you whisper out weakly. “That’s not true—I didn’t—”

“You did,” he interrupts smoothly, his smooth thumb dragging over your bloodied lips. “You’ve been pretending all this time, hiding behind His light. But this”—he gestures to your broken wings, your shattered halo, your trembling, tainted body—“is the truth.”

You shake your head, your denial cracking beneath the weight of his words. You wanted to fight him. To refuse. To claw your way back to the light, but deep inside, a part of you knew he was right.

Suguru’s lips curl, his amethyst eyes narrowing in serpentine slits.

“How does freedom taste, angel?”

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citrus-writing · 5 months ago

Note

What about yandere Shizuku non-con??

please🙏

Sorry this isn't super smutty, it’s more buildup than anything? I tried to keep readers gender vague since it wasn't specified

Warnings: non-con (implied), abuse (implied), general yandere stuff

----------

Shizuku is hard to read, she often leaves you wondering what she’s thinking about until she breaks the silence with an outlandish thought- a movie you watched months ago that’s on her mind again, a thing you said once, or something else entirely. She keeps you on your toes, always.

The one things about her that isn't difficult to read is how she feels about you- she reminds you all the time that she loves you, gives you hundreds of little compliments; all just a little too personal, but you don't tell her that, she snuggles up close with you and holds you in place when you try to struggle away. But worst of all is how obvious she is about her desire for something more with you- it’s obvious that she stares at you; eyes wide behind her glasses, and sometimes she’ll reach out to run a hand over your body, whatever’s nearest to her, be it an arm or a leg or the entirety of your spine.

Her touch is sensual, adoring, even. It would be a comfort if she weren't your kidnapper, if you weren't her prisoner and if you hadn't seen her kill without hesitation before. Instead, it sends terror through you because you know it’s only a matter of time until she tires of waiting.

And she does. It’s a day like any other with her- she sleeps in late into the morning, holding you against her body in her sleep, arms wrapped around your torso and legs tangled with yours. You feel her start to stir, the telltale signs of her breathing starting to shift as she rouses from sleep. “Goodmorning.” she greets sleepily, but instead of letting you go, she continues to hold you against her, her breath on the back of your neck. She dips one hand to trace a line down the center of your stomach, inching lower.

You squirm in discomfort, trying to free yourself from her grip, which has tightened to prevent you from getting away. You try to twist out of her grasp, but she holds you still. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't have to, because after a few desperate attempts you start to give in. it’s not that you want this, not even that you're resigned to your fate, but you know what happens when you make her angry, and you weigh your options carefully as thoughts race in your mind.

She gives a soft hum of approval when you stop fighting, something like affection shining in her eyes. She dips her hand below the waistband of the pajama pants you wear, a slow, exploratory touch that lets you know she’s going to be taking her time with this. You almost wish she wouldn't, that this could be over fast.

But it won't be, you know that. No matter how much you beg or plead with her, she isn't going to listen to you because Shizuku could do anything she wants to you. She’s going to take her time with you, taking you apart with her deft hands and her skilled mouth, she’s going to have you begging for her- no matter how hard you try to resist. Her wide eyes look at you, appraising your face, and she must like what she sees because she continues to explore your body in a slow, languid way that tells you you’re going to be here for hours.

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lady-loveluck · 6 months ago

Note

would u share ur fav fics with us?? also anons should drop em here more often

OK I WILL:

A Teenage Werewolf in Hatchetfield. (MICHIE)

The universe hates Richie Lipschitz. (MICHIE)

the devil's after both of us - cannibal chasitys WARNING: Cannibalism, religious trauma.,

Wayward Spunk. (CLAUGERMAN)

Dirty Dudes Get Stuck (MICHIE)

To Dissect a Violent Dog (MICHIE) - WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT, ANGST, DEPRESSION, ALCOHOLISM.

Locker Room Watchers (CLAUGERMAN).

Paul's Presentation (CHAI COFFEE)

In another Universe (MICHIE).

Sleepover Blues (CLAUGERMAN).

Liquid Courage (CLAUGERMAN).

Not a Nerdy Prude (MICHIE) - WARNING: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Non-con, torture, gore, violence, angst, major character death, Richie is having a reaaaally bad time.

In the Janitor's Closet (MICHIE) - WARNING: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Non-con, bullying/torture, urine/pee fetish, angst, Richie is having a real bad time.

Lemme know if you've read any of these and ur thoughts! Also, anons, feel free to share your fav fics!

#loveluck ask #tw: suggestive #nerdy prudes must die #tw: nsft #michie #claugerman #chai coffee #npmd #tw noncon #Fanfic favs

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brainrotlesbian · 1 year ago

Text

Kisses, but make it whump (nsfw under the cut)

- caretaker gently kissing whumpee’s cheek/forehead to show them affection or that they care

- whumper starting every torture session with a kiss (maybe so whumpee associates kisses with pain? 👀)

- rescuer giving whumpee a kiss on the back of the hand as a show of chivalry (fantasy whump or not)

- close whumpees kissing to reassure one another

- a moment where a rescuer close to whumpee allows whumpee to collapse in their arms as they pepper their head and hair with kisses

- intimate/creepy whumper obsessed with kissing up and down whumpee’s body

- whumper leaving whumpee spread-eagle and nude so nothing is off-limits for kissing

- forcing whumpee to give whumper a kiss after any sort of punishment. Or reward for good behavior, if you see fit

- whumpee being able to barter out of torture/punishment with kisses, or more ;)

- whumper building up to more favors by forcing whumpee to perform smaller ones (kisses on the cheek, lips, full French kiss, etc)

- “well if you can convince me well enough with that pretty mouth of yours, I’ll just fuck you instead of torturing you”

#whump #whump prompts #whump thoughts #nsfwhump #tw: suggestive #tw: noncon

205 notes · View notes

ivoryghostyy · 1 year ago

Text

「 image, not mine. sourced from pinterest. 」

「 note: previously known as "love bite" and this is the actual revamp of the oneshot. "destined pair" feels too different from the original, so here's something closer. have fun. ^^ 」

「 tw: possessive, mentions of blood, non-consensual biting, non-consensual drinking of blood, slightly suggestive?, implications of stalking, violence — read with caution, i guess. 」

a dark chuckle reverberates through the winding hallways, filling you with a sinking sense of dread.

"come now, you can't hide from me. while i do enjoy this little game of chase, i'm beginning to lose my patience."

you do your best to calm the erratic pace of your heart, but the pressure is getting to you. you're bleeding out, for god's sake. for all you knew, you wouldn't make it out of this alive.

'how comforting,' you thought, as you basked in your own bitter notions. your mind blanks, however, when you finally notice the footsteps resounding nearby.

they're quiet—you barely heard them—but they're close.

dangerously close.

your first mistake was exposing yourself so soon. it was meant to be a quick mission: locate the target and take him down. but he had noticed you too early—almost instantly, as if he knew the whole time.

that should have been enough of a reason for you to back out, as even the slightest risk could lead to your death. you're dealing with vampires, after all.

yet, absurdly, you continued on.

why? somehow, you didn't know either. 'could be the alcohol. or perhaps, there was something bigger at play here. regardless, you kept your pace, staying at a distance and waiting for an opportunity to strike.

which, to be honest, took a lot longer than you expected. if only you could simply kill the witnesses, too.

he was a social butterfly, easily getting along with every person he conversed with. but then again, why wouldn't he? he manages a large organization, after all. with a handsome grin, he knocked everyone's guards down, leaving them completely vulnerable to his charms.

he's beautiful, you'll give him that.

after a while, he excuses himself, and you tail after him. as an experienced hunter, you've learned to mask your presence; to hide within the shadows cast beneath the soft moonlight.

it was going smoothly.

until it wasn't.

he stopped, turning his head to meet your alarmed gaze. it was brief, but it was enough for you to know: he knew you were there.

ruh-roh raggy.

you knew that playing ignorant wouldn't work on him. you've read his files—despite them highly lacking in details. he does a good job of keeping his information confidential—it's practically part of his job to find out if someone's lying or not!

seduction? he may be hot, but really, all you want to do right now is go to sleep. you are not getting laid tonight. really?

'alright, plan C it is.'

you booked it.

cursing under your breath, you ignore the painful ache of your poor feet. you'll be fine, probably. this isn't your first rodeo. for the record, you've once managed to escape with a broken leg, a stab wound, and a splitting headache. this should be easy! don't be so complacent, dear. plot armour can only do so much.

his looming figure casts a shadow over your guarded frame.

"there you are."

you're stuck. trapped between two unwavering arms as he grinned cheekily at you. his eyes are dilated, and he looks almost.. intoxicated.

"i warned you, didn't i? you can't hide from me, fawn."

fawn.

what a stupid nickname. you sneer.

"i'm impressed, really. not many can land a hit on me."

he refers to the healing cut on his chest, the wound beginning to weave itself back together.

righr now, you couldn't do much. with a bleeding gash running from along your hips, you're basically screwed. your hand clutches the wound, blood trickling through your palm as you struggle to apply enough force to your trembling hand.

god, you feel so weak. his eyes pull you into a trance-like state, and you're barely able to hold yourself together. he leans down with an angelic curl to his lips, reaching up to stroke your cheek.

"how cute. 'still resisting, dear? my, you're quite stubborn."

you grumble under your breath. unfortunately for you, he hears it. glowing optics bore right into you, and for a moment, you thought he'd kill you right then and there.

to your surprise, however, he simply chuckles. you release a breath of relief, shivering from the hot puff of air that brushes your neck.

then you wheeze; a pained gasp fumbling out of your lips as he slams you against the wall. a rough hand curls around your throat, sharp nails poking your skin—that should be enough of a warning to keep you still.

"now," your eyes trail to the side as you shift;

but he moves in, lips only an inch away from yours.

"ah-ah, what are you looking at, fawn? i don't want your attention straying. your gaze is meant only for me."

"shut up, you i-insufferable-" you cough, lightly gasping when the grip on your throat tightens.

"-oversized mosquito!"

…

goddamn it-

"pfft-"

his eyes crinkle as he laughs, and you're completely stunned; mesmerized by how genuine he sounds. seriously, has this guy considered making asmr videos?

"oversized mosquito? is that supposed to be an insult?"

his grip loosens for a moment, but he regains his composure before you can make a move. fuck vampires and their inhuman speed.

"i quite like you. you've always been an entertaining little fawn." he pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his handsome features before he smirks. "i've decided, i'll be keeping you." it shouldn't be a problem. you've always been his.

he smiles, but his eyes are dimly lit, glinting ominously.

"what!? no-" he interrupts you, a sharpened nail digging into the skin of your neck, drawing a few drops of blood.

"i don't think you heard me. see,"

he guides you impossibly closer. his lips now only mere centimetres away from yours. his thumb trails along your jaw as the other wanders up the skin of your thigh, landing on the small of your back. his touch leaves a trail of heat, a shiver crawling up your spine.

"i wasn't asking, fawn."

and in the next moment, you're pinned against the wall. he leans his weight against you, pulling your hands behind your back. his fangs graze your neck, and you can feel your heart beating frantically.

"i'll have you, even if i have to break you in the process."

the dread settles in, and for the first time in years, you're filled with pure, unadulterated fear.

"shh, don't worry, dear. the pain is only for a moment."

you're scared. he's going to bite you. he's going to bite you. as a last-ditch attempt, you move to stun him.

"stay still."

he's quicker.

fangs sink into your skin, and you whimper at the pain. the feeling of your blood being drained, of the unbearable sting of his fangs in your neck, you almost cry from the agonizing discomfort.

but this isn't what you fear the most. no, this doesn't even come close. you're not scared of pain; half your life was spent with pain playing the role of a clingy lover.

what you fear.. is what comes next.

pleasure.

you can't succumb to it. you can't! you can still take him down with what little strength you have left. you need to resist-

his fanks sink deeper, lulling the ache away and replacing it with a heated embrace. your tense muscles relax, and you stifle a guttural moan at the growing heat in your abdomen.

your instincts fight against the sedative effects, still trying to pull you out from drowning in pleasure.

wake up, goddamn it! he'll kill you!

breathing heavily, you once again struggle against his hold, forcing yourself to shove him off.

his jaw clenches, and you flinch. his hand pulls you closer, pressing against your stomach, causing a wave of heat to course through your trembling frame.

you feel so sensitive; almost like you're drunk on aphrodisiac.

as all fight leaves you, an open moan flittering through your lips. your eyebrows furrow. you don't feel the need to resist anymore.

why would you? you're safe with him. he is all you need.

your limbs grow heavy. why're you so tired? you groan, leaning your head back as he moves away. your wobbly legs can barely hold you up, so he takes the liberty of pulling you into his arms.

he grins in content, licking off the stray blood on your neck. you shiver, clutching the fabric of his clothes. 'you're so adorable. all vulnerable and dazed in his hold,' he muses to himself. you're disoriented, unable to think clearly as you nuzzle into his chest.

"look at you, darling. safe and warm, right here with me."

he'll make sure to take care of you. he's not just watching from afar anymore; now, you're finally in his arms.

'finally, mine.'

#₊👻❜﹕phantasy press con.#₊💀❜﹕teratophilia edition #random scenarios #possessive yandere #tw stalking #i dont know what i am doing #scenarios #yeah idk #vampire #slightly suggestive #tw noncon #yandere x reader #vampire x reader #x reader #reader insert #yes

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whump-since-2010 · 7 months ago

Text

Butterfly Whumpee - Inhuman

(Check tags for tws)

Whumpee finished her song, wincing back a cough as her throat scratched on the last note, and she faltered. Her eyes darted to his as a scowl tugged down on the corners of his eyes and lips. She shrank in on herself, the sudden urge to cover her body overcoming her in a moment at his disdain.

Cold exposure pricked beneath her skin, and a shiver raced down her spine. Icy steel of the chain cuffs stinging her flesh as a movement pulled them slack, and she gasped, choking on air.

"Come here."

Whumpee hesitated, trembling as she looked down. She opened her mouth, but the chain around her neck yanked her to her knees

"I said, Come here. Not speak. You're not a person, you're a pet, and pets obey orders."

Whumpee broke into a coughing fit, her throat burning as she shivered.

Whumper's cold fingers found her shoulder and gently trailed from her collarbone to her jaw, and forced her face within a few inches of his nose.

His other hand found the tentacle-like tendrils in place of her hair as his thumb brushed over her lips. "You're a destroyer. You're dead at a lift of my finger. You are mine."

Whumpee tensed, but Whumper yanked her chains tighter and slid his hands to her neck, hard ice on soft golden brown. "Open those wings for me, bug. You know you want to."

Whumpee grunted softly and shuddered into another coughing fit. She flinched away from him, but a clank of chains yanked her back.

His knuckles cracked across her skin in an instant. She cried out, collapsing onto her hands and knees. Blood trickled slowly from her flat nose.

"You're a monster, bug. A destroyer. It's in your name. You were never meant to live. The only reason I kept you is because I like the way you look. The more you disobey me, the uglier you get. First, the legs, now your pretty face. If you don't use those ears of yours, you'll cost nothing by the time I'm done with you."

Whumpee whimpered softly.

"You do sound so sweet when you beg." His nails dug into her tendrils. "You're losing time."

Whumpee's wings trembled open at his threat, and Whumper's face flashed into a smile. She closed her eyes as he moved her body where he wanted it, trailing a hand along the bone of her wing. He pulled her into a kiss, lips whispering over her skin as the words brushed her tongue. "Good girl."

Please comment... I would love it if you did :)

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gottawhumptheblorbo · 20 days ago

Text

We need whumpees who deliberately neglect basic hygiene in an attempt to put off whumper

But once they’re rescued they continue being terrified of bathing and water in general

Caretaker assumes water boarding or mock-drownings are the reason but eventually their heart sinks as they realise the true reason

#whumpblr #whump #whump prompt #intimate whumper #tw: noncon #tw: suggestive #waterboarding #drowning #self neglect

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sneakyblinders · 2 years ago

Text

The Honorable Gangster

A/N: another installment of the courting series of the tommy and his darling wife!au. aka tommy x ofc (bee). this one takes place directly after Under the London Lamp Posts. Tommy is the hero in this one. PLEASE heed the warnings. warnings: language, non-consensual kissing & sexual motives, violence, fighting, blood, not canon, with a happy ending & fluff sprinkled in at the end. sexual themes. 18+. You are responsible for your media consumption! Please do not proceed if you are uncomfortable or if any of the above mentioned warnings will upset you. 5.7k words. I take no credit for the gif! text dividers are from @cottage-writings and I take no credit for those either!

1919

Bee had walked with her head in the clouds for the next few days. When Thomas Shelby had dropped her off at her front door, he’d kissed her hand and asked her to write her phone number down so he could call her. He said he’d call her the next time he was coming to London.

He looked at her through his thick, dark eyelashes and raised her hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles, eyes never leaving hers. “Goodnight, Gorgeous,” he told her, smirking to himself when he noticed her go weak in the knees.

“Goodnight, Thomas,” she said airily, unlocking her front door.

He smirked as she shut the door. When she was safely behind her door, she pressed her back to the door and slid down to the floor, a lovestruck expression on her face.

Betty raced down the hall from her room once she’d heard the door shut. “Well?” she squealed.

“Oh he’s perfect,” Bee said dreamily, legs sprawled out in front of her.

She could hear his heavy footsteps getting farther and farther away as he walked down the hallway and out the doors. Her heart became heavy. A sense of loneliness she’d never felt before descending on her.

“Did he kiss you?” Betty asked.

“No!” Bee exclaimed, cheeks flushing.

“Oh come on,” Betty rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “A man like that is bound to kiss you, so get ready for your first kiss, Missy.”

Bee’s heart quickened. She knew it was true. “He was in the War,” she said, a faraway tone to her voice.

“Heavens, Bee, how old is he?” Betty asked, eyes widening.

“Oh, I think twenty-nine or so?”

Betty chuckled. “Holy hell you’re in for it.”

Bee stood up, walking towards her room. “What do you mean?” she asked, kicking her shoes off.

“A man like that will know what he wants, and will take it and make you love him for it.”

Her stomach did a little flutter. “He was a perfect gentleman.”

“Of course he was! I am just saying to be ready to be with a man.”

“I’m tired, Betty. I’m going to bed.” Bee said dismissively, annoyed that her friend couldn’t let her divulge the information she so badly wanted to without sounding jealous.

On Sundays, Bee’s family had a family dinner. Her siblings gather with her parents and grandfather for dinner, around her mothers dining room table. It was their opportunity to catch up with one another, not allow too much distance despite them all living their own separate lives.

After dinner, her father and mother asked to speak to her. “Bee, Darling, a young man has come to see us about courting you,” her mother said, a sparkle in her eyes.

Bee’s eyes lit up–Thomas! How had he found them? She didn’t care, she only cared that he was wishing to court her!

“His name is Jonathan Sayer,” her father continued, and her face fell downcast. “He is a banker here in London, he comes from a good family, and he’d make an excellent husband, Bee. He will be coming to Grandfather’s birthday party next week so you can meet him.”

“I–I can’t do that,” she said softly, heart cracking in her chest.

“Why not?” her father chuckled.

“I–I met someone last week,” she said softly, not meeting her parents' gaze.

“Bee, Darling, I’m sure whoever you met was a fine individual but Jonathan will make a fine match.” Her father continued, waving her off.

Bee looked to her mother, who gave her a sympathetic look.

Before she left her parents flat that evening, her mother caught her by the arm. “Bee, Darling,” she said. “If this other young man has caught your heart, listen to it. Our family marries for love.”

That night, Tommy called her. “Hello?” She answered the phone.

“Hello, Gorgeous,” that velvety voice said on the other end.

“Thomas,” she said softly, leaning against the wall.

“How are you today?” he asked, fingers drumming on his desk.

“I’m okay,” she said, sighing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting forward in his chair, elbows on his desk.

“My–my father has told me I have a suitor.”

The other end of the line went quiet. All Bee could hear was her heartbeat in her chest. “What do you have to say about it?” he asked, clearing his throat. She could hear his seat squeak as he adjusted his posture.

“I would rather be with you,” she blurted out. She shut her eyes immediately. Stupid girl, why did you say that?

He smiled. “When can I see you?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to meet this suitor on Friday night,” she groaned. She was scheduled to work at the book shop for the next few nights. “At my grandfather’s birthday party.”

“I’ll come then,” he said simply, taking a sip of whiskey.

“You can’t do that!” she said standing up a little straighter.

“Why not?” he asked. “They won’t notice an extra man there, surely.”

“They would if he looks like you do,” she says, her face scrunching after the words left her mouth.

Tommy smirks on the other end of the phone, licking his lips. “I’m not sure if that’s meant to offend or flatter me, Gorgeous,” he flirted.

“Flatter. Definitely flatter,” she told him quickly.

“Where is the party at?” he asked, holding back a laugh. She blurted out the details, for once, not thinking of the consequences. “I’ll be there, Darling. Sleep well. Dream of me,” he flirted.

“Only if you dream of me,” she told him.

“You haven’t left my mind for one moment,” he told her.

Butterflies filled her belly. “Goodnight, Thomas.”

“Goodnight, Gorgeous.”

Friday night came and Bee nervously dressed in her favorite light purple dress. Her father gathered everyone up in the family car and drove them to the countryside, to her grandfather's estate. Her stomach was in knots, thinking of Jonathan–of Thomas.

Cocktail hour was in full swing, the music loud, the guests louder. Mr. Sutton brought Jonathan to Bee. “Darling Daughter, may I introduce Mr. Jonathan Sayer.”

He was handsome enough. Blond hair and light brown eyes, but a scowl so deeply set in his features, she couldn’t shake his coldness. His features paled in comparison to Tommy. “Miss Sutton,” he said, bowing slightly to her, hands clasped behind his back.

“Pleasure,” she said, smiling awkwardly at him.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” her father said, smiling awkwardly at the two of them.

They stood awkwardly before Jonathan blurted out, “My mother intends to marry us soon, something about a good dowry, so we better get the formalities out of the way. I think you’re pretty enough and you look brighter than how you speak. I overheard a few other conversations with your aunts, I think it was. That can be changed with some good literature and not those ridiculous romance books I’m sure you find wonderful,” tears stung at her eyes. “You’re a little too thin for my taste, however,” he says, looking her up and down. She felt herself shrinking. “So eat plenty in the coming months. If everything goes to plan we’ll be on our honeymoon in six months.”

“Excuse me, please, I need a drink,” she says, excusing herself to the drink table.

To her disgust, he followed her. “Allow me,” he said, taking the glass from her hand and pouring her a glass of water. “Now drink it so we can dance.”

She eyed him warily, swallowing down her glass. He took it from her hands and set it on a tray a waiter was carrying, bringing her to the dance floor.

His hand didn’t quite fit well in hers–his fingers were too slender, palms too small. She felt clammy as he pressed his body against hers, whirring her around the dance floor so quickly her head spun. He stepped on her feet a few times, and nearly ran her into another couple.

What felt like an eternity later, a man who Bee couldn’t make out for her dizziness, tapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “May I cut in?” the thick, velvet Birmingham accent. Her vision was still spinning as Jonathan released her reluctantly.

“She’s a terrible partner, good luck, mate,” Jonathan said.

She felt Tommy’s strong arm around her back, his hand taking a hold of hers. His hands were warm, the rest of him ice cold. “Hello, Gorgeous,” he said in her ear, his lips dangerously close to the shell of her ear. He inhaled her perfume and nearly moaned, loving her scent, her body pressed against his.

“Thomas,” she breathed, a smile on her face. “You came.”

“Of course I did. I am a man of my word,” he told her. The song turned slow and he gently changed his pace. “Especially to a beautiful lady.”

She blushed, a bashful smile on her lips. “You look handsome tonight.”

And he did. He wore a white striped shirt with a navy waistcoat and suit. His hair had just been cut and he’d shaved mere minutes before he’d walked out the door. He'd worn his best cologne.

“You outshine me, I assure you,” he whispered in her ear. “Everyone’s been staring at you all night.”

“Have you been?” she asked in an uncharacteristically bold manner.

“Ever since I got here,” he rasped. “Can’t take my fucking eyes off you,” The butterflies came back in her belly, his grip on the small of her back tightening. “Who was dancing with you before?” he asked.

“My suitor,” she ground out. “He was terribly rude to me,” she said, eyes burning thinking of the hateful things he’d said.

“What did he say?” Tommy asked, body tensing.

“He said I was too skinny, that I was pretty enough and that I needed to speak like I had a brain, essentially,” she rattled off. Tommy clenched his jaw.

“You are exquisite,” he told her. “Don’t listen to him.”

“He doesn’t matter anyway,” she said, leaning in closer to him. “You’re the one who matters, Thomas,” she told him.

He closed his eyes and for a moment, he was 16 again. In love for the first time. Maybe this would be the last time.

The dancing came to an end so more food could be served, and Tommy walked over to the table with her. He pulled out her chair for her and she sat down. “I’ll be back with a plate for you, and I,” he said, fingers kneading her shoulder softly. She nodded, stomach in knots as her mother approached, Tommy walking towards the food spread.

“Bee! Bee why were you dancing so closely with that man! You’re supposed to be dancing with Jonathan!” her mother scolded.

“Mother,” Bee whispered, motioning for her mother to come closer. “That’s the other man!”

Her mothers eyes widened. “Bee, lovey, that can’t be him,” she said softly. “That’s Thomas Shelby.”

Bee’s eyes widened. “You know who he is?”

“Darling he’s a gangster,” her mother eyed the room apprehensively before leaning down to her daughter. “He’s the leader of a dangerous gang in Birmingham, how could you keep this from me?”

“I didn’t know, mother! He said he was a businessman–a bookmaker!” Bee said defensively, brain spinning.

Her mother laughed. “Bee, he’s a bookmaker because he’s known for fixing races,” her mother seethed.

“Mother–”

“No, Bee! He is dangerous!”

“He is behind you,” Tommy said, holding two plates of food, standing behind Mrs. Sutton, who was, ironically, standing in front of Tommy’s chair.

“Oh!” Mrs. Sutton exclaimed, quickly moving out of the way. “Mr. Shelby,” she said, jaw clenched.

“Mrs. Sutton, I presume?” he said, handing Bee a plate of food he knew she wouldn’t eat. Her body was alight with nerves.

“Yes. My daughter is quite taken with you, Mr. Shelby, but she is spoken for. This seat is already occupied.” Her mother said, gripping the back of the chair, preventing Tommy from sitting down.

“Mother, please,” Bee tried protesting.

“Oh, here he comes. Here’s Jonathan!” her mother says, a smile spreading on her face. Jonathan approached with his own plate of food, sitting down next to Bee.

Tommy nodded in acknowledgement before taking a seat on her right. “Appears this seat is empty, I’ll just sit here then,” he threw Mrs. Sutton a smug smile, eyes narrowing.

“Flanked by a gentleman on either side, Miss Sutton, you are quite desired I see,” Jonathan seethed, Mrs. Sutton letting out a surprised squeak.

“I need to see to my father, excuse me, please,” Mrs. Sutton said, desperately trying to wrap her head around the scene unfolding in front of her and needing to get away from it.

“I assure you, Mr. Sayers, I am no gentleman,” Tommy said, raising a cigarette to his lips.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Jonathan quipped back.

Bee sank deeper into her chair, biting the inside of her cheek.

“But I do know how to speak to a lady,” Tommy said, leaning into the table, peering around Bee to get a better look at his opponent.

Jonathan scoffed. “Who? Her?” he eyed Bee.

Tommy ran his tongue over his teeth, temper threatening to boil over at any moment. “I need some air, if you’ll excuse me,” Bee said, in a voice so small Tommy almost didn’t recognize her voice. She got up and exited the room, making her way to a terrace off the ballroom.

Jonathan moved to stand. “Sit down,” Tommy rasped, leaning back in his chair. “Give her a minute.”

To his surprise, Jonathan listened, sitting down, his eyes narrowed. “What interest does Gypsy scum like you have in her?” Tommy’s eyebrows raised and he cocked his head to the side. “I know who you are, everyone in this fucking room knows who you are except Bee. She’d be much better served with a normal man, not some psychotic racketeer who has the police in his pocket and whores adorning his bed every night,” Jonathan spat, face turning red.

“You’re right,” Tommy said, not meeting his expression. “She probably would be better served being with a man who wouldn’t put her life in danger, but,” he took a drag off his cigarette. “It should be her choice, shouldn’t it?”

Jonathan scoffed. “She doesn’t know what’s best for her, wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit her in the face. She’s naive and dull–”

Before Jonathan could get another word out, Tommy nearly leapt from his seat, taking a hold of his collar, temper spilled over. “Say one more word about her and I will cut you from ear to ear,” he seethed, teeth bared. “That woman,” he breathed. “That lovely creature will never be yours. Even if she refuses me, she will never have you. You aren’t deserving of her.”

Jonathan smirked. “And you think you are?”

Tommy let go of his collar, standing up and walking towards the terrace.

Bee stood, her hips pressed against the wrought iron railing of the terrace, head in her hands, staring into the gardens. “Darling,” Tommy rasped low, a hand gently resting on the small of her back.

She turned immediately to him, face full of anger. “You should’ve never come here,” she said. His heart panged in his chest, the familiar ache growing within him. “I’ll be married to Jonathan in less than six months,” she said, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Tommy told her, a hand gently resting on her arm, rubbing it soothingly.

She wrenched away from him, scoffing in annoyance. “Get away from me, Thomas!” she said, not looking at him. “You lied to me.”

His heart sank in his chest, seeing the pain on her face. “Lied?” he asked, a lump forming in his throat.

She laughed incredulously. “A bookmaker, a businessman who works with horses,” she chuckled. “Good thing I don’t read the papers, hm? How about a gangster? A man who fixes races,” she sneered.

Tommy sighed, digging his hands in his pockets. “I was going to tell you–”

“When? When, Thomas? After I was hopelessly in love with you? Unable to separate my heart from yours? I’ve spent all week dreaming of you and you leave these details out! We spoke for hours that first night!” she said, tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks.

Tommy cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

She looked at him, his eyes full of regret. “I should’ve never let you take me to dinner that night,” she said, storming back into the ballroom.

And he let her.

“Tommy! Tom! Thomas, hello?” Polly yelled, snapping her fingers in front of her nephew's face. “Are you in another world over there?” she asked, noticing the faraway look in his eyes.

“What were you saying, Pol?” he asked, refocusing his attention.

She sighed. “Oh for fucks sake, when are you going to tell me what the hell has gotten into you?” she asked, exasperated.

It had been three weeks since he’d heard from Bee. She hadn’t answered the phone. He’d sent flowers three times a week for the last three weeks, each arrangement more elaborate than the one before it. He’d sent handwritten notes with them, begging her for forgiveness, asking her to call him, or answer the damn phone.

“It’s nothing, Pol,” he sighed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who is she?”

He sighed, letting his head thump back against the backrest of the plush chair he was sitting in. “This girl I met in London.”

Polly raised her eyebrows. “What’s wrong with her?”

He sighed. “Not a fucking thing,” he breathed, striking a match and bringing it to his cigarette. “I didn’t tell her what I do exactly and she found out somehow, probably from this bastard that she’s supposed to be courting, or her busybody mother, but the suitor–he speaks terribly about her.”

“Then why is he courting her?” Polly asked.

Tommy shook his head. “Fuck if I know.”

“Well either go to her and beg for forgiveness or stop sulking. You’re making everyone miserable,” Polly told him, standing up from her chair and walking out of the room.

“Fuck,” he grumbled.

“What the hell are we going to London for again, Tom?” John grumbled as he, Arthur and Tommy all piled in the car together.

“Business,” Tommy ground out as Arthur turned the key in the ignition.

“Yeah, fucking business about a woman,” Arthur said in jest.

“Ah fuck,” John rolled his eyes.

“While I am handling my own business, you two are going to check on the pubs we’re paid to look after. Make sure everything is as it should be. Shouldn’t be long.”

The trio rode to London in silence.

It was Sunday, and in true Sutton family fashion, the whole family was gathered around the dinner table–this week there was an additional guest. A Mr. Jonathan Sayer.

Dinner was progressing rather awkwardly, Bee’s inability to separate her mind from the two-facedness of this man overwhelming her. He was sweet and attentive in front of either of their parents but rude and dismissive when it was the two of them. She had tried telling her father, who only waved her off. “If we left you to your own devices to choose a man, you’d be with that bastard Tom Shelby,” he cackled. “We’re doing what’s best, Darling, I assure you.”

At the mention of Thomas’ name, her blood boiled. She hadn’t spent a day not thinking about him–he’d made it quite hard with the multiple bouquets of flowers he’d sent her over the last few weeks. Betty had sneezed nonstop for all the pollen. But Bee couldn’t bring herself to throw any of them away.

She warred in herself about Thomas Shelby. She was enamored by him, curious about this man still. His attention had been nice. The way he looked at her. Like she changed his world somehow. She could smell his cologne if she closed her eyes and tried hard enough. But she was so mad at him–that he wouldn’t have told her about what he truly did. One would think that if a lady was getting involved with a gangster, the said gangster, if he was truly as enamored with her as she was with him, would value her safety and disclose this pertinent information to her. But no. He didn’t!

Her mind circled in these patterns of rationalizing his behavior, and then becoming angry with him again.

After dinner and dessert, Jonathan asked her to take a walk. She reluctantly agreed. He led them down the stairs and to the alleys. Suddenly, when he figured they were out of sight enough, he pushed her against the brick, her vision going starry, the back of her head hitting the brick.

“If you’re not good for anything else,” he sneered, hands pinning her shoulders to the brick. “You will give me pleasure as my wife,” he growled, lips pressing roughly against hers.

Bee tried to squirm away from him, trying to speak to him, tell him she’d rather take it slowly, rather kiss him gently, but his strength had her pinned against the brick, unable to move.

Tommy had asked around London and had graciously been told where the Sutton family home was. He had remembered Bee telling him on Sunday evenings they all had dinner together and was delighted at his good timing and luck. He approached the row of buildings he had been told the Suttons lived in, when he heard a whimper. “No, no, please, not this way, please, Jonathan,” his blood ran cold, hearing that sweet voice he’d longed to hear.

He couldn’t make out Jonathan’s reply but he quickened his pace, walking towards the alleys.

The rage that Tommy tried so bloody hard to stifle boiled over. “Hey!” he called, voice deep and booming from his chest, echoing off the brick walls that surrounded them. Jonathan and Bee’s heads turned towards him. “Take your fucking hands off her!” Tommy yelled, removing his cap from his head.

“Or what?” Jonathan countered as Tommy continued to stalk closer.

Tommy delivered a crunch to the man's jaw, a sickening crunch of teeth giving him chills. Bee tumbled to the floor of the alley, her dress askew on her body.

“Thomas!” Bee yelled.

Blood roared in Tommy’s ears as he hunched over Jonathan, hands gripping his neck. “She will never be yours,” Tommy ground out before slashing his blade across Jonathan’s left eye. Bee screamed at the blood. It was everywhere. Jonathan screamed in agony, clutching his eye as Tommy stood up. “By order of the Peaky fucking Blinders,” He shook the blood from his cap and approached Bee gently. “Come on, Darling,” he held a hand out to her.

She was shaking as Tommy helped her to her feet, his strong arms and hands holding her against him. She began to cry, her body suddenly cold despite the warm day. “Thomas,” she cried as he led her away from where Jonathan lay on the floor screaming still.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Tommy told her, holding her closer to him. “He’ll never touch you again.”

Once they were in the sunlight, out of the alleyway, she nearly collapsed in his arms. “Thomas,” she cried. “Why?” tears ran down her face.

In one swift motion, he hoisted her into his arms, carrying her up the steps to her parents flat. He nearly kicked the door in, fuming with anger. “What the hell–” Mr Sutton said. “What have you done to her?”

Tommy walked her over to the sofa, where he laid her down. She looked at her father with tears in her eyes. “He’s done nothing but be honorable, Father,” she cried.

“Why is there blood on you? Where is Jonathan?” her mother chimed in, walking over to her daughter.

“I was coming here tonight to beg for your daughter's forgiveness,” Tommy started. “And when I approached the flats, Mr. Sayer was trying to take advantage of your daughter,” Tommy told them, jaw clenched.

Mrs. Sutton cradled her daughter against her chest. Bee sniffled, “He saved me.”

Tommy buried his hands in his pockets, eyeing the floor, waiting for an accusation or a demand to remove himself from the flat.

“Thomas,” Mr. Sutton said, as they heard ambulance sirens in the distance. “Thank you.”

Mr. Sutton approached Tommy, holding his hand out. Tommy shook it, jaw still clenched. “I don’t want to be with Jonathan, Father,” Bee said quietly.

Mr. Sutton shook his head. “You will never see him again, Bee Darling.”

Tommy eyed Bee, that look of adoration in his eyes. “I hope you can forgive me, Darling. But even if you don’t, I wouldn’t have changed what I did today.”

And he turned on his heel and left.

The first half of the week came and left. There was news that Jonathan Sayer lost his eye. Tommy smiled to himself when Arthur told him.

It was half past three in the afternoon, Tommy was shuffling through endless papers, stacks of money, letters, invoices. A secretary he couldn't remember the name of, Joanna maybe? Knocked on the door. “Mr. Shelby?” he looked up from his paperwork, an annoyed look in his eyes. “There is a woman here for you–she says to call her Bee? Sutton I think she said.”

Tommy never stood up so quickly. “Send her in! Eh! Now!” he demanded, straightening his waistcoat, tucking his tie down into it, running a hand through his hair.

The secretary scrambled from her awkward position in the doorway. She returned with Bee trailing behind her. She looked angelic, ethereal in the orange afternoon light that flooded through the frosted windows of the Shelby Company Limited Office. “Mr. Shelby, Miss,” Joanna said, shutting the door behind her.

“Thomas,” Bee said, expression unreadable.

“Hello, Gorgeous,” he drawled, exhaling smoke. He looked so handsome, she thought to herself. His shoulders looked even broader, arms even stronger, without his suit jacket on. His sleeve garters accentuated the muscle that she knew rippled beneath the fabric of his shirt. His hair was rumpled, almost as if he’d been running an anxious hand through it all day. Which he had. “What brings you to Birmingham?” he asked as she approached his desk.

She sat down in one of the plush leather chairs sitting on the other side of his desk. “You.”

He felt his neck flash hot, her dark, gorgeous eyes boring into him. “Me, hm?” he said, sitting down in his chair.

“Yeah,” she said, nostrils flared, lips in an angry line. “You and your bloody flowers and notes and the fact that I can’t stop thinking about you,” she confessed, finally diverting her gaze. “You and that stupid look on your face I can’t stand it!” she shouted, standing up, crossing her arms in front of her chest. His eyes were soft as they followed her while she began to pace back and forth behind the chairs opposite his desk. A small smile formed on his lips. “Stop looking at me like that!” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides.

He stalked over to her, face dangerously close to hers. “Would you like for me to look at you how that bastard your family wanted to marry you off to, looked at you? Hm? Rather look at you like a conquest, not a woman to be desired? To be seduced properly? To be worshiped, adored, cherished? I can look at you like a conquest but you are far more to me than just that. So if you want us to fuck,” he raised his eyebrows, licking his lips. “We can, right now. Right here, bent over my desk, and I’ll throw you to the curb like last week's paper when I’m finished,” she huffed out an angry breath. “Or if you’d rather, I can continue to look at you the way I have since you made me drop my fucking whiskey in that damn London street,” he took her head in his hands. “And spend the rest of my life showing you why I look at you the way I do.”

His lips ghosted over hers, barely brushing together. “Thomas,” she said softly, a hand coming up to touch his arm. “You don’t mean that.”

“Darling,” he whispered, removing his hands from her face and dropping to his knees in front of her. “Forgive me. Give me another chance, and I promise you, I will never lie by exclusion again,” Tears came to her eyes. She shut her eyes quickly, as to not see the pleading look in his eyes. “If you didn’t come here to tell me you want to be with me, then what did you come all the way down here for, hm?”

Her hand cupped his jaw gently, thumb rubbing his cheekbone softly. “Nothing but that, Thomas. Absolutely nothing.”

He stood to his feet, pressing his forehead against hers, smiling like an idiot. “Does this mean I have to formally ask your father to court you?” he asked.

She swatted at his chest playfully. “If you want to go about this as a gentleman, then yes,” she giggled.

“If I were a gentleman, I don’t think I’d want to kiss you so terribly right now,” he breathed.

“Well,” she said, a flirty tone in her voice. “You don’t always have to be a gentleman. You can always start this evening.”

He chuckled, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up towards his. “I’ll start this evening then, Miss Sutton.”

He brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, one hand on her cheek, the other on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. Her hands rested on his chest, melting against him. Tommy inhaled her perfume, bringing his hand down from her face to crush her body further against him. Wanting, needing her closer.

She sighed into the kiss, not wanting it to end. His lips were soft and he smelled of tobacco and whiskey and ink and cologne and never in her life had she smelled something so intoxicating as Thomas Shelby.

He pulled away reluctantly, every ounce of discipline in his mind and body being put to test. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he rasped, forehead resting against hers.

She was breathless, heart skipping a beat in her chest. “Thomas Shelby,” she giggled as he tried to reach for her lips again.

“Yes?”

“I think we may have an audience,” she giggled, noticing several blurry figures outside of the window.

He turned around and cursed under his breath. “Oui! Gimme a minute!” he shouted, and the figures scattered back to their respective desks and offices. “They’re so fucking nosey,” he mumbled. “Where was I?”

She pulled his neck closer to her face, nails scratching at the short hair at the back of his head. “Somewhere around here,” she smiled at him.

He picked her up and carried her to the chaise in the office, sitting her in his lap. “I don’t think I can ever let go of you,” he breathed, his hands running over the fabric of her skirt, dangerously close to her bum.

“Then don’t,” she told him. And he crashed his lips to hers.

The next evening, Tommy arrived at the Sutton family’s flat in London. He knocked on the door, heart in his hands. Mrs. Sutton opened the door, a pleased expression on her face. “Mr. Shelby, come in.”

He walked in the front room where Mr. Sutton sat, a stern expression on his face. “Mr. Shelby,” he greeted coldly.

“Evening, Mr. Sutton,” he drawled, taking a seat on the chair opposite Mr. Sutton. “I have come to ask your permission to court your daughter.”

The older man snarled. “I guessed as much. You’ve got all these ideas in her head about romance running rampant in her mind. I believe in love, Mr. Shelby, I just don’t believe a man like you is capable of it.”

Tommy nodded. “I won’t disappoint you, or your daughter, Mr. Sutton.”

Mrs. Sutton joined the two of them with cups of tea. “I don’t really see what someone like you wants with someone like her. Honestly, Mr. Shelby, you have plenty of women at your disposal.”

“None of them are her,” Tommy said simply, jaw clenched. “I assure you, all the days of her life, she will be safe with me.”

The older man scoffed. “You talk as though you wish to marry her,” Tommy’s eyes grew serious. “You can’t be serious. Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy took a deep breath out. “Yes. She is young and she is beautiful and she is elegant and intelligent and innocent and everything I am not, but I have not gone a day, a moment without thinking of her since I met her. I am not an honest man, but my intentions with her are honest. I do not wish to sully her reputation or lay with her and kick her to the side. If she will have me, it would be an honor to walk beside her.”

Mrs. Sutton was frozen, a hand to her chest, tears in her eyes. Mr. Sutton rolled his eyes. “Aah, hell,” he sighed, reaching a hand out. “You have my blessing, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy all but ran to Bee’s flat, a few blocks from her parents after his conversation with them was finished. “Darling!” he shouted from the street. She heard him through the open window and waved at him to come up. Betty was at the book shop tonight, so the flat was empty besides her.

She flung the door open and he pulled her into his chest, hands on her hips before spinning her into the air. “Thomas!” she giggled as he held her, arms encircling her thighs. She looked down at him, holding his head in her hands. “Thomas, did he say yes?”

“Reluctantly,” Tommy told her breathlessly. She removed his hat from his head, tossing it to the entryway table.

“Thank you for asking like a gentleman,” she told him, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll make an honorable gangster out of you yet,” she giggled as he set her down gently.

“I’m afraid I’m the one who’s going to take everything that’s honorable about you and throw it out the window,” he nearly growled, a hand gripping her hip.

“Go ahead,” she challenged, boldly pressing her lips to his with a smile.

He was done for. Done for and he knew it. But he was happy. Fuck. He was happy.

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