Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader
Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!
Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.
But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.
You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.
Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!
Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network
Youâve heard the storiesâflames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.
You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. Youâve done well. Itâs why youâve been given this taskâa pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.
The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heaves would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choiceâthough you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.
Maybe thatâs why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.
Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many âgiftsâ that have set you apartâthe way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldnât be explored. Finally, itâs all paid off.
OrâŠat least thatâs what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.
Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.
You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. Itâs what youâve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.
The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.
Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.
âTo be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.â
Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if youâre walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.
You knew to expect this pain, but itâs different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.
Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.
An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. Itâs small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but itâs there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, itâs there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.
Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.
You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.
Thenâthrough burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.
The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.
Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though thereâs a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.
Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. Itâs built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.
Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. Itâs a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. Theyâre littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realizeâ
Hemlock
A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in itâs refined beautify, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.
You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.
With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.
While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.
You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.
The monolithâs base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sightâthis is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.
Youâre struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.
On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no emulate capable of manipulating time.
It is a book.
A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.
Such a simple relic, but you feel itâs dark power from your spot at the altar.
Youâve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.
Do not open it.
Do not look at it for longer than necessary.
Do not look inside.
These are your rulesâyour absolutes. And yetâŠ
Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldnât feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.
Do not look at it for longer than necessary.
You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.
Itâs temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.
Itâs quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along itâs ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through itâs own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. Thereâs a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.
But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.
Do not open it.
You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.
But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and itâs right here.
In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.
âFather,â you whisper, voice shaking. âGive me the strength against temptation.â Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. âGuide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pureâŠâ
But even as you pray, your body rebelsâyour fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. Thereâs a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this onceâlook inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.
Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. Youâre no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darknessâeasily tempted and consumed.
Youâre not damned, youâre not, youâre notâ
âWhat do we have here?â
The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.
Youâre not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.
But youâre met with nothingâjust the empty garden path you came from.
When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.
He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.
He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.
The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal handsânavy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like heâs been waiting for you.
Heâs beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memoryâflashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.
He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. Youâve seen himâor you think you haveâconvinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.
And in your dreams tooâdreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. Youâd wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.
Perhaps thatâs why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps thatâs why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?
Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.
But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those âcoincidencesâ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?
You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.
âOur Father who art in Heaven,â you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. âHallowed be thyââ
The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.
âThat name,â he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, âholds no power here.â His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.
He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.
He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.
This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. Youâve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.
Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.
But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.
âHow interestingâŠâ The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. âAn angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely thereâs a rule about that, is there not?â
You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.
âGive it back!â Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.
A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isnât the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.
âNo, I donât think I will,â he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. Heâs giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.
âW-well, youâŠâ you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You canât see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.
The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.
âDemon,â you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.
His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.
âThat is not my name.â He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. âThough, I suspect you already know what it is.â
Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.
âI donâtâIâm here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.â
âThey sent you to steal this relic,â he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.
âI would not steal.â
âComing to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.â
You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.
âI was invited.â
Youâve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. Thereâs a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But youâre afraidâwhether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerousâyou still donât know.
âI-I was chosen,â you insist, despite what you feel.
âOh, Iâm sure you were.â His head tilts as he regards you.
The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. âTake it. Return to your divine purpose.â
You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.
You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you untilâ
The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.
âThatâs notââ you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that youâre trying to deny.
The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers untilâ
The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.
âStop this!â Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.
âIâm not doing anything.â His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. âBut why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demonâs realm? Why alone? Why you?â
Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but itâs more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.
âThe relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilitiesââ
âYour abilities,â he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, âthe ones that theyâve tried to suppress. The ones that theyâve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and youâve been given this divine purpose?â
The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.
âThey finally saw my worth,â you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. âI am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.â
Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.
âLies.â
Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. âI would not lie!â
âNeither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.â
âNo.â
âThere is no relic.â The tome in your hands disappears, itâs solid form no longer tethered to existence.
âGive itââ
âThere is no mission,â he presses on. âThere is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.â
âTo youâŠâ
âAn offering, little angel.â
The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.
âNo. They would never sacrifice someone. Theyâthey wouldnâtâthey wouldnât do that to me.â
The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.
The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.
âFather! Iâve retrieved the relic! Iâm home!â
But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesnât even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, youâve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.
âH-hello?â you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. âI-I said Iâve brought the relic.â Silence. âHello?!â You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?
You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.
âPlease,â you whisper, eyes stinging. âWill someoneââ
âThey will not open the doors, little angel,â the demon speaks from behind you.
You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.
Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?
âPerhaps it is a mistake,â you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. âWhy would they do this to me?â
You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. Thereâs a flicker of something that crosses his faceâamusement? Maybe pity?
âThey have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.â
The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.
âThey fear you, little angel,â he continues, voice softening. âYour potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.â
You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. âI will not.â
The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. âSuch defiance,â he purrs. âItâs quiteâŠalluring.â
You canât help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. âI will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.â
âLike me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?â His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. âYou deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.â
You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.
âCome now, my dear.â The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.
âI can smell it on you,â he continues, his voice a silken caress. âThe insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.â
The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.
âDo you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.â
He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if youâve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.
âYou pluck your true self,â he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. âBut they only grow back stronger, donât they?â
A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.
âEven soâŠI cannot leave?â
He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.
âYou have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.â
Your eyes bubble with tears. Itâs an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. Thereâs a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.
âIf I stayâŠwhat will you give me?â you ask, your voice small and defeated.
The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.
âYou already think in ways that will benefit yourself, donât you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.â The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. âAnything at all.â
You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.
You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. Itâs unbecoming of an angel, theyâd say, a physical manifestation of want. But youâve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.
âAnything?â
He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.
âI wantâŠâ you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. Youâve never given it a true voice, and now that youâve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.
The demonâs eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. âYou wish to read the tome.â
You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.
âTake it,â he urges in a seductive whisper. âIt is yours.â
You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, itâs feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words youâve always wanted.
When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realmâits history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.
From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.
âThis is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.â He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. âThere is so much more I can show you,â he whispers in your ear again. âWould you like that?â
Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.
Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.
He takes you back to where you began, the realmâs outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as soulsâhumans that you recognize from your years of observation.
âDo you remember her?â the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. âThe woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.â
You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.
âYou watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.â His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. âHeaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.â
âHow do you give purpose if you are a demon?â
The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. âIt is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.â
Each soul that you pass triggers a memoryâstruggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarityâhe was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.
âYouâve been watching me then,â you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.
âIt is my nature,â he rumbles from next to you. âYou understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.â His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. âHere, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.â
Power.
A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heavenâs sterile authority.
The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.
âEasy, my dear,â he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. âThe first taste of true power always overwhelms.â Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.
Every soulâs story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.
âIâŠâ you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.
âWhat else would you like?â he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. âEarthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.â The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. âEven something as simple as this.â
Youâve never had wineâitâs forbiddenâat least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and richâŠyour mouth waters.
âFreedom to roam where you wish.â
Glimpses of different realms flash byâclouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the landsâplaces youâve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.
His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. âOr perhapsâŠâ Another shift. A dark room you remember faintlyâthrough gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize itâs you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.
Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing thatâs ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the sceneâto the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.
He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after nightâyour grace singing, skin hot and sweatyâessence coating your thighs.
âIââ you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. âThis is wrongâŠâ
His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. âYour body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?â
âNo.â
âYes.â
The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.
âEven your grace recognizes where you truly belong.â He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. âHere. With me.â
His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.
âEvery dream they tried to bury,â his hands trail up your thighs, âevery desire they made you forgetâŠâ he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. âAll of it has lead to this moment. To me.â
âIââ you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.
âYou were meant for this realm,â he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. âI will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.â You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. âYouâve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.â
His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. âAnything you want,â he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of itâs rapid flutter, âyou will have, little angel.â His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. âBut you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.â
You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. âI should notâŠâ
âSurrender,â he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. âLet me worship you.â A kiss to your collarbone. âYou will never be denied again.â His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. âSubmit to what you have always wanted.â
The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything youâve always wanted, could be given to you right now.
All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.
Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.
For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize heâs waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreamsâŠ
âPlease,â the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.
His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. âSay it properly, little angel.â His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. âTell me.â
Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. âI wantâŠI will to surrender.â
You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. Itâs the first time youâve ever kissed, and itâs as euphoric as youâve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.
The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.
He tastes like he smellsâgreen tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. Itâs intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.
What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.
Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demonâs large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.
He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.
A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, theyâre warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.
His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.
âYou taste wonderful, little angel,â he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. âBut I must taste more.â
He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. Itâs longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.
He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.
You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.
Youâve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.
âLook at how much you give me,â he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that youâve sunken your fingers into at night.
You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demonâs broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.
With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.
âPlease,â you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.
His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.
Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.
He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.
âBeautiful,â he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your tasteâtangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. âBut I must have all of you to make this complete.â
All of you?
You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widenâheâs definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.
Heâs beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. Heâs impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.
He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and thereâs a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.
He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though heâs tall, youâre able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.
Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.
You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.
As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.
âMy angel,â he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. âThat pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.â
The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.
The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.
He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. Itâs a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.
The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if youâre being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.
One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.
âPerfect,â he breathes against your shoulder. âLook how well you take me.â His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.
You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.
The demonâs nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until youâre not sure where he stops and you begin.
The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.
âThatâs it,â he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.
You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.
âTransform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.â
âYes,â you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and youâre falling, youâre falling, youâreâ
The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as youâre bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.
He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.
He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.
What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.
The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.
You donât know why, you donât know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.
âPlease, please, Father,â you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. âForgive me.â
âWe will have none of that,â he warns, out of breath. âYou seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.â
His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. âKeep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.â He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. âIn your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesnât she?â
You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.
âIâve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. Iâve seen the way your pupils dilate. Iâve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this donât you?â
You try to whisper your Fatherâs name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.
âYou wonât say his name here anymore. Not in my realmâin our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.â
Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.
The monolith quickens, a hummingbirdâs wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.
Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.
âI canâtââ you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. âPlease.â
âPlease what?â he groans.
âMore, please more, more, more,â you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.
âSay my name,â he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. âLet the skies above hear who you belong to now.â
You donât know where the name comes from. Heâs never given it to you. Youâve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, youâve always known all along. Known him.
âNanami,â it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. âNanami, pleaseââ
His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.
The monolithâs pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.
âYou were an offeringâa gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now youâre mine. And your Father sent you to me,â he growls against your throat. âMy dark goddess.â
His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.
âLet go. Surrender to me completely.â
âYes, yes, yes!â
That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.
All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.
You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.
You canât breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.
Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.
Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.
âIâm yours,â you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanamiâs eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. âIâm yours, Nanami.â
âTake my essence, little angel,â he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. âOne day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.â
Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.
âYes, Nanami,â you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.
His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.
He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.
He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.
He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverseâwashing away heavenâs hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.
You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.
He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.
Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly nowâthe way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.
He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.
The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, theyâre identical in height and grandeurâa statement of what he promised youâequal rule.
Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.
He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.
Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. âYou look magnificent,â he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.
With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.
Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.
The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanamiâs lips to your palm once more.
As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.
It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.
jimmyeatworldofficial
gracieabrams
yousharknotpass
2087
titsay
prguitarman
ellievsbear
