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massiv3tr33p3rsona · 2 months ago

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Remember You | Stack X Valerie (Black Fem Vampire OC) / Sammie X Pearline X Valerie

Home Part II.

Pairing(s): Elias ‘Stack’ Moore (Sinners) x Valerie (Black Fem Vampire OC) (Woman in Top Right: Nicole Beharie) and Valerie x Pearline (Sinners) x Sammie ‘Preacher Boy’ Moore (a smidge because this goes into Part III!)

Summary: After avoiding being captured by vampire hunters, Remmick and almost killed by a Klan member, Valerie goes to a juke joint in the middle of nowhere. As she spends time scooping around and flirting with Pearline & Sammy, she runs into Stack, who co-owns the club with Smoke. They have a conversation, where they reminisce about that night they spent together back in Chicago before she was transformed.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ (MINORS DNI!), a bit lengthy, slight bisexuality, oral (m receiving, f receiving), titty sucking, choking, slapping, riding, squirting, creampie, slight angst, vampirism, emotional feelings, flashback, mentions of death/rebirth, suicide, and racism, violence, blood, cursing, smoking, drinking, slight spoilers, slight spirituality

Dividers Made By: @uzmacchiato

Parts: I • III • IV • Epilogue • Prequel

A/N I: Annie, Smoke, and Lucinda returns, with Slim, Sammie, Pearline, Cornbread, Mary, Bo, and Grace making their first appearances. And please ignore that Valerie is eating some of the catfish. Didn’t know garlic powder was in the seasoning. And I’m aware that the Saint Valentine’s Day massacre was during the day, but it sounds better at night for some reason. Also may have went a little too crazy with the violence in one section.

THIS IS MY WORK, SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL IT

Its night time as the dark forest and dirt road glows under the pale moonlight, the cool evening air breezing. But, it’s disturbed by movement, particularly running.

Running down the road is a beautiful brownskin woman in a torn up floral dress and white sandals, hair loose and fear all over her. She constantly turns around to make sure no one is following her, being prepared to fight back if necessary.

Just about two hours ago, she was almost kidnapped by a devil incarnated vampire named Remmick, his wife and two other members, looking to start their own community of invoking evil into bodies to control.

Little did they know, Valerie was one herself.

About three and a half years ago, on a rainy night in downtown Chicago, Valerie was turned into one by her maker, Eros, after taking her own life by jumping off the bridge into the Chicago River and washing up on a dock. She learned how to live, behave, and eat like a vampire while recovering, even got the gift of hearing most people’s thoughts, which helped with having perfect survival and hunting skills.

Which lead to issue #2: an almost deadly encounter with the local Choctaw Vampire Hunters.

An hour after getting away from Remmick, she was startled by a group of Native men on horses passing by, causing her to fall and tear her dress in some areas. As she got up, she hissed at the horses and shown her fangs, scaring the animals back. One of them knocked their rider off, making all of them block Valerie from leaving, cornering her.

As she realized he was carrying things that can kill a vampire and has no way out, one of them jumps down to question her. Just as he was getting close, he gets ambushed by some shadow, with the rest of the man being attacked similarly. She looks up and sees Remmick floating in the air, blood covering his mouth and eyes glowing red.

“Join us, Valerie. You’ll fit in nice……you already one of us. I can smell your cinnamon magnolia scent from here.” he said, lowering himself to ground.

Valerie picks up a glass of an unidentifiable liquid from one of the deceased riders and throws it at him, hitting his arm. He lets out a hiss and begins rolling on the ground to get it off, giving her an opportunity to run away as fast as she could.

As she was getting further and further into the forest, she can see more Choctaw Hunters pulling up through the view of trees, making sure to avoid them while they past. Their blood scent roams through her nose, but she refuses to let her hunger cost her life and continued on. Now here she is, not where to do next now that she’s lost.

“Where am I gonna go..” she whispers, walking on the side.

Suddenly, she hears a car slowing driving up, making her walk on the side to avoid getting hit, not looking back. The car, a black Bentley 8 Litre, passes by, not seeing her. It stops and begins reversing, making her pause her movements.

Hiding her hands behind her back, she extends them into long and sharp fingers, preparing to defend herself as the car stop in front of her. The windows rolls down, with the driver revealing itself as a older, overweight white man, wearing a black and white plaid suit and gold framed glasses.

“Good evening, young lady. Are you lost?” he asked in a Southern Mississippi accent, looking her up and down.

As she walks up, she looks at the inside of his car, making sure nothing seemed off about it.

“Maybe.” as she moved her hair to the side, her fingers back to normal. “You know where I’m at?”

“Just outside of Clarksdale, north to be exact.. Never seen folks like you around here.” he replied.

“Folks, huh….” she said, side-eying him.

“Not like that!” as he holds his hands up in a surrendering way. “Normally, they travel mostly west or east. I can take you there if you like. You look like you need something.”

Valerie looks at the man with a highbrowed expression, thinking about his offer.

He seems like he knows where to take me, she says in her head, hearing his heart beating accompanying as background noise.

Hope she doesn’t realize my actual plan if she gets in, he says in his head, which she hears.

Valerie is appalled by this, very shocked that he has pure malicious attention behind his innocent facade he has on.

You’re so dumb and oblivious for saying that. But now, I have my dinner for the night, she says, smiling a bit.

“You know if any fabrics store is open this hour? I do need a new dress.” she asked, leaning against the window so her breasts are in his view.

“N-no, ma’am. We close at 10 every night due to curfew.” he said as he looks at them. “However, my late wife has a lot of dresses she left behind at the house. I can lend some to you and drop you off downtown if you’re comfortable with that.” he said, having a profaned look on his face.

“….deal.” she utters instantly.

“Good! Hop right on in so I can get to moving.” he said as he opens the door for her.

Valerie gets in, closing the door and putting on her seatbelt as the man begins driving, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Name’s Harold.” he said, making her look at him.

“Valerie.” she replied.

“Valerie, huh? You don’t sound like you from arounds here.” he said as he steps on the pedal a bit.

“You would be correct. I’m from Chicago originally.”

Great. Another nig from there coming down here to infect the city more. he utters in his head.

Racist idiot. “…..got something against Chicago?” she asked, making him snap out of his contraction.

“Huh?”

Valerie laughs, facing forward as she adjusts into her seat, noticing a KKK blond drop symbol patch on his dashboard.

And you’re a member of the Klu Klux Klan? Wow, you’re gonna be an easy kill tonight, she said in a delightful tone.

“You went silent as soon as I said that.” she replied.

“Oh no! My friend just sold something to two black brothers from out there today, so you’re like the third one I’m running across.”

“Mm.”

“What brings you out here?”

“Wanted to start over as I outgrew living up there. I’m going to miss the night life though.”

“Night life?” as he scoffed. “You prefer that more than day time?”

“Day time drags on too long for my liking. Night life brings out everyone. Even the *bad.” she says at she looks at him.

“What, you liking hanging around those types of people?”

“Not really.” as she stretched out her legs, feeling his gaze.

She rubs her hand over her calf, slowly trailing her fingers up her body until she stops at her neck, hearing his heart beating going fast.

“Only the ones who don’t mind following under my control.” she added, saying it in a seductive tone.

Harold stares with lust, accidentally jerking the car wheel, which almost ran the vehicle off the road, going back to paying attention to it.

God I need to get her home fast, he said in his head.

Valerie smirks, patiently waiting for them to arrive to his house so she can indulge him and no one will come and help.

About 30 minutes later, the car pulls up to a red bricked house, with a roofed garage attached to it.

Harold parks the car and gets out, quickly walking to Valerie side to help her out of the car.

“Thank you, Harold. I really do appreciate you for this.” she says as she grabs his hand and steps out.

“No worries, me lady.” he replied, making the both of them laugh.

They walk to the door, with Harold looking through his keys, trying to find the house one. Valerie looks around the area, hearing a loud noise in the distance.

“Do you know what that noise is?” she asks, looking at him.

“Probably the brothers’ new club.” he replied, sticking the key in to unlock the door.

Which will be a killing field for us come tomorrow, he says, laughing as he opens the door, stepping aside.

You won’t make it and neither will they, she says as she walks in, giving him a smile.

Harold steps in and closes the door, turning on the lights to brighten the room. Valerie looks around, taking in the white walls, black furniture, and red items design.

Yeah, you’re definitely Klan with these color scheme you went with, she says as he clapped his hands.

“Alright. I’m gonna go bring in some dresses and shoes from upstairs. Bathroom is down the hall on your left. There’s some clean hair rollers and brushes she left behind. Be right back!” he said, walking past her.

Valerie nods, watching him head up the stairs, disappearing into the ceiling. She begins walking down the hallway, looking at the few photos he has hanging on his walls.

His wedding picture. A family picture of them with his kids. Him with a group of friends, holding up guns and a Confederate flag. Gross. And lastly, a picture of him getting sworn into the Klu Klux Klan as other members watch. The names of each member is listed, align with their face:

Bert Hogwood, Joan Smith-Hogwood, Charles Hogwood, Harold Hogwood, Jeffrey Johnson, and David Lee Hart. Noted.

She looks at it for a few more minutes before continuing walking. Passing a room with a door open, she see Harold’s white Klu Klux Klan robe lying on a chair in room surrounded by guns and knifes.

Hm….maybe I should take something while he’s not looking.

She looks at each gun lined up against the wall, turns away as they are too big for her to even carry out. She then looks at the desk where knives are laid out, examining each one. A gold holder catches her attention, picking it up. Taking it out, the knife is a reflective 8 inch, blade is sharp enough to cut through the skin easy.

“Yeah, Ima take you.” she mumbles, putting it back in the holder.

Hearing Harold coming down the steps, she put holder into the top of the dress and scurries to the bathroom.

She pretends to be preoccupied by the rollers when Harold appears at the door, holding dresses in one hand and boxes of shoes in the other as she looks at him.

“I see I have options.” she said, a smile on her face.

“Yeah, I was struggling to figure out which ones will look great on you as she had so many dresses.” he says, placing the boxes on the counter and the dresses behind the door.

He stands there as Valerie looks at the dresses, examining each one.

“Well. I’ll be back in an hour to check on you so I could take you downtown. Does that sound okay with you?” he asks.

“Sounds fine.” she replied.

“Good! I’ll let you get to it, Miss Valerie.” he says, turning away.

“Thank you again. I do really appreciate this, Harold.” she says as he walks off.

Good. That’s the last time you’ll appreciate anything, he says.

Same for you, she says as she closes the door.

Valerie looks in the mirror, thinking about what is she gonna do to him now that she has an hour to get ready. Many ideas run through ahead, from ways of luring him in or how brutal she should go out for him, but nothing lands.

Then, she remembers his robe is on the chair in the room, giving her a glorious idea for the execution as she began to do her hair.

An hour later, Harold gets up from the couch, begins to walk down the hallway. Just as he getting close, the lights go out, instantly making him mad.

“What the fuck?!” he utters, stomping his feet.

He turns around and goes to where the light switch was, flicking it on and off to success. He grabs the flashlight on the table and turns it on, taking his pistol he had hidden in the back of his pants.

“You okay, Valerie? Did the lights go out in the bathroom?” he asks in a loud voice as he slowly begins to walk.

No answer.

That woman better not have escaped, he says getting close.

Suddenly, a woman’s moaning echoes the hallway, making him pause his movement. It sounds like she’s singing beautifully, which makes Harold slowly get hard.

“What the….” he whispers, continuing his walk.

As he gets closer to the bathroom, the door to his weapons slowly opens, catching his attention. Pointing the gun and flashlight at it, he kicks open the door, watching it swing open.

The window behind his desk is open, blowing some air in. Knives? Looked untouched. But his klan robe that was lying on the chair? Gone. He turns to see if any of his weapons have gone missing and is startled by a figure, causing him to fall into the door.

As he gets back on his feet, he realizes the figure, holding its head down, is wearing his robe and mask, making him point his gun and flashlight towards it, cocking the gun.

“Who the hell are you and why in God’s name do you have on my robe?!” he yells.

The figure lifts its head up, with glowing green eyes. It begins moaning again. Its remove the mask, revealing itself as Valerie, who now had a sinister smirk plastered on her face.

“You liked that, did you?” she asks, causing him to drop his gun and flashlight as fear takes over him.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks in a scared voice.

“What happened to me? I say….. a rebirth.” she utters, walking towards him.

Harold runs out, but just as he was getting close to the front door, Valerie respawns in front of him, causing him to fall into the living room.

“My old life in Chicago, I have freedom and felt like I was seen with my community work, helping out my people who lived there or came to escape from whatever they were going through. But that changed after I got my heart broken by someone I thought cared about me. So I took my own life.” she utters, somberness taking over her.

“Well, you should’ve stayed dead, nig!” he utters, crawling backwards to get away.

Valerie chuckles as she takes out the dagger, stabbing the core part of Harold’s foot, paling him to the floor. He screams in agony, watching him turn red as she climbs on top of him.

“But someone saw potential in me and transformed me into a new person. So I came down here to start a new life since Chicago is slowly dying and instantly, I almost died over how I looked twice so far. Would’ve been three hadn’t I heard the ability to hear people’s thoughts and your plans on killing me and my people in your little racist head.” she says as she wraps her hand, her fingers now long and sharp, around his neck, squeezing it.

He begins choking, filling the tightness from her hand, closing in his throat, preventing oxygen from coming in as she leans down to his face.

“And you know what I say to that? Instead of fearing being killed for how I look, I no longer fear that now I have the power to take out anyone who wishes to cause harm against me and my people as they get in my way.” she states as she moves his head up, exposing his neck more.

“Please…” he begs in a dried painful voice. “I’ll let you live if you just let me go.”

“……see you in hell, Harold.” is the last thing she utters.

Valerie opens her mouth, revealing her fangs as she chomps on Harold’s neck hard, beginning to suck the blood out. His screams fills the room he attempt to break out of her hold, but the pain is preventing it from succeeding.

She lifts her head up, his blood spread all over her face in the robe as she looks down at his half decaying self, tears falling out of his eyes.

“Oh honey….I promise this will all go away soon. Just let me get to the good part of you.” she whispers, pulling the dagger out of his foot.

She gets off him, kneeling on the left side of his body. Holding the dagger over his chest, she stabs through it, cutting a hole through it. As she uses all of her strength to push the blade around, she watches his body and leak blood from his eyes, mouth, ears and nose, the pressure pushing through all areas.

After completing the hole, she moves the layer of his skin, which exposes his heart. She yanked the heart out, watching it beat hard in her hand as she brings it to her face.

She smells it, groaning at the delicious essence it gives off before biting into it, indulging each bite.

“I’m gonna finish it before I leave so now by finds a dead body tomorrow.” she mumbled into an evil laugh, kicking at his leg.

She takes another bite, moaning at the texture and taste as the moonlight shines on her bloody looking self and his dead body.

Pulling up in the dead man’s car, Valerie looks at herself in the mirror.

Hair curled and layered, silk green dress fitting tight and kept her girlies up, and black flats fitting comfortably, she smiles.

Flashing two single gold bottom tooth grills she made from a watch and Harold’s teeth, she looks good for someone that just killed and ingest someone’s body about 45 minutes ago.

“Remember, Valerie: do not show your true self while you’re around all these people, dancing, drinking, and all that.” she said, grabbing the tan fur shawl in the seat and getting out.

Locking the car and adjusting the holder hiding above her underwear, she walks to the building, with the name, ‘Club Juke’ etched in red paint on the hanging sign above the front entrance.

Feeling people staring at her and some guys whistling as she walked by, she patiently waits in line, watching the two bodyguards turn people away or let them in until they got to her.

“Good evening, ma’am. Welcome to Club Juke!” said the tall, straw hat, overalls wearing man, smiling at her.

“Good evening to you as well, Mr??” she asked, a smile appearing on her face.

“Cornbread. I have another name, but because I’ve only ate cornbread growing up, that’s how I got the name.” he replied, laughing a bit.

“Wait…..” as she looks at him, a shocked look on her face. “You’re Cornbread?”

“Yeah? Just said that a few seconds ago?” he replied, confusion on his face.

What is this lady’s problem?, he utters in his head.

“Sorry. Had my friend who mentioned you to me added that you were this tall, I would’ve worn some heels at least.” she replied, earning a laugh from him.

Thank god I didn’t make it a little too awkward, she utters.

“I get that a lot from unfamiliar faces. But, ima let you in. And hope you have a good time, alright now?” he replied, moving to the side.

Valerie nods before walking in, greeting the other bodyguard as she passes by.

And bless whoever gets with her because damn…..if I wasn’t married, I would be all over her, Cornbread utters.

Too bad you’re not my type, she says.

As she enter the building, she can feel the vibe of the atmosphere flowing through. The music is loud and booming, with attendees dancing and drinking, some chatting and eating as the elder pianist plays on the stage, moving side to side.

She looks at him, taking in some familiar features that she has seen before. Parted hair, gold front tooth, a beer on the piano, and he’s moving to the music under his fingers.

Where have I seen this man before…

“Slim is a good player, huh?” asked an unfamiliar female Creole accent voice.

Valerie turns to her right and sees a short, plus size, darkskin woman with bangs and long hair standing next to her, watching the performance.

“Slim?” she replied.

“Delta Slim. We usually refer to him as Slim around here.”

That’s who that was. Good ole Slim.

“Oh right. I forgot that’s his first name. Then again, he hasn’t been to Chicago in a long time.” she added, leaning against the pole.

“You’re from Chicago?” the woman asks, curiosity in her tone.

“I is. I thought it was obvious with my accent.”

“I never been out there. But, my girlfriend’s husband just came back from there today, though.” the woman replied, drinking from her water.

“What’s your name if you don’t mind me asking?” asked Valerie, pulling out a cigarette and lighter from her chest.

“Lucinda. I work for Annie and well….date her.” said the woman, causing Valerie to pause.

Why does that name sound familiar as well?

“You’re not Annie?” is what Valerie replied, earning an intense stare from Lucinda.

“Nah. May I ask why?” she asked.

Dont tell me one of his whores traveled all the way down here to start trouble, said Lucinda.

Either this woman knows of me or its a misunderstanding, said Valerie, lighting up her cigarette and smoking it.

“That name. Annie. Haven’t heard it in a long time, but I don’t know where. Maybe I heard it when I was still in Chicago or it’s just a name I heard when I was on the road. But I don’t mean no harm at all.” said Valerie, blowing smoke out.

“No harm?” said Lucinda, who is noticeably irritated. “What do you mean by that? Are you someone that’s coming to ruin shit? Because if so you can ge—“ as she raises her voice.

Valerie’s anger was about to come out when a small Asian woman comes up to them, gently tapping Lucinda’s shoulder, making her turn.

“Sorry, Lu. But Annie needs you in the kitchen. We’re running low on the mixed rice.” the woman says.

“…yeah, I’ll be there in a few, Grace.” Lucinda replied, before turning back to Valerie.

She steps into her space, leaning forward as Valerie eyes her.

“This isn’t over. But I’ll let you slide this time. However, you pull something evil against my girlfriend or her husband, I’m gonna be the first person you’ll see charging at you.” she utters, making Grace look at her in a crazy way.

Valerie chuckles, leaning in to close the distance as Lucinda’s scent arises to her nose, making her sniff a bit.

Baby breath, sea salt, lavender, and nutmeg? Is this a witch in my presence or someone who is about to find out they’re pregnant in a few weeks?, said Valerie.

“Aye aye, captain.” replied Valerie.

Agbere (Whore), utters Lucinda as she turns away, walking to the kitchen.

Valerie rolls her eyes as Grace turns to follow her back.

“Just so you know: I’m not here to start anything.” she utters, making Grace look back.

“Excuse me?” said Grace.

“I’m just trying to understand where am I at and how come a lot of things I am discovering sound very familiar to me. I promise I’m not trying to start issues.” she stated, making Grace look confused.

Why is she saying this to me…, Grace uttered.

”She’s probably just exhausted. We did spend all day building this so we can open tonight.” she added, a small smile on her face.

“Well. It’s a beautiful job you all did. Especially whoever made the front sign.” said Valerie, inhaling more of her cigarette.

Grace stared at her for a bit before continuing, feeling like she’s getting a weird vibe from her.

“Thank you. It was the only color we had. But I am gonna go back. If you’re hungry, we have catfish, greens, white rice, and mixed rice. If you’re thirsty, we have water, Irish beer, Italian wine, and moonshine. And enjoy the music, of course!” Grace said in a fast way as she headed back to the kitchen.

What an odd way to exit, said Valerie.

The audience cheers as Slim stands up, taking in the positive reception.

“Y’all having a good time at Club Juke?!” he asked in an exciting voice.

The audience yells “Yeah!” in unison, making him blush a bit.

“Y’all want me to continue?” he asks.

“Hell Yeah!” is what the audience shouts back, making him nod erratically before he takes another sip of his beer and sits down, beginning to play again.

As Valerie turns to walk, she bumps into a woman, accidentally knocking her down.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you…..” she begins to say while helping her up.

As the woman stand ups, Valerie takes in her looks. Her deep brown skin shines under the lights as the beauty mark on her cheek enhances the curve of her cheekbone. Her lips look fluffy and a perfect shape as her eyes flutter, making eye contact with her.

“There.” she added, not letting go of the woman’s arm.

“It’s fine.” the soft Southern accent woman said as she gently removed her arm. “Most people tend to not see me walking by.”

Her ambery vanilla and blood scent roams through Valerie’s nostrils, making her inhale and slightly, feeling a buzz go through her.

“That’s sad.” she said, earning a slight squint from the woman.

“How so?” she asked, folding her arms in.

Valerie smiles, putting her cigarette out before sliding the lighter back into her top, the woman watching.

“They’re missing out on the radiance you bring when you walk into the room.” she says as she steps forward, taking in her green scarf and silk dress.

“Your confidence and elegance also elevates that. If they missed out on that….good luck with finding something better.” she added, sending her a seductive smirk.

The woman smiles back, putting her arms down.

“You sure you don’t have someone waiting for you in here?” the woman asks.

“No. Haven’t felt that in years actually. You?” asked Valerie.

Yeah. But he doesn’t have to know, said the woman, making Valerie smile slightly as the woman turns.

“I do. But he’s home.” she replied, walking away.

��Yet..you’re here.” said Valerie, following her.

“I would tread lightly if I were you.” said the woman, side eying her.

“I’ll listen because you asked nicely.” as Valerie fixed her shawl. “What brings you out here?”

“Someone I know is playing tonight and I thought I come to see it for myself. If only I can find him…” she said, looking around the room.

“He’s good?” asked Valerie as they begin to walk together.

“Yeah. Met him at the train station today where him and Slim were playing while one of his twin cousins was promoting this place.”

Twins? Cousins? Okay, where the hell am I at because why is this also familiar to me..

A young man in a brown hat, white shirt, light brown sweater and pants, and brown shoes walks up, smiling at the woman.

“You came.” he said to her, a deep Southern Mississippi voice coming out.

…He is truly blessed with sounding like that, said Valerie, feeling herself get hot.

“I did. Couldn’t miss your performance.” the woman said to him.

The man looks at Valerie, taking in her beauty.

Wow….she’s just as beautiful as Pearline, he said, looking Valerie up and down.

“Could’ve told me the man was young and handsome.” said Valerie, looking at Pearline.

“Didn’t think you would be interested. Since we just met.” Pearline replied, looking back at her.

“Oh? You making friends already.” the man said.

“Don’t might having another one. I can handle two at once.” said Valerie, eyeing the both of them.

Pearline bits her lips as the man smirks, impressed by that response.

This woman is going to be the death of me more than him, said Pearline, wiping her face a bit.

Will gladly be that for you…and him, said Valerie, adjusting her stance.

“Where are my manners?” as she holds out her hand. “Name’s Valerie. I’m from Chicago.”

“Pearline. I’m from outside of Clarksdale.” she said.

“Sammie. Also known as ‘Preacher Boy’. I’m from around here.” he said, taking Valerie’s hand and kissing it.

His woody spice and blood scent tickles her nostrils, making her smile a bit.

“Wow, y’all smell delicious.” she mumbles.

“Hm?” said Sammie, confusion on his face.

“I mean…” as she cleared her throat. “Wow. You’re the one who plays the guitar.”

“Yeah.” he nods. “Been practicing for a while.”

“Must feel a little nervous doing your first performance here.” said Pearline.

“A little, but my confidence is great now. Thanks to my cous….” he said, trailing off.

He looks past both women, seeing something that’s bothering him.

“Can you two excuse me for a moment?” he utters, walking towards whatever the issue is.

Valerie watches him, seeing him walk up to a white woman in a light pink silk dress, a matching shawl, and brunette bob, beginning to say something to her.

However, she focuses on the woman, her familiar presence lingering in her mind, making her think about where she has seen her.

“…I have a question.” she said, looking at Pearline.

“Go ahead.” she replied.

“You said “one of his twin cousins” earlier.”

“Yeah. I did. Why?”

“…who are the twins? Feels like I’m missing something…but I’m also aware?” she stated, feeling herself body getting hot.

Why does it feel like deja vu is happening… she utters to herself.

“You never heard of the SmokeStack Twins? Especially in Chicago? They like to run around, terrorizing people while making deals. Why?”

Smoke….Stack….Twins. SmokeStack Twins. Smoke and Stack!, she utters, her body getting hotter.

Valerie begins to tremble, stumbling back a bit as Pearline watches, a worrying look on her face.

“Val, are you okay?” she asks, attempting to reach her to keep her stable.

“I think I need to g—“ was all Valerie could get out.

Suddenly, as she was turning, she runs into something hard, causing her to tumble forward but keep her on her feet.

She pushes herself back up, but whatever she ran into keeps her up, with a pair of hands holding her up as she comes back to herself.

“Damn, girl! You almost knocked yourself out running into m….” said the familiar, thick Southern accent voice, trailing off with the last word.

As Valerie opens her eyes, she sees the face that broke her heart three years ago, causing her to take her own life. Hair slicked back, mustache bushy, a little more older but still sculpted, lips still full and his mouth slight opened, showing off the gold grillz in his mouth.

Stack.

“Elias?” she blurts out, her mind going blank as she watches his lip tremble.

“Valerie? Is this…this really you?” he asked, tears beginning to form.

Valerie nods, feeling herself get emotional as he pulls her in an embrace, hugging her tightly. She hugs him back, hearing his heartbeating fast and his cedarwood patchouli scent invading her airwaves

She missed this. She missed how he felt, how he smelled, and how he looked. This was the man she knew from home.

Now she’s in his home.

“I thought…..thought you died?” he whispered, looking down at her. “We were at your funeral and all…”

“Um…..no.” as she pulls back. “I..I survived that jump. And swam to shore. Ran away because I was too…embarrassed to show that um…” she says, hearing herself getting choked up.

“It’s okay.” he said, squeezing hand. “It’s a miracle you’re still with us. Surprised you’re even here. At me and Smoke’s juke joint!” he exclaims, holding his arm up.

Still the same ole Stack. Just as I remember, she said, smiling.

She knows him?, said Pearline, eyeing him a bit.

Smoke is gonna freak out when he finds out you alive, said Stack, a bastardly smile on his face as he looks Valerie up and down.

“You know ole girl here, right?” said Pearline, sucks the moment out.

Mary.

“She is?!” he said, annoyance in his voice as he looked across the room and sees her taking to Sammie, trying to get away from him.

“Yeah. But I can go distract her so Sammie isn’t doing it by himself if you want.”

“Please do. Me and um…Valerie, have a lot to catch up on.” he said, keeping a lustful gaze on Valerie.

“Will do. See you later, Valerie.” said Pearline as she squeezes Val’s shoulder and walks to Sammie, with Valerie watching.

You too. Cause I’m damn sure not missing out on messing with you and Preacher Boy, she said before turning back to Stack.

“Let’s go somewhere private, shall we?” he said, pulling her to walk.

Her stomach growls, pausing her movement.

Girl, you just ate a whole body an hour ago. How you hungry again?!, she yelps, grabbing her stomach.

“I would love to. But maybe we should get some food and drinks as well?” she asks, smiling a bit.

Stack nods, looking at Sammie and Pearline perfectly distracting Mary before looking back at Valerie.

“Alright. I did promise you I was going to introduce you to Annie’s cooking. She got some good ass catfish right now.” he says as they begin walking, arms hooked.

“I bet. That Grace lady said they also got some sides too.” she added, hearing him laugh.

“Yup. Different rices. Greens. Even pickled garlic.”

Valerie’s stomach kicked in, having an uneasy reaction to the mention of garlic.

“Can’t do that. I’m allergic, unfortunately.” she reveals, lying through her teeth.

“What?! Last time I saw you, you were saying garlic is the best damn thing to have in the kitchen, girl!” he yelps, shocked at that reveal.

“Well…a lot of things have changed since we last each other.” she states shrugging her shoulders.

He nods, pulling her close.

“You ain’t wrong.” as he leans in. “Cause last time I seen you….your eyes was a bit darker and brown. Now they are hazel green?” he asks with a confused look on his face.

She chuckles, looking down to hold in her laugh.

“Wait until I tell you about my medical condition. Trust me. It’s a long story.” she said, stretching the last part out.

“Oh trust. We got enough time in the world right now.” he said, looking at her with admiration.

Even in a dead body, she can feel that he has never lost the love he had for her. Which makes her feel very special in this moment in this moment at the juke joint.

They walk up to the kitchen, where he formally introduces her to Annie, who greets her with a warm smile. He had her make Valerie’s plate, where he tells her to avoid the garlic as she is now allergic to them.

As she watches, she notices that she can’t hear Annie’s thoughts, which she thought was strange. They go to Grace and Lucinda, where he orders them both Irish Beers while keeping his gaze on her.

After grabbing the drinks, he takes her to the poker room, where he gets them a table in the corner, a perfect way to hide from anyone he doesn’t want to be seen by.

Especially Mary.

Stack says a quick prayer before they begin indulging, both moaning at the crispness and well seasoned food in front of them.

“Annie sure can cook.” said Valerie, dipping her piece of catfish into hot sauce before biting it.

“Told you! That’s why we always rely on her to make food cause we do not trust anyone’s cooking out here.” he replied, biting into his fork of greens.

“Also, when did Annie and….?” as she tilts her head towards Lucinda, who was standing behind the window cooking, making Stack follows her direction.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink before clearing his throat.

“Trust me. I was a bit shocked myself at him he saying “Annie’s worker AND girlfriend” when they first arrived.” he replied, making her laugh.

“I see. Well, if they’re happy, I’m not judging.”

Speaking of, he said.

“How you been? I’m still…blown at the fact that you’re alive after we *buried you?” he asked, making her look at him.

“Yeah, it was a mistaken identity thing, apparently. Probably why they didn’t open the casket. From what I was told.” she replied, sipping her drink.

“But. I went to Memphis. Stayed there for almost two years, eating their food. Dancing to their music. Helping out the community.” she added.

And what she meant by helping out was killing all of the rapists, murderers, and predators that targeted primarily women and children. Even some officers who abused their power.

“Then I went back to Chicago and laid low. Was shocked that I still had access to my place. And now…..I’m down here. Eating and drinking, and soon-to-be dancing at Club Juke!” she stated, laughing a bit at the last part.

Stack nods, a small smile on his face, looking like a proud man watching someone he admires doing something good.

“That’s good to hear that you’re doing something with your life.” he said with a grin.

“What about you?” she asked, turning her body towards him.

Stack looks down, taking in her legs before looking back up, seeing her eyeing him seductively.

“We finally got out of Chicago. Capone went down, the city started falling apart, and well…North Side can’t really fix the mess they and South Side caused.” he replied.

“Is that how you and Smoke managed to steal Irish Beer and Italian Wine from both sides?” she asked, sipping her drink.

“They won’t notice since they hate each other. Especially since they can’t tell us apart, which makes it even more fun for us.” he replied, eating a piece of the catfish.

“That seems to be a common thing you like to say. Makes me wonder…”

“Wonder what?” he said, instantly squinting his eyes.

Valerie laughs, amused at how angry he’s slowly getting over a simple sentence.

“Is this really Stack? Or did you two trade places so the real one can avoid not just me because he still doesn’t forgive himself for what happened between us and the result of it. But Mary as well.” she utters, resting her chin on her hand while looking at him.

Stack looks away, his face twitching as he feels her intense stare burning the side of his face. His heart races, causing butterflies to flutter in his stomach.

I would never do some shit like that with Smoke. Considering how much I can’t stand Annie, he uttered, clearing his throat.

Annie too womanly for you? Cause she doesn’t act like a dog chasing…, Valerie utters, disgust flowing in her head.

“You know her momma passed, right?” he revealed.

Valerie scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“You think I give a fu—“ she exclaimed but is cut off by him.

“I know you don’t care.” he stated. “Especially after how she treated you. And um, we ended.” he said, looking down.

The two sat in silence as the piano and crowding cheering grows louder as Smoke passes by in the doorway, not noticing them.

Why is it so awkward to talk to you? I don’t get it, he uttered.

Guilt, she responded.

“How’s Hollie?” she asked, biting into her piece of catfish.

“Woah.” Stack said as he places his hand on her leg, leaning forward.

“Don’t….don’t bring her up in here. Its already bad that Mary’s here, let along you being in here too.” he said in a low tone voice as he moved his hand closer to her thigh.

Valerie felt her lips clenched, feeling the effects of his deep voice slowly taking over and her fangs almost coming out, but she stops herself.

“…she nor Annie knows, huh?” she replied.

“And they never will as long as you keep your mouth shut. You hear me?” he said, getting closer.

Valerie leans forward, closing in the distance between them.

“Annie won’t care cause they were separated, so she got someone else to fill in her needs. Mary on the other hand….” she says in a low tone voice.

“That’s all on you because you made that bed and it’s trying your best to destroy it. But I know deep down inside, you do really love her because even when you’re avoiding her, she keeps you excited. And I can feel it brewing off of you because I know you.” as she leans in for a kiss.

As Stack is about to kiss her, she pulls back, removing his hand and going back to normal as if nothing happened.

“I just wanna know when’s the last time you seen Hollie, that’s all.” she states in her normal voice.

Stack looks down, attempting to laugh the pain away, but fails. He’s in disbelief that she curved him just like that.

“Last time we seen her was at your funeral. Told us that she was going back to New York to become a showgirl, leaving everything she did in Chicago behind.” he said, taking out a cigarette to smoke.

“Ever wanted to go there?” she asked, finishing her rice and greens.

“Yeah. Might go on my own this time.” as he finish his drink.

“You should.”

“How come?”

“Elias….” as she wraps her hand around his arm. “How long are you gonna continue dragging Elijah into everything? Lord knows the man is tired.”

“How would you know?” as he lights up the cigarette, smoking it. “You just came back tonight. After being a dead woman walking for years.”

“Because he saves your ass each time something happens to you. Seems like he gotta lead you every single way he can.”

“You watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” as she leans forward. “You’re gonna get him to harm me? Since you’re too scared to do it yourself?”

“I ain’t scared of nothing” as he leans forward. “Especially you.”

Valerie laughs, grabbing his smoke ridden face.

“Yet…that night we shared after that shootout told a different story.” she said, tracing over his lips.

She can hear him growling low before grabbing his hand with the cigarette, bringing it to her mouth. She inhaling, blowing the smoke into his face, watching him blink as she lets go.

She’s playing hard to get, he utters.

I sure am.

“It did. Because you’re remembering it wrong.” he said, licking his lips.

“Oh, I am?” she asked, watching him laugh.

“Yeah. Cause remember we were running away from the cops…” he begins, adjusting his seat.

The music, crowd cheering and dancing, and the the men playing poker fades around them as Stack retells the night from his view.

Saint Valentine’s Day 1929

Swinging the door open, Valerie and Stack run inside, with the latter shutting and locking the the door fast, guarding it.

Hold up his gun, he looks at Valerie, who is leaned against the wall, catching her breath.

“Remind me to wear flats next time cause boy, I’m not strong enough to run in heels.” she said as she removed them.

“And look at the hole in my favorite purple dress!” she hisses, looking at the tattered fabric between her legs.

“I’ll get you a new one.” he replied softly as he removed his shoes.

Stack walks to the window, peeping behind the curtains. Watching the cops run by, he puts his gun on the table, removing his jacket as Valerie throws her shawl on the chair.

“And there will probably not be a next time after that shit that happened.” he replied, looking at her.

“You might be right. They been looking for reason to take out Capone and this might do him in.” she said, turning to walk into the kitchen.

“Which means I’ll be finally free for a bit. Until me and Smoke come up with our next move.”

Valerie shakes her head as she smiles, taking out two glass cups from the cabinet.

“You already have a concept of a plan while not wondering if your brother made it out.” she said, taking out a water pitcher from the fridge.

“I know he made it out.” as he unbuttons his shirt, removing it and placing it near his jacket, leaving him in his undershirt.

“How you know?” she asks as she pours water into each glass.

“He said he was gonna be the first out when he arrives with the Irish folks, making sure he doesn’t get caught in the ambush. Just as we were coming to the floor, I saw him hop in a car and drove out, making sure he has an alibi in case they come looking for him.” he replied, walking towards her.

“Hm.” is all she said as she hands him a glass before picking hers up.

Stack takes it, drinking a bit of it before leaning against her fridge, staring at her.

“Do I fall anywhere into your plan?” she asks, jump onto the counter to sit down.

“Yeah, if you’re willing to leave.” he replied, his voice getting a little sleepy.

“Always a catch with you.” she said, drinking some of her water.

“Cause I know you love it here so much. But no matter where I go…..I’ll always come back to see you.”

“Even if it’s on the other side of the world?” as she spreads her legs open, feeling him look down.

“Even if I’m only 10 minutes away.” he replied, finishing the rest of his glass.

Valerie smiles, laying her head back as she places her glass next to her, feeling herself getting hot.

“Come here.” she whispers, motioning him to come to her.

Stack places his glass on the counter as he walks to her, getting between her legs as she looks at him, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, feeling the muscular curves around it.

“Like what you see?” he asks in a low tone, tensing a bit as she traces over his chest.

“Always.” as she slides her hand up his shirt, tracing his abs.

Stacks growls, wrapping his hand around her neck as he lifts her face up, hearing her whimper as he leans in, a few feet away from her lips.

“Val?”

“Yes, Elias?”

“..I love you.” he admits, looking at her with lust in his eyes.

“…I love you too.” she replied, looking at him.

Stack smiles before placing his lips over hers, giving her a sloppy kiss. The lovers fight over dominance while breathing hard and rubbing over each other, but Stack gets the upper hand by lifting Valerie up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her into the bedroom.

Gently laying her on the bed, Stack breaks the kiss, helping her remove her dress by ripping it in half, hearing her squeal.

“Told you I’ll get you a new one.” he said, kisses her once more.

Valerie giggles as she sat up, helping Stack remove his undershirt before reaching down to unbuckle the belt and remove it, watching him remove his pants. She can see an outline of his throbbing dick through his underwear, precum leaking through.

He climbs back onto the bed, hovering over her as he begins kissing her neck. She moans softly as he trails down to her breasts, taking one into his mouth while wrapping his hand around the other one, fondling it.

“Just like that.” she whispers, rubbing his head as he flicks her nipple with his tongue, sucking back on it.

He moves to the other one, moving his hand to the one he finished as he engulfs the other one, slightly biting down. He hears her panting hard as he removes himself, letting out a POP! sound.

“You ready for me?” he asks, tracing his fingers over her underwear.

Valerie nods, feeling him grab her underwear and yank it off in one motion. He lowers him onto his chest, placing one leg over his shoulder and the other under his arm as he touches her clit, watching her clench around air.

“Oh, you been waiting for me to taste you huh?” he says, letting out a deep, dark chuckle.

He began sucking her clit as he inserts his index and middle fingers inside her, rubbing around the softness. Valerie moans, wrapping her hand around his head.

“Hey.” as he slaps her thigh, making her wince. “Eyes on me while I’m down here. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” is what she said before pushing his face back into her pussy, making eye contact.

Stack begins sucking hard as his fingers plunge in and out of her at a fast pace, making her let out a few *fucks and louder moans as she fondles her breast with her free hand.

The sounds of her essence gushing, her hard panting, his low groaning, and the bed creaking fills the bedroom as she feels herself getting closer and closer to release.

“Stack, you’re about to make me lose it!” she utters, tears forming in her eyes.

He removes his mouth, watching her tremble as he curves his fingers, feeling her grip getting tighter around them.

“That’s it.” as he rubs his thumb around her clit. “Let it all out. Don’t hold back from me, baby.” he whispers.

On cue, she releases, squirting out her essence and body spazzing as Stack holds his tongue out, feeling some of it hit it. Her breathing is out of control as the room spins around her blurry vision, feeling her high coming down.

Stack laps up some of her essence around her before standing up, kissing her leg in the process. He pulls down his underwear, where his hard, throbbing dick sprangs free, kicking them to the side.

Just as he was about to insert himself, she sits up, grabbing his dick and stroking it, watching him wince.

“Valerie, you don’t have to do this.” he said, trying to remove her hand.

“You say that every time we fuck, but doesn’t stop me.” she replied, slapping his hand away.

He holds his hands up as he watches her, leave a trail of her spit across his shaft, rubbing it around before taking him into her mouth, hearing him groan.

“Maybe I should stop saying that.” he mumbled, looking down at her as she begins bobbing her head.

Her saliva begins coating his shaft, making her up her pace as his tip touches the back of her throat, her almost gagging. She wraps her hands around the rest that can’t fit in her mouth and begins stroking it.

Stack holds her hair up, fondling his nipple as she swirls her tongue around his tip, keeping her eyes on him.

”You like when you’re sucking me off, don’t you?” he asks, his breathing coming out hard.

Valerie lets out a moan as she speeds up, filling her mess, dripping onto her chest as Stack moans, feeling himself getting close.

“I know you want my seed down your throat.” he utters in an aggressive tone.

Suddenly, he removes her from his dick, watching her pant hard as he looks at how dazed out she is. He taps a tip on her tongue, rubbing it over her lips.

“But I don’t wanna wait all night to fuck you.” he says, stepping back.

Valerie laughs before turning on her stomach, putting her ass in the air with her feet hanging off the bed.

“Come get it then, Eli.” she said, shaking her ass a bit.

Stack smirks as he walks up and gets on the bed, lowering himself into a crotch. He slaps her ass real hard, hearing her squeal before inserting himself into her pussy, both letting out moans.

“My God, you feel so good stretching me out like this.” she utters, feeling him moving around a bit.

He kisses her back as he wraps his hand around the front of her neck, brings her up to his chest. He begins fucking her, biting her shoulder.

“Fuck…” she moans, wrapping her hand around his arms.

His balls bouncing off her lips from his strokes, creating a sensation she never felt before when they made love. He speeds up his pace, watching her body move hard from him slamming his hips into her, filling her essence dripping on him.

“Mm, you like when I fuck you like this?” he whispers into her ear, hearing her whimper.

“Yes. Only you can do me like this!” she yelps, feeling him brush over a sweet spot.

“Good! No other motherfucker will ever touch what belongs to me.” as he goes at a rapid pace, hearing her scream.

Valerie falls forward, feeling herself go limp but stays in position as Stack wraps his hands around her waist, keeping himself up.

“Oh baby…..why are you doing me like this?” she moans, throwing herself back to match his pace.

“Because this is not a regular session between me and you.” as he goes deeper. “This is me showing you how much I deeply care about you.” he admits, removing his hands.

Valerie smiles, in awe of him while he is breaking her pussy like she owns him something, becoming enchanted by his spell.

“I’m getting close.. getting close!” she yelps, him continuously hitting her sweet spot a few times.

Stack gives her one final stroke before she cums again, watching her essence coat his dick her body pushing it all out as she moans, the pleasure consuming her. He pulls out, gently taps her pussy before laying on his back, adjusting a pillow under his head.

”Ride me, baby.” he says, stroking his dick.

She catches her breath for a few minutes before crawling to him, hovering over his body. She lowers herself onto him, feels him stretching her out once again, making her wince.

“You okay? We can do something else if it feels uncomfortable.” he said, lifting himself up but she stops him.

“No, no.” as she shakes her head. “You feel good, Stack. Just catching my breath.”

He nods as she begins moving her hips, creating a rhythm with him as she slowly wrapped her hands around his neck.

“Like that.” she mumbles, placing one of his hands on one of her breasts before returning it back to his neck.

He moans, squeezing her breast gently as she bounces up and down on his dick, slamming herself into him each time, clenching him.

“Fuck.” he whispers, feeling her squeeze his neck hard as she slaps his face, catching him off guard.

“What the hell, Valerie?!” he yelps, the sting brewing on his face as she laughs.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.” she replied, slapping him once more.

He groans, trying to hide how much he actually did enjoy that. He slaps her ass, feeling her quickening up her pace as she moans. She can feel him twitching inside, making her smirk.

“Fuck me, Elias.” as she slaps him once more “You know you wanna cum.” she says, pulling him up to his chest.

He wraps his arms around her waist and slightly lifts her up as he begins pounding underneath her, both moaning loud enough in the neighbors to hear.

“Alright. That’s an offer I can take up.” he utters, slamming continuously over and over as he was slowly losing feeling in his lower half.

These two were both going all out the show how much one cares about the other while making sure their needs are also being met.

Valerie makes out with Stack, his hip, slowing down as another release went up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Cum in me, please.” she utters, feeling herself tightening.

“You sure?” he asks, moving her hips in a circular motion.

“I wanna feel all of you.” she admits, about to pass out.

Stack nods with a greedy smile before giving her a few more strokes until they both release at the same time, him letting out expletives and her letting out moans for the last time. His dick twitches inside her as he pumps out all of his seed while she squirts all over him.

The lovers lay in each other’s arms, both catching their breaths as the moonlight shines on them, the cool air hitting their skin.

“…promise me you won’t forget me.” she says in a sleepy tone.

Stack looks up, rubbing his chin over her chest as he kisses her.

“I promise I’ll never forget you. Ever.”

Valerie smiled, give him another kiss before falling asleep in his embrace.

Valerie stares in a daze, the memory on a loop as Stack snaps his fingers, snapping her out of her faze.

“Jesus.” she whispers, looking away in embarrassment.

“You okay?” he asks, amusement in his tone.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Just wondering. Cause you’re drooling.”

Valerie touches her face, feeling wetness around her mouth. She grabs a napkin and wipes her mouth, hearing him laugh.

“But. You didn’t forget that night either.” he added, eyeing her.

”Who wouldn’t? That was the last positive memory I have of us before you left me.” she said, looking down.

I knew she was gonna bring that up, he said.

“…I fucked up, didn’t I?” he asked.

“You did.” as she shook her head.

She can feel tears begin to form in her chest, beginning to burn as she looks up, not wanting to look at him.

“I understand. Nobody really gets over their first love. But I wished you.…” as her voice trails off.

Her breathing becomes pitchy as images of her seeing Stack kiss Mary in a dark alleyway, their argument that lead to their breakup, and her a few moments before jumping into the Chicago River plays in her mind.

“Forget it.” she said as she got up, quickly wiping that tear as she fixed her shawl.

“Valerie, wait.” he says as he tries to grab her, but she steps back.

“Nice seeing you again.” she utters as she begins to walk.

She sees him getting up to follow her, but she stops at the entrance.

You have to tell him about that Klan member, she utters, the memory of him revealing the killing field plan playing.

“I have to tell you something so that you and Smoke are aware.” as she turns around to face him.

Stack looks at her, a glaring expression on his face.

“What is it?”

“That man who sold you this place? What’s his name?” she asks, seeing his face relax.

“Hogwood.” as he sighs. “Why?”

“Hogwood. He’s the local Kl—“ is all she could get out before loud stomping cuts her off.

Mary, now heated, walks into the room, shoving Stack back.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you all night, but Sammie and Pearline were stalling me.” she utters in irritation.

Stack, shocked that she shoved him, looks at her before looking at Valerie, causing her to turn around and be shocked at her standing there.

“Valerie?!” she yells. “You were with her?!”

Stack shushes her and pulls her back as Valerie laughs, backing out through the entrance as Mary becomes louder with yelling at him.

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk. Nice to see you again, Elias.” said Valerie as she walks away

Mary pops her head out, with Stack struggling to hold her back.

“I thought you was dead?! But, here you are, talking to my man?!” she yells, but the loud music shuns her, no one paying attention as Stack pulls her back into the room.

Valerie shakes her head, walking up to Lucinda as she takes out money from her top.

“A refill on the Irish beer, please.” as she puts a few coins on the table.

Lucinda nods as she hands her one, taking the coins.

“By the way. I was actually here for Stack. Sorry if I made it seem like it was for Smoke.” she said, taking the drink.

Before Lucinda could say anything, Valerie walks off, heading to where Pearline and Sammie were sitting as they watched Slim play.

“Missed anything important?” she said, both looking at her instantly.

“Almost. Sammie about to perform.” said Pearline, rubbing his shoulder.

“Well, I made it just in time.” she said, winking at Sammie.

“What was you and Stack discussing?” he asked, tuning his guitar.

“Old business from when I was still in Chicago that might get me on trial if I go into detail.” she said as she stands next to Pearline, sipping her drink.

All three laugh until Sammie and Pearline stopped, fear growing upon their face. Valerie looks at them confused until she hears loud footsteps behind her, making her lower her drink.

“Well I‘ll be damned.” said a familiar, deeper thick Southern accent voice.

She sees smoke fumes blow out from her left, which tells her who it is standing behind her.

“Nice to see you again, Smoke.” she says as she turns around, see him standing there.

Smoke whistles, taking in her look before hugging her, with her doing the same back.

“Thought Stack was lying when he said you were here! I thought he was lying because we were at your f…” he says, trailing off with his last word.

He sees Sammie and Pearline sitting behind her as she looks at him, waiting for him to say the next part.

I don’t think I should bring up the funeral in front of them, he utters.

Thank god.

“Fair!” he yelps. “The Chicago City Fair! Val here used to throw good fairs to help out the people who couldn’t go to the upstate ones. Always seemed like a hero to everyone up there.” he added, smiling at her.

“That sounds amazing.” said Sammie, Pearline nodding.

“Maybe Clarksdale can get that.” she said.

“Love to do that! Just point me to y’all council and we can set it off….non-gangster style.” said Valerie, making everyone laugh.

“Damn….when did your eyes turn green?” asked Smoke, looking at them.

“Caught a medical condition out in Memphis. Thought he was lying when he said your eyes might turn a different shade if it gets worse, but here I am with hazel green eyes now.” she replied.

“Well. I’m glad you’re here at our Club Juke. Hope you enjoy Sammie’s performance.” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Will do.”

Smoke nods at Pearline and Sammie before walking to Annie, with Valerie sighing in relief.

Thank god Smoke the one with the brains.

The audience erupts into cheers once more Slim stands up, taking a bow.

“Thank y’all, thank y’all!” he says, smiling gleefully.

“Now for this next performance, I’m bringing on a young cat that’s from around here.” he added, smiling big.

“He’s one of the finest blues guitar players around here and has a little song for us to hear. So give a big old welcome to the stage: Sammie Moore!” he exclaims, ushering Sammie to come up.

The crowd erupts into cheers as Sammie get up and walk to the stage.

“Let’s go get a better view.” said Pearline as she grabs Valerie’s hand and pull her to walk with her.

Valerie laughs as she’s pulled through the crowd, with the women taking a position next to a pole, having a clear view of Sammie.

“Hello. I’m Sammie Moore. Also known as Preacher Boy since my daddy is a preacher. I’m a sharecropper on a little plantation around here. So I wrote this little song for him and hope y’all like it.” Sammie said as he begins playing the guitar.

He walks down the stairs, greeting some people as he begins to sing.

Something I been wanting to tell you

For a long time

It might hurt you, as he looks at Pearline and Valerie.

Hope you don't lose your mind

Well, I was just a boy, as some people begin stomping their feet.

Bout eight years old

You threw me a Bible

On that Mississippi road

“Mm.” said Valerie, nodding her head to the song.

See, I love ya, Papa

You did all you could do

They say the truth hurts

So I lie to you, as he moves the guitar around.

Yes, I lied to you

I love the blues, as he smiles.

Valerie looks back, sees Stack watching the performance, with Mary next to him a few feet away. She turns forward, taking a big sip as Sammie sings his next part.

Mm-mm

Suddenly, the room because a little brighter as Valerie watches everyone, including Pearline, began to dance.

Oh, mm-mm, as Slim joins him on the piano, playing a tune to accompany it as the band follows.

Hey

Somebody take me, as he drags out each note, surprising both women.

In your arms tonight

Well alright

“Alright.” said Pearline, making Valerie smile.

Somebody take me

In your arms tonight

Yeah, yeah, as Pearline takes the drink out of Valerie’s hand and drags her to the center of the floor.

“Pearline, I don’t dance, so I think Ima go—“ is what Valerie could get out before Pearline cuts her off.

“Follow me. And don’t do it too hard.” she said, kissing her cheek.

Valerie blushes, following each move Pearline does as Sammie continues singing the song.

Somebody take me in your arms tonight

As he begins his next part, the room darkens and becomes a blurry vision to Valerie, which confuses her as it looks oblivious to everyone around her except Sammie.

What is going on? Why does it feel like I’m in someone else’s vision?

As Valerie turns her head, she sees an African dancer run past them as two African music players perform their music around Sammie. She’s in awe, seeing how beautiful they look playing their music next to him.

Mm-mm, as Sammie stands next to her, passionately singing his song.

A man dressed in glam plays an electric guitar on her other side, startling her. She notices he ain’t wearing the same clothes that they are currently wearing, confusing her even more.

“…..is this Sam’s mind I’m in?” she asked, but no one seems to hear her.

Somebody take me in your arms tonight, as a gospel choir appears on stage while the electric guitar gets louder.

Alright, as he walks around, getting even more passionate with his playing.

Pearline dances away as Valerie stands there, trying to figure out how she’s the only one seeing this, very impressed.

The guitar player walks through her, which shocks her. She runs up to the choir, and swings her across them. Her arm goes through them as well, making her step back.

These are spirits, she mumbles. These are his spirits that he has woken up. Meaning it’s the past, the current, and the future in this room right now.

Somebody take me in your—Hey!

A hip-hop beat drops, with Sammie’s vocals mixing in with it.

Valerie turns around, seeing a man breakdancing around where Sammy is walking. Looking up, she sees a man behind a DJ booth, spinning the song.

She smiles, amazed at what’s she seeing and how the future is gonna change a lot for their people.

Until a sharp pain shoots through her chest, causing her to fall to the ground, grabbing it. It gets worse, causing her to whine a bit.

“Help!” she yells, but no one seems to hear her.

As she looks up, she sees everyone dancing, missing her somehow. A few more spirits, including two Xiqu dancers, run next to her, jumping and dancing around room.

Valarie lays there, paralyzed to the floor as the roof catches on fire, with the parts falling onto her. She tries to move, but fails miserably.

“Why can’t no one see that the roof is on fire?!” she yells louder.

But once again, no one hears her.

A burning wood breaks off and is about to hit her, make her close her eyes.

However, nothing happens.

When she wakes up, the building is completely gone, but everyone is still dancing as Sammie, Slim, and the band are still playing. But there’s no sound.

Valerie gets up, looking around the burned area as she sees Pearline dancing with Annie, Lucinda, and Smoke as Stack and Mary dance with each other.

As she looks to her left side, she sees three white people standing so far away, each has glowing eyes. The middle one, a middle aged man focuses directly on Sammie, smiles as his eyes are red and his fangs are out.

Remmick. Oh no.

Just she was about to say something, she is knocked out by a shadow, causing her to fall to the ground.

When she wakes up, she’s leaned up against the pole. Everything is back to normal as the crowd is cheering, amazed at the performance Sammie gave, with Pearline clapping the hardest.

“Wow, he did amazing.” said Pearline, looking at her.

“What….what happened?” asked Valerie, dryness in her tone.

“Damn, girl. All that dancing you were doing took you out.” she said, laughing a bit.

“What? You didn’t say what I saw?” Valerie asked, a confused expression on her face.

“We all did. Sammie hitting notes, everyone dancing and vibing. But you were clearly having a good time.” Pearline replied, kissing her.

Valerie is caught off guard and breaks the kiss, very bewildered. She also realizes she can’t hear her own or anyone else’s thoughts anymore, which is not a good sign.

“…okay, what is going on?” she asks in a frustrated tone.

Valerie looks at her, laughing to herself before wiping her face.

“I think I’m just tripping. I got a little too lost in the dance. I’m fine, I promise.” she replied, grabbing Pearline’s hand and kissing it.

Pearline relaxes, smiling a bit as Sammie comes over.

“He comes our star.” she says, before facing him.

Valerie smiles before looking out of the window, feeling something bad is about to happen. She brushes it off, focusing her attention back on Sammie and Pearline.

Far, far away, in the foggy night, stands Remmick. Along with his two members, they stand on the dirt road, listening to the loud music. He smiles brightly, as his eyes are glowing red and his fangs are out.

“That’s our boy.” he says. “Let’s go get him.”

The other two smile as they begin to walk towards the location, with Remmick’s evil laugh filling in the darkness of the sound.

A/N II: Whew. This was a long one, but it was definitely worth it! Hope you enjoyed it and as always, thank you for reading this! If you want to join the tag list, let me know.

🏷️ : @iloveekeiarah @childishgambinaax @ziayamikaelson @ssamm1984

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shapard · 7 months ago

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could you do helluva boss satan x fallen angel reader relationship headcanons the reader has the patience of all the saints known to man

How does it make you feel🕸️

Satan x Fallenangel!reader

I hope this meets your expectations! It was fun to write.🎀

Tw: None

The Headcanon Begins after the cut

The first time you meet Satan, his irritation is impossible to miss. He glares at you like your very existence is an inconvenience. It doesn’t take long for you to realize why—your calm, collected demeanor is everything he isn’t. No matter how hard he tries to provoke you, whether through biting comments or fiery outbursts, you remain unflappable. You can feel the flames of his frustration burning hotter every time you smile softly in response.

You’re used to his dramatic huffs and rolled eyes whenever you speak during trials. As Lucifer’s adviser, you take your role seriously, ensuring fairness and advocating for those without a voice. Satan’s glares bore into you, but you continue speaking, your melodic tone steady and soothing. Though he pretends not to care, you catch the way his gaze lingers when you stand up for the lower classes.

The first time you really talk to Satan, it’s almost by accident. You approach him with the same calm patience you show everyone, expecting nothing in return. At first, he’s gruff, clearly expecting you to lecture or patronize him. But when you simply listen, offering a warm smile and a thoughtful nod here and there, he begins to talk—about his day, his frustrations, even his siblings. His words pour out like a storm, and you let him vent, occasionally adding a gentle observation that makes him pause and look at you differently.

Something changes after that. Satan starts seeking you out more often, finding excuses to cross your path. You notice how his temper seems to ease when you’re around. He’s still the embodiment of Wrath, but his fire feels less destructive, more contained. You see the cracks in his armor, the moments where his frustration gives way to vulnerability, and it tugs at something deep inside you.

When Satan asks you out for the first time, you’re genuinely surprised. His confidence seems intact, but you catch the hint of nervousness in his voice. He takes you to his ring, proudly showcasing his domain and accomplishments. At first, you admire the raw power of it all, but as you start to notice the inequalities in how his citizens are treated, you can’t hold back. You bring it up gently, not to criticize, but to guide. His reaction is predictably fiery—he shouts, frustrated and defensive—but you stay calm, speaking to him like his outburst is nothing more than a passing storm.

By the time Satan invites you on a second date, he’s clearly trying harder. This time, it’s a quiet dinner at a cozy restaurant. When the food arrives, something unexpected happens—you feel genuine excitement bubbling up inside you. It’s rare for you to let your composure slip, but when you see one of your favorite dishes, you can’t help but smile brightly, your eyes shining with joy. Satan notices immediately, his usual scowl softening into a chuckle. You catch him staring at you, a fondness in his expression that makes your heart flutter.

As the days turn into weeks, you find yourself spending more and more time with him. Satan’s gruff demeanor starts to feel endearing, and the way he softens around you becomes one of your favorite things. He’s protective to a fault—one day, when a group of sinners makes cruel comments about you, you brush it off, unbothered. But Satan? He’s furious. His rage flares, and it takes everything you have to calm him down. His fiery protectiveness is both overwhelming and oddly touching, and it only deepens your affection for him.

When Satan kisses you, it’s like being enveloped in flames—intense and consuming, but not unpleasant. There’s a surprising tenderness to his passion, moments where his lips linger as if he’s savoring every second. For the first time, your own patience starts to waver. You find yourself wanting more, craving the heat of his touch and the fire in his eyes.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to become inseparable. Satans fiery temper and your endless patience balance each other perfectly. You see past his wrath to the vulnerable, protective side he hides from everyone else, and he adores you for your ability to love him without judgment. Together, you’re an unlikely pair—chaos and calm, fire and serenity—but in your heart, you know you were made for each other.

For anymore suggestion you can just ask! My ask is open!🌙

#shapard #Satan #satan x reader #y/n #reader #headcanons #helluva boss satan x reader #helluva boss satan #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss headcanon #helluva boss #helluva boss season 2 #helluva boss mastermind #mastermind #fanfic #writer on tumblr

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sv3t1ana · 4 months ago

Text

SYNOPSIS ᯓ The church was never meant to save you. Not when its priest speaks in honeyed damnation, not when his hands bless and defile in the same breath. Father Geto does not offer salvation, he takes, ruins, and owns. And when he forces you to your knees, shaming you as he makes you beg, you understand: this was never about redemption. This was a sacrament of sin, and you were always meant to be his offering.

PAIRING ᯓ Priest! Geto x Sinner! Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ VERY SACRILEGIOUS AND UNHOLY do not read if that is offensive or triggering for you. FEM READER, heavy use of Catholic imagery, religious corruption, verbal humiliation, religious guilt, forced confessions, power play, obedience training, defilement of holy spaces, he calls you "little lamb," throat fucking, oral (m and f rec.), choking, cervix kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, he's ROUGH with you, leaving bruises, unprotected piv sex.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 5.1k

Stood before you was a long concrete stairway, a looming church whose spire split the sky like a dagger, plunging into the heavens. Heavy wooden doors stood solemn and unmoving, flanked by stone saints who watch with sightless eyes, hands locked in prayer, a type of devotion you have never been able to imitate.

You should not be here.

The thought pressed against your ribs, tightening like a vice, and yet, your feet do not stop. The night air thick, humid, laced with the scent of old myrrh and rain-soaked earth. It clung to your skin, beads along your collarbone, seeps into the modest fabric of your dress, simply plain, like covering yourself properly could undo the nights spent writhing beneath hands you didn’t know, moaning names you never cared to learn.

But this was different.

This name, one that had begun to carve itself into the marrow of your bones, was one you knew. One you whispered in the dark.

Father Geto.

Your first time seeing him you only meant to pass through. No interest in sermons, parables, redemption. But something about the way he spoke, the weight of his voice holding you in place, pinning you to the back pew like an insect trapped in amber.

It was sacred.

A voice that did not simply carry through hollow halls but commanded the very air itself to obey. Velvety, smokey, threaded with something unspoken. Something that sent a shiver skimming down your ponderous spine.

You had stayed longer than you should have.

His hands moved as he spoke, slow and deliberate, fingertips grazing the leather binding of the Bible, rolling the beads of his rosary between them. And you had wondered, shamefully, how those same hands would feel against your skin.

You had left before the service was over.

But you returned.

Again and again.

You told yourself it was curiosity, a passing interest in something unfamiliar.

But the truth lay in the way your legs trembled as his eyes flickered over the congregation, slow, knowing.

It lay in the way you began hearing his voice in the quiet moments between sleep and wake, low murmurs of orison that ringed in your ears, worming its way up the axons in your brain stem.

And now, here you were.

At midnight.

The doors creak as you push them open, coarse grains mulling the pad of your palm like the hatches themselves told you to turn around and never look back.

Inside, the church is vast and yawning, swallowing you the moment you step beyond the threshold. The heavy scent of incense lingers in the air, thick, cloying, a ghost of burnt offerings and whispered prayers. The candles flicker in their sconces, pools of molten gold bleeding over the marble floor, light guttering with each draft that slithered through the open doors.

Rows of pews stretch before you, silent sentinels whose dark wood polished by years of kneeling, pressing, pleading. They stand in perfect formation, disciplined and obedient. The altar looms ahead, bathed in a single column of light, a beacon amidst the shadows, offering no warmth but instead the illusion of salvation. The cross above it casts a long silhouette against the vaulted ceiling, and for a moment, it seemed to reach its hand toward you, beckoning.

Your breath was shallow, caught in the space between reverence and regret.

Your hands hover uncertainly, fingers twitching, unsure whether to clasp together in feigned piety or let them dangle uselessly at your sides. The thick linen of your dress shifts with every movement, sleeves billowing like phantom limbs as you continue stepping forward. The modest cut of it, once meant to conceal, now feels oppressive. The fabric weighs heavy on your skin, sticking to the curve of your back and pressing against your ribs like a second skin incapable of shedding.

The bowed ceiling stole the echo of your steps and hurled it back as you formidably moseyed ahead.

You do not belong here.

And yet your feet still carried you forward, past rows of empty pews, past the golden glow of flickering candlelight. The shadows swift to follow your movement, stretching long and lean. The saints carved into the walls stare at you, hollow eyes filled with repine meant only for you.

The confessional stands before you. A dark, wooden structure carved with solemn figures, martyrs frozen in suffering, expression turned downward as they, too, would bear witness.

Your fingers tighten at your sides, nails pressing crescents into the thick linen draping your hands. You shift when the air around you turns thick with candle wax, a potent gale entering your blood stream.

Staring at the confessional door, the handle was worn smooth, touched by countless hands before yours. Fingers curled in desperation, in shame, in hope that just maybe, there was something holy waiting on the other side.

But you know better.

Your breath is shallow as your eyes follow the rosary draped over the carved wood, its beads catching faint glimmers of candlelight. The memory of his hands ghosts over your skin, long fingers rolling those very beads between them during a sermon, deep and melodic voice sinking into your soul like a hymn you were never meant to learn.

You had watched them.

Watched how his hands moved as he spoke, controlled like it was all planned out from the start.

Watched and wondered, what else had those hands touched?

A shameful and unbidden heat curls in your lower stomach, throat tightening as you shift, pressing your thighs together, but the ache does not subside.

This is wrong.

But wrong had never felt so much like longing before.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers curl around the handle, pushing the door open.

The space inside is small, suffocating, lined with dark wood that swallows what little light dares to enter. The air is heavier in here, laced with something richer than just incense. The seat creaks as you lower yourself onto it.

Your hands tremble as you fold them in your lap.

And then, a presence. You feel him, before he speaks, before anything.

The weight of him is there, just beyond the partition like he was just barely tangible. The thin screen separating you from him does nothing to soften it, nothing to keep him from sinking into you like smoke through cloth.

And then, his voice.

“What would you like to confess, my child?”

The words are gentle, patient, yet they settle over you like a suffocating weight, locking your throat and pulling you under.

Your lips part, but no sound comes.

It is not just concern in his voice, it is not just priestly obligation, it is something knowing. Something akin to an invitation.

Something like a hand, reaching into the depths of your psyche and prying open what you had tried so desperately to keep buried.

You should leave, run, say anything but the truth.

But instead, you inhale.

And you begin.

“I… I’ve had impure thoughts.”

It’s barely above a whisper. As if saying it any louder might summon something even more unholy than what already lingers in this space.

There’s no shock or admonishment, just a quiet, thoughtful hum from the other side of the partition.

“Impure thoughts,” he repeats, slow. He’s tasting the words himself, rolling them between his teeth before offering them back to you. “And do these thoughts trouble you, my child?”

The word trouble feels misplaced, like what he’s really asking is something else entirely.

“Yes.”

Another hum, deeper this time. You think you hear the faint creak of movement.

“And yet, you are here,” he murmurs. “Seeking something.”

It isn’t a question.

A shiver crawls down your spine. You don’t answer, at least not immediately. Because you don’t know why you’re here, not really.

Not when you’ve spent too many nights indulging every desire.

Not when you’ve let hands you don’t remember trace the shape of you, lips press where they never should have.

Not when you should feel shame, but only feel heat.

“I let people touch me.”

The confession feels ugly leaving your lips, but you don’t stop. The dam is cracking, words slipping through the widening fractures.

“I let them touch me without love. Without care. And I liked it.”

The last part came out hushed, barely there.

And still, it feels deafening.

The church has never felt so cavernous, so consuming as you hear a slow inhale beyond the partition. It sets your nerves alight, something crawling up your throat.

“I liked the idea of confessing it.”

Your voice hoarse. Something inside you being stripped away layer by layer, exposed beneath his eyes even when you can’t see him.

“That’s why I came.”

Moments of silence pass, just listening to beads clacking together. You bite your lower lip and close your eyes honing in on the sound. The faint whisper of his breath, beads shifting between his fingers.

“You do not seek forgiveness,” he says, voice softer but no less firm. “You seek something else.”

You don’t answer because you can’t, because he’s right. Because you know deep inside, he knew before you ever stepped foot in this place.

Another shift, partition between you grinding faintly, as if he’s leaning closer.

“Go on,” he urges. “Do not leave anything out.”

Your stomach twists.

Because there’s still one confession left.

The worst of them all.

Your lips part, his presence pressing down on you as you mutter his name.

Breathless. Sinful.

The confessional door opens.

The hinges don’t shriek, they sigh, long suffering, they too bearing witness to something unrighteous. Light spills into the tight space, illuminating the heavy folds of your dress and trembling clutch of your hands. You should not look up. You should lower your head like a penitent sinner, kneel as the devout should.

But when you see him standing in the dim glow of flickering votives, something within you defies instinct.

Father Geto is framed in the archway like a saint in a stain-glass window, but he does not look like salvation.

No.

He is temptation draped in reverence, black cassock flowing like a holy shroud over broad shoulders, his long dark hair spilling down his back like the dark strokes of calligraphy on sacred parchment. The rosary beads you hear earlier hang from his fingers, slipping over his knuckles.

But it’s his eyes that undo you.

There is no mercy, no pity.

Only the quiet, unshaken authority of a man who has always known how this would end.

You are seated before him, hands limp in your lap, thick linen of your sleeves brushing against your sensitive skin like a funeral veil. You do not yet know if you are the deceased or the one delivering the last rites.

His gaze lowers, and he sees a woman wrapped in modesty but reeking of sin. A lamb that has strayed too far from the flock, too naive to recognize she is standing before the wolf. A body, breathless, trembling, clutching the fabric of her dress as if it could protect her.

And you see it, the slight tilt of his head and the barest twitch at the corner of his lips.

“Come here.”

Two words. A command wrapped in velvet.

Your body betrays your mind. You rise, knees weak and heart stuttering like an unseen force is guiding you. The hem of your dress whispering against the church floor like a prayer spoken through gritted teeth.

When you stand before Father Geto, close enough to see the slow shift of his throat as he breathes, he lifts a hand. Thumb grazing your chin.

“On your knees, little lamb.”

He just watched, studying you like an artist examining his canvas, like a priest watching a lamb kneel before the altar, waiting for the moment of surrender.

His finger hovers over your cheek before finally making contact, so soft, too soft, a touch at odds with the weight of his gaze. His thumb caresses your lower lip, the movement unbearably slow.

“Look at you.”

A quiet mumble, speaking to you like he’s addressing something delicate, something sacred.

“Tell me, little lamb, when you touch yourself in the dark, do you call His name? Or do you whisper mine?”

The heat of his palm cradles your jaw, tilting your face up and forcing your eyes to meet his. There’s no warmth in them, only certainty.

“Go on,” he coaxes, his tone an invitation to confess. “Tell me the truth.”

And you cannot speak, your throat is tight, restricting you from taking full breaths.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, shaking his head like he was in mourning.

“What a shame,” he says, fingers dragging lower, tracing the line of your throat. “So weak to temptation. So eager to fall.”

He sighs, but it wasn’t a sigh of disappointment, rather, satisfaction.

“Do you know what happens to lost souls who refuse to repent?”

His hand leaves your skin, and you feel the loss of it like an open wound.

“They beg.”

The shadows move, but not from a breeze. The flames tilt toward him, as if even the light itself is tempted.

“It’s such a tragedy, isn’t it?”

He closes his eyes, his large palm resting on the crown of your head, fingers sliding through your hair with the patience of a man offering benediction. His touch is reverent, deceptive, like he is anointing you instead of undoing you.

“That you never truly wanted salvation.”

His voice was almost tender, laced with finality, judgment, his verdict already sealed.

“Kýrie, eléison." Lord, have mercy.

The words fall from his lips like an incantation, a blessing. His fingers thread through your locks, holding you steady, watching as your breath hitches.

"Christe, eléison." Christ, have mercy.

His respire is almost mournful. Almost.

“But mercy was never what you came for, was it?”

His fingers tighten. Not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to demand. Enough to remind you of your place.

“Stand.”

The word is quiet but it crashes over you like a tolling bell. You hesitate, legs unsteady, but his hand is already moving. Trailing down, pressing just below your chin. A silent order to obey.

Then his hand lands on the back of your neck, tilting your head down, bowing you before him.

“Confess.”

His thumb strokes over your nape, a mockery of comfort.

“Say it.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes.

You feel the shift just as you hear it, the click of his tongue. Disappointment.

“Do not waste my patience.”

You still, eyes wide as you stare at his feet pointing to yours.

“I- I didn’t come here for salvation.”

His grip soothes, then tightens. Approval, punishment, both at once.

“No.” His breath skims over your scalp. “You came here for me.”

He steps in close to you, hand resting on the outer part of your neck as his thumb skims your trachea.

“How disgraceful,” his hand moves, encompassing you entirely in his hold, squeezing just enough to remind you that obedience is not merely an option. “You come into His house, knelt at my feet, and admitted such a thing?”

He smiles at you, tilting his head, making himself look so loving as his hand moves back to the nape of your neck, tightening.

A sharp tug that makes your scalp sting, and your head is wrenched back, throat exposed, bare and vulnerable.

“There is no salvation for you.”

The words are a whisper against your skin, spoken between the slow stripe of his tongue dragging up the column of your throat.

Heat pools at your core, and his grip doesn’t relent. If anything, it tightens, a silent warning that you are his to position, hold, and keep.

Then his other hand moves, a slow descent dragging down the curve of your spine, fingers deliberate as they press into the linen of your dress.

“But perhaps-”

His fingers hook beneath the fabric.

“-you might earn absolution.”

A swift motion, and suddenly the weight of the dress is gone.

The air bites at your skin, and you’re left standing in nothing but lace. It was pale, delicate, laughable in its pretense of modestly.

Father Geto exhales, slow and measured, yet you see the way his eyes darken.

“How sinful you look,” his voice was mocking, but appreciative. His fingers drift, trailing over the lace of your hip, hooking his thumb under and snapping it against your skin. “Did you wear this for me?”

A pause, then a firm grip to your jaw.

“Tell me, little lamb.” His thumb strokes over your hipbone, your arousal pooling in your panties from his lewd touch. “Did you dress yourself like a whore to tempt me?”

The hand at your throat shifts, guiding your bare knees to the cold once more. The stone is unforgiving, digging into your skin as he runs a finger over your cheek with a smile on his face.

“Let me hear your prayers in another way.”

He deftly unbuttons his black cassock, fingers moving down, one button at a time, each pop of fabric exposing. The tension, the restraint, he could tear it open in one smooth motion, but no. That would be too easy, too merciful. Instead he makes you watch, makes you wait, makes you understand what it means to unravel.

He reveals a black clergy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the stiff Roman collar still locked around his throat like a vow he intends to break. Below, a pair of black slacks drop, the outline of something far from godly at your eye level.

“In your mouth,” he commands.

You’re almost shaking at this point, arms hesitant as you reach out, letting his obscene, thick erection pop out. It was so impure, concealed by the illusion of propriety as you eye pulsing veins running up and down his length, reddened tip waiting for you.

And you did as told, using your thumb to spread glistening pre around, coating him in his own arousal as you used one hand, a hand that couldn’t wrap around his entire length, grip his base tightly, using the other to cup his balls as you took him in your mouth.

Slowly bobbing your head, letting your drooling mouth varnish his cock as you took communion. The gentle hands that worked him, delicate skin a stark contrast to a heretic like you, so depraved in the way you let him enter your throat.

You choked, gagged on him, letting your cries muffle in the way he completely filled your mouth, tip hitting your uvula, body heaving as he throat-fucked you.

He relished in the way your tiny throat constricted around him, so sacrilegious in the way you knelt before him, both the confessor and executioner that made you beg with lips and tongue instead of words.

He grits his teeth, furrowing his brows as you so desperately tried to cling onto reality, your tongue immobile under the beefy shaft stuffed in your mouth.

“Do you think He watches you like I do?”

And the way he looks at you is crazed, devious as he breaks every promise to his bishop, the grip at the back of your skull a sermon in ruin.

You cry out, pleading for him to let up as he smashes your face to his hips, your eyes welling up with tears at the constant barrage, throat fucked raw.

He lets up only right before cumming, opting to depart your maw with a wet pop! before painting your elegant chest rope after rope, leaving your mouth agape and letting your fallen tears mix with his seed.

This was a place where holiness did not bloom, instead leaving wayward lambs like you to plead for vindication with the altar of his desire bruising your throat.

You stood as he summoned you, bringing you in close as you felt his still throbbing erection at your abdomen.

His lips tasted like purgatory, a promise of suffering and salvation entwined as he devoured you. His teeth grazing your lip, hands exploratory as they gripped and clutched at every curve of your body.

Oh how blasphemous he was, disregarding the sacred and defiling the divine, turning a place of worship into a stage for sin. The alter, meant for holy sacrifice, now served a different kind of offering.

His touch was reverent, but not in prayer.

His hands did not bless, they claimed.

His lips did not preach salvation, but dripped with sin sweeter than scripture.

Your back lay flat on the cold stone, a stark contrast to the heat of his body looming over yours like a sermon given form, his touch a sanctification of something far more profane than holy oil.

He trailed kisses down your body, salaciously flitting his tongue out to leave wet stripes below your navel. You arched beneath him as though in divine rapture, spine curving against the table like the vaulted ceilings of the church itself. And when he leisurely peeled your panties off, letting them drop to the floor and parting your legs like the Red Sea, you understood what Eve felt before the first bite.

He settled between your legs, eyes glossed over separating your lower lips, taking in the state of your weepy pussy under his gaze.

He smiled, lowly chuckling to himself as he inhaled deeply before diving into your folds. He took your clit in his mouth, sucking, letting the edge of teeth graze your sensitive nub as you cried out, pulling gasps from you like a tithe, an offering laid at the feet of his mercy.

He inserted two fingers, probing your g-spot as he ravished you. The sounds of your sloppy pussy filling the once holy air, every thrust of his fingers a lesson in repentance with every moan from you an act of defiance.

“Is this what you wanted? To be devoured at the alter like a sacrificial lamb?”

You tasted like sweet, unrepentant sin. And he consumed you like sacramental bread upon his tongue, so devout, reverent, and insatiable. To say he’s obsessive is an understatement, drinking you like wine as he worshipped you with his mouth, his tongue tracing blasphemies on your clit as he let out soft grumbles against your pussy, each time making you squirm below his hold.

“Mmm. Even your cunt worships me. Clenching so tight, desperate to keep me. How pathetic.”

Oh how pathetic you were, coming undone when his teeth grazed your sensitive nub once more, gushing into the palm of his hand and dripping to the floor.

It was filthy how he made out with you post-orgasm, your thighs suffocating his head as you cried out like in prayer, each stuttering breath an act of worship.

He eased off, bringing his casual expression close to your face as he aligned with your entrance.

Inserting just the tip, he lifted one of your legs to swing it over his shoulder, his other hand busy burying itself in your lacy bra, bringing your breasts out to wantonly tease your nipple, taking the tender bump between his pointer finger and thumb just to pinch, squeezing tightly, and absorbing your moans in his mouth.

“You came here seeking absolution, didn’t you? Then ask for it.” His voice was measured, almost pitying.

Your breath is ragged as he grips your nipple, your weepy walls hopelessly quivered around his tip. “P-Please… please forgive me.”

Your hips miserably ask for more, twitching to feel more of him before he uses both hands to grip you still, smiling against your lips devilishly.

“Forgive you?” His thumbs press tighter into you. “For what, little lamb? Be specific.”

Shame burns hot in your chest contradictory. It was the way he coerced the sins from your lips, bullying you into humiliation as his hips denied you the pleasure you came here seeking.

“For desiring you,” you look at him pleading. “For touching myself at the thought of you. For wanting-”

His grip tightens more, cutting you off. He lets one hand off to grip your neck. “You soil yourself with sin and expect me to cleanse you?” He tsks, shaking his head. “No, you don’t want forgiveness. You want permission.”

His fingers tighten around your pulse, withdrawing the inch he volunteered your pussy.

“Say it properly.”

You wince, voice a strained whisper. “Father, please- cleanse me, punish me, make me pure.”

“Ah… now that is a prayer worth answering.” His lips curl, and he releases your neck while thrusting himself entirely into you, earning from you a choke as you tried so hard to adjust to his size. He abused your hips with his, immediately setting a frantic pace.

You were nearly toppling over, cries echoing against the cathedral walls, not in hymns, but something far more primal and honest as he offered no mercy, a gratifying ache as his engorged tip punishes your cervix.

He was so big, slamming into you continually it was almost cruel. Your walls trembled in pain, throbbing in irritation as he fucked you senseless, his body caging you like a confessional, his grunts a benediction, every sinful sound spilling from his lips a prayer offered.

You instinctively cover your mouth to muffle your wails, until he slaps your hand away.

“Scream for me. Let the heavens hear how far you’ve fallen.”

Even in ecstasy was he degrading you, stripping you layer by layer of dignity, of virtue, of any illusion that you belonged anywhere but here, where above the sorrowful faces of saints and martyrs bore silent witness to your desecration. Their painted eyes gazed down in judgment, candlelight flickering over their sculpted mouths frozen in eternal prayer, yet offering no salvation.

His hands bruisingly tight on your hips in a way that hurt so good, you tried swatting them away. He only escalated his grip, smiling at the way you grimaced.

“A sinner like you doesn’t deserve gentle hands.”

With that he dove his head in, immediately biting at the sensitive skin at your neck, making your back arch so beautifully, which only made him roll his hips deeper.

He wrings hallelujahs from your skin, not sung in choir stalls, but gasped in the way you clung to him tightly, scratching at the broad muscles under his shirt.

You came undone quick when one of his snaked down your body, coming to climax after pressing tap tap taps! on your clit, body writhing beneath him again, grunting into the shoulder you buried your head in, and trying so desolately to push on his abdomen, to stop the barrage of his hips.

But he never did, instead flipping you over so he could split you open from the back.

You truly were sobbing out, body boneless at this point as his cock split you in two, leaving large red handprints at your ass with every smack! he graced you with.

Whimpering, whining underneath him, yet you only got more aroused, thighs trembling each time he smacked you, using his nails to trail light scratches down your back. You should be ashamed. You should be begging for forgiveness. Instead you soaked in sin, clinging to the salvation only found in the way he tainted you.

“Pathetic,” he murmured. His hand smoothed over the curve of your back before scratching you more. “You sound like a bitch in heat. Do you even know how shameful you look right now?”

His fingers traced your spine, landing at your cheeks to spread you for him. “Dripping all over the floor of His house, have you no reverence at all?” His grip tightened, your body just something for him to mold. “Or is this your offering? Your ruin?”

he took another fistful of your hair, forcing your body up as he rutted his hips in a way that hit your g-spot so effortlessly, leaving marks and bruises in places no baptism could cleanse, his tongue licking the back of your ear to brand you deeper than holy water ever could.

Father Geto should have resisted, he should have walked away. Instead your scent clung to his skin, seeping into his lungs, and he couldn’t find it within him to care.

Not when you’re spread out before him like an offering, not when your breathless cries turn his stomach into a pit of fire. Not when you tasted like sin itself.

His vows were never stronger than this, never stronger than the heat of you, of the way you shudder like you were made for this. For him.

He likes watching you break. Loves it, even. The way your eyes disappear into your skull and abs clench, how your nails dig into his muscles like you’re begging for something neither of you can name.

And God forgive him, but the more you tremble and plead, the more he wants to ruin you completely.

His grip on your hair tightens, punishment, possession, and devotion all in one.

“Your body sings hymns for me alone.”

His thumb presses into your spit-slicked lips, dragging along your tongue before shoving it deep.

Right now, he is not a priest.

He is not a holy man.

He is nothing but a sinner, worshipping at the altar of your body, forgetting the taste of the Eucharist and relishing the taste of you.

He was panting, a sweaty fist-full of hair as you came undone again by his cock alone, walls constricting around him in the nastiest way that had him weak, teeth biting down hard on his digit while you rode out your high.

There was nothing he loved more than corrupting- himself most of all.

Sin never happens all at once.

It should have ended each time he caught you watching him from the back pews, lips parted, eyes wide with something that did not belong in a house of God.

Then came the way you lingered after sermons, how your breath hitched under his touch and knelt as his feet.

His vows are nothing but ghosts.

He should have exorcised you.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he welcomed you into the dark.

And now, here he was, spilling into you like a sacrament poured from an upturned chalice, flooding your body with the weight of his unholiness as his seed sprayed you, leaving your sore cervix aching. It pours into you like an unanswered prayer, thick and endless after spilling every last drop inside like he’s engraving his final confession into your flesh.

He lets you down with a hard plop! letting your body hit the cold stone table, bending down to smear his dripping release and your arousal between your thighs, dragging proof of your downfall against your skin.

You listened to the silence of the church, the suffocating stillness that offered no divine wrath, no fire from the heavens or thunderous condemnation, just laying slick and sore, the heat of his touch still branding your skin.

You should pray.

But you don’t.

You should feel shameful.

But you revel in it.

He looks up at the crucifix above you both, smirking. “Forgive me, Father, for I will sin again.”

310 notes · View notes

vibewithma · 1 month ago

Text

Your first time meeting Samuel Moore.

Modern Sinners Au! Preacher Boy / Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Guys enjoyyyy😝 not my best work but whatever

The Whitaker family’s old SUV rumbled past the county line, tires humming low against the cracked Mississippi pavement. The air outside was thick like it carried secrets. Sweat clung to your neck like a bad memory, and even the wind felt judgmental.

“Look at God,” your mama whispered, pressing a hand to her chest as Clarksdale came into view, all flat fields and red clay roads. “Still the same.”

In the backseat, Dawn let out a low sigh and popped her gum. She was scrolling through her phone, side eyeing every shirtless boy in her DM requests like she was flipping through scripture. She wore a cropped tee with “Saved but Still Fine” written in rhinestones, and her edges were slicked into perfect swoops while her wig was wrapped under her bonnet.

Dawn had always been your sister even if it wasn’t by blood. Her parents died when she was four. Your parents took her in like she was born to them. And even though she threw shade during grace and snuck out after midnight, your mama still kissed her forehead every Sunday morning like she was heaven-sent.

Your daddy Leonard, everybody calls him Lenny tho, sat behind the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, hands steady. He hadn’t said much since y’all passed the First Baptist sign. Just nodded once when Mama said y’all were finally “home.” His fingers tapped the steering wheel like they were trying to work something out. A prayer maybe. Or a memory.

Your Mama turned down the gospel playing in the radio and looked over her shoulder at you and Dawn.

“You girls ready? First Sunday back, and you know how folks talk. Wear something respectful. No tightness. No thighs. And I don’t wanna see y’all on no TikTok dancing in the Lord’s house”

“Mommmmmmm,” you groaned, already bracing for more.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “What if it’s a Christian dance?”

Gloria Whitaker didn’t even blink. “Unless Jesus himself taught you the choreography, keep it in the vestibule.”

You and Dawn cracked up.

The SUV slowed in front of the little yellow house with the wraparound porch and chipped paint the one your grandparents built with their own hands. The front steps were lined with flowerpots, just like they always had been, and a paper fan with MLK’s face sat wedged in the windowsill.

As the car parked, your mama pressed her palms together like she was in prayer. “God brought us back for a reason.”

After y’all packed your things you had to go to sleep earlier cause the next day was Sunday. Church day.

The first Sunday and the house was already thick with heat and gospel music before the sun even peeked fully over the Clarksdale trees.

Your mama, Gloria, was swaying in the kitchen, hot comb clutched like a weapon of the Lord, pressing Dawn’s edges with a righteous vengeance. “Be still before I burn your scalp clean off,” she warned, and Dawn just rolled her eyes, bonnet halfway on and crocs slapped lazy against the linoleum.

Grandma Doris was elbow deep in aluminum foil, tucking cornbread and peach cobbler into casserole carriers like she was prepping for the Last Supper itself. “Don’t let none of that sweet tea spill,” she called out without looking up. “It’s for the saints, not your thirst.”

Meanwhile, your daddy Lenny stood in the living room, shirtless, quietly ironing y’all’s Sunday fits like it was his sacred duty. He muttered under his breath, “Ain’t steppin’ one foot in that holy trap again. But i will make sure y’all look presentable.”

Your grandfather Pop, you don’t even know his real name because everyone refers to him as Pop, sat by the window fanning himself with a program from 1987, talking slick. “Church ain’t changed since I was young. Same folks, different wigs. But I’ma go see Leroy and ‘nem.” He winked. “Might get lucky with a peach cobbler plate too.”

You were last to get dressed, slipping into that dusty rose dress your mama picked, one that hugged just enough to get you a “fix your slip” but loose enough to get past the ushers. Hair curled and soft on your shoulders, lip gloss poppin’, nerves bouncing in your chest like tambourines.

“Come on, child, you next,” Grandma Doris clapped, dragging you toward the mirror. “Lemme see them knees. If the good Lord didn’t see ‘em, neither should Deacon White.”

After everybody finishes up and sat in the car, Lenny pulled up to the church like he was dropping y’all off at a war zone. Not even helping to bring the dishes into the church kitchen.

The white steeple of the church rose up like a finger pointing toward heaven and the gravel lot was already full of Mercedes and pickup trucks. Folks milled around the steps, dressed like Easter exploded. Your mama clutched the food dishes, Dawn adjusted her lashes, and you walked in between them, feeling every eye on you.

“Now don’t slouch,” Gloria said, voice low but firm. “We new, but we ain’t fresh off the street.”

Inside, the sanctuary smelled like peppermint, pressed linen, and old wood. Mahogany pews lined the space, and the stained-glass windows shimmered with sunlight like heaven’s spotlight was on y’all.

And of course y’all had to walk to the front.

Pastor Jedidiah, tall, dark, old and clean-shaven, beamed like he’d just won the spiritual lottery.

“Now saints,” he boomed, voice as smooth as molasses, “we got a sheep that returned and brought two sheep with her.” The church interrupted him with “hallelujah’s” and “Amen’s” but the whispering that followed was everything but holy.

Pastor Jedidiah continued “Sister Gloria Whitaker and her beautiful girls.”

You wanted to vanish. Dawn whispered, “You look like you ‘bout to faint.”

You didn’t reply because that’s when you felt it.

That gaze. Hot. Heavy. Unbothered.

You turned your head a little, and there he was two rows back, slouched like the devil in a pew. White tee. A gold chain dancing against his collarbone. One arm draped lazy over the backrest.

The devil himself. Samuel Moore.

The Preacher’s son. The problem child. The boy who shouldn’t have been looking at you like that in the house of the Lord.

But he was.

He mouthed something, slow. You couldn’t hear it, but you felt it in your bones.

“Damn.”

After the welcome, y’all took your seats while the choir burst into “He’s an On Time God”. The drums hit hard, but your heart hit harder.

And two pews behind, Sammie was still watching you. Eyes low. Hands clasped like a prayer.

That boy whose father had to force him come.

Finally found something holy that he would like to study.

The sun was sittin’ high like it had somethin’ to prove, beating down on the patchy grass behind the church where the men were setting up the folding tables. Lenny also came earlier for some food nobody could resist Doris homemade cornbread and peach cobbler. Lenny was out there grumbling with Pop, stacking chairs and talking football. You caught a glimpse of a choir boy tossing a cooler full of sodas next to the grill while old Deacon White ordered everybody around without lifting a single finger.

“Don’t you let that potato salad sit out too long,” Grandma Doris warned, clapping her hands as she walked toward the kitchen door, apron tied like battle armor. “Food poisoning is of the devil.”

You were barely able to duck behind Dawn before she grabbed the two of y’all by the arms.

“You girls not too cute to help,” she snapped. “Put them hips to work.”

“Granny!” Dawn yelped, scandalized. “You tryna get us snatched in the Lord’s backyard?”

“You worried about getting snatched, you shouldn’t have wore that tight blouse,” Doris fired back, then shoved two pans into your hands. “Cornbread and cobbler. Don’t drop my Tupperware.”

The long table was already lined with aluminum trays and paper plates, the church mothers circling it like soldiers. You and Dawn stood behind it, trapped in a loop of “God bless you, baby” and “Ooh, you favor your mama.”

Dawn was stuck pouring the sweet tea, eyes rolling every time someone said “just a lil bit” then held out their cup for a refill. You were posted up with the cornbread and cobbler, trying not to let the peach syrup spill on your dress.

And then… you saw him. The boy from earlier. That one who was staring. He wasn’t alone though next to him twins, one was wearing a blue hat and the other a red one.

They rolled in like a slow storm: three men, tall and cut from trouble.

The twins identical down to the cheekbones and clothing style. Stack and Smoke. You didn’t know their names yet, but the way the air changed when they walked up said everybody else did. They both had gold in their teeth and devil in their grins.

And then came the last one.

Him.

That boy from the pew.

Same gold chain. Same lazy smirk. Same eyes locked on you like you were already his next sin.

He stepped up behind his cousins with a plate in one hand and nothing but time in the other.

Stack grabbed a plate of ribs and winked at you. “This peach cobbler homemade, sweetheart?”

“Yes sir,” you said, polite and quick, but your fingers twitched when Sammie stepped up next.

He was quiet at first. Just watching you with those long lashes and that slow lean, like he was letting you notice all of him. Like he expected you to. Then he tilted his head, eyes dragging over your lips like he was reading scripture from them.

“You gon’ feed me, darling?” he said, his voice deep, low and velvet.

Your mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

The heat was thick now not the sun, not the grill, but him. Standing close enough that you could smell his cologne clean linen and smoked something. Bourbon maybe.

You felt your cheeks flush. Felt Dawn’s side eye from the sweet tea station.

He leaned forward just a bit, hand on the table like he was in no rush at all.

“I mean, you standing behind the good stuff. Be a shame if I walked away hungry.”

Your fingers slipped, and a square of cornbread tumbled onto his plate.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

Just let his tongue glide slow over his bottom lip. “See, now that’s service. What about the cobbler though?”

You managed to get a scoop on his plate, heart pounding.

But when you looked up again, he was closer.

Lower.

Voice damn near inside your skin.

“You always serve it this sweet, or just for me?”

You swallowed thick.

“You always flirt this hard at church?”

That grin got dangerous. “Only when the spirit moves me.”

The paper plate in your hand was already bending from the weight cornbread, mac and cheese, fried catfish and just enough collard greens to make your mama proud. Dawn stood beside you balancing her own plate, her phone in the other hand, thumbs moving fast like she was sending a prayer to her situationship.

“Girl, look up or you gon’ trip,” you whispered.

“And miss Marcus sendin’ me that blessed content?” she grinned. “Absolutely not.”

Y’all scanned the yard for a place to sit. Most tables were full older folks nodding to Al Green coming through the speakers, little kids running with juice boxes, folding chairs creaking under the Mississippi sun.

Then came a voice. Bright. Confident. “Y’all can sit with us!”

You turned. A girl about your age waved you over, sitting at a table with five boys all in varying degrees of choir-boy swag: crisp polos, skinny jeans or slacks and too much cologne.

She scooted down, making space. “I’m Brittany. Brittany Jones. I sing lead soprano in the youth choir.”

You smiled politely. Dawn didn’t even look up.

“I’m Dawn and this my sister, Y/N,” she muttered, eyes still glued to her screen.

The boys started introducing themselves one by one Malik, Terrence, Josh, Paul and somebody with a grill named Scooter. Their voices blended together, jokes flying too fast to follow.

You tried to pay attention. Really, you did.

But something, someone, was pulling at your senses.

Because behind the laughter and the fried chicken, just past the rim of your plate, you could feel it.

Eyes.

Watching.

You blinked, looked between them and then you saw him.

Not laughing.

Not joking.

Just… staring.

He was leaning back in his chair, legs spread like he owned the ground, a gold chain resting easy against his collarbone. And he didn’t even blink when your eyes met his.

Just smiled.

Like he’d been waiting.

Like he already knew.

Your breath hitched.

Before you could even look away, Brittany’s voice sliced through the tension.

“Sammie!”

He stood before you could blink again, swagger smooth like oil on water, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t rushing but the way he looked at you?

Urgent.

“This here’s Pastor Jedidiah’s son,” Brittany beamed. “Samuel Moore. But we call him Sammie.”

You swallowed.

He was already standing beside you.

“He’s in the choir too,” she continued. “Bass. Has the deepest voice outta all of ‘em. And he trains the new people that wanna join.”

His voice cut through the chatter, low and rich like a hymn soaked in sin.

“What’s your name?”

Your lips parted. “Y/N.” You said it.

Soft. Barely a whisper.

He grinned slow like he wanted to taste it again.

“Y/N. Pretty.”

You blinked.

“I said you thinkin’ about joinin’ the choir?”

You nodded, heart in your throat.

His eyes dropped slowly to your lips, then rose again.

“I’d remember you if I seen you before.”

Dawn finally looked up. “You flirtin’ with my sister or fillin’ a spot?”

Sammie didn’t even blink at Dawn’s jab.

His smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened eyes still locked on you like he didn’t even hear her. “A little of both, maybe,” he murmured, then turned just slightly, voice dipping into something just for you. “But if I gotta pick… I’d rather have you on my side than anywhere else.” You tried not to show how that landed, tried to hold your face together while your insides did a whole praise dance. He smelled like cedarwood and spearmint and he was standing just close enough that the edge of his shoe touched yours. You shifted your weight, blinking fast. “I…I don’t sing like that. I mean, not up front or anything…”

“Good,” he said, one brow raised. “Then you’ll need me.”

Brittany smacked his arm. “Boy, quit playin’. You scaring folks off.”

Sammie barely moved, just glanced at her with that lazy kind of charm the kind that made girls lean in without realizing they were doing it. “I’m just tryna help. She look like she belong somewhere near a mic.”“Ain’t no flirting during potluck,” someone from the other end of the table called out. “Let her eat, Sammie!”

He chuckled low, backing off half a step.

“You gone be at practice Wednesday?” You blinked again, mouth dry. He was still waiting still looking at you like you were the only girl in the yard. You nodded. “I guess so.”

“Good.” He dipped his head a little, smile turning secretive. “Then I’ll save you a seat.”

And with that, he turned and walked back toward his cousins Stack and Smoke giving him side eyes and smirks like they already knew he was caught up in something new. You watched his back for a second too long. Dawn nudged you.

“You alright?”

You cleared your throat. “Mhm.”

The sweet tea had caught up to you. Two and a half solo cups deep. And that last one? Poured by Brittnay’s heavy-handed cousin who’d been real proud of his sugar-to-water ratio like he was crafting fine wine. Your bladder was screaming. Potluck still going strong, but your eyes were scanning the church lawn like you were hunting salvation. You turned to Dawn, who was mid-flirt with her thumb and not much help.

“Where the bathrooms at?”

She waved vaguely toward the back of the fellowship hall. “Inside, near the offices. Past the Sunday School rooms.” You muttered a quick thanks and made your way inside, weaving through people and aluminum trays of mac and cheese. Inside was cooler, quieter. Gospel music hummed low through the walls.

You passed one sign: “MEN.” The other side? Nothing but an “Out of Order” sign hanging off the door like it was ashamed.

You stared. Blinked.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” you mumbled. Your bladder wasn’t joking, though. It was about to make its own sermon.

You looked left. Then right.

Nobody.

You bit your lip, checked the men’s door again, then whispered to yourself. “I’m just gon’ be quick.”

And you slipped inside. It was clean, mostly. Blessedly empty. You handled your business like a woman on a mission, fast and focused and when you came out relieved, a little proud of yourself you stopped cold.

Because standing in front of the sink, head tilted, lips twitching in amusement…

Sammie.

You gasped so loud it bounced off the tiled walls. “Oh-my God! I….I thought this was the women’s—!” His eyes dragged slow from your face down to your shoulders, to your still-clenched hands, and back up.“Mmm.” He leaned against the counter, arms folded, a smile playing on his mouth like sin wrapped in silk. “That why you in the men’s?”

You could feel the heat rise all the way from your collarbones. “The women’s was outta order there was a sign!”

“Uh huh.” He took a step closer. His chain glinted under the bathroom light. “You sure you ain’t just followin’ me in here?” You laughed. A breathy, shocked, absolutely not kind of laugh.

“Boy, please.”

“Say it again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

“‘Boy, please,’” he said, voice dipping just a little. “I liked how it sounded. Real Southern. Real sweet.”

He was too close now. The scent of him curling under your skin cedarwood and heat, like a campfire right before it roars. You stepped back, hand fumbling for the door.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He reached above your shoulder slowly and pressed the door closed with one hand. “Maybe,” he murmured, eyes dark and steady on yours. “But I ain’t ever walked in on somethin’ that made me smile this much.”

You swallowed hard.

He was watching you like you were something to study. Like the shape of your mouth was scripture and he was trying to memorize every verse. “You gon’ let me open the door now?” you asked, soft. “Maybe.” His voice dipped low again. Velvet wrapped in warning. “If you promise to come to choir practice.”

Your breath caught.

“You already asked me that.”

“Yeah, but this time I’m askin’ with a visual in mind.” His grin widened. “Hard to say no to someone you just shared a bathroom with.”

“We didn’t share—”

“Felt spiritual to me.”

You rolled your eyes.

He let the door creak open behind you, finally giving you space. But his eyes stayed glued to your face.“Wednesday,” he repeated, voice low, eyes lingering. “Seven sharp. Don’t make me come find you again.”You nodded, just as you reached for the door, footsteps echoed down the hall fast, low voices around the corner.

“Shhh—someone comin’—”

Before you could react, Sammie’s arm wrapped around your waist like a reflex, pulling you with him not toward the exit but backward, into the shadows. Into the stall. The metal door slammed shut behind you, his big hand gently catching it so it wouldn’t clang loud.

The air changed.

Got thick.

Tight.

You were flush against his chest. His hands steadying you, warm and wide on your waist. Your back met tile, and his body? A furnace keeping you still. “Don’t move,” he whispered, voice brushing your ear like heat. “They’ll go.”

Your mouth opened to ask who but footsteps got louder.

Voices clearer.

“Ain’t nobody in here.”

It was Brittany.

Then Malik. His laugh low and cocky.

“We got like, five minutes. The girls at the table busy tryna learn choir names.”

Sammie cursed under his breath. You looked up at him, wide eyed, and he just shook his head. Don’t speak. Don’t move. Just stay. That’s when they came in.

Not just into the bathroom. Into your space. The two of them giggling, breathing heavy, and leaning against sinks like they were in some teen romcom but louder. Sloppier.

And Lord. They were kissing.

Really kissing.

Your eyes flew to Sammie, and your face burning hot. Your hands came up like a protest.

“This is wrong,” you started to whisper. But his hand slid up firm, soft, sure and covered your mouth.

Your breath caught.

“Don’t say a word,” he whispered, breath ghosting against your forehead.

The sound of kissing outside the stall was obscene.

Slurping, moaning, fabric rustling.

And in the middle of it, you were pressed tight against the Pastor’s son. His thighs bracketing yours. His hands doing way too much and not enough. You could feel his heart pounding through his chest.

Or maybe it was yours.

You couldn’t tell anymore. His hand dropped from your mouth, finally but not far. It lingered on your jaw, thumb resting just beneath your bottom lip. His voice dipped low again, barely above a breath.

“You know I ain’t tryna disrespect you, right?”

You nodded.

“You scared?”

A beat.

You shook your head.

He smirked.

“You excited?”

Your eyes locked with his.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

The silence pulsed, warm and heavy.

“You feel that too?” he asked softly, voice laced with something holy and dangerous. His hand slid down your side, fingers skating your waist like he was memorizing it. “The way you look at me like you mad and curious all at once?”

You swallowed, breath shaky.

“Like every time you walk away, you lowkey hope I follow?”

You wanted to deny it.

Wanted to.

But then his fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist.

And his nose grazed your temple.

“I’d follow you anywhere, darling.”

You could feel his breaths against your ear now, his lips almost there.

“Even into the women’s bathroom.”

You huffed a laugh. Soft. Dangerous.

His lips brushed your cheek.

Then just beneath your ear.

You gasped quiet, chest rising sharp against his.

“Let them stay out there all night,” he whispered. “I got what I want right here.”

The door creaked open suddenly, and you both froze.

Brittany’s voice floated back in:

“You heard somethin’?”

“Nah, probably just the pipes. C’mon, we late.”

You waited five long seconds.

Ten.

The door shut behind them.

Sammie pulled back just enough to look at you. His fingers still warm on your waist. His eyes searching.“You alright?”

You nodded slowly.

Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I gotta go.” You rushed out without looking back but his smile turned wicked-soft.

“See you later, church girl.”

Taglist:

@cosmicautomatonshark

#sammie x black reader #sammie sinners #sammie x reader #preacher boy #preacher boy sammie #sinners #sammie moore #x black reader

172 notes · View notes

grugruel · 1 year ago

Text

Saint, or Sinner.

Parings: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You've had feelings for Arthur for quite some time now, but little did you know. That he has them for you, too.

After a rowdy night in Valentine, the group flees lawmen and end up in Strawberrys hotel. Whatever will occur?

Word count: 8.9 k

Warnings: Micha being Micah, bar fight/violence, plot with smut, mutual pining, soft Arthur, pinv sex, passionate sex, oral sex (f recieving), praise, pet names (girl, sweetheart), choking, fingering, handjob, creampie, mentioned masturbation.

AN: The words ran away from me, holy shit. It's so much longer than I intended.

Muffled voices argued in the night, soon growing into angry shouts. Rousing me from my sleep, confused, I put my gown on in a hurry. Sleep ridden eyes in a dark tent were not doing me any favors. I pulled the flap to the side and stumbled out of the tent, the voices creating one hell of a commotion.

Just as I did, most of the camp had awoken and joined in on the argument, gladly contributing their own heated opinions on the matter. All except Duch and Arthur, much to my dismay.

My eyes adjusted to the scene before me, the assailants quickly becoming clear. Standing around the campfire, was Micah of course, the center of attention as usual. Stood half shouting at John, who's pot seemed to be boiling over.

Soon after, John unleashed a rant on Micahs stupitidy, throwing in every word he could manage in his steaming anger.

I rolled my eyes, what could that damned fool possibly have done now?

'You piss ridden, moldy rat bastard.' John shouts, seamingly leaving Micah lost for words.

Bill bursts out laughing, slapping his knee at the insult, 'You big fuckin nuthead Micah. . .' He sighs, catching his breath.

Even Hosea snickers, 'Hes right, and that's coming from Bill of all folk.'

I cover my mouth as a giggle leaves my lips, seeing Micah so dumbfounded really sobered my mood. The rest of the girls have a simular reaction.

Micahs eyes narrow on me, 'What are ya' laughing at sweetheart. I ought to teach ya' a lesson.' He snarls, greasy hair hanging over his face.

The camp falls silent, none too appreciative of his choice of words. My mood turn sour again and a chill runs up my spine. The first to call him out was Sadie, 'Someone hold me back.' She spits, Sean stepping in to fo judt that.

Second was Miss Grimshaw, 'The money and now you threathen the girl, have you gone and lost your mind Micah Bell?' disgust evident on her face.

The money? What money?

John took a threatening step toward him, very displeased with Micahs comment, hands forming into fists at his sides. Hosea too, gave him a a bemused look.

'Try anything Bell, and I'll cut your fucking balls off.' I spit, glaring at him, feeling incredible joy in the way his face falls.

Muffled chuckles surround me, 'Thats my Girl.' Sadie laughs, along with a low, approving whistle from Javier.

'Whats goin' on here?' A gruff voice cuts in, looking between me and Micah.

Arthur, flanked by Dutch.

Arthur, shirtless. Flanked by Dutch.

In all my anger, my eyes cant help but sneak a hasty glance at his broad chest. Then quickly averting it, afraid he'd notice. I clear my throat, trying to keep my thoughts in check, 'He threatened me.'

That was enough for Arthur, not doubting me for a second. Fixed himself straight up with murder in his eyes, then walked at the man, readying his fists for a beating.

Butterflies fluttered within me.

Unsurprisingly, Micah cowered. Taking quick cautionary steps backward before Dutch could jump in, throwing his arm in front of Arthur and stopping him in his tracks. John looks at the two men, directing an accusing finger on Micah, 'Not only that, this blasted idiot took our money.'

The moment of joy from Micahs humiliation disappear, turning into anger once again. The camp giving him a mutual glower.

Arthur runs a hand through his hair, 'I ought to kill you.' He speaks, gritting his teeth, and takes another firm step forward. Pushing the limits of Dutch's patience, who strengthens the hold on Arthur.

'Surely, there must be a reasonable explanation for this?' Dutchs says, forcing a smile and shooting Micah an expectant look. Giving him an undeserved chance at explaining himself. Although he didn't show it, he too, was bemused.

'Well- I wanted to invest it, make it grow. I just wanted to help the camp.' Micah preached, his voice sleazy and confident. Telling the sure as shit, bull of an excuse as if he was the one to feel sorry for. Despite the circumstances.

Sighing, 'He god damned gamled it all away.' John reveals, looking ready to kill the man himself. The camp erupts into a loud argument once again, everyone getting a piece in.

I sneak a glance at Arthur, his chest rising and falling in big breaths, trying his hardest to stay calm. 'Bastard.' He mutters under his breath, Dutch giving him a quick warning glance.

'Shut!–' a hoarse voice calls out, '–Up!' Dutch yells, and obediently, we all fall silent. 'Theres no use, standin' around screamin'. You fools are attracting unwanted attention.' Dutch says, hands on his hips, 'Who won the funds.'

'Some rich bastard up in Strawberry.' Micahs sly voice cut through the night.

Dutch rubs his forehead in thought, 'Then he can do without it, go back there and grab it.' An exasperated sigh leaving him, 'Arthur, John, Bill, Charles.' He rounds the men up, 'You go there with him.' He turns to go back to his tent, but pauses and shouts, 'And no!–' dragging the words out, '–Deaths!' He looks at Micah, knowing damn well he'd otherwise murder the mans entire family in cold blood, then points to Arthur, 'That means you too, Arthur.' He says, a tired tone to his words. Clearly insinuating that he wanted Micah alive.

Everyone scatters, going back to bed on edge. But I linger, tucked away behind the tentflap. I watch Arthur come back out of his tent, in full get up. Silently praying that'd they'd be alright, that he would be. I did not care what happened to Micah, I hoped the man would get shot right between the eyes. I would personally love to see to it, I hoped Arthurs hatred for the man would get the better of him. Dutch always went way to easy on Micah, I didn't understand it, but something wasn't quite right with it.

Abigail kisses John goodbye, it made me happy to see them back together and all made up. I watch Arthur leave his tent in full get up, then stride past my tent. He gets on his horse with the rest of them, and ride past the treeline of Horseshoe overlook. No doubt berating Micah all the way to Strawberry.

I laid down in my bed, trying my damndest to sleep. But worry was keeping me up, eating away at me. Something didn't feel right.

He'd heard his words to her, him threatening her. Horrifying images cloud his mind, filling him with rage all over again. No doubt things he'd done before. He glanced a glare at the man, ugly mut.

Had Dutch not been there to stop him, Micah would've found his face beaten bloody and Arthur grinning on top of him. Had he not been loyal to the camp, to his people, to Dutch. Micah wouldn't be returning from this trip. He would conveniently get a bullet to his head, or found on the bottom of a valley, beaten unrecognizable before the fall had caused the killing blow.

He didnt want any harm coming to her. He'd never felt this for a woman, not ever. He'd steal glances, admire her when she wasn't looking. Damn well kill for her. She was the light he had needed for so long, her charming smile could shine brighter than any star he'd ever seen.

'You taken a likin' to her, Morgan?'

John raised his head at that, paying closer attention to the conversation, to Arthur. Knowing the possibility of him flying off the handle.

'Shut up if you know what's good for you Micah.' Charles scolded.

He scoffed, 'The day I listen to–' Micha looks Charles up and down, lingering on the color of his skin, 'The likes of you,' he continues, 'Will be my last.' Muttering the last words.

Ignoring him, Charles didn't do as much as raise an eyebrow. Micah did not deserve a reaction.

Micah was black rot, down to his core. Destorying everything he touched. We all knew it, but all aren't so keen to admit it. Dutch was the first person to come to mind, I couldn't understand for the life of me why he was so defensive of the man.

'I can see why.' Micah spoke again, 'Pretty little thing, isn't she?' He looked at Arthur, 'Got a big mouth on her too.'

John looked between the two men, noting the way Arthur fisted his reins, no doubt knuckles turning white under his gloves. Along with the way he kept his head straight ahead, focused on not killing the man, 'Micah, keep her off your tongue.' John warned, 'I don't care for you, but I don't want the heat from Dutch when you're found dead.' His raspy voice referring to him and Arthur.

Charles looked at the men in silent agreement, he preferred staying out of camp conflicts. But she was a woman dear to the camp, touching her would bode ill for any man.

And ad usual, the big idiot doesn't listen, 'Wouldn't mind takin' her for a ride one of these nights.' He said, the self-righteous smile he bore evident even in his tone. There was no need to look at him to know it.

Bill had been staying out of it, but he could feel the anger radiating off of Arthur. Enough to switch sides, hanging back, then stearing his horse up next to Arthur instead of Micah. Just in case a bullet would come flying.

And wouldn't you know it, Arthur reached into his holster and pulled his finest revolver, aiming it at the sorry excuse of a man. All in one quick motion, he'd been labeled as a dangerous for a reason. John sighed, now he'd done it.

Micah, dropped his reins. Raising his hands in the air, keeping a smug expression on his face. But beneath, he was scared witless.

'Strawberry up ahead.' Charles called, not caring much for the action behind him. Killing Micah would only do the camp good, but a gunshot would give their location away.

'Not another word of her.' Arthur began, 'Touch 'er–' He warns, 'And I'll let her kill ya'.' His voice gravelly and threatening, but Micah scoffed at the notion.

The familiar click off a safety lever sounds out, and the color drains from Micahs face.

'House is just up ahead.' Charles cut in, 'I'd suggest you wait wait with this til we got the funds.'

With a final glare, he holsters his gun and rides up to Charles. Clearing a hill, the house comes into view. Arthur sighs, 'Damn it Micah, you didnt tell us this feller had security.'

'You scared of a little fightin' pretty boy?' Micah mocked.

With a scoff from Arthur, they hitch their horses and pull up their bandanas, setting about proving the rumors of the infamouse Van Der Linde gang.

I anxiously checked my father's old pocket watch. It had been a few hours now. I put it down, tried to think of other things, and then picked it up again. Another 5 minutes had passed. Christ. I couldn't bear losing Arthur, John or Charles, god forbid all three of them. Bill could be sweet, but only when he needed something. I couldn't even dare imagine John leaving Abigail and Jack behind. What would they do? Stay with the gang, of course, but. . . Goodness, what about Arthur? My thoughts were racing ahead of me.

A few more minutes pass, then I hear hoofbeats, relief flods through me. It's hard to count, but theres at least three horses. God, let it be the right three. I emerge from my tent, along with Miss Grimshaw, Abigail, the rest of the girls, and Dutch. I race up to Abigail, holding eachothers hands as we watch the treeline in silence. Relying on each other for support.

Eventually, they break through. All five horses returning with their men on top of them, secretly I curse. One of the could've gotten lost and the world would've been a better place for it. I stroke Abigails back while John sees to his horse, then walks up to us, taking her in his arms and spinning her in a circle. They laugh, and a tinge of jealousy spark inside me. Yet I'm more than happy for them.

I observe the rest of them, they seem to be unharmed. All except. . . Arthur, his white shirt covered in blood. The terror must've been evident on my face, because–

'Hes fine.' John spoke, 'Most of it aint even his.' He said in an effort to calm me.

I nodded, smiling faintly 'Thank you John.' And sqeezed his arm.

'Well–' Dutch called out, 'How'd it go?' He looked at them, expecting nothing but grandeur.

'We got more than we bargained for. . ' John said, grinning. But there was something else his tone.

Bill unloaded his horse and came carrying several saddlebags, throwing them at our feet, money spilling out 'We got what we came for—' He paused, then pulled out two more bags from vehind his back, 'And more!' He burst out in a self-satisfied laugh.

I had to say, they made the best out of a bad situation. And on top of it all, Micah had barely made a sound, he was strangely quiet.

Dutch patted Bill and John on the back, 'Good work, wake the rest. Let us celebrate!' He clapped his hands together, no doubt imagining Tahiti.

I searched for him in the crowd of people as the camp was waking up, and found him talking to Charles and Sadie at the edge of the camp, clutching his side. Worry gnawed at me. They joined us by the campfire while Arthur headed into his tent, not saying much of nothing to anyone else.

The festivities carried out throughout the night, Arthurs lamp remained turned on. Eventually, I just had to check up on him.

I snuck away from the folk, Abigail and John had already turned in, as had Dutch and Molly. Seemed like the singles were the only ones left drinking, and Micah had disappeared to sulk somewhere. Lucky us.

I left them to it and approached his tent, 'Arthur?' I called, but didn't get an answer. I just heard some huffing from the inside.

I risked his reaction and pulled the flap to the side, 'Arth-' I began, but got cut off by the sight. In front of me was Arthur Morgan, shirt pushed up over his stumache, cowboy hat on, stitching up his own wound. Sitting on a stool, his pants were unbuttoned and folded down by the hip, revealing that beautiful "V" shape along with a happy trail of hair leading down toward, well. . . A new cut stretched from his hip to his abdomen, blood covered his hands and side, groaning as he pulled a needle through his skin. Something set off inside me, a yearning that made my body ache. He scarcely even noticed me, not until I gasped.

He looked up, eyes widening, 'You need somethin' Girl?' He blurted out, taken off guard. His state of undress did not help.

'Arthur Morgan. . .' I sighed, slightly offended, 'You shouldve fetched me, you know im good at stitchin' wounds.'

'I know, I know. 'm sorry sweetheart.' smiling faintly, 'Didnt wanna bother you.' He drawled.

I also noticed a mostly empty bottle of whiskey next to him, hoping he used most of it to disinfect the wound. I put my hands on my hips, 'Will you let me help?'

He nodded and handed me the needle, fingers brushing against eachother as I grabbed it.

Our eyes met, briefly. Sharing a glance that was ment to be stolen.

He leaned back against his dresser, the muscle of his upper body changing and rippling with his movements.

I cleared my throat and stepped closer, 'May I?' I asked, pointing at his shirt.

'You may.' He smirked.

I leaned closer to him, unbuttoning from top to bottom. Then pushing the shirt over his shoulder so it'd stay clear from his wound. I kneeled in front of him, his legs spread so I could get closer to the cut, then resting my elbows on his strong thigh to steady my arms.

I tried to focus on the wound, but it proved hard as I was so close to his crotch and how closely he was observing me.

'Might I ask what happened?' I bit my lip in focus, threading the needle through his skin.

'More men than expected.' He answered with a grunt, looking at my lips. Blood rushing somewhere it ought not to, 'One jumped out on me.' He continued, his voice husky and strained.

'He live to tell the tale?' I asked, searching his gaze. Hoping he'd be sincere.

'He did. . .' He groaned, as I finished another stitch. Making the aching settle in my core, a pulse running through me. Every now and then, when I believed him not to be looking. My eyes roamed his chest, studying his strong pecks and biceps.

'You know anything about Micahs sudden tongue-tie?' I ask, locking eyes with him. He lowers his head with a chuckle, a smirk poking out from under his hat.

'I might've. . . Given him something to think about.' He shrugs, the corner of his lip tugging.

Sighing, a smile spreads over my lips 'Youre a good man, Arthur Morgan.' I told him earnestly, 'Better than most.' I finished the last stitch and looked at him, 'All d-' I began, but he cut me off.

His lips greeting mine in a passionate kiss, lasting a whole second. But it was the best second I'd had in years. He pulled back, a horrified look on his face. Immidietly regretting it.

Surprised, I did not quite know what to say. 'Arthur, Im- You- You're drunk. .' I blurted, thinking it was the alcohol taking action. Nothing else.

'I'm–' He looked at me, searching for words 'You're right, I- I probably am. Apologies miss.' He managed.

I cursed myself, why'd he have to be drunk? He'd never remember that this even happened tomorrow.

'No- no. That's fine, don't worry. I didnt-' I tried, I didn't mind it. In fact I loved it, is that so hard to say? 'I should, uhm- let you sleep, you need to rest.' Idiot.

'I s'pouse so.' Was all he said, shock and regret still lingering between us.

'Well, good night. . . Mr Morgan.' I said, and he winced. Quickly, I took my leave.

'Night ma'am.' He called after me.

It felt like fleeing the scene of a crime. Bashing myself for the the formal good night, we were way past such pleasantires. It felt like a blow to even utter the words, even though I usually call him Mr Morgan. But it's always in a teasing way. Never formal and distant like this was.

Goodness gracious, what had I done?

I tucked myself under the covers in my own tent, thoughts circling my mind. I could not tear myself away from the smell of him, his musk, his broad build. Or the way sweetheart sounded as it rolled of his tongue, the way his tongue felt against my own. A hand snaked between my thighs, relieving myself of the ache he'd caused. Then slowly, I drifted off to sleep. With nothing but him on my mind.

You god damned fool Arthur, why'd you have scare her away? Old bastard, he thought to himself. Seeing her by his tent had startled him, but her gentle touch and sweet voice was all the comfort he'd needed. It took the sting right out of the needle. He'd used the bottle to clean the wound, but letting her think he was drunk was easier than the truth.

He'd took a liking to her from the moment he laid eyes on her, but she would never feel the same way. She'd called him Mr Morgan, as if the last year of building a relation with her had disintigrated within a second. It stung, real bad. Worse than a knife ever would. Yet that kiss made it all worth it her soft lips against his, her sweet taste. Feeling her breath on his skin as she undid his buttons, and seein' you like that? Kneeling between his legs, so close to him. It was a memory he would cherish through thick and thin, a memory that would keep him up at night. A memory that made him hard in an instant, he let out a frustrated groan. Silenty taking care of it, pretty images of her occupying his mind as he did. Finally, he began drifting off to sleep. And he only had one thing on his mind. She'd called him a good man, that's all that mattered to him.

A week passed, and we'd had a few shallow interactions. Nothing serious, but resembling the akwardness we experienced in his tent, it made my heart sore. I always found a reason to talk to him, to be near him. So when to opportunity arrived once again, I jumped on it. We'd had a full day of chores, but needed to head into Valentine for a supply run, to stock up on things like ammo and vegetables. And just generally take a look around town, see what else we could find. But I don't have a horse of my own, and since Lenny and Sean were taking the wagon.

I found myself in need of a ride.

The sun had begun its final stretch before setting, meaning the light was golden and beautiful. The warm spring air was gradually turning chilly, but in the most soothing way. I joined the crew by the horses, 'Who's willin' to give a lady a ride.' I asked coyly.

Arthurs mouth fell open, as if he was about to speak, but quickly closed it again. 'I always got space for you, girl.' Sadie winked.

'Stop that. . You ol' charmer.' I smile shyly. Arthur couldn't help but smile, nothing but admiration I'm his eyes for you.

'Well-' Micah began, and I immediately rolled my eyes. Arthur glaring daggers at him.

'Shut it, and shave that overgrown squirell off your face.' Sadie interrupted him, Sean erupting into laughter at the comment.

'Why are we even bringin' him? We don't need that kind of trouble today.' I pointed out.

'Cause I say so, sweetheart.' He leers, smugness radiating off of him.

My stumache churns, my dinner almost catching its second wind, 'Dont call me that.' I turn serious.

Micah laughs, about to respond-

'You heard her.' Arthur stops him, making him reconsider opening his mouth again. Instead he opts to mutter under his breath, no doubt the most vile and cruel things too.

John joins us to help get the wagon in order, then sen dus off. Changing the subject back, 'Arthur got the most space.' John points out, 'I'm sure he wouldn't mind.' He winks at me subtly, and I blush. John Marston, you godsend.

'That okay with you Arthur?' I ask, looking up at him with big eyes.

'Course, c'mon sweetheart.' He jumps out of the saddle, grabs me by the waist, and helps me onto his tall, dark shire.

I yelp, unprepared for his strength. He gets back on, placing himself behind me, then grabs the reins on either side of me, capturing me in his big frame. I can honestly say, that I've never felt safer. A content smile covers my lips.

Sadie chuckles at the two of us, the chuckle turning into pure laughter when she sees Micahs expression. Gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, glaring at us, probably furious by my blatant approval of Arthurs use of sweetheart.

And with that, we begin our journey into town. Lenny and Sean were singing behind us, Sadie leading the way ahead of us. And Micah? I didn't bother finding out where he was.

Feeling Arthurs warmth behind me was all I cared about, his chest and thighs rubbing up against me with every step of his horse. It was doing something to me.

As the sun dove deeper, the cool in the air grew. Involuntary shivers took ahold of my body, 'You cold, girl?' He asked.

I shook my head, 'No, I'll be fine. Thank you though, Arthur.' My voice hackig as a particularly violent shiver shook my body, making my teeth clattered against eachother.

'Dont you lie to me, you're freezin'.' He says, worry lacing his tone, 'Take the reins.' That was an order.

I did and his hands slid between us, unbuttoning his jacket. Knuckles brushing against my back, all the way along my spine, ending at the arch of my back. Sending shivers in waves all over my body. 'Scooch down.' He orders again. Slightly hesitant, I slide backward. My ass tucked neatly again his crotch and my back flush again his chest. With his jacket still on, he wraps it around my sides, nearly covering my entire upper body. Sharing eachothers heat, trapping it between us.

'Arthur. .' I breathe, lust coursing through me. But it must've sounded as a protest because-

'-Dont start.' He said, 'My jacket is big enough for the both of us. Now hand me the reins, darlin.'

Oh you wonderful, oblivious man.

I gave them back to him and tugged his jacket closer around me, leaning impossibly closer to him. Gradually, my shivers disappeared, all thanks to the large, warm bear of a man behind me.

'See? Told ya'.' His body shook gently with a silent chuckle.

'You're somethin' else Mr Morgan.' I sighed and this time, the words felt right.

He smiled, she didnt see it, thankfully. Everything she did, made him smile. She was so close to him, and he had indirectly caressed her back. He could've leaned back and given her space, but he craved her. It was intimate and special. He'd not felt so peaceful since she stitched him up last week. Everything he did was at her service. Now she sat between his legs, grinding up against him. Not to her knowledge though, she just moved her hips to the step of the horse, riding like a woman should. But unbeknownst to her, she was feeding a hunger he fought hard to contain. Head in the lions mouth and all.

'Whats on that mind of yours Arthur?' She asked, 'I can feel you thinkin' from 'ere.' Shuddering against him, is she still cold?

If she only knew, what was goin' through his mind. How he thought of you every waking moment, a sentiment she would never return.

'Nothin' special, you still feelin' cold? I can feel you shiverin' Girl.'

She froze for a second before she spoke, chuckling under her breath, 'No I ain't cold, but thank you again.' He could hear the smile on her lips.

What was it then?

'Is the cut heelin' good?' She asked, concern and something else lingering in her voice. The memory resurfaced in his mind, his blood setting about rushing places. He shut his eyes, trying to clean his mind before he answered. Clearing his throat first, 'Good, 'is gonna be a nice 'n clean scar.' His voice lightly strained.

'Well, I'm glad. You got enough of em' for my liking.' She huffed, annoyed at the notion of him always hurting himself.

He risked it, and leaned his head forward, almost touching her shoulder but not quite. Breathing in that sweet scent of hers. Telling himself that it wasn't such a strange thing to do. 'I'll survive, I always do. With your fine stitchin' It's impossibly not to.'

She blushed, turning her face away from his, a bit shy at his compliment. He loved the way her cheeks turned rosy, 'Thank you.' She said proudly, another shudder against him.

Damn it, wad she still cold or not?

He opted out of asking again. She'd just tell him no. So he took matters into his own hands, quite literally. He moved the reins into one hand and circled the other around her waist, pulling her closer. Figuring he could blame it on rough terrain, that he didn't want her to hurt her pretty self.

But she didn't protest, on the contrary. She made a sound, almost like she exhaled a moan under her breath. Then grabbed his thigh, rough terrain too, perhaps? 'Arthur. . .' She breathed.

'I apologise miss, I shouldn't ha–' He began.

'No, no. You should've.' Firm in her words. 'You, remember much from last week?' She asked.

'I do.' He breathed, a nervous shake to his voice.

'You werent drunk?'

'No ma'am.' He answered truthfully, 'I lied.'

'Why?' There was hurt in her voice, and something broke inside of him.

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, afraid he'd hurt her more, 'Thought maybe it'd be best, since I stepped over a line.'

She scoffed, 'You didn't step over anything, Mr Morgan.'

'Well I. . .' He paused, 'You didnt seem to like it, thats all. Didnt want you to think I was takin' advantages.' He rambled an explanation.

'I didn't want to take advantage of you Mr Morgan.' She sounded annoyed, annoyed by this whole missunderstanding, 'Didnt want you kissin' me drunk, if it was, just cause you were drunk.' She explained, 'I thought you were drunk. . .' sighing.

Puzzle pieces were finally falling into place for the both of them.

'We're here!' Sadie called from the front.

Dissapointed, I sighed. Yet, relieved, I smiled.

Arthur jumped off, grabbed my waist and helped me down. His touch lingering as our eyes met, searching eachothers gazes for answers. Wondering, where to go from here. We were finally on the same page, and knowing he kissed me from his own free will put a sping in my step.

The group broke up, I headed with Sadie as the men got about their business. We looked at the guns first and foremost, then headed for the general store. I looked for Arthur as we walked from building to building, and saw him heading into the stables. I wondered if he was gonna treat himself to a new saddle. He deserved it.

We went about our list of things to buy, then gathered by the wagon. Collectively, we decided on a bar run before we rode back to camp. Lenny and Sean were particularly excited about the idea.

We ordered whiskey, drank and laughed. Sadie and Lenny stood between me and Arthur, resulting in a whole lot of meaningful glances. Just wishing we could talk some more.

At some point a woman had approached Arthur, laying her hand on his bicep, clearly flirting. And my blood ran cold.

I stood talking with Sean, who noticed my change in demeanour and looked over at them. 'Dont worry yourself girl.' He laughed, and I furrowed my brows. Not sure what he ment.

'You gonna buy a lady a drink?' The woman asked, her voice sultry. Now, my blood boiled.

Arthur chuckeled, 'I didnt know I was talking to a lady.' And glanced at her hand, which she immediately retracted upon noticing.

She scoffed, 'Aint that a nice way to treat a woman. You taken cowboy?' She asked, her eyes narrowing on him.

'Well. . .' He huffed, 'You could say that.'

My heart swelled at his comment.

'Told ye so.' Sean smirked, and I playfully hit him on the shoulder.

The night went on, and as most nights go in a saloon, a fight was bound to happen. Arthur must've been watching me, because within the next half minute. A man had walked up next to me, and was about to touch what wasnt his to touch. But Arthur appeared out of nowhere, his outlaw instics mustve been on high alert. The man did in fact look sleezy enough to attempt such a thing, Arthur grabbed the mans wrist in a bone breaking grib. 'You keep your hands to yourself mister.' He said, his voice low and threatening.

'Or what?' The man spit, and Arthur let go of him. Lowering his head, chuckling. That shouldve been the mans warning, but he didn't know Arthur like we did.

Backing me up, Sean whispered 'Get ready.' to Sadie, Lenny and me. Nodding to a table of thugs in the corner, they were staring at our group intently, watching the scene unfold.

Arthur jerked his head to the side and smirked under his hat, then in flash he gave the man a lethal right hook. Sending him flying backward. The thugs sprung up, heading for us with firm steps.

Holy shit. A full on brawl broke out, everyone lunged themselves on everyone. I delivered a right hook of my own as two guys were ganging up on Lenny. Another man tried getting handsy with me, he snuck up behind me and grabbed me around the waist. So I elbowed him hard in the side and threw my head back. Headbutting him, I turned around and pushed him off me. Taking great joy in the way his nose was gushing blood, I grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the crotch. With a whine, the man fell to the ground.

Even Micah joined in on the action, he'd been sitting still enjoying his whiskey beside us. Until he decided he wanted some fun too, apparently only he could be inappropriate with me. He smashed the glass over the head on the closest man, although im pretty sure he wasn't even apart of the brawl.

As the dust was settling and the lawmen had been called, we flew the coup. Arthur grabbed my hand and rushed us to our horses, not willing to risk leading the law back to camp, we rode hard and fast for Strawberry. Arthur was making a fuss about me on the ride there, asking if I was ok, and I assured him I was. 'Well. . . You got one hell of a hook girl.' He said, and I beamed with pride.

The gang had to act casual as we arrived to Strawberry, which proved futile with cuts and bruises as we asked for hotel rooms. But we ended up conning our way into possession of the last three hotel rooms. Bribing the clerk that is.

Arthur grabbed a key of his own, which nobody disputed. He gave me a meaningful look at and headed upstairs. Sadie grabbed a key and dragged me along with her. Leaving the last three men to argue about sharing a room, 'Shut up Micah, you're sleeping in the hall.' Sean shouted behind us. Turning around, I saw Micah slamming the doors open and storming out.

'I'll find a woman to warm me, dont ya' worry.' He shouted back, muttering under his breath.

We burst out laughing and ran to our room, but before we headed in, I grabbed her arm 'I'm just gonna go check on Arthur real quick.' I said, not thinking much of it.

'I'll not see you til the morning then.' She laughed, our stolen glances had apparently not been so stolen after all.

I rolled my eyes, 'We'll see.' And knocked on his door.

Lenny and Sean walked by, a low whistle accompanied by chuckles as they saw me standing there. But they quickly turned quiet when Arthur opened the door, standing in only his shirt and pants 'May I come in?' I asked, giving him my best puppy eyes.

'Course.' He smirked, and opened the door wider, stepping out of my way. My side brushing against him as I entered. His vest and jacket lay discarded on the bed, along with his hat.

'About before-' I began, my back turned to him. Suddenly feeling his hands slide onto my waist, pulling me into him. I gasped, not expecting it. He leaned into my shoulder, lips gracing my neck, all the way up to my ear. The warmth of his breath fanning over my skin, making me boil on the inside. It made it difficult to think.

'I want you darlin', all of ya'.' He whisperes, 'If you'll have me–' pausing to place a gentle kiss between my ear and jaw, '–'M tired off missunderstandin's.'

In a haze, I turn around and lay my hands on his chest, having to crane my neck upward to meet his eyes. I reach one hand to caress his cheek, brushing at his stubble 'So am I.'

He leans into my delicate touch, nuzzling my hand and placing a soft peck on my palm.

One of his hands sinks its fingertips into the flesh at my hip as the other grabs my arm softly, sliding his hand up to my wrist, gently holding it as he places another kiss there, right on my pulse point. His lips linger, feeling my rapid heartbeat. Gently, he experiments. Sucking and pecking the spot.

A deep ache settles in my bones, fortifying with every kiss he places, deepening with every beat of my heart. And for a second, he feels it too. Meeting my eyes with a smirk, he pulls my sleeve up to cover more ground. Immidietly I feel that my clothes are weighing me down, 'Arthur.' I whisper.

'Hmm?' He hums, focused on kissing what skin he has access to.

Clearing my throat, 'Will you–' I breathe, 'Help me unbutton?'

His eyes meet mine again, searching my gaze for certainty. 'I'll spend the rest of my days doin' your biddin' if it makes you happy girl.'

'It would–' I say, and his hands move to my ribcage, pulling me into his frame. His face an inch from mine as his hands snake around my back, making quick work of each button without batting an eye. 'Oh—' I gasp, surprised by his practiced fingers. 'Should I be jealous?' I ask under my breath.

'No ma'am, none could compete with you.' He assures me.

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks, and in the same moment, he finishes with the last button. Stroking his knuckles over the bare skin along my spine, and sighs. Content. As a shuddering breath leaves me.

Arthur wonders for but a second if shes cold again, until he realises.

'You werent cold, were ya'?'

Immedietly getting what hes reffering to, 'In the begginin' I was.' I tell him truthfully, 'Youre wonderfully clueless sometimes, especially for such a experienced man.'

He chuckles, 'You tellin' me you were all hot 'n bothered for me?'

'You were rubbin' against me, pullin' me close. How could I not be?'

'I wasnt–' He protests, '–You were on me if anythin'.'

'Oh so youre tellin' me you were all hot 'n bothered then?' I throw his words back at him, smirking happily while doing it.

Arthurs mouth opens and closes, unable to think of a comeback.

'Thats what I thought.'

He scoffs a smile, pushing my blouse off of me, leaving me in my undergarments.

His hands move to my arms, sliding upwards, leaving prickled skin in their abscence. He trails them over my collarbones and neck, his eyes following every inch of movement.

I lay my hands on his hips, holding onto him as my knees grow weeker by the second.

Forming his hands into loose fists, he caresses my cheeks with the backs if his fingers. Gently brushing the knuckles over my cheekbones, pushing strands of hair from my face in the same motion. He flattens his hands and cup my face, big hands draping around the sides of my head. Pulling me closer, he leans into my space. Meeting in the middle, his lips ghost over mine.

My breath hitches when he kisses me softly, his thumbs stroking my temples in soothing motions.

I grab onto his shirt, fisting and lightly pulling on the fabric. Arousal taking the reins completley, making it hard to think. I look at him with hazy eyes, admiration clouding every sense I have. '. . 'S your turn mister.' I breathe.

Smiling, he continues kissing me, 'At your pleasure ma'am.'

With a pleased hum, I trace my hands up his abdomen and over his chest, and Arthur groans in response. The aching pulse in my body stiffens at the sound, becoming more compressed. More focused in my core. Kissing him, I easily unbutton his shirt, making quick work of it, and slide it over his shoulders. Now hooked on his arm folds, it hangs around the small of his back. I sigh happily, what a sight it was.

'You expercied taking men's shirt's off?' He jokes, laughing. Then moves his hands to my waist, clawing softly at my skin.

I slide my arms around his neck, up into his hair. Scrathing his scalp tenderly, 'Well–' I begin, but he bites my lip suddenly, warning me. I yelp, accidently pulling on his hair, and a whine escapes him. My core dripping at the sound as I release a shuddering breath, '. .'M a woman Arthur, I have needs.'

'Yeah?' He questions, 'You needin' right now, woman?' The gruffness in his voice making my fingers curl.

'I am. .' Whining, my kisses turn needy, 'I need you Arthur, always.' I moan.

At that he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tightly into his embrace, his fingers digging into my flesh. He kissed me, hard. Hard like he might just die if let's me go.

'Skirt. . .' mumbling against me, 'Needs to go.' He manages. Without another word, I snake my hands behind my back, untying my skirt a let it fall to the floor. Arthur walks forward, forcing me back until my chins hit the bed and we fall onto it. He puts his weight on me, although supported by his forearms. 'Pants.' He orders, but I was already one step ahead. My hands already moving quickly to undo the buttons on his pants as hes kissing his way down my jaw and neck. Focusing on my sweet spot, hes sucks bruises, turning me into a moaning mess under every breath. Meanwhile, I shove my hand into his boxers. He grunts and shoves his forehead into the crook of my neck as I palm him, overwhelmed by my long lusted for touches. His member was already harder than a rock, and leaking juices. I bring my thump to his tip, stroking his seed in circles. He groans breathely into my neck, his warm breath causing further heat to pool in core. He leans onto one arm, sliding the other along the curves of my body. Cupping my breast through my brasier, 'I want to look at you sweetheart.' He groans and unfolds his arm so that hes above me to meet my eyes, 'Can I look at ya'?' He asks, voice pleading.

I nod, '. . 'Course.'.

Waisting no time, he snakes one hand under my back and lifts me up. I gasp, always surprised by his strength. 'Please, ma'am.' He begs, and I take the hint. My hand leaves his his member and move around my back, undoing the brasier. Throwing it on the floor, he sighs in relief, 'Wanted to see ya' for so long.' He breathes, lowering me back onto the bed and himself onto of me. Immidietly taking one breast into his mouth, and palms the other. Squeezing them, playing with my nipples, using teeth, tounge and fingers. Automatically, my back arches. Pushing my abdomen against his, and accidentally making my mound rub against his crotch. He hums under his breath, his hand leaving my breast and slowly slides down my body, then pulls his mouth off of my breast with a pop. 'Now.' He whispers, kissing his way up to my jaw, then leveling his head with mine, 'Wanna se all of ya'.' his free hand cups my cunt. I gasp from the sudden touch, there's no friction, no movement, yet the aching grows stronger from the warmth of his palm alone. I shut my eyes, trying to come up with an answer. But the presence of him takes up my entire mind, all I can manage is a nod.

Not satisfied, he pushes his palm firmly against my core. 'Look at me girl.' He orders, sliding his middle finger over my slit, undergarments creating a barrier. Making my wetness soak into them, and he chuckles when he feels it. Whimpering, I open my eyes to look at him, and he smirks, 'Good girl.' And plants a kiss on my jaw, 'Use your words this time.' He pecks my lips, then slides his finger over my clit. Lately circling it through the fabric, I swallow hard. Jolts of pleasure surge through my body as something finally gives. 'Want. . . You.' I manage.

'Yeah?' He breathes, and I nod. To which he raises his brows, and pushes two fingers against my core in warning.

Another jolt, '!Mmm, meanin'. . .' Humming a stutter, 'Yes–' I pause, '–Please Arthur. I- I want you.'

'Atta girl.' He praises, then begins trailing kisses down my chest, over my nipple and abdomen, ending at my mound, right above my clit.

My back arches, 'Please. .' I whisper, pleading with him. He pushes back, shakes his already half off shirt completley off, and his pants follow. My eyes go wide at the size of him, hello cowboy.

His hands slide up my thighs, giving reassuring squeezes until he gets ahold of my undergarments. Hooking his fingers under them, he gently slides them off, and the both of us gasp. 'Beautiful.' He murmurs, admiring me. Then bends down, kissing his way up my inner thigh. Winding his arms under my legs and grabbing my waist, then hovers over my cunt, giving me one last look before diving in.

He licks one long stripe up my folds, gathering my wetness on his tongue. Then attaches himself to my clit, generously sucking and circling his tongue around it. I'd been on edge since the night in the tent, hyper sensitive from always wanting him, and finally feeling him on me? It's purely magical, I have to bite my cheek to keep from screaming when he shoves two fingers inside me. Thrusting in and out, curling with every withdrawal. I was already close, 'Arthur, 'm so close.' I moan.

He nods, furthering the movement of his tongue, 'Tell me what ya' needin' girl.' He mumbles against my folds, the vibrations of his voice deepness have me gripping my sheets, clawing it them like a wild animal.

'Need you, need you in me.' I blurt out.

He laughs, 'Im already in you sweetheart.' Causing my back to arch again, oh sweet, sweet vibrations. I throw my head back into the pillow, and his hand slides from my hip to my lower abdomen, 'Be good and lay still now.' Then pushing down with his palm. That combined with his fingers, were– were enough. . .

Blinding pleasure surges through me as I come on his fingers, walls clenching, fluids flowing. I breathe heavily as he laps it up, 'In me Arthur, please.' I whine.

'Youre gonna have to be clearer girl.'

I loose my patience, 'Christ, Arthur! I need you cock in me.'

He smirks, 'Well why didnt you just say so?' His hands push my legs over his shoulders and he climbs on top of me, face to face, he kisses me passionately. Tasting of salt.

His tip graces my entrance, 'You sure, aint you?' He asks, kissing my jaw.

I bury my hand in his hair, 'Mmh, 'm sure.' And with that, pushes inside me. A breathy moan leaves our mouths simultaneously.

'Feelin' just as sweet as you taste sweetheart.' He whispers against my jaw, nuzzling his nose into my cheek and forehead against temple. The pulls out, to the tip, and shoves himself back in. Hard and passionate, he sets perfect pace. Rocking our bodies with every thrust, going deeper than I ever thought to be possible.

'Christ.' I groan, he's hitting that spot inside me with every motion. One hand moves though his back, scratching at it loosely, pulling on hip to get him even deeper. He grunts, in my ear. Might aswell be music, wouldnt be able to tell a difference. He snakes one hand up my torso, grabbing my throat gently and squeezing just enough. Brushing his thumb over my my jugular. Outlaw indeed.

I pull on his hair, to level his face with mine, I wanted his lips, his tongue. 'Kiss me cowboy.' I order, and he follows.

Kissing me deeply, in rhythm with his thrusts, In rhythm with the aching that was finally dulling in my body. Finally, I had I'm. Truly had him. Bliss flows through me as the knot in my stumache tightens, on the verge of my second orgasm. And telling by Arthurs thrusts, he wasn't far away either. In a few more thrusts we both topple over with a breathy moans, Arthur whispering, 'Good girl.' Over and over as his seed was filling me to the brim, seeping out around his member as he collapses on me. My legs falling to the bed. We gather our breaths in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the closeness of the other.

He lays and arm around me, pulling me close as we fall asleep. Both thinking of the other, just not having to imagine what holding the other would feel like anymore.

At some point during the night, Arthur had rolled me off of his arm and snuck out. I was to tired to think much of it, especially since he returned shortly after. By morning I had all but forgotten it, brushing it off as a dream.

As we got dressed and ready the next day, I handed Arthur his hat. He took it, but looked at me, 'Put it on, wanna see you in something of mine.' He says, smiling.

'Gladly.' I chirp, and put it on.

His smile slants, turning into a smirk, 'Now, girl. You know what that means don't you?'

'Why'd you think I was glad to put it on. If not just to tell Micah to shove it.' I chuckle.

'It suits ya' He ruffles my hair with the hat.

We walked out and fetch our horses, the grup giving us mixed looks as the spot us. Arthurs hat declaring to the public of his intentions, that I was his and that we would have a busy night. Sadie smirked knowingly, winking at me. While Sean and Lenny looked happy for us, Micah was the only one who glowered.

'I got a surprise.' He says as he saddles his shire.

'Yeah, whats that?' I tilt my head.

He nods to Sean who runs off, I quirk my eyebrow at Arthur, 'Whats all this?' I ask.

'You'll see, keep your eyes peeled sweetheart.'

Eventually, Sean comes back into view, leading a horse I don't recognize. A beautiful mustang, tan coat, and white forhead. I don't connect the dots at first, 'Sean got a new horse?' I ask, confused.

'Now why would I surprise you with a new horse for Sean?' He asks, chuckling. And the pieces snap into place.

'For me?' I ask, dumbfounded. A million questions circling my head.

'Got her yesterday, had Sean ride and get her earlier this morning. Since I was. . . Occupied.' He smirks.

'That's why you snuck out in the night, then?'

He hums, 'Mhm.'

'Well I'll be. . Arthur Morgan, thank you.' I smile, hugging him. He wraps his arm around me, holding me tightly, afraid I'd otherwise slip away.

'. .'S nothing.' He pecks my cheek, 'Go meet her.'

As we arrived back to camp, we got busy. Late into the night we spent in Arthurs tent, defining the meaning of cowgirl.

The next few hours we rode next to eachother on our way back to camp, flirting and laughing as Saint and I got used to eachother.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr smut #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic

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fushipurro · 1 year ago

Text

The Nature of Depravity

Masterlist

☆ Synopsis: You were an angel, a saint, one of the most profound icons worshipped by mortal kind. There wasn’t a soul in paradise or the fire below that didn’t know your name. It seemed that everywhere you went, you left behind a trail of all things good.

You were one of the best heaven had to offer ─ up until the day you fell from grace and into the hands of a sinner.

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, AU - fantasy, religious imagery, mentions of blood/violence, implied murder, biting, creampie, scratching, p in v, foreplay, angst, everyone's bad at feelings, true form sukuna, tonguefucking, loss of virginity

☆ Word Count: 10.7k

It wasn’t like one day you woke up and decided to rebel against the heavenly utopia.Rather, it happened like any other day while you were making your rounds to several war-torn villages recently burnt to ash. You sought to aid in the recovery of those lucky to survive, but unbeknownst to you at the time, a group of demons were awaiting your arrival.

With one precise throw, they managed to impale one of your wings with iron weaponry, effectively knocking you from the sky. From there, everything that followed seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, and the next thing you knew, you found yourself here ─ bound in chains, brought before the King of Demons.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Otherwise known as the Fallen, or the Disgraced One, Sukuna was once a proud angel of similar status to your own. It’s unknown how his departure from Heaven came to be. Some claim that he was the bastard child of an unholy couple, while others claim he was never an angel to begin with ─ merely a forked-tongue creature living under the guise of your virtuous ways. At the end of the day, he shed his wings and took over the hellfire realm with unyielding strength.

You stand before him, trapped to an iron pole that burns you to the touch. The metal rod from earlier still marring your wing ─ no doubt broken as it lays flat at your side, oozing with golden, angelic blood.

“What do we have here?” The voice of king stretches across the room, inciting the demons that brought you here to bow in his presence. Something you already have no choice but to do. The intense pain and your lack of energy from the earlier fight affects you greatly now, killing any hope of refusal.

“My lord, we’ve capture this angel we now offer to you.”

“That much is obvious,” Sukuna responds coldly, rolling his eyes. He presses a bored fist to temple. “So what? You’ve come here seeking something from me, haven’t you? Go on, spit it out.”

The demon at your side sputters with nerves before another takes over, “This is no ordinary angel we’ve brought you,” he says, stating your name to the demon king, “We desire your protection, and means for our survival. Our families are poor and struggling to keep those foul humans out of our land.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the sound of a cruel laughter meant to mock the demons uttering such filth.

“My lord?”

“Quiet,” he commands with no such amusement from moments ago. “If you’re too weak to fight then you deserve to lay down and die. Your kind is meant to be chewed up by the strong.”

“But Sir–“

A flick of his finger, and blood sprays out in all directions, some of its droplets even landing across your face. In the next second, that demon’s head rolls into view. The others behind you gasp in fear, a few even daring to step back only to meet the same demise.

“You’d do well to remember that everything you have belongs to me. Your homes, your land, your lives.” He laughs again. “All of it belongs to your one true king. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind on letting the rest of you live.”

The demons leave in a hurry, and all that remains is both you and the devil.

Sukuna approaches you slowly, like a predator cornering their prey, uncaring that he has to cross a puddle of black demon blood to reach you. With two fingers, he lifts you by your chin, allowing you to drink in the sight of someone who used to be just like you.

Black ink binds to his skin, visible across the expanse of his body from what you can make out. With four arms, and a set of eyes growing from the side of his face, he’s the textbook definition of a demon by human standards. But as an angel, well… you’ve seen more unique creations in the first sphere of your celestial hierarchy. Different doesn’t always have to mean repulsive.

“Such a pathetic sight,” he murmurs, moving your head as though you’re a fruit being examined for its quality. “A broken, pitiful excuse of an angel in my domain.” A grin appears on his face, ripe with his malevolent nature. “How the so-called mighty continue to fall.”

You should bite back. You should be saying something, anything to defend heaven from the one who for whatever reason forsake it, leaving it all behind to become the enemy of virtue. Yet, you’re unable to come up with anything like all your peers would.

Sukuna appears to be studying your expression carefully, finding himself perplexed by your lack of animosity.

“You’re not afraid?” he asks with a hint of curiosity, though his face remains neutral.

“Should I be?” you respond, and without much thought or consideration for the position you’re in. He could do whatever he wants with you, and it would as easy as it is for him to take a life.

He laughs again, letting it echo throughout the throne room.

“Most creatures tremble in fear before me. You even got to see what happens to those who annoy me.” He pauses, revealing sharpened fangs as his grows wide. “And yet, you ask me if you should be afraid. Well, I think the answer is quite obvious, don’t you agree?”

“If it is my fate to die by your hands, then so be it.” As you tell him those words, you feel your strength slipping. The weight of your head sinking deeper into his touch. Even your sight is starting to cloud with black spots.

“Fate? Hah! Don’t make me laugh.” He leans down, mere inches from your face. “You’re just like the rest of your kin, always preaching the gospel of a false king. Your paradise is nothing but a garden of lies.”

You can’t help but wonder from Sukuna’s words what happened to birth such hatred for your shared homeland.

“Being scared would do me no good. In my current state, I pose no threat to you,” you point out. ��What reason do I have to fight you?”

He scoffs, “There’s a war going on, and you and I are on opposite sides.”

“That’s never mattered to me.”

He clicks his tongue, swapping the fingers under your jaw with his whole hand. His nails dig into your cheeks, but you can hardly feel it. You can hardly feel anything but coldness.

“I understand if it’s my time; do as you will with me.”

“You speak as if your life holds no value.” He seems to be evaluating you again, tracing his lower set of eyes across your broken wing with scrutiny in his gaze. The other two remain locked with yours. “I wonder if your dear paradise would even allow your return… you may as well be one of the fallen now.”

His words barely register before everything goes black and you succumb to the darkness swelling around your form. You’ve held the hands of many humans on their way into paradise, and many speak of death’s embrace being so warm and inviting.

But all you feel is cold.

So, so cold.

“Sleep well, angel. I’ll be seeing you again soon enough.”

Slowly but surely, everything starts falling back into place. Reality returning to your lifeless form as you awaken from your slumber.

With a tired groan, you open your eyes to an unfamiliar room. Nothing about where you are screams paradise, and in fact, it’s more of the opposite. Currently, you lay atop a large bed, surrounded by red silk sheets and pillows. The room itself is especially decorated with lavish details and portraits bordered with gold, its imagery ranging from acts of debauchery to icons painted with blood. Something about those specific paintings raises an unsettling feeling in the back of your mind.

“You’re awake,” a voice calls from the doorway. The richness of his voice makes it obvious without turning your head that you’re not actually dead, but still within Sukuna’s castle of sin. “How are you feeling?” he asks, though his demeanor remains calm, devoid of any underlying concern or true empathy.

You try and sit up, but quickly fall back from the pain, almost forgetting the trauma you had been through. You only realize now the number of bandages wrapping your body, the majority contorting your wing into a makeshift sling.

“You saved me?” you ask with disbelief in your tone. You thought for sure your time was up, yet your heart still beats, quicker now in Sukuna’s presence. “Why?”

“Yes, I saved you. And as for why…” He crosses his arm, maintaining his cold stare. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.” A subtle smirk appears.

“Whatever the case may be, thank you, for not letting me die.”

“Don’t mistake my kindness for charity,” he says bluntly. “In due time, you’ll be fulfilling your usage to me. That is the only reason you’re still alive.”

You raise an eyebrow at his words. “What use would you have of me?”

That devilish grin makes a reappearance on his face as he strides closer to the bed, towering over you. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, you need only to focus on your recovery.”

So much for getting any answers or having any chance of leaving.

“Charity or not ─ I still thank you,” you say back to him, smiling all the while despite the fact you’re now akin to a bird confined in a gilded cage. Better than an iron cell, but not the same as the freedom that calls to you. At the end of the day, however, and for whatever reason he has, he still chose to help you.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he chuckles, eyes darkening. “It’s far too early for that.”

Sukuna’s amusement fades as the doors to your room open, revealing a white-haired servant holding a tray of sorts.

“My lord,” they greet, bowing to the King of Demons.

“Good, you’re here, Uraume. See to her recovery now that’s awake. I have work that needs to be done,” he announces, stepping out of the way for the one called Uraume to approach. Sukuna eyes fixate on you again as their servant helps you sit up. “I’ll warn you now, angel. You’re in my domain.” His tone is stern, full of unspoken promise. “If you so much as try to escape, I’ll clip both of your wings and leave you to rot this time around.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony in his words. “Don’t worry, I think we both know I’m in no condition to leave. Nor do I plan on trying either.”

Despite the humor of it, one look at your wing is enough to question what life will be like for you from now on. There’s a question that when you recover, will you ever be able to fly again? You can’t help but feel off about the dull coloring of your wings now.

All angels radiate a celestial glow across the span of their perfectly white wings ─ like light scattered through a prism in every hair and fiber. That glow is seemingly gone from yours, and you think you spot some gray forming at the base. To be absent of that symbol of your connection, one can only assume it to be a sign of what’s to come.

“See that you don’t,” he remarks, turning away to let Uraume work.

Uraume makes careful work of changing out your bandages. They work quick and with deft fingers, trying their best not to aggravate your wing further. All the while, you face away towards the head of the bed, hiding your now exposed chest with your arms. You feel them pause, tracing a finger down your back. In your mind, you assume it to be one of the many marks left behind from the demons that captured you, and thus, you don’t focus too much on it.

You fail to notice Sukuna’s gaze transfixed on you from the doorway. Although silent, a darkness looms over his features. He exits the room moments later, shutting the door with more force than necessary, making your body jolt.

It’s a while before Uraume finishes, and they leave you with some fresh fruit to dine on. While you’re supposed to be resting, you find it difficult, especially after learning you’ve already been asleep for several days. That knowledge is precisely why you ditch the sheets to walk out onto the veranda connected to your room.

The moon is high in the sky, basking the courtyard garden with its sheer, red-toned light. Down here in the realm of fire, it’s as though the moon forever mirrors the flames conjured up from demons. That, or it reflects the many pools of blood from a millennium of suffering.

“Don’t you look like a broken bird,” Sukuna comments from behind you. For someone of his stature, it’s a wonder you didn’t hear him approaching.

“In a way, I am,” you muse, moving your eyes forward again. “One that flew too far from her nest.”

“Fallen from the nest and into the hands of a monster, how your precious fate seems to curse you.”

“Monster?” You snap your head in his direction with an incredulous look. “I hope you’re not referring to yourself with that comment.”

“You would deny what I am?” His voice is tinged with arrogance as he comes up beside you, not bothering to spare a glance. “I am the King of Demons, the most despised of life’s creation. How am I not a monster?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” you respond, tilting your head. “Whatever the case may be, you chose to let me live, and even saw to the treatment of my injuries. You could’ve kept me in chains, plucking my feathers one by one, but you didn’t. You even have me in a room made for royalty.”

He scoffs, but you don’t let it stop you from continuing.

“Your title aside, I don’t assume anyone to be a monster ─ only a victim of circumstance. Is someone truly born evil, or is evil nurtured?”

Sukuna appears mildly surprised by your speech, giving you his attention. You spot the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “A victim of circumstance, you say?” he repeats with an added air of mockery. “You raise an interesting point, but that doesn’t make you any less of a fool. Tell me, do you believe that because you’re an angel, you’re exempt from the original sin?”

“Not at all,” you answer quickly, and full of conviction. There’s not a drop of fear or hesitation as you openly speak your mind to Sukuna. “All of us ─ angels, demons, humans… we’re all doing what we can with the lives we were given. Angels rise and fall; some sinners beg for forgiveness while others let it define their nature. What’s important to me is how you treat others.”

“By that logic, what of the demons that maimed you? What of me, who has already killed in your presence?” Sukuna refutes. “Most would agree those to be the act of monsters.”

“Does being a demon mean you automatically deserve to be punished for the title you brandish? Does one act define your whole being? The demons who brought me before you sought help and protection ─ for that, I cannot blame them for their actions upon me. What difference is there between heaven and hell if I’m blinded by namesakes instead of looking at all the good and evil that can come from anyone, even of my own kind?”

Sukuna appears almost at a loss of words from your rambling. In truth, he wasn’t expecting such philosophy from someone so high in the celestial hierarchy, but he can see now why the humans would think to praise you as a saint.

“You make it sound so simple… so noble.” He’s looking at you now a deeper gleam in his eyes, intrigued enough to forgive your bold speech to him of all people. Most beings would never get away talking to him like you have after all. “So you would say there’s no difference between you and me after everything you’ve witnessed? How many in heaven would even agree with you?”

“I believe morality is a wild card that’s been muddied one too many times. There’s good and evil in everyone, even the almighty creators that chose to allow lesser beings to suffer in order to achieve growth. I can’t say I know many who would agree with me, but I understand their feelings and I’ll continue to trust in the potential for good.”

“You speak with a passion despite your predicament,” he huffs amusingly. “Still, I must admit, you have a unique way of thinking for an angel that’s uncommonly seen.”

You acknowledge his words with a hum, drifting your eyes to your wings lying flat at your side. “Most likely why heaven doesn’t seem too keen on my return,” you murmur, referencing the missing glow. “In return for saving me, I’ll see if I can be of use to you.” You’ll need a new purpose if you are to fall from grace.

Sukuna chuckles, the sound almost sinister. “An angel, offering her services to a demon. How… poetic.”

Silence takes over as you both admire the red glow of the garden. All that can be heard is running water from the fountain pond, and the occasional splashing of its scaled inhabitants.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may,” Sukuna responds with one of his lower eyes pointed your way. “Whether or not I’ll answer is a different matter.”

You choose your next words carefully. This back-and-forth debate has been an unexpected treat after the pain you’ve endured to get here.

“You were an angel once too, yes? What happened that led your fall?”

His jaw clenches from the sudden inquiry. “There was a time I too preached the seven virtues; as for how I came to become the monstrosity I am today is a long, dark story.”

After telling you this, Sukuna starts to walk away.

“I see… I hope one day I’ll have the chance to hear it.”

He scoffs, giving you a sidelong stare over his shoulders. “I’ll consider your words, but it’s best now you return to your quarters and rest. Don’t go flying off anywhere.” His twisted laugh echoes from down the halls, and despite the cruelty of it, you can’t help but smile.

Days pass, and while you’d like to say you’ve gotten into a routine, even an angel like yourself isn’t immune to going stir crazy. To be grounded like this for as long as you have now is unnatural, and as your feathers seem to darken each day ─ so do your thoughts on the situation.

Currently, you’re seated out on the veranda again, admiring the servants working from afar to keep the courtyard clean and the shrubbery trimmed to the king’s liking. There’s a feeling that bubbles from within at the sight of those taking to their wings to reach the heights of certain trees, or cleaning along the palace rooftops. A feeling you aren’t sure just what to call as of now.

“Bored, are you?” That familiar tone reappearing. His arrival is the only bearable part of your stay as he forces you out of your own mind.

“I have the gift of life; I could never be bored,” you state, not taking your eyes off the demons that cling to the skies. “I am however… longing, I’d say.”

Sukuna’s eyes find you, moving from your face down to your wing. You’ve gotten to where you can feel his burning stare at times, even when he’s not around. While it may come off as intrusive, you find it a comfort.

“You miss it, don’t you? Being up in the skies, untethered from the earth.” he asks with understanding, but also that same recurring hint of his typical mockery.

“The wind between each feather, the sights you can only see from above…” You can’t help but sigh at what now feels like a distant memory. You’re certain your wing will recover, but whether you can maintain flight is a mystery in itself until the time is right. “Will you tell me now what purpose you have in keeping me around?”

Purpose is something you need right now to stave off the thoughts.

“Impatient, are we?” He holds your gaze silently for a moment before continuing. “I have my reasons, but I’m not ready to divulge them. For now, let me make it clear that you’re too valuable of a prize for me not to keep around.”

“A prize, huh?” You ponder the thought, leaning your body against one of the columns for support. “Am I even worthy if my connection to paradise has been severed?” you mumble on instinct, not intending for him to hear such thoughts you never knew you had.

He does though, and it leads to him furrowing his brows, and averting his stare to elsewhere in his domain.

“Who cares about heaven?” he starts, keeping his voice low and full of what you believe to be spite. You wouldn’t be surprised if he rolled his eyes as well. “Even if they abandoned you, your existence still holds value to me. Fallen or not, you’re a walkingcontradiction that’s piqued my interest. As far as I’m concerned, heaven was holding you back from your true potential.”

Moments like these are why you’ll argue with him for as long as necessary to prove he’s more than what he makes himself out to be.

“Is that so?” You smile. His eyes flicker back to you at the sound of your giggling. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Sukuna finds himself grinning as well. “Am I?” he questions while reaching to your feathers, running his fingers along them with a delicate touch. “And what would that be in your eyes?”

“The best way I can explain it is that you’re simply you ─ Sukuna.” You lean back one hand, gesturing with the other. “You try and present yourself as some monstrous demon that burns everything you touch, but here you are treating me with such care. I don’t doubt your strength, but I believe there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“You’re a perceptive one, I’ll give you that, angel.” A beat of silence, and the flash of what could be read as vulnerability in his typically guarded demeanor. “But remember, I’m still a demon. My nature is not a kind one, so don’t go forgetting that detail.”

You chuckle, “I won’t, but I stand by my point. It’s my nature to see the good in everything that shares the same life as me.”

“Sounds tiring,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes. He removes his hand from your wing, tucking it back into his robe.

“Tiring? Oh contraire.” You smirk, feeling a spark of confidence ─ and maybe some defiance. “Do you only see the bad in everything? Always assuming the worst of others and thus feel the need to extinguish their life before they have a chance to bear their fangs? That to me seems tiring if you must always need your guard up.”

His face darkens considerably, and you realize too late that you’ve struck a nerve.

“You know nothing of what I’ve been through or why I do the things I do, so don’t pretend that you do,” he spits. The underlying wrath in his tone has your feathers puffing up. “Power is all that keeps me alive and keeps me going in this god-forsaken world. When you’ve been betrayed and hunted like I have, you learn quickly that you can only truly rely on yourself and not to trust others, especially not an angel.”

Guilt pangs in your chest alongside hurt from his choice words. You don’t regret what you said, but you maybe regret the timing of it, or not having considered his feelings before letting it all out. Life isn’t as fair to everyone as it might’ve been for you, but his anger has shown you the likelihood that his lifestyle was something nurtured ─ not the nature of sin one might argue.

He couldn’t have been born evil. It had to have been the acts of others that left him no choice but to become the embodiment of said evil.

And you can’t blame him for it, nor can you turn back time to right all of the wrongs. Fate must have brought you here for a reason, and in time you hope Sukuna realizes he doesn’t have to suffer alone. Even if he never pleads for forgiveness, you’ll show him that life is more than the negatives.

“I apologize if I upset you.” You stand up from your seat, tipping your head. A sudden act of submission even he can’t argue with. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be returning to my quarters now to rest.”

His glare seems to soften, if only a slight change. “…Fine. Go rest,” he quietly sighs, shifting back towards his garden view.

You take your leave, unknowingly leaving behind one of your fallen feathers in your previous spot. Sukuna notices this, lifting it to the moon’s light, watching it filter through the hairs. He kisses his teeth before stalking back to his own quarters across the yard.

You don’t see Sukuna much after that, almost like he’s trying to avoid you. Is he really that upset with you? It begs the question whether he still wants you around, or if his anger outweighs your worth enough to kill you and be done with it.

It’s another night where you find yourself out in the garden, enjoying the semblance of freedom it offers. You no longer have a bandage around your wing ─ which now is half covered in shade coloring ─ and Uraume has instructed you to begin stretching it to work back into a routine of physical therapy.

It can’t hurt to see if you can at least lift yourself off the ground, right?

So, you stand at the center of what appears to be Sukuna’s training grounds, as it offers plenty of space to move. With the moonlight against your back, you stretch out your wings in full, covering a good portion of the area around your body. You feel nervous yet eager to fly, enough to push past the dull pain you feel when you finally begin to lift yourself up off the ground.

Already you’re sweating ─ so out of shape from rest ─ but you don’t want to give up. It’s too soon and knowing now you can be off the ground makes you hopeful that this is the day you can take to the skies again. Only you don’t realize how much strain you’re putting on yourself, and how your unharmed wing must compensate more fiercely.

“Come on…” you strain, flapping harder than before when a sudden jolt of pain pierces through your wing, sending you crashing back into the dirt with a yelp. It only gets worse as your weight ended up landing on your recovering wing.

“You idiot!” Sukuna appears, shouting with alarm as he comes up to your side. His usual calm demeanor having been replaced with both anger and concern. “You’re not fully healed yet, what were you thinking?” he snarls, forcing you to sit up off your crooked wing.

You start to tear up from the pain, feeling a wave of emotions crashing into you all at once. Feelings you never knew existed outside humanity. You let it all out by sobbing into the dirt, and out of sheer frustration, you begin clawing at it too, angrily flapping your wings like a child throwing a tantrum.

Sukuna is surprised by your sudden outburst. The sound of your tears and the flapping of your wings is like a desperate cry for the freedom you once felt. He grabs at your shoulders, commanding you with his voice, “Cut it out, you’re only making it worse.”

“It’s already worse!” you shout back at him, surprising him yet again with this new side of you. “Let’s face it, Sukuna ─ my wing is ruined, I’m falling into ruin, there’s nothing left of me!” Your cracked voice tears through the garden, its serenity now clouded in the anger and hopelessness you feel.

This is the first moment of your life you’ve ever felt suffering like the mortals you’ve guided, and for the reason to be something as selfish as self-loathing… it shows how far you’ve fallen from grace.

“Stop being dramatic,” he growls. “If you don’t give yourself time to heal, then how can say for certain you’ll never fly again?”

You throw yourself into Sukuna��s front, unsure how else to cope with the weight of your emotions. An angel seeking comfort in a demon. You may be free falling into sin, but you have to agree with the poetry of it like Sukuna suggested.

He wasn’t expecting you to suddenly cling to him, but besides the mild annoyance he feels, he doesn’t make any moves to push you away. His awkward embrace is warmer than you would’ve thought, but this is the ruler of flames we’re talking about.

You don’t feel as cold as you have when he arms shield you from the world, and the depths of your mind.

When your tears settle and your breathing mellows, Sukuna lifts you from the ground with ease. He carries you back to your room, placing you gently down onto the edge of your bed. His hand moves with practiced care to your wing, feeling for any discomfort. You wince of course, and he lets a frustrated sigh after a minute of testing.

“I’ll send Uraume in to deal with this,” he tells you, and you notice his tone lacks the usual authority or contempt. He shifts his gaze from your wing to your face, reading for any signs of life in your distant eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, and it’s the truth. As an angel, you were designed to only feel emotions such as humility, kindness, patience… but now you don’t know what to label yourself with, or how to get through it. “What’s wrong with me?” you ask, not daring to look up from your knees.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” One of his hands comes up under your jaw, lifting your chin to meet his crimson gaze. All four eyes staring into yours with the visage of understanding. “You’ve lost your light is all.”

Your light, your home, your paradise.

“I’ve lost everything.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” His thumb traces your skin.

“Is that even worth it anymore? I’m no prize in this state, merely a broken bird like you had claimed.”

He furrows his brows, annoyed that you’re using his words against him as you wave the proverbial white flag with your voice.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snaps ─ harsh, but a necessary evil. “If you had no value, I would’ve killed you long ago. You have the mindset I’ve only seen in one other of your kind, and your knowledge and resilience are quite admirable in my eyes.” He lets go of your chin, stepping away from the bed. As he moves to leave, he stops, and without turning to look at you he says, “In time, you’ll realize how worthy you are.”

You weren’t sure if it could get any worse, but as the days continue to pass, you feel yourself sinking deeper into the abyss that is your psyche.

Uraume has been hovering around more often than not, urging you to stay in bed and rest, but you hate it. You hate this feeling of being powerless, of being empty, of not being able to live as you once had. From the moment you could fly, you were wandering the human realm, helping everyone you came across from the largest of creatures to the smallest of insects.

It’s your nature to help others no matter the cost. What’s not is putting yourself first. But now, everything’s changing ─ faster than you could have ever imagined.

You think this is what humans would refer to as fear, and what an unpleasant feeling it is.

Sukuna comes by every day, sometimes more than once to check in on you, and each time he finds you in the same, curled up position with your face buried in the silk.

He’s had enough of this slothful behavior.

“You need to eat, angel,” he says firmly, tapping his finger loudly on the bed post.

“’m not hungry,” you respond, though your voice is muffled and weak.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, and the force he puts into tapping his finger threatens to crack the wood. “You can’t just ignore your needs forever,” he retorts, “You need to eat, now.”

“Why do you care so much?” You don’t mean for the words to sound as harsh as they do, but luckily Sukuna is a patient man, most of the time.

“I didn’t save you just to watch you die in such a pathetic, mortal way.”

“Haven’t I always appeared pathetic since the day we met?” Bound in chains, bloodied with no celestial shine. Weak, broken, a pitiful excuse of heaven’s most revered angel. Complete, and utterly pathetic.

He kisses his teeth. “You’ve had your moments, but if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself, then you would see all that you are. All that you can be now.”

You’re silent for a few moments as you ponder his words. His unrestraint in speaking his mind may not always be a virtue, but it’s a comfort you’ve come to welcome all the same.

You turn your head his way and ask, “Was it like this for you when you fell from grace?”

“I wasn’t moping like you are, if that’s what you mean.” He then sighs and takes a seat along the edge of the bed, cautious in avoiding your sprawled out wing ─ which has become increasingly black as the days pass by. “But yes, I too had to overcome human emotion to get where I am now. It won’t last forever, I assure you.”

“You were right before,” you murmur, staring past Sukuna into your view of the garden. “I don’t know all the struggles you’ve had to face, or anyone for that matter. It doesn’t matter if I’ve visited one village or a thousand burnt to ash. Until now, I’ve never truly felt pain like this in my heart.”

Both set of eyes look down at you, but not in the sense that you’re beneath him. His gaze is understanding, regretful even for how he spoke to you before. You’ve stirred up Sukuna’s emotions without realizing, forcing him to come to terms with how he feels.

“What you’ve seen in the past has always been the aftermath of war. Until you’ve faced suffering yourself, you never would understand the pain behind it.” There’s a bitterness lacing his words as he remembers that period of his life prior to becoming king.

The moment that changed the course of his life forever.

“For whatever you’ve been through, I’m so sorry.” Tears rush down the side of your eyes, collecting into the sheets. “I always believed heaven had everyone’s backs, even those who hadn’t redeemed themselves, but I was wrong, so wrong. I’m just as guilty as every other celestial being for turning a blind eye and letting you suffer.”

Sukuna’s demeanor softens up at your apology, and he reaches a sharpened nail out to catch one of your tears. “Your apology is unnecessary… but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

The two of you sit in silence as you let the tears flow freely. The only sound aside from your own being the windchime Uraume had put up along the garden doors one evening. It’s the normal glass bulb shape, but the papery sheet that catches the wind is black, with red-spider lilies painted across. The flower’s coloring continuously reminds you of another with that same hue painted four times over.

Your stomach eventually disrupts the scene, cueing what you both were already aware of.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry; are you going lie again?” he teases, now poking his finger into your back.

“I guess I could try and eat something,” you playfully reply, moving to sit up. You feel discomfort immediately in your head, your vision darkening in turn from how long it’s been since you’ve last had a proper meal.

“Rest,” he orders after noticing your grimace. “I’ll have food brought to you immediately.”

Before he gets too far, you call out to him, “Sukuna?” He turns, giving you his attention. “Thank you,” you tell him, the moonlight hitting your face just as you smile. Its red glow is accentuated by your glossy cheeks, almost like a blush.

“You’re welcome,” he replies gruffly, but with the hint of his own smile hidden buried under his scarf.

From there, the days only get easier. Resting has felt less of a routine, and with Uraume’s help, physical therapy has been going well. There’s plenty of new growth in the form of pinfeathers across your wingspan, and the oldest of such white at the very tips still. It appears your broken wing will forever remain deformed ─ no thanks to the stunt you pulled ─ but you find yourself embracing the change.

The same can be said for many things now in your new life, such as how you’ve come to enjoy the night over day. The moon’s light is a comforting touch, as is the serenity felt in the late hours. You let that light guide your fingers across your wings, preening the darkened feathers to look your best.

Another change you’ve noticed are the appearance of marks stemming from the center of your back. According to Uraume, they were present at the time of your arrival, but since then have grown to wrap around your body in a filigree type pattern. You’re reminded of Sukuna’s own markings as you examine your body, and you’ve begun to question if this is how heaven marks their fallen.

Reaching the feathers closest to that part of your body is a challenge, and one you’re struggling to overcome. Angels typically preen each other’s wings in a show of chastity, and companionship. You’re certain Uraume would help if you ask, but the idea stirs a sense of intimacy now for whatever reason.

“Having trouble there?” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the night from behind you as always, making you jolt in surprise.

“Oh– uhh, yeah, just a bit.”

“It’s not an easy task reaching those feathers on your own, is it?” he muses with a snickering laugh. His footsteps are silent as he comes ever closer to the edge of the veranda.

“It isn’t, but I’m positive there’s feathers there ready to be unfurled.” You have a focused look on your face as you try once more to bend your arms in outrageous ways to try and reach.

“Let me help,” he says, brushing your hands away.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your response before his fingers deftly land on the center of your back. His touch sparks a shiver down your spine, arching yourself upright. Your wings have never felt this sensitive before and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep them steady for him to work.

There’s a sudden influx of emotions you don’t recognize bubbling up, and a heat that pools in the base of your body. At times, it feels like Sukuna is purposely working slow to make your feathers all nice and pretty. His knuckles brush you in a way that hitches your breath.

He hums closely by your ear, “Your wings are quite sensitive here, aren’t they?”

Has his voice always sounded so melodic? So intoxicating? From the way he laughs at your reaction, you can tell he’s enjoying himself. Like he knows what’s going on in your mind.

He does.

You shoot up from your position with sudden urgency. “T-thanks for the help Sukuna, if you’ll excuse, I’ll see you later and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night!” you stammer out with the hurry of a freefalling eagle, retreating back into your quarters before he has any chance to respond.

Sukuna can’t say he wasn’t caught off guard by this, but at the sight of your reddened face and eyes desperate to avoid his ─ he’ll forgive you.

On the other side of your folding screen door, you fall to your knees in a near pant to catch your breath whatever that was about. Temptation has never looked so good than in the form of Ryomen Sukuna, for all that he is. And while you came so close to the edge of a decadent abyss, you realized something.

You’ve grown fond of Sukuna, and in ways that can only be described with one word.

Sin.

From the window view of his study, Sukuna catches you out of the corner of his eyes stepping out from your room and into the courtyard. He doesn’t think much of it having gotten used to you being at the core of his picturesque view night after night. The moment he realizes you’re heading towards his training yard, however, is the same moment he ditches the scroll he was reading to follow..

He’s aware Uraume has given you the all-clear to attempt flight, but that was but a few hours before now. Truthfully, he should’ve known better. Of course you’re going to start right away.

Leaving his study, he makes haste to catch up, hoping to avoid what happened last time. He stands at the edge of the arena stealthily, watching as you stretch your now fully black wings to their limits. The first few flutters betray the confidence you showed in your steps to this place. He can tell you’re fighting a battle in your mind, but to Sukuna ─ those thoughts are useless.

“Why did you stop?” he asks, closing the distance after watching you deflate to your knees into the dirt.

“What if I get hurt again?” you confirm his inner thoughts with that meek voice. Foolish angel.

“What if you do?” he retorts, blunt as ever. “Are you just going to stay grounded forever because you’re afraid of a little pain? You’ve come this far; it would be a shame to give up now.”

“I don’t want to be on the ground ─ hell, I’ve been waiting for this day for so long and now that it’s here…” Your voice trails off, falling back to the low, despairing tone. “I’m afraid it won’t be the same.”

“It won’t be the same,” he says with an added huff. If anyone is in the position to give tough love, it’s Sukuna. “You will always carry that scar”-he gestures with a pointed claw at your wing-“a reminder of your fall, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fly. You won’t know until you get back up in the air.”

“But if I can’t, then what use could I possibly be?”

Sukuna crosses his upper pair of arms, leaving his lower pair to hang off his waist, one finger tapping away at the fabric at his hip. You’re in despair, and your main concern is whether you’re useful or not?

If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about making you his next meal. The weak are meant to be chewed up, but why can’t you see the potential you have already? (It’s standing right in front of you after all with a scowl on their face.)

“If wings were the defining point of who you are, then would you claim me to be useless?”

The day Sukuna fell from grace was the same day he tore his own wings from his back, tossing aside the last reminder of that accursed realm to embrace his demonic half in full.

“Of course not!” you refute with the same fire he saw when you argued how he isn’t not a monster. You’re not a lost cause yet if you can still manage that passion.

“Then get up and show me what you’re made of,” he commands. “You’re an angel ─ albeit a fallen one. Not the same broken bird you were before.”

Your eyes flash with realization, and with newfound determination, you’re back on your feet.

“Okay,” you breathe. “I just need to return to my roots.”

“Return to your roots? What exactly do you mean?”

“You said it yourself,” you casually say in passing, walking over to where the courtyard backs up against the edge of a cliff overlooking Sukuna’s domain. “I may be damaged, but I’m still a bird, aren’t I?”

Sukuna’s eyes widen.

“And where exactly are you going with this, dove?”

You can’t possibly be doing what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, but he also wants you to see this through. Impressive, angel. A manic grin appears.

“Sometimes all a bird needs is for their parent to push them from the nest. Dive right in, even if you’re too afraid to try.”

You spread your arms out with your wings, backing off the edge and into freefall.

Sukuna’s at the cliff’s edge in a fraction of a second, his heart beating uncharacteristically loud in his chest as he watches you fall. It’s a harrowing sight, even for him, but the relief he feels when you manage to catch the wind between your feathers is unlike the emotions he felt before your arrival. Since that day, it’s like he’s had to fall from grace all over again with you, only that much harder this time around.

His smile doesn’t falter either, morphing from smug arrogance to a proud shine. The way you’ve taken to the skies is like you never left. If Sukuna’s domain is fire, then yours is the air that fans the flames in a mesmerizing dance. With a heavy thrust, you push yourself up ─ higher than his palace and the mountain’s peak before diving back down, returning to Sukuna’s side.

“I did it,” you mumble victoriously, a crazed grin of your own that Sukuna loves to see. “I did it!” you repeat, this time turning that smile towards Sukuna, with eyes brighter than any glow a halo could muster.

“See what happens you don’t give up?”

You lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. “Thank you, Sukuna,” you tell him breathlessly.

He finds himself liking this moment better than when you soaked his robes with tears.

“For what?” he asks, placing a hand on the crown of your head.

“For the care, the healing, the late-night conversations… for everything. For saving me.” Your arms tighten almost possessively around him. “You’ve shown me a kindness like no one before, and I am forever in your debt.”

Sukuna brushes his hand from your hair down to your jawline, tilting your head upwards. Something about the way your eyes shine from his doing makes his cold heart feel that much warmer.

“What kind of saint or angel are you to find kindness in a beast like me?” he mutters, lowering his head closer to yours.

“Like you said ─ a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.” His face now a mere breath away from yours. “And like I’ve told you ─ I see you only for what you are, demon or not. To me, you’ve always been just Sukuna.”

The moment your lips meet is when the cord connecting you to paradise officially snaps, thrusting you into an unholy matrimony. You feel a burning sensation come along the markings that brandish you, but it doesn’t hurt. Right now, all that runs through your blood is one thing, and one thing only.

Desire.

As your body rises in heat, so does the intensity of your kissing. You’re doing whatever feels right, and most of all good. Sukuna feels this, just as you feel his lips smiling against your own. His tongue dips into your mouth and for the first time in your life, your body lets off a moaning sound.

It drives Sukuna near feral hearing it, and with his lower pair of arms he tugs you close to body, enough to feel his own desire straining for relief. His mind is quickly becoming a mess of both need and longing.

He pulls you down with him to the ground, settling you over his hips with your legs at either side. Those same hands now driven with lust roam your body in tangent with yours that have found their way to his chest, feverishly working to unveil his body. He grows tired of the struggle, and in a split second he severs your robes clean off, and his to follow. Only now do your lips part, leaving a string of drool to keep you connected.

The moon offers the perfect glow needed to highlight your features. He leans back onto his elbows, admiring the rise and fall of your heated chest, the red hue clinging to your feathers, the half-lidded stare revering his own sculpted figure… there’s only one word that comes to mind when he sees your soul laid out before him.

“Beautiful,” he says breathlessly and in full confidence. His upper set of hands trace your sides before coming into contact with your chest. He brushes the padding of his thumbs over each nipple. His other two hands holding you by the hips, pulling you down deeper onto his core. “Oh, so beautiful, my sweet angel.”

You gasp at the feeling of something twitching below you ─ or rather, somethings. The sound makes Sukuna groan again with pleasure, the slit along his stomach opening to reveal a second mouth before your very eyes. To others, this would be enough to incite fear. But for you, it only ignites a fire between your thighs.

“Come here,” he demands, rhetorically it seems as he pulls you right over the freshly parted maw. A thick tongue flicks upward along your sex, frazzling your mind with symphony of whines. He groans again ─ much deeper this time ─ feeling his four eyes roll back into his head. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you would be the most divine tasting meal I’ve had to date.”

Sukuna finds himself struggling to keep you still as his tongue enters your body. It’s at this moment the veil of your chastity is no more, your purity claimed by the King of Demons.

Your body continues to squirm as his tongue shifts around your velvety walls, your wings continuously twitching and fluttering when it taps your sweet spot.

“So sensitive,” he laughs with that familiar mocking sound, but his eyes show only a carnal need with how pleasantly you respond to his touch.

“Feels s’good,” you mewl, a breathy sigh staggering out. You try to balance yourself with your hands, digging into his shoulders with talon-like grip.

“Yeah?” He continues to toy with your breasts, pulling one into his mouth. The feeling of his teeth grazing your flesh ─ eager to mark ─ has you gasping once more. “I know it does, you needy girl.”

“I need you,” you confess with a depraved stare that’s only heightened by the glow of the bloodied moon. It’s so close to mirroring his own, like your soul has already been claimed by the devil himself. After your purity, that’s the next step in this journey of love.

He chuckles, slithering his tongue back into his mouth. “Let’s see if you can handle me then without breaking.”

You’re confused at first what he means until suddenly you’re lifted into the air, watching as he pulls both cocks from his hakama. You knew they were big, but you had thought it was due to how they stacked over the other. How wrong you were to not expect the nine-foot-tall demon to be as equally blessed below.

“What do you think?” he teases, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Why don’t you let me show you what I’m made of? I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“Good girl. That you are,” he praises, helping you align yourself with one of his cocks. “I look forward to seeing you worship me with your body.”

It doesn’t take much for you to sink down onto him in full, your cunt a dripping mess thanks to his saliva and your freshly discovered arousal ─ like an untapped spring now bursting forth. There’s little pain that follows from the stretch, your body instead erupting with pleasure. It’s as though you were made for him. That your purpose in life was always to please him in every way possible. Everything you experienced so far was to bring you to this very moment in time.

“Embrace your instinct,” Sukuna says as he guides your starting motions. “Let it fuel your potential.”

You work with his motions, eyes fluttering shut at the incredible sensation. “I’m so full,” you sigh, and he chuckles.

“You’re doing so well; I knew you had it in you,” he purrs. “Soon enough you’ll be taking both in one hole. Would you like that?” You clench hard around him at that, and he can tell you’re getting ever closer.

“W-w-what is this feeling?” You move your hand downwards with unknown purpose to where his body meets yours, fingers gliding along his upper shaft, down every vein, and even rubbing it against your own clit for more of that wonderous sensation that’s building.

Using his own dick to pleasure yourself? My, how far you’ve fallen into his sinful embrace. The primal need he has for you is exceeding what he thought possible. How perfect you are for him ─ a match made in hell.

“It’s euphoria, my dear. Heaven,” he mutters gruffly, hissing with pleasure. “Let it break you and I promise you’ll feel better than ever before.”

“I need you, ‘Kuna.” Your voice comes out as a pleading whine that hitches his breath. The words a desperate plea for something you’re still learning to embrace.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he growls, his eyes searing into yours. A set of hands glide upwards, one over your breast, the other at the base of your skull. “Say it,” he commands this time, pointed nails digging into your flesh, pushing even deeper into your body.

“I want you ─ no, I need you, Sukuna,” you declare with such staggering force to match your desire.

“Then you’ll have me. All of me,” he responds in turn, flashing his canines greedily. “So take me, angel. Take me for whatever you need.”

That’s all you need to feel your inhibitions slip away. You lean forward until his back is against the ground, kissing him from his lips down to his neck, feeling an urge like no other to sink your teeth into his flesh ─ to mar him as yours.

“More,” you mumble, moving your hips faster, intent on reaching that cascading high. “More, more, I need all of you, ‘Kuna.”

“You’ll have it all. Everything,” he promises in the form of a whisper, so close to your ear. “As much as you need, as much as you desire. I’ll give you everything the world has to offer if you stay by my side.”

You dig your nails into his body as your own begins to unravel before him. Waves of pleasure crashing down with all its might as you preach his name for all to hear. Tears slip from your eyes as you curl in around him, and he soaks each one up with his tongue as you ride out the high.

“Fuck, you’re so… divine,” you purr a sinful tune. “Nothing ─ not even in paradise ─ has ever made feel this way.”

Forget being an angel. In the state you are now, Sukuna believes you could put a succubus to shame. You feel and look so incredible on top of your new throne. Divine as you put it.

“You feel like heaven yourself,” he claims through ragged breaths. “Everything about you is addicting; you’re a drug I can’t get enough of. Mark my words, I’m going to indulge myself in your soul for all eternity.”

“Take me then. Claim me, ruin me, I don’t care so long as you make me yours.”

Fuck, if you knew the power you have over him.

“You’re already mine,” he hisses, and before you can blink, your positions are swapped. His figure towering over yours. “But incase that wasn’t already obvious, I’ll prove it to you here.”

Sukuna leans his head down, kissing you on the lips. The calm before the storm that’s to come.

“I’m going to claim you and make you completely and utterly mine.” He pulls his hips backwards, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. “…and I’m not going to stop until you’re completely wrecked, completely mine.”

Sukuna thrusts forward, slamming his hips into you. There’s no second to spare, no second to adjust before he does it again and again, forcing you to cry out to the heavens how good he’s making you feel. It serves them right for abandoning you, leaving him to pick up the pieces. It’s the only thing he’ll thank that pathetic realm for, because you truly are one of the most divine creations to have existed alongside himself.

It isn’t enough for you yet it seems, no matter how rough he’s being. Your legs try and wrap around him, but you’re only hindering yourself. So, with two arms, he lifts your legs to your chest, placing his knees at your side. This new position allows him to reach even deeper, fulfilling what he knows you need.

He lowers his forehead to press against yours, sharing the air you command like a goddess those beautiful, encapsulating wings of yours. If you can’t wrap your legs around him, you at least try it with your wings. Like a moth’s cocoon, making this moment in time all your own. So selfish; it’s exactly what he’s wanted to see.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” he asks, his hips refusing to slow. If anything, they’re only getting faster ─ more erratic in nature.

“You are!” you cry out.

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“Say it,” he growls, and you know exactly what he means.

“I’m yours, Sukuna! Only yours!”

“That’s right,” he chuckles darkly, drawing out his words. “You’re mine. Mine to do with as I please, mine to claim and take forever.” His voice is strong, carrying his decree like the word of the gods. “Do you see now the prize that you are to me?”

You nod your head feverishly, scraping your nails along his back. Your wings flutter with frenzy at the incoming high you both are flying so close to reach.

“So. Damn. Divine,” he groans between thrusts, almost threatening to truly break you if he isn’t careful. “You’re going to take every last drop of me, aren’t you?”

“Please, please, please, I want it all,” you plead and whimper, drool spilling out the sides of your mouth. “I want all of you.”

He bites down on your neck before stilling inside you, a rush of warmth hitting you both inside and out. You open your mouth in a silent scream at the force your climax hits you with. Desire overwhelming you from the depths of your being. Near the end, Sukuna slowly rocks his hips into you, fucking his seed back into you before leaning back to admire the view of your stomach painted in white.

As he does, you notice the blood trickling from his mouth is black in color. No longer the same angelic gold it once was.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you confess, making him smile with that all too familiar arrogance you’ve come to love, just like him. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life until now. I’ve found purpose again with you.”

“I told you that in time your worth would be realized.” He pulls out from your body, casually pushing his seed back inside with hand. His stomach mouth opens, splaying out his second tongue to clean himself off the front of your body. “You have the makings of a queen ─ one who could stand by my side through the end of time.”

When he’s finished cleaning you off, he helps you up onto your knees. You then take to embracing him in your arms, and even your wings just to hold him close to your heart. “I never realized how constricting the heavenly principles were until you set me free. Thank you for showing me how life should be lived.”

Sukuna tightens his four arms around you, feeling that same possessive desire in his chest that goes beyond carnal need. There’s pride in his eyes to know what he’s taken from those bastards above. Nothing compares to you.

“You don’t need to thank me; you were made to be free. True paradise is removing all restraints to live as you please under no guiding order. Strength is power, and you’ve found it at last.”

“This right here is better than any paradise I’ve seen.” Sukuna feels your smile growing against his chest.

“Damn right it is,” he laughs, grinning like the devil he is.

And who would’ve imagined that heaven’s most revered angel, the guiding saint of humanity, would have fallen from grace, and into the hands of the sinner you love more than life itself now.

Fate is a fickle thing, and you know that now.

In the days that followed that night to remember, new changes began sprouting up. Symbols of your life renewed, risen from ash.

For starters, your wings have taken on an iridescent glow ─ like a black devil boa. No one, not even Sukuna has ever heard of such a thing happening to a fallen angel, but it’s become just another feature that makes his proudness of you show.

You’re one of a kind, and entirely his.

Your old room and clothes are no more. Now, you wear only the best money can buy, tailored perfectly to your form. Sukuna’s hoard contains many riches on top of gold, including a stockpile of gems he’s taken to adorning you with. All are reminiscent of his ruby red eyes ─ perfectly fitting with you. He’s a king in every way, always eager to indulge in the pleasures life has to offer.

You trot through the halls of his palace, making way to his throne. You’re eager to be reunited after a morning spent dancing in the skies, your heart tugging you to his side. He’s hosting an audience by the looks of it, but that doesn’t stop all four of his eyes from landing on you as you enter.

“Perfect timing, angel.” He smiles wickedly, displaying his vampiric fangs in full. “Come and take a seat, the show has only just begun now that you’re here.”

At his words, you come bounding up the bone-riddled steps, arriving before him. Sukuna’s hand reaches out, guiding you to rest atop one of his thighs. That hand remains on the small of your back, with another resting on your own inner thigh ─ his thumb rubbing shapes into the plush.

“You remember these demons, I’m sure?” You turn your head and look down, finding the very demons who had brought you here in the first place. They don’t dare meet your eyes as their gaze bores into the marbled floors. “You see, they’ve come demanding a meeting with me. They seem to be hoping I’ll reward them now with something other than their lives for bringing you to me.”

“Is that so?” you muse, ultimately ignoring their presence as your lips meet Sukuna’s with passion, your hands resting on either side of his jaw. “What do you think of that, my king?”

He chuckles, “I think they were foolish to try and demand me to do anything for them.” Sukuna snaps his fingers once, filling the room with an intense warmth. Fire has never looked more beautiful than when it reflects into yours from the depths of his eyes. The weight of his soul, resting between the palms of your hands.

“Wouldn’t you agree, my queen?”

You do, because all that matters now is one thing, your purpose, pleasure, and every depraved feeling in between ─ Sukuna himself.

☆ Notes: got inspired by a sukuna c.ai bot by @ vittovitto with a similiar premise

I like to imagine that as angels who live by the 7 virtues, that when they fall, they go through like an awkward werewolf kinda phase like I’ve detailed where they start to feel each of the 7 sins. Kinda liked a fucked up puberty with all the hormonal changes idk, I thought it was cool when I thought of it.

Overall though, I had a REALLY fun time writing this. I’ve always loved the idea of fallen angel Sukuna but writing about biblical stuff throws me off a bit. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did while I force myself to get back into my other five ongoing series!!!

song inspo: heaven's a lie - lacuna coil | parade's lust - granblue fantasy (i'm horny for belial, what can i say)

#jjk #jjk au #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna smut

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voxisdaddy · 1 year ago

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İ have a request, how would hazbin hotel and angels (or archangels) reacts to a coqquette girl demon?

İf you dont know what iş coquette is, here some ideas

Coquette Sins

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

C/TW: Sexual themes, swearing, some way longer than others, a lot of these are based off appearance sorry, made reader a sinner rather than demon since demon is very vague in the hellaverse lol, not proofread

In which how various Hazbin Hotel characters + Striker react to a demon who brings a fresh aesthetic to hell-aka, a coquette sinner!

Alastor

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I can't say you'd be very intriguing to Alastor based off this aesthetic if I'm completely honest. He frequents Cannibal Town a lot-which while not coquette at all-the colour palette are closely similar and blends in together. Your look being more romantic and innocent looking in comparison however at a longer glance. So you wouldn't per say stand out at first glance, but even when he notices he isn't exactly intrigues. Hell is filled with many people who can look however they want, whatever way they want after all. So at first you're just another one of these poor sinners in this forever inferno. Somehow once you do get to know one another though, he picks up on certain mannerisms and certain things you like. One of the first being when he saw a little plushie you had purchased one day, now decorated with a neat little bow that matches with pretty much everything of you. From then on, he's sure that when he gifts you things, to keep an eye out for more specific things. It clashes with his aesthetic, but it's okay. Slowly he'll start to change your wardrobe to match his.

Lucifer

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lucifer doesn't think very highly of sinners, typical for the sin of Pride, but you're something new to him. He's well aware that human souls come in many different forms and that anyone can present themselves anyway they want, but coquette was a rare one. Anyone who resembled innocence, sweet romantics, and softness was often the target of bullying and harassment in hell-which serves him all the more reason to roll his eyes and dismiss a lot of sinners. Meeting you was a blessing in his eyes. Regardless of whatever judgements you may face you seemed to never stray away from who you are. He's become protective of you because of this. I mean he's protective of you regardless, you're very special to him after all, but you're basically a walking target for unnecessary bullying. Whenever he gifts you rubber duckies and carving of ducklings, he makes sure they are painted and decorated to fit in with your room. Because of your aesthetic by the way, you can match for date nights-which he loves very much!

Husk

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Husk wouldn't find you that intriguing either. He's been in hell for a very long time, seen lots of folk looking very different from one another. Nothing new. I think the longer he knows you though, the more he starts to question things. Nothing bad per say. It's more so because he starts to grow a crush on you and just now finds you more interesting. He'd definitely gift you things that match with your whole look. Especially plushies because come on, who doesn't like a good plushie.

Angel Dust

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Loves your look and aesthetic. It's like you're a different version of him-visually at least. You almost go hand in hand together in a sense. I can imagine two different first impressions of you based on appearance and just getting to know your personality on a very base level. One; he thinks you're one of Charlie's goody two shoes who don't know how to have fun but know how to ruin the fun of others. And two; if you're a dude here, someone he can have fun flirting with because don't you look like an inexperienced doll faced angel~

Sir Pentious

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I think your contracting aesthetics is lowkey a recipe for a cute af looking couple not gonna lie. Sir Pentious would probably be very adoring of you. Don't you look so darling! I feel like out of the main cast, he's been in hell the longest and has definitley seen your type of look before-especially when he was alive. You kind of remind him of those porcelain dolls that would be on the front of store windows. It's probably the leading factor as to why he adores you and treats you as if you're made of porcelain. Even if you're a baddie, yoiu're his baddie-who's also his sweetheart darling.

Charlie

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Charlie loves your aesthetic and how you carry yourself. It feels like such a breath of fresh air in this hellscape she calls home. She's definitely the type to ask what your hobbies are and if she can tag along to whatever it is. Now she'd never change herself to please anyone ever but she would likely, just for fun, dress up and match with you sometimes. Oh but please return the favour every once and awhile! It would make her so happy!

Vaggie

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vaggie as we know is from Heaven, so your type of look isn't new to her per say but it in a sense it does surprise her. This is hell, most people are usually clad in reds, pinks, and black. So your more, dare I say angelic, appearance is a mild surprise to her. She quickly gets over it though ass even in heaven the angels all didn't look like angels sometimes. Sure theirs halos and the feathery wings, but some peoples appearance mirrored some of the folk in hell. Vaggies own appearance and aesthetic clashing with heaven back in her angel days too. So she gets over her initial surprise. You're almost...nostalgic to her in a sense. She's definitely soft with you.

Cherri Bomb

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You're both like polar opposites honestly. She at first has her reservations on you. Based on appearance and personality actually. She understands that this is hell and that everyone can look however they want and some just fall looking a certain way. However this hoe likes to fight, thrives in the night life, high party girl energy, and being that bitch. So you'd naturally clash but after some time, especially in a relationship with you, she wouldn't wish for you to change yourself at all. As even Cherri Bomb needs some relaxing down time every now and then. So going to you and your relaxing and romantic sweet nature is almost spa like to her.

Rosie

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Like Alastor, you wouldn't stick out much to her at first glance because she sees people like you in Cannibal Towne at like every turn. She's wise though, she knows theirs a lot more to you and that you even find a way to stick our visually-intentionally or not. Your romantic look is just darling to her! She has to meet you! And once you do, to say this woman is smitten is an understatement. During a gossip session with Alastor, she definitely mentions you. You're the pearl of her eye. Even as your bond deepens, her smitten ways with you don't fade one bit. Probably has a few garments specifically catered to you with her own Rosie taste. She loves to match, so she'll hope you'll agree to meet her in the middle somewhere.

Carmilla

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ She likes to think you're a romanticized version of her. You're...not exactly that but it's close enough. You're a breath of fresh air for her honestly. Being an overlord and especially of her status, she tends to get migraines a lot. So seeing you and your more romantic soft look is already easing her a bit. She'd love to dance with you sometimes honestly. A nice slow dance with fun twirls, perhaps a music box or old record player even, as you unwind together sweetly. If it's alright with you, she'd love to fashion you with some angelic ballerina inspired shoes. Matching is cliche to her, but I headcanon she's lowkey a sucker for that stuff. Plus, it would be great for you to protect yourself with if worse comes to worse.

Vox

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You're an interesting one to him-especially since no one looks like you on his side of the Pentagram City. It excites him in a certain way-now get your head out of the gutter. It's a power thing. You look quite easy to manipulate, frail, weak, obedient-you could be a mindless doll. Getting you under contract would be easy, he tells himself. Of course, falling for you is the last thing he thought would come from this. But when that happens, you're no longer some doll he thinks he can control into being another one of his little workers. He can easily find out what type of music you listen to, what you like to do, furniture you may like, little shop items you always keep an eye out for, ect., He loves coming back home to you, or even when you visit him in his office. He's a stressed out guy with a lot on his plate. You're more soothing to him than you think.

Valentino

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino being Valentino thought you were quite the delectable thing. It's as if you're begging to be ruined, honestly. He's of course quick to try to coerce you into at the very least having sex with him. He's charming, he knows how to use that and be sweet into getting people to trust him. Say you guys are in a romantic relationship though. You somehow managed to take this monsters heart, he's surprisingly not as rough with you vs if you were some one and done bitch he had instead. You look like too much of an angel for him to wanna break so soon. He's still rough and loves it when its rough, but I mean, what do you expect? It's Valentino. He definitely gets you lingerie that match your look. Loves either seeing you wringle in it beneath him or degrading him while you're on top. Believe it or not it's not all about sex with this guy though when it comes to you. When he's in one of his tantrum moods, you're like his own personal angel to give him a hug til he calms down enough to go do something else more level headed.

Velvette

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ She admires your dedication to your aesthetic, but I can't say she likes it very much. It's cute and with the correct look it can look quite fashionable, but she of course has her own standards and strong preferences. I can imagine that when you move in together, she has a love hate relationship with your guys shared massive walk in closet. One half screams Velvette, and the other half screams you. It's satisfying to see the difference in aesthetics, but also annoying because of the obvious clash. She puts up with it though. It's not all bad, seeing as sometimes you two trade outfits. Not often cuz again this woman is very of her own preferences and makes the effort to maintain her aesthetic as often as possible. It does happen though, as sometimes something from your closet catches her eye and she'll either borrow it or design something inspired based off it.

Adam

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Adam first saw you when you went to visit Heaven with Charlie and Vaggie. He at first didn't even know you were with them. You looked like you belonged in Heaven, he had thought you were an angel tagging along with their running around with Emily. He didn't immediately catch onto the lack of halo and feathered wings but that's besides the point. He actually probably went to bother you several hours before the trial. He didn't like any of the sinner souls or demons, but damn it-why do hell get a lot of the hot bitches? I mean yeah everyone in heaven is hot, but maybe he just has a thing for demon bitches, he doesn't know. Plus, it would probably be a good time to grill you and maybe tease you. What? Are you a wannabe angel? Is that why you look like that and came to argue for that hotel?

Lute

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lute does not give a fuck because hello~you're a sinner. She first noticed you during an extermination. She had thought you were an angel actually, because of how you looked. She was initially startled and angry because why the hell would of the extermination angels just be out of uniform in a time like this? But she was very quick to catch onto the fact that you are not one of them so she moved to kill you. Ah but little miss angel wannabe, her words, is more vigilant than she thought. You don't get killed this extermination so when the angels are called back to return to Heaven, she glances back at the last place she saw you run into for shelter. She smirks to herself; you got lucky this year, angel wannabe. She almost wishes you see you again next year.

Emily

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Emily would notice you with this Angel Dust character when they viewed Angel's night out during the trial in Heaven. You seemed to be friends with this group. Even though the focus wasn't on you, she found herself hoping to see you appear through the heavenly lens more frequently. You looked so adorable! Internally she nicknamed you Hell's Angel. She must remain professional and focus on the trial at hand though, which she very much does. She still wishes to get one more glimpse of you once the move on from viewing Angel Dust's night out though. Even when the trial ends, after she deals with the harsh reality she didn't now about, she hopes that Charlie's dreams come true for a chance to properly meet you in Heaven.

Saint Peter

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This angel met you when you came up to the gates with Lucifer's daughter and her friend. When he realized who Charlie is and where this trio just came from, a part of himself silently wondered about you. You looked so...heavenly. You're really only visiting from Hell? Ha ha m-maybe theirs been some sort of mistake. You look like you belong up in heaven. Oh well. Eventually he get's to actually talk with you of course. It's not long but it's something. He almost feels foolish for thinking Hell wouldn't have sinners and demons who have certain aesthetics and preferences. Heaven has those things, why wouldn't hell have it? Maybe hell isn't the shitty eternal hellfire he and many other winners believed it out to be. I like to think that Peter when he's not wearing his robes, has a pastel filled wardrobe. Real soft boy energy. So if you ever get redeemed or can somehow be together, bc this man was whipped almost immediately, you'd match pretty well together.

BONUS!!

Striker

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You intrigued Striker a little bit at first glance. With a raised brow he watched as you smiled sweetly at him and waved before continuing on your way. He doesn't like interacting with the sinners much but he knows enough about them that you being you makes you a target for bullying and harassment. He naturally keeps his distance regardless and doesn't think of you again until he actually sees you again. By the time you end up dating, many compromises need to be made. First of all, sinners can't leave the Pride ring so he can't bring you home to the wrath ring. So he often makes trips to the pride ring to visit you, at some point your home becomes his home before either of you realize it. It kinda makes him feel off-he stands out like a sore thumb in your place. But he tries to not get you place dirty and tries to make sure he's not totally bloody when he shows up.

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK OVER A WHOLE MONTH LOVLEY STAR! I had no idea how to write about various characters reacting to a coquette!sinner!Reader without having so much overlap and I just evbsfvhsbk-

Here it is, finally TvT sorry for taking forever. Thank you for your patience!

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ohwolfling · 8 months ago

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Until I saw someone write it down, I didn't even realize that Shauna and Jackie are never explicitly stated to be homoerotic, in love, whatever. It's so clear in the shows orchestration and resonated so much with me as someone who had to be very closeted (even to myself) until my 20s (and then it was the slowest unfolding and in ways it still is). That's what it's like to be in love with someone without knowing that's an option. That's what it's like to have an intensity you'd otherwise name a crush, a first love, a soul mate, and have no power to let that language roll off your tongue. Down to the ways they hurt each other. Down to the ways they do or do not circle boys for their sapphic terrarium of denial.

For Jeff, Jackie is the tragic past. A boy's first attempt at conquest. A trial run of the trophy, the house wife, the cool girl. He makes testimony to her because of the tragedy.

But even if that plane didn't go down, on some level, Jackie IS the tragedy for Shauna. She always would've been. Her saint, her tragic saint. She doesn't wear the yellow dress Jeff buys her because there can be only one yellow dress and it's Jackie at Doomcoming. She keeps Jackie's uniform in the closet she and Jeff share and I wonder if it was between their clothes, the idea of sharing grief, but really a wall put up by Shauna that says, "it should've been her. Don't touch me."

She likes the way Adam makes her feel because she feels desired, she feels marked as the sinner she is, same pattern that started with her and Jeff. I sin but I'm wanted. You can take that to a Saint, to confession. That's the Catholic phase. Shauna at once Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary. Jackie her Christ. The Body and the Blood.

#yellowjackets #shauna shipman #jackie taylor #jeff sadecki #jackieshauna

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holybibly · 1 year ago

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girl i really dunno how to ask but ummm i...i mean WE need more preacher/saint/priest content....oh i just thought priest yunho with some cnc and bdsm........and maybe some watersports....oh. my. god. i died. my eyes are only seeing some whips, punishment and a lot of sin. bye.

Hi, honey, how are you? I really spoiled you, didn't I? But it seems that everyone is just as crazy about hot priests/pasors,preachers, and nuns as I am. Woo was hotter than hell when he was a priest, don't you think, bunnies?

I've already mentioned that I'll be doing a sequel for each member, but I'll tell you more so you can look forward to my updates.

Below I mention religious, hierophilia and church related topics. Bunnies, please refrain from reading if such content makes you uncomfortable. You have been warned!

Beware of False Prophets Demon San x Reader

Everyone in your town has been talking about the arrival of a new priest. The parishioners have been on their knees in praise of Pastor Choi San ever since he walked through the doors of your little church. He was devout, quiet, and, for a priest, incredibly handsome. He quickly became the object of admiration and wet dreams.

And you were not left out. The way his cat-like eyes would sometimes linger on you during Mass, or the way your name would roll off his tongue when he addressed you, made you blush with shame, not only at the dirty thoughts in your head but also at the fact that your panties were getting too wet just by looking at San.

But little did you know that Pastor Choi San had much more forbidden and depraved intentions towards you than that. Not all that glitters is gold, and not everyone is a saint who wears a holy robe.

It is said that one should beware of false prophets, for good intentions lead to hell. Or maybe the demon San will disguise himself as the new pastor of your church and try to tempt you into committing a sin.

Are you callin' me a sinner? Priest Yunho x Widow Reader

It was never in your wildest dreams that you'd be a widow at such a young age. Less than three months had passed since you got married when your husband tragically died, and this became the talk of your small town.

People walked past you, looked at you with disgust, closed their doors in front of you, and pointedly ignored you as if you had committed some mortal sin, which is probably what they thought you had done. You were so young and too beautiful, and your husband... Your husband was a man much older than you. You loved him; you really did, and losing him destroyed you. Your husband left you a huge fortune to inherit, and people whispered that you killed him to get money and to take a lover. Some even said you made a pact with the devil by killing your husband in return for your unearthly beauty and money. They said that you were a sinful brat.

Your only comfort at that time was faith, and you spent all your evenings in prayer and penance. One day, your housekeeper advised you to contact the priest, Jeong Yunho, describing him as a pious, compassionate, and gentle person who always showed mercy to everyone and granted the desired forgiveness of sins to all the troubled hearts. But she neglected to mention that Yunho was also an incredibly handsome young man who was more likely to tempt you to sin than to help you atone for it.

"I will help you get rid of your sins, my child." His hoarse voice whispered in your ear as he let the dress fall from your shoulders and down your back.

"I am going to cleanse you of the sin and the impurity of this world." Yunho said as he put a blindfold over your eyes and tied your hands behind your back.

"The only way you will be able to atone for your sins is through pain, and I will help you with that, my dear." He said this, accompanying his words with a lash of his whip across your bare skin.

Say yes to Heaven Pastor Yeosang x Libertine Reader

You never wanted to have anything as much as you wanted to have Kang Yeosang. He was handsome. He looked like an angel. He was everything that you ever wanted to sink your teeth into. He was your church's pastor. And that was what drove the hell out of you.

Yeosang was a simple man—an incredibly sweet and gentle man—who always helped his parishioners find the right path and to find God in their hearts. You, however, could brag about an endless list of sins and vices that you proudly displayed, like your favourite red lipstick. If given the chance, you would paint the whole town red, but mostly you wanted to see it smeared around Pastor Yeosang's handsome cock while you deepthroated him. The two of you came from completely different worlds—a saint and a sinner—but you had always believed that opposites attract.

Every mass was a game of seduction for you, and you wondered how far you could go before the angelic halo over Yeosang's head would crack and he would fuck you senseless. Although you had doubts that he could do it, you had a feeling that he was a virgin and would probably faint at the sight of a pink, wet pussy in front of his pretty angelic face. God, the boy was so holy and inexperienced about sex.

But how wrong you were about him! There are always two sides to every coin, and you will learn from experience that there are some desires that are better left as fantasies. Or the one where Pastor Yeosang fucks you to the last inch of your life and teaches you the concept of out-of-body experiences through orgasm.

Me and the Devil Lucifer Seonghwa x Reader Nun

From the day your parents took you to church for the first time, you knew that your life would be one of devotion to God. Of course, this was not the destiny your family wanted for you, but they still supported you on your way to becoming a virgin bride.

The convent where you lived to prepare for your vows was far from home and did not have the best reputation. But the priest of your parish convinced you that it was there, and nowhere else, that you could know God. And he was right; you did know God, but it was not the God to whom you prayed every night of your life.

It all began with dreams. Dark and unholy dreams came to you more and more often. The cold hands of a stranger sliding over your skin, a hot tongue exploring your body and lips as if sin itself were branding you with kisses, all ending with the first rays of dawn. Then this strange cat appeared and would not leave your side for a minute. But what frightened you most was the disappearance of the other nuns. One after the other, they vanished without a trace, until there were only a few novices left in the convent.

The night you took your vows was dark and moonless. So were the eyes of the dark-winged angel who appeared before you. It was as if he were woven of pure sin, depravity, and rage, oozing from his skin like ichor, and the rustle of his wings was the very sound you would hear before your death. But Angel, Lucifer, Seonghwa—call him what you like—came here with one goal: to finally get his bride.

"Do you have faith that your God will be the answer to your prayers, my beautiful bride? Do you believe that he is going to save you?" Seonghwa's lips touched your cheek, and his burning breath flowed across your skin. "You belong to me. Your soul, your faith, your body—all of it belongs to me. And you will accept me as your husband, dear child. Or you will say goodbye to your life at dawn."

There will be a separate post for Mingi, Jongho and Hongjoong. I am going to leave you in suspense, my little bunnies.

There's no harm in a bit of intrigue, is there?

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bad-and-drawn-that-way · 1 year ago

Note

can I request a Vox x reader fluff where they've both been struggling to come to terms with their feelings but when something (you can decide what) happens and the reader gets hurt really badly, he confesses

ANOOOOOOOOON!! YOU. GET ME. SO GOOD. HOW DARE YOU HIT ME UP WITH ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES?? Literally, give this trope to me as many times as yall want. I'll find a million ways to write it. Reap the repercussions and enjoy the food you beautiful homie, you!

Star-Crossed Idiots [Vox x Reader]

Vox refused to believe it.

Velvette had been the one to call him out on his shit first. Unlike him, she had a semblance of emotional maturity that meant she was perceptive to shit that flew over his head entirely. While he didn't understand why he found himself going out of his way to spend time with you, Velvette figured it out in a matter of days. The very fact that he had kept his involvement with you a secret was suspicious in itself. Not to mention, Velvette realized before he did. When she discovered his feelings for you, she found it hilarious. And a touch pathetic.

"I mean really Vox, you have zero reason to even know them," Velvette scoffed as she sipped on the frappuccino he had used to buy her silence. Things were already messy enough with Valentino. He had no intention of the pissy moth hearing of this until whatever this was, was sorted.

"Yet you constantly check in on their phone activity, go out of your way to run into them on the streets, and now they're even working for you just because your needy ass wanted an excuse to see them on the regular," Velvette listed as Vox did everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

Vox buried his face in his hands and groaned while Velvette rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't it just be easier to ask them out at this point? I love you, darling, but you're making this so much more complicated than it needs to be."

"No," Vox growled as he looked up and shot her a warning glare. "Do you have any idea how much shit we'd be in if I just started dating some random sinner? And that's only if the feelings were mutual."

He ran his hand down his screen with a huff, turning to look at Vark swimming up to the glass. While Vox had originally had the aquarium extend to the meeting rooms for a sense of looming intimidation, he'd found quite a bit of comfort in his sharks being able to follow him through the tower.

"Look, for all we know, I'm just pent up," Vox tried to reason. It sounded fake, even to his own ears, but he was in denial. There was too much bullshit he'd have to face if he really was as whipped for you as he feared. "It's been a shit couple of weeks. I probably just need a break and a good fuck and this will all be something you make fun of me about next week for ever entertaining in the first place."

Velvette shook her head, sighing as she pulled out her phone and started to scroll.

"Whatever you say."

---

You refused to believe it.

There was no way you fell for Vox of all people. For starters, you told yourself you'd never love again! Every time you'd tried, disaster followed. It didn't help that any potential match was one to be made in Hell. Granted, you knew not everyone in Hell was bad. There were a lot of sinners who you firmly believed belonged in Heaven or some sort of equivalent.

But even so... Vox was definitely not one of those people. Not that that was the important part or truly mattered. You were no saint either, you were also in Hell.

"I don't see what the big deal is toots," Angel Dust sighed as he watched you give Fat Nuggets attention to keep your hands busy through the stress. "There are worse people to have a crush on."

"There's better too," you whined. "I'd rather not have a crush at all," you muttered bitterly as your hand continued the soothing action of petting the teacup pig.

You'd originally been on the production team for one of Valentino's studios. That was how you befriended Angel Dust and why Vox scooped you out from under Valentino to work on his own set. He told you it was because he valued someone who had an ear for audio balance, but Angel said he'd only offered you the new job after the overlord walked in on the cameraman flirting with you right before.

"Why not just fuck the guy and see if it's a matter of heart or a matter of-"

You laughed as you covered Angel's mouth with one of your hands. "Okay, okay! Don't... finish that sentence. I won't let you taint poor little Fat Nuggets ears with your porn language."

Angel snickered as you pulled back your hand. "But you see my point, right?"

"I do," you sighed. "But that's... not really my style. If anything, I think it'd just hurt to see him after something like a casual fling. The idea of him wanting my body, but not me? Yeah no. I'll choose the healthier option of repressing my feelings, thank you very much."

"I'm telling ya, he's into you," Angel groaned. "I've seen the way he is with people he thinks are hot. I've seen him with Val. You're different, toots."

You smile sadly at Angel and put Fat Nuggets down on the bed. It was clear you didn't believe Angel and he was on the verge of ripping out his fur because of it. The two of you were so unbelievably oblivious it was gonna kill him again. "Thanks, Angie but... it's okay. Really, it is."

He sighed and eventually let it go. The two of you talked about other things for a while before Charlie peeked into his room to ask for your help on something. Once you were gone, he rolled over the conversation in his mind as he tried to think of ways to get the ball rolling on your love life.

Angel shook his head with a sigh and pulled out his phone. He scooped up Fat Nuggets and flopped back in his bed as the dialing sound filled the room. The line connected, and he was quick to the point.

"Hey, I know we don't really talk, but I've got an idea."

---

"Really Angie, I don't think this was necessary," You grumbled as you tugged down on the all-too-short skirt of the outfit he'd squeezed you into.

"Oh, but it was and it is," Angel grinned as he took your hand and twirled you in the entry hall to the club. You rolled your eyes and let him spin you in jest. He'd asked you to come with him to one of your old coworkers' birthday parties.

Apparently, one of the rules was to dress like you'd get hired to dance at the club. At least, that had been Angel's excuse when you questioned why he was hovering over you as he did your hair, and makeup and held up several outfits to your body that you doubted would fit.

Despite the discomfort of getting all dolled up, you were happy he'd invited you. It had been a while since you saw your old friends. That being said, it would have been more fun if you weren't tugging down your skirt every two minutes. You weren't the only one hyperaware of how much of your skin was exposed. Nor of the way the fabric hugged your frame tightly. Several of your old friends had suggested you return to the studio with a job in front of the camera instead of in the shadows of the set.

You'd been having a good time, sticking to the corner of the room with some of your old friends to watch the drinks while the rest were out on the dance floor. One of the drunker sinners of the bunch accidentally knocked over some of the drinks while she'd been telling a story about the recent cam show she did. You volunteered to go get more napkins from the bar. One of your friends came with you to reorder the ruined drinks and the two of you had nearly pushed your way through the crowd when you heard a familiar voice call your name through the noise.

Vox didn't have to fight through the crowd the way you had. The second sinners saw the glow of his screen, they were quick to move out of his path. Your friend touched your arm, pulling your attention away from the approaching overlord. They winked at you and told you they had the drink issue handled.

When you turned, you caught Vox's screen flickering from pink to his usual blue. You had never seen any color other than the "You don't get to sleep" blue light, so you assumed it was just a trick of the flashing dance lights above.

"I didn't think you'd be here," you say to break the tension. This wasn't the first time you'd seen him in casual wear, nor was it the first time you'd seen Vox since realizing you had feelings for him. Even so, your heart was beating hard just from the sight of him.

"A-Ah yeah, well," Vox stammered as the music blared through the busy room. "Velvette wanted to drop by. She said something about wanting to check the place out as a potential venue for an upcoming show."

"Just the two of you?" you ask, perking up slightly.

"It was supposed to be," Vox chuckled dryly. His grin was tired and forced as he looked to the side and scanned the room. "Valentino heard we were coming here and tagged along. I don't know why, but Velvette got really heated about it. Something about him fucking up her plans..."

"Oh," your shoulders drop. You cringe internally, wishing you could take back the bitterness in your voice. You hoped it wasn't too obvious, but the way Vox was looking at you like you were some sort of a puzzle told you everything you needed to know.

You actually loved Velevette. She was sassy and cutthroat but had a kind side to her as well. Valentino however... He'd been the source of a lot of suffering for the people you cared about. While the more obvious examples of Angel Dust returning to the hotel looking like shit came to mind, so did the times you had to comfort Vox after being yanked this way and that by the moth emotionally.

That was actually how you'd realized you'd come to care for him as deeply as you do. He'd been standing alone in one of the meeting rooms with a distant look on his face. When you found him and asked him if he was okay, he tried to play it off with his usual bravado, but couldn't. He never cried in front of you, he only vented his frustrations about Valentino and you listened. You sympathized. And eventually, you found yourself wishing you could be the one to treat him better.

Vox opened his mouth to say something, only for Valentino to slip his arm around his shoulder, appearing out of nowhere from the crowd.

"There you are baby," he purred, his fingers immediately slipping under the collar of Vox's vest. You resisted the urge to gag as Valentino took a long puff from his pipe and blew the majority of the smoke in your direction.

"I was wondering where you up and fucked off to," Valentino grinned as he leaned down to nip drunkenly at Vox's shoulder. "You left me all alone with our little fashionista, "Valentino scoffed. "She's in such a bitchy mood."

If it wasn't bad enough that Valentino was practically drooling all over Vox in front of you and pretending you weren't there, insult was only added to injury when Valentino grinned at you with sharp teeth when he called Velvette bitchy.

"Come back and unwind with me," Valentino hummed as he started to kiss up Vox's neck. "Some of my best toys are here tonight. Don't you want to play?"

If Vox had any doubt he was in Hell before, he had every reason to confirm the fact at this moment. He'd fallen out of love with Valentino, but the almost... the almost killed him. To make it worse, he was completely frozen, letting it all happen in front of you. He made no moves to stop Valentino, he made no moves to reciprocate. He simply froze.

Unable to watch any longer as Vox continued to fall for the very same game of tug-o-war he told you he was done with, you bite your lip and turn on your heel. You can't tell if you heard Vox say your name or if it was just a trick of the crowd.

"Anyone else gonna drink this?" You asked as you rejoined your friends still at the table and pointed to one of the more full glasses left on the table. When your friends who were sober enough to answer said you could go for it, you tossed it back in one shot.

You griped to one of your friends who had stayed behind to watch over those too drunk to make good choices. The two of you had been having a damn good venting session about how stupid you felt your feelings were when the entire bar swayed. Your words slurred as your body grew heavy.

One second you were sitting up, wondering why your friend looked so concerned. The next second there was a sharp pain against the temple of your forehead, followed by a heavy thunk, more pain, and darkness.

---

Vox had been desperately searching the dance floor for any sign of you. He'd torn away from Valentino and the moth hadn't bothered to follow. Vox would... handle that another time. For as much as he denied his feelings for you this morning, the second he saw the hurt look in your eyes he knew he had to tell you. There was no way he could ignore the sharp lurch in his chest at the sight of you.

He didn't know what it meant. He couldn't tell if it was just a sense of betrayal after he'd been so open with you about Valentino or if it was something more. Every time he found himself wanting to talk about his true feelings on anything, he wanted to talk to you. Every time he had a rare second alone in the middle of the night, the only touch he craved was yours. Yes, he had a history with Valentino, but he didn't actively want that. He wanted you.

He finally spotted you across the room, sitting at a table with one of the whores he'd seen at Valentino's studio and getting way too close to them for his liking. He made his way through the drunken idiots who were too far gone to notice him, keeping his eyes on you as you started swaying dangerously.

You tried to reach down for something on the table and Vox swore as you lost what little balance you had and fell over. Someone got in his way so he didn't see the impact, but somehow he heard it. Through all the noise he heard the sharp thud and the panicked swearing of the person you were with after.

Vox was suddenly shoving every idiot out of his way, ignoring their shouts as he ran into the small clearing and found you on the ground with blood seeping from your head. He was immediately on his knees, scooping you up as the sinner who'd been with you started freaking out.

The only thing Vox could hear was a high-pitched whine as he pulled you to him and tried to frantically find where you were bleeding from. Half of your head was dripping with blood and he vaguely registered your friend saying your head had hit the edge of the table.

"Just s̴̢̃ḧ̸̺u̸͇͋t̷̯͂ ̷̬̂u̶͖̓p̵̳͗!̶̳͌," Vox snapped as he whipped up and affixed the sinner with a violent glare. He didn't care that half the club was looking at him. For once, he didn't care that he'd made a scene. Logically, he knew something like this couldn't kill you, you were all already dead. But his hands were shaking violently and the buzzing in his head was getting louder because you weren't moving.

Everything around him flashed with bright blue light as he held you close and teleported out of the club without even thinking about it. The two of you reappeared in his room back at the tower and he let out a shaky breath as he placed you down on his bed.

Not knowing what to do, Vox quickly crossed the room and threw his bathroom door open as he searched for anything he could use to stop the bleeding. He was muttering furiously as he nearly ripped the hinges off the cupboard under the sink looking for anything he could use.

Vox let out a loud, angry shout as his body kept glitching. His movements were jerky and he'd hit his head on the sink twice now. Just as he was about to have an absolute meltdown, he heard you groan from his bedroom. His head snapped up and he turned around at the sound of your voice so fast he was surprised he didn't snap his own neck.

Vox yanked a towel off of the wall and scrambled across the nylon tiles as he fell into his room with all the grace of a CEO that he clearly had. He swore, picking himself up and coming over to you as you sat up and clutched your head.

"Shit, that stuff was stronger than I thought," you groaned. "Note to self, don't just chug random alcohol at the club." you tried to laugh, only to hiss as the pain in your head doubled down due to the movement.

"You're a fucking idiot," Vox sighed as he sat down next to you and lifted the towel to your head.

You flinched at the contact, and Vox grabbed your wrist with his free hand. "Stay still," he frowned, pressing again on the wound. "You're still bleeding."

Trying not to do more damage, you stay as still as possible while he tries to stop the bleeding. The silence is heavy between the two of you before you mumble quietly.

"Sorry..."

Vox blinks, frowning down at you. "For what?"

You avoid eye contact the best you can given your current condition and fist your hands on your thighs nervously. "For acting like an idiot. You've told me about how hard it is with Valentino. I should've said or done something and not have gotten..."

"Upset?" Vox finished for you quietly. You flinched, unable to read the tone in his voice. He sighed and slowly lifted the towel from your head, before lowering it. "Why did you?"

"It's stupid," you bite your lip, hand drifting up curiously to see how bad the wound is. Before your fingers could brush against your hair, Vox's hand grabbed your wrists again.

"Try me."

You couldn't say if it was due to the pain, blood loss, or alcohol in your system, but the moment you finally gathered the courage to look him in the eye, you said fuck it. Vox gasped as you surged forward and pressed your lips against his. He'd barely had a chance to process the feeling before you were already turned away from him and rambling some bullshit about how you knew he didn't feel the same.

He took your hand, ignoring the anxious nonsense flowing from your mouth, and lifted it to his lips. Your speech died on your tongue as his lips pressed against the palm of your hand.

"Do you have any idea how much you've been on my mind?" He growled softly, his lips trailing up your arm slowly as he practically worshiped your skin.

If it wasn't for the fact that your blood was still on his hands, Vox would have been so much more rough with you. He would have grabbed you and crashed his lips against yours. He would have torn the fabric that hugged your curves so tightly off of your body and shown you just how badly he'd been needing you.

Instead, he made do with tracing his claw under your chin and guiding you to face him properly. His eyes searched yours for any doubt or sign that you'd acted purely on adrenaline and not something more. When your breath hitched and your cheeks flushed, he knew. As he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, as his arms snaked down and pulled you flush against him like you'd break, as your fingers found a home in his vest he knew.

You wanted him too. You fell for him too. This wasn't a game of "do they, don't they" like the one he'd played with Valentino for so fucking long.

His breath hitched, his arms tightening around you before he slowly pulled back and laughed breathlessly.

"Does this mean we're dating?" you ask, smiling at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky.

"God that sounds cheesy," Vox grimaced. The phrase felt so... high school bullshit. But it wasn't wrong. He wanted that. He really wanted that with you.

He reached down, hesitating before his clawed hand gently covered yours. "But yeah... I guess it does," he smiled softer than you'd ever seen before.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #god this is probably so messy #i'll edit it later #come get your food im going to bed

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dumbsoftheart · 1 year ago

Text

threads of fate

pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,

summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.

notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!

word count: 7.2k

౨ׅৎ

the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.

tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.

hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.

shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.

despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.

now, you knew you were wrong.

you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.

oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.

you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.

“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.

“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”

you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”

the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.

you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.

౨ׅৎ

when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.

with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.

there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.

that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.

you hadn't realised how hard that would be.

he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.

“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”

from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.

“its quite beautiful, no?”

you hummed.

“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”

the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.

before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.

that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.

you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.

you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.

“dear?”

“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”

she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”

you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.

“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.

“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.

that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.

you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.

“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”

you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.

“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”

you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.

“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”

he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.

“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”

“wh-what?”

“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”

he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.

surely, he couldn’t mean..

no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”

you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.

when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.

the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.

what a stupid, stupid lamb.

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you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.

“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.

what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.

‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.

“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”

you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.

you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.

“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”

“i’m not afraid of you.”

he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.

keep back your servant also from willful sins.

he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”

you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.

“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.

“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.

let them not have dominion over me.

then i will be upright.

“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.

i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.

he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.

“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”

your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.

“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”

he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”

let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,

lord, my rock, and my redeemer.

you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”

he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.

he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.

he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.

he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.

“wh-what?”

“kiss me.”

your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.

“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”

he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.

“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.

when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.

“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.

“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”

“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”

coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.

your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.

“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.

something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.

“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.

“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.

he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.

“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.

“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”

you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.

“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.

“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”

your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.

you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:

“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”

and you did.

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@dumbsoftheart, 2023

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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