But As You Wrote You Got The Perfect Difference Between A Devil And A Fallen Angel - Tumblr Posts

I don't know if your requests are open but I adore your kiss fics! I'm wondering if you could maybe do a kiss fic for Sariel Noir?

A/N: Here you go anon!

Sidenote: Kiss requests are always open. If you aren't sure which ones I have already done, there is a masterlist which you can check out right here

Sariel x Reader

Word Count: 545

You wouldn’t expect such tenderness from a man known as a devil. You might expect a kiss that bruises, that presses a whimper from your throat the way a flower-press crushes petals. You might expect the grip of his hands to be punishing, fingers digging into your softness like a trowel into soft earth. You might expect his goal to be pushing you to your limit, to dance you to the very precipice of what you can take, dip you backwards over the edge as dizziness swims through your body. The devil, after all, is heartless, relentless, and flirts with cruelty.

But you know better.

You know the side of him that, if it is a devil, it is of the fallen angel kind. He looks up from the papers piled on his desk as soon as he hears the door open, violet eyes suddenly luminous, their amethyst color shining like sunshine through a butterfly’s wing behind the lenses of his glasses. You approach him and he rises, the tide in its eternal, loving servitude to the moon. No words are needed between you as he opens his arms and you step into them, closing your eyes as the world tilts and he settles back into his office chair, you pulled along and held close to him. His embrace is as much strength, the bulwark of protection from the world’s dangers as it is the gentle, protective curve of a hawk’s wing over its young. He reaches up to free your flushed cheeks of a few wandering strands of hair, his hands cool against your skin. You smile and his breath is visibly caught in his chest, his expression that of a man who wants to resist the allure of looking at the sun directly….and not being able to help himself. You shift within the circle of his arms and stretch upwards until your lips touch his.

His mouth is immediately responsive, the softness of your kiss mirrored in the answering press of his lips. You do not move, sinking into the feeling of his lips on yours, the gentle hum of electricity passing between you, words of devotion and affection unspoken yet palatable. He shifts, tilting his head and catches your lip between his, holding you there a moment. Both of you are still, locked in a sweet embrace, two people in a timeless echo of all the lovers that have ever come before you. You are endless and undying, the moment between breaths, the space between heartbeats, a single drop of eternity shared between you and him. And then your lips move, the moment breaks, and stillness becomes propulsion. 

Your kisses grow less gentle as lips part, teeth and tongues uncaged. Where there was tenderness and peace, there is now hunger and want. Satisfaction and discontent are two sides of the same blade: each kiss both quenches and amplifies the fire burning low in your bodies. He tastes so good, he feels so good, what more could you want.

The answer is easy: You want more and more and more.

You have one last, coherent thought as his teeth drag red lines down the soft skin of your neck, as your fingers slide under his tunic, searching for skin: There is nothing as satisfying as giving the Devil his due.

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