— TWs for knife-play, sadism, masochism, blood, torture & borderline consensual sexual content that some may find distressing. Toxic tendencies/manipulations. Please take care of yourself & read with caution.

  NO SOONER HAD THE WORDS left her lips that Draco's fist found Seven's throat, pushing her away from him, far enough so that their eyes could meet and his thumb under her chin meant that even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't look away.

  "Is that so?" The question hung like a dark cloud between them, something in the air seeming to shift — or maybe it was him that had changed.

He looked nothing far from feral. Desperation, so long withheld, finally flooding to the forefront, echoing in what little space remained separating them.

Warm breaths fanned Seven's face, and she struggled to remain focused, giving him a small, feverish nod; never once looking away. Draco's grip tightened on the sides of her throat, forcing a needy sound from her lips.

Shadows limned his face, casting his cheekbones into stark relief, "Then I guess we're both liars."

  After that; anarchy ensued.
Chaos incarnate.
The beginning of something that should never have been, something that could certainly spell the end.
  Something so naturally unnatural. Something destructive. Something heinous. Something that made the sky above them weep, though they'd never know that, so far underground — so close to the devil's heart.

  He kissed her. She kissed him back. And together, they fell apart. Finally coming undone. Never to be whole again.
  She'd fallen first, but he'd fallen further.

  His mouth was everywhere, hot and demanding as if he'd been there a thousand times before. As if tasting something that was already his. Kissing her lips, her jaw, her neck. And she allowed him to, head falling back in blissful compliance.

The world slowed and Seven could barely breathe — let alone think. If the thought of giving in to him, of surrendering all security, terrified her nearly as much as she told herself it did — then why did it seem to come so innately?

She didn't fight back as he lifted her, a harsh, low sound vibrating in her core as his wounds flexed. Hurting himself to gratify her.
  Seven's legs wrapped around his waist, hands tangled hopelessly in his mess of pale hair.

It felt wrong, so wrong, but only in the most sinister of ways. Like the same revolting satisfaction that came in killing — in stealing. In taking something so prized and making it your own. In bending beauty into blasphemy.
That same shaking thrill that came in most immoral things, and she drank every ounce of it greedily.

A heady gasp bound itself around Seven's throat as her back found the cold wall. Draco finally relenting, pressing himself all the way against her, and trying to stifle a guttural sound Seven buried her face in the crook of his neck, teeth bared viciously against his skin.

"Don't do that." He hissed, pressing his hips almost painfully into her, so strongly that she struggled not to cry out, instead favouring digging her nails into him.
" — Don't you fucking dare hold back. Not with me." He bucked his hips against her, forcing free the shout. "Do you understand?"

  Seven felt like fire. Hot. Too hot. It pooled between her thighs, scorching its way through her veins. Beneath him, she came alight, what was once a small flame spiralling into a reckless inferno. One that if left untamed, threatened to burn them both.

  She was the fuel, and she was the fire, and she was the witness, watching it all unfold. Whether powerless or unwilling to help she couldn't tell. But she was burning up, fast; burning out.

  Rough hands wound themselves into thick fistfuls of her hair, forcing her head back bitterly as he glared down at her. He looked deadly; disastrous, hateful, like a cliff's edge that she threw herself from, time after time, always expecting a different ending.
She may have been a fire, only fed in a moment of need then left unrequited to die out, but he — he was something else entirely. "I need an answer, Seven."

  "Yes." She gasped, desperate for him not to leave her like this, desperate for the pain to stop. " — Yes. I promise."

  And with that he finally seemed satisfied, mercifully releasing his grip on her hair and lifting her away from the wall, her legs still curled around him, pressing herself as close as he would allow.
This was his world, and she, so desperate to stay, living only on his terms, — only living because he permitted it.

  He set her down on the mattress, far softer than he had been moments prior. "Good girl."

He kissed her gently then, as if she were the most precious thing in this world. As if she meant something to someone. He kissed her as if he loved her.
— And in that foolish moment, Seven let herself be fooled.

Because a lie, by any other name, if delivered by his sinner's tongue, would certainly still taste as sweet.

She tried to hold him to her, as if that would stop him from leaving, and then she could live in this lie forever. But he pushed her away, grabbing both her wrists in one of his rough palms as suddenly, they were forced above her head.

For a long moment, he watched her. Cold eyes lingered on the way her chest heaved with small, panicked breaths. He liked that he frightened her. And she was right to be afraid.

She wondered what he thought when he saw her, whilst he wondered just how fearful he could force her before she broke.

  His free arm slipped away from her waist, disappearing under the pillow. Seven froze, knowing full well what she'd left under there.

  "What are you doing?" She asked wide-eyed and frantic. A creeping cold shiver laced deathly with dread beginning to crawl down the arch of her spine. " — What is this?"

  He didn't kiss her after that. "This," Even the whisper sounded wicked as he pressed the dagger to her throat,
" — Is revenge."

Seven's heart stopped, a sickness coiling in the pit of her stomach, devastated by her own capacity for self-betrayal.

She should've known.
She should've known.
She should've known.

She didn't even need to ask him why — why would he do this?
She'd given him a thousand reasons to hate her, all he needed was to choose one.
The irony was not lost on her, that the same dagger she'd once plunged through his chest, was now the one held to her throat. Moments away from taking everything she'd ever been and ever would be.
If today would be her last, she would not spend it in fear. Seven glared back up at him. Eyes on fire. "I hate you."

In that way they were one and the same; liars.

"Say it again." He demanded, as if condemning her.

  The words came easier then, "I hate you." And once she started, it was like something inside her snapped, "I hate you." She couldn't stop. "I hate you."

"Good." Was Draco's only reply before crashing his mouth against hers. He looked like hell but tasted like heaven. And despite his threats, Seven didn't care about consequence, desperate for sedation from the ache he instilled inside of her. She didn't want to feel anymore.

He was hellish; unforgiving. Taking far more than he'd ever dare to give, but she was willingly stolen from. She'd give him her life if only he'd look at her that way again — if only he'd keep looking at her that way.
Memories may not have been her affliction, but that was Seven's true curse; only knowing how to exist when she felt wanted.

Wordlessly he left her lips, working his way down her body, heartlessly devouring every inch of skin he found, all the whilst she remained starving, unable to move for fear of the blade at her neck.
When at last he removed it, she found no reprieve. This was no small act of mercy. Instead, a greater cruelty was just beginning. He dragged it down her, pressing hard as it came over her heart, easily tearing through the silk of her nightgown and burring deep into her skin. "How does it feel?" He asked coldly.

Receiving no response, he increased the pressure. 

"Fuck." She let out a burning hiss, refusing to cry, she refused to give him that satisfaction. If she told him to stop, would he? Or was he driven mad by his hatred of her? — by the scarlet that had now begun to pool between her breasts, saturating what remained of her nightdress.

Even if words would have found her, she couldn't have told him to stop, feeling in some way deserving of this torture. After all, she'd done far worse to him, and though it brought her no pleasure at the time, recalling it filled her with sick satisfaction now.

As quickly as the blade had pierced her, it fell away, and instead, a new kind of cry hilted her tongue as she suddenly felt his hand at the base of her nightdress, forcing it upwards, intruding between her thighs.
Seven tried to force her legs closed, to keep him at bay, but using his knee Draco pried them apart with ease, reminding her just how significantly he overpowered her.

  Squirming against his restraints, she tried to yank her wrists free but it was to no avail. Hopelessly bound by him. Draco pressed his palm tightly against her, revelling in the warmth radiating off her body — she felt like fire. Set alight beneath him, and now all he had to do was watch her burn.

Though seeing her so flustered threatened to shake his faith, and it took all his restraint not to dive at her, instead, slowly, torturously, Draco slid a single finger into her. Watching with twisted fascination as she writhed wantonly.

A shiver of unguarded anticipation raced through her veins and she began rolling her hips, desperate to find some form of friction against his palm.

"Shit — Draco," She whimpered breathlessly, spurring him on to increase his speed. For a second she thought that maybe he'd decided that she was worthy of forgiveness after all...

Seven had never much believed in nihilism, but after this, she wasn't sure anything else would ever matter the same way again. His rough fingers bruised her wrists as she clenched around his lower hand, daring him to pull away.

One look at her flushed face was enough to send him south. All thoughts lost as he released her wrists, instead favouring her thighs, ensnaring her in such a way that no matter what she couldn't escape. She didn't want to, tangling her legs behind his head.

"Christ Seven," His words warmed her core; forcing a sudden intake of breath. "You know you'll be the death of me."

"Good." She said, all she could manage through the mounting anticipation. So close, and yet so impossibly far.
Then he kissed her, in the most sinful way he knew. The most cardinal kind of kiss. She cried out, hands in his hair, begging for more and trying to press herself closer to his godless mouth.

It had to be immoral, she thought, that feelings so heavenly could come from someone so hellish. The dissonance was unnerving but easily forgotten as he inserted a second finger into her, all the while working his tongue over her most primal parts.

Uncontrolled sounds spilt from her tongue, curses so cruel they'd make angels cry. Draco had found a home between her thighs, moved in and made it his own, and by God, she prayed he'd never leave.

She came undone with a gasping shout, falling apart irreparably as the tides washed over her, damned to be forever ruined by the boy with the wicked tongue and devil's eyes. Wave after wave struck her silly, gasping for breath, drowning in the thought of him.

Only one thing was certain, nothing would ever be the same again.

  "You're not done yet." His harsh voice shook her to the core, and then, the sudden shocking coldness of the blade against her inner thigh made her jolt upright; terrified.
  In an instant his hand was at her chest, slick with the blood that pooled there, forcing her back. "Stay down and take it." He said lowly, feral promise in his eyes. "Don't make me tell you twice."

  Seven had expected pain to follow as she laid down obediently, but not like this. She expected him to force himself inside of her, to fuck her mercilessly until she cried out for salvation from a God she did not believe in. She expected to wake with bloody thighs and bloodshot eyes. But not this.
Not the crimson that crawled in serpentine trails, smeared from her breasts down to her navel. Not the blinding agony that forced tears from her eyes as the tip of the blade pierced her skin.

Seven's fists balled in his hair, somehow her blood had made its way there too. Staining him scarlet with the thought of her. Vision failed her, blurred with burning tears as she threw her head back in agony, a sob working its way free as the dagger danced across her flesh, "You're fucking sick." She whimpered pitifully; far too proud to admit defeat. Far too guilty to plead for mercy.

One final cut tore her resolve apart, far deeper than the rest. Pain. When he answered he sounded different than he had before; his voice mottled red with rue. "You're not exactly begging me to stop..."

And then, after that — the kind of solace that only came in unconsciousness.

***
I found this chapter so mentally draining to write, I literally worked on it for a whole 14 hours straight, non-stop. & If you couldn't tell, it started off as well intending smut... but then Mitsky started playing and shit just got darker and darker from there...