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xtra7s · 3 months

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Regina George (2024) x fem reader smut story please

love your writing💖

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Synopsis: Regina decides to talk to the party's wallflower.

Content: Switch!Regina, Switch!reader, cunnilingus, fingering, degradation, praise

Word Count: 2.4k+

masterlist

Regina George surveyed the pulsating scene with laser-sharp precision. Bodies gyrated beneath strobe lights, shouts competed with thumping bass, and the air clung heavy with teenage pheromones and regretful decisions waiting to happen. She, of course, was above it all – a queen bee observing her hive.

Her gaze scanned the crowd, searching for anything remotely interesting. Suddenly, she spotted her – Y/N, tucked away in a corner like a stray sunflower yearning for sunshine. Unlike the other girls, desperately vying for attention with their suggestive dance moves and clingy outfits, Y/N exuded an effortless cool.

Clad in a rumpled t-shirt and jeans, she sipped from a solo cup of water, an ironic halo of untouched purity amidst the spilled vodka and cheap beer. The way she held her head, the faint amusement curving her lips – it was like watching a lone wolf observing a pack of clumsy hyenas.

Intrigued, Regina glided towards her. As she got closer, she detected a hint of jasmine oil and the faint trace of worn paperback pages clinging to Y/N's aura – an intellectual oasis in a sea of predictable clichés.

Regina, the apex predator, couldn't resist the challenge. "Care to join the living, wallflower?" she drawled, the words laced with honeyed venom.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the Regina George's presence. "Not particularly," she replied, her voice calm yet somehow holding the power to quiet the room. "It seems the living are doing a splendid job entertaining themselves."

Regina smirked, appreciating the subtle dig. Most girls crumpled under her gaze, but Y/N held her ground, her sharp wit mirroring her own. This was unexpected, a challenge.

"Suit yourself," Regina said, leaning against the wall beside her. "Don't tell me you don't enjoy watching the spectacle."

Y/N shrugged, her lips curving into a slight smile. "There's a certain humor in it, observing the desperate search for validation."

Regina laughed, a genuine sound that surprised even her. "You're not wrong. So, what are you validating tonight?"

Y/N took a sip of her water, gazing at the swirling lights. "Myself. By not participating in this charade."

Regina found herself drawn in, captivated by Y/N's quiet confidence. It was a stark contrast to the usual sycophants who surrounded her. "Charades are tiring," she admitted, a touch of vulnerability slipping into her voice.

Y/N turned to her, her eyes meeting Regina's with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "They are," she agreed. "But sometimes, they're all we have."

The unspoken connection hung heavy in the air, charged with a strange electricity. At that moment, the queen bee and the wallflower found themselves on the same wavelength, two islands of solitude amidst the teenage storm.

A slow song drifted through the din, and Regina, on a whim, extended her hand. "Dance with me, wallflower," she offered, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N hesitated, then placed her hand in Regina's. Their fingers intertwined, warm and surprisingly comforting. As they moved to the music, a slow, tentative sway, the party faded away. It was just them, two souls yearning for something outside the charade, finding solace in a shared moment of understanding.

"Hey, Y/N, want to take a break from all this craziness? I know a spot where we can have some peace and quiet," Regina suggests, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Intrigued, Y/N nods, and Regina leads them through the pulsating crowd, expertly navigating the chaotic party scene. They reach a more secluded part of the house, away from the booming music and laughter. Regina opens the door to a private room, inviting Y/N inside.

The room is dimly lit, with a few candles casting a soft glow. Regina closes the door behind them, muffling the sounds of the party. The sudden change in atmosphere is palpable, and Y/N can't help but feel a sense of anticipation.

Regina smirks playfully, "Well, we've got our own little oasis now. No prying eyes, no judgment. Just us and a room to escape the madness. What do you say, Y/N?"

In the dimly lit room, Regina George's demeanor takes a flirtatious turn as she playfully approaches Y/N. The air becomes charged with a mix of tension and anticipation as Regina, with a mischievous smile, begins to make advances while maintaining her signature mean-girl edge.

"So, Y/N, did you come to the party hoping to be the wallflower, or were you just too scared to stand out?" Regina teases, her words laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Y/N, caught off guard by Regina's sudden change in tone, stammers a response, "I just don't care about that stuff."

Regina circles Y/N, a confident and assertive aura surrounding her. "Well, you're in luck because tonight, I've decided to make you my project," she declares, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

As the advances become more direct, Regina continues to walk the fine line between flirtation and mockery. She compliments Y/N's appearance while making snide comments, creating a confusing mix of emotions for Y/N. Regina's unpredictable behavior keeps Y/N on edge, unsure of whether to embrace the attention or be wary of Regina's underlying intentions.

In this shared space, Regina uses her mean girl tactics to both attract and challenge Y/N, creating a complex dynamic between them. As the night unfolds, Y/N is left navigating Regina's dual approach, trying to decipher whether there's genuine interest or if it's just another one of Regina's games. The shared space becomes a battleground of emotions, leaving Y/N torn between responding to Regina's advances and maintaining a sense of self-respect.

In the dimly lit room, Regina George leans over Y/N, her eyes fixed with an intense gaze as she grins mischievously. Y/N can feel the energy in the room shift, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity.

Regina's teasing tone continues, "Well, well, look who's blushing." Her words are accompanied by a playful smirk as she revels in making fun of Y/N's nervousness.

As Regina continues her taunting, she leans in closer, and with a sudden move, she places a few teasing kisses on Y/N's neck and jaw. Y/N's breath catches, a combination of surprise and the unexpected touch sending a shiver down their spine.

Regina pulls back slightly, still grinning, her tone a blend of mockery and allure, "You're easy to read, Y/N. Can't handle a little attention, huh?"

Y/N, caught off guard by Regina's bold move, struggles to find the right words. The room is filled with a charged atmosphere as Regina maintains her confident stance, reveling in the control she seems to have over the situation.

The shared space becomes a battleground of emotions, with Y/N torn between the embarrassment of Regina's teasing and the unexpected thrill of the flirtatious encounter. Regina, enjoying the game she's playing, continues to blur the lines between mean-spirited taunts and alluring gestures, leaving Y/N unsure of how to navigate this unexpected and complex dynamic.

The room's atmosphere intensifies as Regina George boldly places her hands on Y/N's thighs. Y/N can feel Regina's touch, sending a rush of mixed emotions through them. Regina, with a confident smirk, leans in and kisses Y/N deeply, the moment becoming charged with a blend of desire and defiance.

As Regina pulls back, she locks eyes with Y/N, a hint of challenge in her gaze. "I'm not hearing a no," Regina murmured, her words hanging in the air.

Y/N, still processing the unexpected turn of events, takes a moment to gather their thoughts. Regina's touch and the passionate kiss leave them conflicted, caught between the allure of the moment and a sense of uncertainty.

Regina grinned, hiking Y/N's jeans down her thighs, as Regina's fingers brushed against Y/N's sensitive spot through her panties, sending electric shockwaves of desire coursing through her. Y/N moaned softly, her hips moving subtly against Regina's touch.

"Have you ever been with a girl?" Regina purred, her breath hot against Y/N's ear.

"no," Y/N whimpered, their voice barely audible. "I want to be though"

With renewed confidence, Regina slipped her hand underneath Y/N's panties, pulling them down. "Spread your legs wide for me," she ordered, her voice husky with desire.

Y/N complied, spreading her legs wide apart, exposing her moistening folds to Regina's hungry gaze. Her heart raced faster as she awaited what would come next.

Regina's lips brushed against Y/N's neck, trailing kisses downwards toward her cleavage. She paused briefly, savoring the taste of their sweat and arousal. Then she leaned down, leaving kisses and bite marks on Y/N's thighs. She teased her breath against Y/N's heat, her tongue darting out to lick voraciously at Y/N's wet folds.

Y/N let out a sharp gasp, her hands reaching out reflexively to grip Regina's blonde hair. Regina continued to devour Y/N's pussy, sucking and slurping greedily, her skilled tongue probing deeply into every crevice. She alternated between rapid flicks and slower, teasing strokes, driving Y/N wild with desire.

Her hand snaked down to fondle and squeeze Y/N's ass, applying pressure wherever she felt most sensitive. Meanwhile, Y/N's moans grew increasingly louder, their body trembling with need.

"More," Y/N begged, her voice hoarse with pleasure. "I need more."

Regina chuckled darkly, her breath hot against Y/N's sensitive folds. "You'll get plenty of more," she promised, her words nearly growls of desire.

She increased the pace of her oral assault on Y/N's pussy, her tongue flicking faster and harder, seeking out hidden spots she knew would drive them mad with pleasure.

As Y/N's orgasm neared, Regina's actions became more frantic, her tongue working overtime to pleasure Y/N. "Cum for me, doll." she groaned, her voice rough with need.

Y/N screamed, her body tensing up in anticipation. Her muscles contracted tightly around Regina's mouth, her juices coating her face and mouth. Regina swallowed every drop, her eyes filled with satisfaction as she watched Y/N's orgasm wash over them.

"your pussy is so pretty," she praised, her voice husky with satisfaction.

Without giving Y/N time to catch their breath, Regina slipped two fingers into Y/N's wet opening, stretching her open further. "You're gonna cum so many times tonight slut," she murmured, her tone commanding yet laced with desire.

Y/N moaned, unable to resist the invasion. Her body adjusted quickly to the intrusion, accommodating Regina's fingers effortlessly. She arched her back, inviting more.

Regina obliged, thrusting her digits in and out of Y/N's tight channel, her thumb rubbing circles around her sensitive spot. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through Y/N's body, causing her entire frame to shake with ecstasy.

Despite being spent, Y/N couldn't help but beg for more. "More, please. I need more."

Regina chuckled darkly, her breath hot against Y/N's ear. "You're such a greedy little thing, aren't you?" She picked up the pace, her fingers moving faster and deeper. "I'm going to make you scream my name, Y/N."

Y/N's walls tightened around her fingers, signaling another orgasm building within her. "Regina! Oh fuck, Regina!" She cried out, her voice cracking with need.

With one final thrust, Regina's fingers found Y/N's G-spot, hitting it perfectly. A loud, primal cry escaped Y/N's lips as she came again, their body convulsing violently. Wave after wave of bliss washed over her, leaving them feeling completely spent yet still wanting more.

Panting heavily, Regina finally withdrew her fingers, allowing Y/N some much-needed respite. She sat back on her heels, admiring her work. "Tell me you want me to tie you down and keep going," she teased, her voice laced with satisfaction.

Y/N laughed weakly, their breath still uneven. "Don't think I wouldn't," they managed to croak out between ragged breaths.

Regina leaned back, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath. She smiled down at Y/N, a mixture of pride and desire shining brightly in her eyes. "Well, then maybe later," she teased, her voice still husky with desire.

Y/N, feeling emboldened by their recent encounter, decided to take matters into their own hands—literally. Reaching out, she trailed their fingers down Regina's toned stomach, stopping just above her exposed pussy. Regina's breath hitched in anticipation, her eyes widening in surprise. "Y/N…" she whispered, daring Y/N to continue.

Slowly, confidently, Y/N slipped their index finger between her own lips, savoring the taste of her own juices mixed with Regina's scent. With a smirk, they slid it downwards, tracing a path along Regina's abdomen before pausing just above her clitoris. "Is this okay?" they asked playfully, their voice still slightly slurred from their previous orgasm.

Regina swallowed hard, her heart racing faster than before. Her breasts rose and fell quickly, nipples hardening further in anticipation. "Yes, please Y/N," she managed to choke out, her eyes locked on Y/N's movements.

Y/N's finger circled around Regina's clit, teasingly brushing against her sensitive bud. Regina squirmed slightly, her hips moving unconsciously towards the contact. "More," she moaned softly, her voice laden with desire.

Y/N obliged, increasing the pressure and speed of their caresses. Her finger dipped inside Regina's wetness, exploring her depths slowly. Regina's moans turned into gasps of pleasure, her body arching upward in response.

As Y/N continued to torment her, Regina's breathing became heavier, and her chest heaved rapidly. "Faster," she begged, her voice raspy with need. Y/N complied, picking up the pace, her fingers moving in and out of Regina's tight passage faster than before. Regina's body trembled with each thrust, her juices coating Y/N's hand.

Suddenly, Regina's world exploded, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her body convulsed violently, and she cried out Y/N's name, her nails digging lightly into the bedsheets. Her pussy clamped down tightly around Y/N's finger, milking every last drop of pleasure from their ministrations.

Panting heavily, Regina finally regained some composure. "God, Y/N," she panted, her cheeks flushed crimson with shame and desire. "That was… incredible."

Her eyes were half-closed, filled with a mixture of satisfaction and wonder. "For never being with a girl, you damn sure know how to make one cum."

Y/N smirked, pleased with their performance. "glad you enjoyed it," she admitted, her voice still husky with pleasure. "Let's clean up a bit, yeah?"

After the charged moment in the private room, Regina and Y/N decide to rejoin the party, the energy between them lingering as they step back into the lively atmosphere. The pulsating music, laughter, and colorful lights greet them as they seamlessly blend back into the crowd.

Regina, surprisingly, has a softer and more genuine demeanor as they dance together, leaving behind the mean girl facade. The tension from the private room transforms into a shared connection, and Regina's playfulness takes on a more sincere tone.

#lesbian #wlw #renee rapp #renee rapp x reader #the sex lives of college girls #leighton murray #leighton murray x reader #lgbtq #mean girls #regina george x reader #mean girls musical movie

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jobean12-blog · 11 months

Text

A Kiss to Remember

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Vampire AU)

Word Count: 930

Summary: Bucky invites you to spend the weekend at his cottage in the woods.

Author’s Note: This is for @the-slumberparty June Writing Challange. I chose a cottage setting and the item I picked was a sundress. My dear friend Em @weekendgothgirl had shared the gorgeous picture of the cottage you see in my moodboard below and it sparked some real inspo! I love the idea of the dark vs light so I went with that a little bit! Thank you Em for sharing and thank you Navy and Roo for hosting! And thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️ Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Warnings: some soft sweet moments, a brief mention of b-l-o-o-d, pretty flowers :)

“I wish I could see more of our surroundings,” you muse as James drives down a secluded road toward his summer cottage.

You press yourself closer to the window, the glass cold to your touch and peer out into the hidden landscape.

“The darkness holds its own beauty,” he answers softly, his long fingers resting on our bare thigh. “Everything is transformed in the absence of daylight.”

Your soft hum of approval makes him smile as he absentmindedly caresses your skin, his touch keeping you warm despite the nighttime chill.

He finally makes a turn down a dirt road that winds around until you’re in a remote part of the woods. Up head, enclosed in a small wrought iron gate you see a cottage.

It’s nestled among a tapestry of vibrant flowers, their colors standing out against the veiled darkness. The silvery moonlight casts long, shadowy silhouettes upon its aged, timbered walls.

Amidst the dense foliage, the somber atmosphere is intensified by the interplay of moonbeams filtering through the twisted branches above, casting a haunting glow upon the colorful petals of the blooms.

Flickering candlelight softly illuminates the cottage’s small, latticed windows and adds a touch of ethereal beauty, inviting and beckoning you inside.

“Oh, Bucky!” you exclaim, your eyes wide. “I can’t wait to see the inside!”

James chuckles, squeezing your leg before he removes his hand and opens the driver side door. He rounds the car and helps you out, taking your hand on his elbow as he walks you down the small brick pathway to the door.

“I can smell the roses,” you whisper, closing your eyes on an inhale.

You sigh quietly, stopping to grasp a stem and press the fragrant petals to your nose.

James watches you, remaining quiet as you take in every little detail of the cottage before stepping into the doorway.

He stares, his blue eyes darkening as he takes you in.

Your bright sundress is a stark contrast to the deep, dark wood of the cottage and the vibrancy of your aura creates a captivating scene.

James steps closer, his large body caging you against the door.

“You’re a vision,” he whispers. “Like a ray of pure sunshine.”

He procures a rose, out of nowhere, and twirls it between his fingers before he glides the silky petals along your collarbone.

When he lifts it to your nose, you let the softness and sweet fragrance fill your senses then take it between your fingers.

His fingertips trace the neckline of your dress, a slow, sensual claiming before moving to the thin strap at your shoulder. He toys with it, letting it slide down so his fingers can continue their perusal.

Your eyelashes flutter along your cheeks and your grasp tightens around the rose’s stem, causing you to prick your thumb on a hidden thorn, drawing blood.

“Ow,” you hiss, lifting your hand to your mouth.

James grabs your wrist, gently, but as he watches the small drop of blood trickle down your finger his grip tightens ever so slightly.

“I’m ok,” you assure him, thinking he’s reacting because you’re in pain.

“Doll,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly brings your finger to his lips.

You let out a small gasp when his cold lips touch your skin, his tongue tracing the tip of your thumb to lick it clean of blood.

A delicate and tingling warmth radiates through your body from the contact, spreading like an electric current through your brain. As if James senses your response he growls low and deep before releasing your thumb and dragging you into his chest.

His embrace is warm despite the chill left in the air and you melt against him, still pressed along the door, his large body a welcome weight.

“You taste exquisite,” he breathes out as he dips his head.

His lips brush yours, softly at first, like a whisper. You feel yourself falling, consumed by him in a way that leaves you wanting and desperate for more, for anything he will give you.

With every passing second your heart beats faster and the kiss loses its gentleness and becomes more urgent.

“Please James,” you find yourself saying, begging.

His lips trail across your jaw as his hand slides up your body, stopping just at the base of your neck. He pulls away to look you in the eyes, the familiar blue of his own shining brightly against the darkness that surrounds you.

The pad of his thumb grazes along the column of your throat, your pulse beating wildly beneath his touch, until it presses under your chin and he tilts your head back, exposing your neck to him.

In the eerie stillness of the moonlit forest, shadows dance across the splashes of colored foliage and the air is thick with anticipation. You stand out against the dusky backdrop of the cottage, your bright dress barely dimmed by the encroaching dark.

Time slows and even the rustle of leaves fades away as he brings his lips closer, sharp fangs protruding before they delicately scrape over your skin.

You tremble with a whisper of his name and as his fangs pierce your skin the taste of your blood awakens his senses in a way he’s never experienced before. It’s intoxicating, igniting an overwhelming rush of emotions.

Even as your body is drained of life it comes alive with a mix of pleasure and vulnerability and in this fleeting moment you surrender to his embrace.

He savors every drop and with every taste he binds you in an eternal bond.

@randomfandompenguin @flordeamatista @lookiamtrying @sstan-hoe @late-to-the-party-81 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @laineyreads @goldylions @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #vampire!Bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #vampire!bucky x reader #vampire!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes Imagines #vampire au #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #navy and roo's sleepover

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scrufflesksunnide · 5 months

Text

Something I've been working on for awhile and finally I can tell you what this au is ABOUT.

Welcome to...

SURVIVOR AND MONK: ECHOS OF TIME!

an AU that tries to follow the canon of rain world in it's own unique way, creating new landscapes, added backgrounds that weren't there in rain world, new characters, and overall headcanons galore!

The AU is heavily inspired by things like Mario and Luigi: Partners in Time and Omori! Character refs and information below!

The premise of the au is about Survivor and Monk being contacted by a familiar white iterator from the void, who sends them on a mission to fix this world before things get messy with the landscapes they stand on shifting from times ahead and before, the memories they gained being wiped from them completely, and everything being set back to the very beginning. Their goal is to close time rifts causing this calamity, with the help of the Echos trapped inside these rifts, not only will they gain power to help the world but also gain memory the player never got to see... Will they be doomed to repeat this loop again due to their own problems? Or will they stop it all in time, before they have to repeat it all over again? They are all stuck here for their flaws, much like the echoes before them... maybe it is possible to break the cycle for once...? Meet the Main Cast!:

"Seth" aka The Survivor

Age: 20 Likes: Collecting pearls, Manny, Happy thoughts, Nature, History Dislikes: Having to give up pearls, Lizards, Bad thoughts, Thunder Storms (how ironic), and forgetting about the good times...

"Trying to find peace and happiness in a world that hurt them, their curiosity leads them into a new adventure. However, they aren't alone this time. With their sibling by their side, nothing will take this duo down!"

"Still full of curiosity, they are a sucker for nature much like their sibling. They are deeply curious about nature and wants to explore the world for what it has to offer. Their thoughts cannot be trusted however, despite it being full of curiosity, it is also full of doubt and bad faith after bring them down and keeping them rather depressed. They are numbed by the cruelty of this world, often not showing their emotions due to feeling static. It makes it hard to understand what's going on with them when they don't show a lot that's going on inside. However, they try their best to see a brighter future. They are quiet for the most part, but isn't scared to take action when necessary." Relationship Chart:

"Manny" aka The Monk

Age: 18 Likes: Gardening, Seth, Lizards, Batflies, Donating! Dislikes: Fire, Violence, Blood, seeing Seth sad, being alone. "Full of sunshine and and optimism. No matter of their naive nature, they set out to save this world with their kindness and their sibling by their side. Flourishing their way through this world with kindness has it's ups and downs however, we'll just have to see how they take it." "Peppy and happy, they try their best to make others joyful as well... to the best of their abilities anyway. They can be naive and foolish, they aren't super smart but they try their hardest... though sometimes they push themselves a little too hard. Due to the incident with Seth, they HATE being separated from him and suffers from separation anxiety. Their separation anxiety makes it hard for the duo to split up when it is needed, creating a struggle for the poor fella." Relationship Chart:

"Harvey"/"Harv" aka The Hunter

Age: 19 Likes: Doing risky shit, Red Lizard meat (sorry Manny), combat, their friends... helping out others in need... oh and uh, jokes Dislikes: staying in one place, being fluffy in the morning (yes they do fluff up fun fact!), being on a time limit, scav tolls, failing the mission. "After living through the scary odds, much to the world's pity, they live weaker than what they once were... but luckily they gained a strange but much needed friend." "Energetic and risk-taking, they make great effort to be danger to the enemies who dare try and disturb the peace. They led their ego and pride get the best of them at times and get carried away with playing the role of "hero" as that's the only thing they feel they have left to their name... "hero". They will willingly take a spear if it meant people made it out alive, they will rush head first into danger to shield those they care for... but in turn get extremely hurt in the progress. They can be impatient and does not want to be stuck in one place for more than 10 minutes, they have a soul that NEEDS heroic action and NOW!" Relationship Chart:

enot (dats me!!) the inventor (hehe see what we did there?) here's my [icture!

im 20 even though some people don't believe that fo[r sum reason (also I am very tired so my typig mayyyyyy be a bit wacky but ill fix it latr... probs) anyway uhhh I liek making cool gadgets, being the prettiest thing you'll ever see, my friendsss, eg, and kissing my babe (sethy!!) (and they is MINE, I will KILL YOU IF YOU DARE TOUCH THEM... just kidding!! there's enough of them (and me!) to go around!) and I like long walks on the shore! what I DONT like. I HAAAAAATE when people do not cooparate with each other and don't stick to the plan! like I swear everytime I'm playing skywars I get so pissed because I get teamed up with kids who dont even know how the game works OR they are SO egostical that they try doing stupid stuff and dont LISTEN to the guy who has actually PLAYED the game and KNOWS what their DOING!!! only reason why I lose so damn much is because of these bad teams holding me back, thats why I do solos most of the time and I do SO GREAT with those and- whats that? OH CRAP SORRY UH UH, I also don't like spiders and dark places, I've had a big fear of it back then and I've gotten over it... I think. anyway! im just gonna copy and paste this and be on my way, see ya later! "I'm stubborn sure but I have a great plan!... at least plans that are silly to others but DO work. I guess my biggest downside is I take too much pride in myself and i'm a bit too loud haha but im working on it!! Im very caring and loving and im cringe but im free!! I maybe a bit unstable... physically I mean PHYSICALLY IM FINE MENTELLY... I think. I do have a feeeeew memory issues (but im pretty sure everyone else does since, yknow, the current situation, hopefully I gain my memories back soon with those echoes!) anyyyway, hope you have fun reading everyone else's bios, see ya soon readers!! -love enot" Relationship Chart:

"Grant" aka The Gourmand

Age: 25 Likes: Mold Slime (Loves it so much that 80% of their body is made OF it!... wait that's probably really unhealthy- uhhh-), taking care of slugpups, crafting handy tools, hugging, and art Dislikes: People hurting their tribe, not eating for a period of time, seeing others sad, letting their craving/urges win. "One of the slugcat tribe's greatest warriors and excellent crafter, only thing holding them back from their truest peak is their huge appetite." "Carefree and always willing to protect those they love most. They be a bit slow but they are a lovable guy all around! They often get hungry due to them consuming a lot of mold slime, needing more food to feed their belly and having a shift in mind if they don't get food right away, they often eat other people's food without realizing it. This becomes a problem when people need to save food, it's a huge struggle for them to control these new found urges and often gets disappointed in themselves for letting those urges win. Despite this, they make up for it by trying to be a good role model and inspiration for people. They aren't the actual leader of the slugcats, however, they do take role as leader when the current leader is dead (unlikely but can happen) or they need to split up for expeditions. Relationship Chart:

"Asher"/"Ashley" The Artificer

Age: 20 Likes: Taking care of slugpups and baby scavs, when people do their job, quiet, listening to music, combat, scav boxing matches that take place every Wednesday night (they like watching them instead of being in them cuz they don't trust themselves with fighting people as they get, rough, really rough.) Dislikes: Loud noises, Seeing slugpups get hurt, leeches, water fuck water FUCK WATER FUCK WATER-, having breathing problems, smoke, being reminded of their mistakes, having to get violent. "A strict but fair ruler to the scavengers, swore to make sure scavs don't dare try and step out of line with slugcats ever again. Despite their rage and violent past, they have calmed down and learned that taking on this role (the role the old ruler barely did right) would be a good change in the slugcat race." "Ash often gets a bit annoyed when people step out of line, but luckily they don't expect people to be perfect, they will NOT give slack to people that step out of line on purpose. They are more mature and parent like when it comes to ruling over the scavs, at first they saw them as freaks, but they grew on them after awhile and treated every single scav as if they were their own, even if they don't show it, they appreciate their hard work. They can be demanding but they would never ask anyone to do something dangerous unless they knew they could handle it. They can be pessimistic, most of the time feeling down due to thoughts, that doesn't make them less of a fighter however. They are a combat warrior when it comes to fighting, just because they got rid of their violent ways to the scavs... doesn't mean they got rid of it for the other creatures like vultures, lizards, and centipedes. Relationship Chart:

"Ruffles"/"WD (Water Dancer)" aka The Rivulet

Age: 18 Likes: Collecting pearls with Seth, Swimming, relaxing and chilling with LTTM, other fishes, pretty lights. Dislikes: Huge waves, being Pressured, being on a deadline, being made fun of, getting startled by people, rain, and the rot. "Being on the run for awhile, they were sent out by chasing wind to deliver a data pearl to any surviving iterators out there. Their anxiety is the key to their speed as they rush towards their destination out of fear alone." "Ruffles gets startled pretty easily, though their reaction is oddly... delayed. They often have trouble controlling their vocal volume when they are not relaxed, often getting shaky and anxious when put on the spot or is the center of attention... but when they are relaxed and calm, they really open up to be a fun loving slugcat! They feel they need to get things done quickly due to the events that happened with trying to GET to shoreline, that and they think people might get disappointed in them if they don't do it quick enough. This results in them getting more anxious and things could easily fall apart if people don't catch up. They can be clumsy but makes up for it by having fast reflexes, they almost drop your birthday cake? Fear not as they will do their DAMNEST to have that birthday cake be perfectly fine! They see LTTM as their best friend, often feeling relaxed and comfortable around her, LTTM is the only time where Ruffles feels safe... other than their friends of course." Relationship Chart:

"Sii07" aka The Spearmaster

Age: 19 Likes: Challenging themselves, having a goal and completing it, drawing/painting, SRS... and warm places. Dislikes: Failing a goal, not having a purpose, being bored, people getting in their way, and vultures. "A message slug created by Seven Red Suns that fulfilled their purpose... but found themselves in an unsatisfying life after their loss. They find new albeit, risky and hurtful adventures to challenge themselves so they can feel they have purpose... or at least try to think they do."

"Sii has a knack for putting themselves in dangerous expeditions, resulting in them getting hurt often... but they feel completely numb to it all. They set too ambitious goals with only satisfaction as their reward. It takes a lot to get them to stop trying to do dangerous expeditions but when they do stop even if for a bit, they can be a chill and almost inspiring! They are a pretty good critic too when it comes to art and combat, even though they can be harsh whenever it's negative, they want people to improve upon their skills... It seems pointless to them to try and teach people things... for now at least. They are highly determined, always preserving no matter what, this can be a good... and bad thing. They can get bored pretty easily so they like to doodle or draw full on pieces of art for however long they feel like it, it's much rarer nowadays... but when you get to see it, it's beautiful." Relationship Chart:

"Sage" aka The Saint

Age: 21 Likes: Uhh... Guiding people to the right path...? They didn't really... fill this out. Dislikes: They don't like meat... that's pretty much all I could gather. "Created by-" what?... would you rather that be private? You sure there are people already kno- Okay, okay. We can skip that part. "They set up to help people in need, and be of a sort of guide for Seth and Manny on their quest to fix this big problem... again." "A pacifistic being whom aims to help others in need of guidance. Although their perfectionist nature holds them back from being happy with their results often times. They do their best to support Seth and Manny in their adventure, testing their new found powers and helping them be better people. They have a tendency to not let people in their personal life... but sometimes, just sometimes, people can gain their trust. They are highly mysterious and it's hard to tell if they mean well or not... but they haven't hurt anyone so far and they seem to want to help people with their calm and on form approach." Relationship Chart:

More info coming soon!! This post will be updated now and then so do check back here every now and then! Comics will be in the making soon as well so keep look out for that!

#rain world #rain world downpour #echos of time au #rain world fanart #rw survivor #rw enot #rw monk #rw gourmand #rw saint #rw spearmaster #rw rivulet #rw artificer #rw hunter #rw au #MORE TO COME SOON!!

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

summary: With the Great Hall empty, you take an opportunity to gaze upon the Iron Throne without its ruler. You can't help but wonder what kind of monarch Oberyn would make. The King is dead, long live The King.

pairing: Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: 3k

content: 18+ MDNI. SPOILERS FOR GOT, (In order) Reference to death and vague mentions of gore, celebration of said death (Nasty character go bye bye), fingering, PIV sex. This is a @beskarbabs remaster — original post date 2021.

➛ oberyn masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

Summer sunshine bathes the throne room in a golden glow yet does nothing to dispel the cold, unnerving energy that reverberates inside the stone walls. Red refractions from the stained glass sun at the window at the head of the room leak across the floor. You can’t help but consider the stone flags are often streaked with that colour. That those who have paced the stone flags, their footsteps ringing out in the Great Hall, have given the order to paint the Seven Kingdoms that same crimson shade.

Standing before the steps, you consider the Iron Throne seated upon them, its bleak colours contrasting the warm hues in which the sunlight drowns the room. The Throne surprisingly does not live up to your expectations. You had heard so many stories, forged of a thousand surrendered swords at the conquest of Aegon The Conqueror. Now it stands before you; you can hazard a guess that there are less than two hundred.

Its symbolism is not lost on you. It had seated some of the evilest men, who had brought terror and despair across the Seven Kingdoms and its people. When you had arrived at King’s Landing and entered the Red Keep before the wedding, you had expected to see arguably the worst of them all, King Joffrey, stare back at you.

Now it was empty.

The crimson that daubs the floor in splotches reminds you of the events just hours before. Reminds you of the lifeblood that leaked from the young king’s nose and slipped down his pale, blotched cheeks, dripping into the golden collar of his robes at his neck. Reminds you of the bloodshot colour of the whites of his blue eyes and the way they seemed to almost threaten to bulge out of his sockets. A gruesome death for a gruesome king.

You hoped that his mother’s screams, ex-queen regent Cercei Lannister, mirrored those of the countless he had killed in these halls so brutally. Hoped it would bring those dead some peace. That it please the Old Gods and the New so that the kingdom could find peace and crown a more considerate, less destructive sovereign.

The Great Hall was quiet. With no king to keep the Iron Throne warm, there was no requirement for anyone to be here. With this knowledge, you slowly make your way up the steps, the sound of your soles scuffing the stone floor ringing out in the vacant room. This close, you could regard the details. The ridges of the sword handles catch your eye, and the hilts of the weapons all ensigned with symbols that represented their owners long gone. While it didn’t meet your expectations, it was undoubtedly a throne for a king.

You cast your eyes over the armrests, reaching out to touch them. They seemed so uncomforta-

“It’s underwhelming, is it not?”

You snatch your hand back from the Throne with a gasp, like it had scalded you, eyes wide as your head whips around to look at the source of the sound.

Oberyn smirks, standing in the centre of the large floor before you. His warm energy radiates despite the distance between you, and the golden robes he wears provide some much-needed colour to your bleak, almost desolate surroundings. You had asked him to wear those patterns for the ceremony, confessing they reminded you of the sun-kissed beaches of home. Oberyn agreed, delighted to represent Dorne this way.

“You startled me, my prince!” You exclaim, pressing your palm to your chest in an effort to steady yourself. Your Viper had always been stealthy.

“Apologies, My Sun, but you were so lost in thought that I fear I would have startled you regardless,” he muses, slowly crossing the floor. He looks so at ease in these four walls, sauntering as though he owns them. In honesty, this is how Oberyn always acts, but he is expected to uphold respect in the Red Keep and appear humble. He certainly didn’t seem to care much for that expectation now.

Despite this, he regards you with a whisper of concern.

“Are you well? What you saw back there… It wasn’t pleasant,” he treads carefully, uncertain how you had handled the events of the wedding, given he had sent you away from the gruesome scene. But, much to your surprise, the only thing that you happened to find grim were Cercei’s pitiful cries of “take him!” You swore they still rang in your ears like the screams of squealing pigs.

“Just fine, my prince,” you promise him, dropping your hand to your side. You were fine, honestly. While you weren’t often exposed to atrocities in Dorne, you had certainly seen your fair share of them. Choking to death paled in comparison.

Finally, he steps upwards, making his way slowly up the levels to stand before you. You’re taller than him on the top step, so he cranes his neck to look into your eyes. There is a glimmer in the blackness of his pupils - vindication.

“And so the boy dies,” he says, voice quiet as he reaches for your waist. He slowly brushes his palm up the curve of your waist.

“He was a Baratheon, Oberyn,” you remind him, watching how his eyes trace the neckline of your dress. A knowing smirk flickers across Oberyn’s usually measured expression. He knows something you don’t.

“So they say,” he appears to pick his words carefully, despite your isolation. The walls of the Red Keep have ears, and unsavoury words often come back to haunt the utterer. “I fear his pedigree has come into question.”

A frown pulls at your eyebrows, searching Oberyn’s guileful countenance for an answer to your unspoken query of ‘why?’

“You saw how that wretched boy acted. Are you to tell me he isn’t a Lannister?” He questions you, holding your gaze. His usually warm brown eyes have that very same intense look he aimed at Cercei and Tywin at the dinner. Abhorrence. How were you to deny what he saw, what you saw? Joffrey was a monster, the kind of cruelty he dealt only shared with one family- lion’s jaws would easily maul a stag. Regardless of whose blood had pumped his heart, he deserved every moment he suffered.

“Well,” you sigh softly, agreeing with your lover, “I suppose if the shoe were to fit….”

“It does,” he speaks, dismissing any question of the legitimacy of his opinion, “This is a triumph.” You nod firmly, the two of you acquiescing unanimously to this fact. It was of no consequence who Joffrey truly was. The most imperative truth was that his death had devastated the Lannister family, precisely what Oberyn had set out to do. While he couldn’t claim responsibility, it certainly didn’t diminish his appreciation in seeing the panic amongst the blonde-headed savages - the infighting.

Oberyn’s hand creeps from your waist and down the small of your back, taking hold of your ass and gently squeezing it. His eyes are hooded as you look down at him, iris’ hidden as he gazes down the neckline of your dress.

“This could be your chance to become king,” you muse, smiling playfully as his eyes snap up to your face, disgust evident if only briefly.

“Live here in King’s Landing? As sovereign? I would rather be abstinent,” he muses with his own knowing smirk, “not even your bewitching looks could implore me to rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

You huff, acting disappointed as you cross your arms across your chest in apparent dismay. Oberyn simply arches an eyebrow, the edges of his lips lifting up in intrigue at your little display of audaciousness.

“What is it, My Sun?” He asks you, clearly amused. You purse your lips slightly, playing coy as you reach for the collar of his golden robes and brush your fingertips over the silk, moving them down slowly until you hook them into the leather belt that sits loosely on his waist. You tug harshly, catching him off-guard and forcing him to move up onto the top step beside you.

“Oberyn, play the game with me. We’re celebrating, remember?” You whisper, looking deep into his eyes. They always reminded you of the bark of the blood orange trees that grew in the orchards in Dorne, the wood a deep brown colour that lightened with flecks of gold in the light. His tan reminds you of the sunshine, his sigil, the very name he affectionately calls you. Everything about him reminds you of home.

He regards you for a moment, knowing exactly what you want. You want him to imagine what it would be like if he was king- just for a moment.

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, allowing you this happiness. You grin, launching into questions as you smooth your hands down his chest again, ignoring how his voice dips an octave.

“What would you wear, My King?” You ask, smiling wide as he places his large hands on your hips. His palms practically eclipse you, which always makes you feel safe, even in King’s Landing.

“I would wear golden silk,” he muses, turning you ever so slowly until he stands between you and the Iron Throne, his back to it. You watch him for a moment, the deviant look in his eyes, “I would wear velvet, and I would ensure you were to dress just as remarkably.”

You allow yourself to imagine that for the two of you, always matching to ensure everyone knew you both belonged to each other.

“And what would you eat?” You ask him, finding yourself lost for words just seconds later when Oberyn takes the initiative to sit himself upon the Iron Throne. He sits back, legs spread wide, looking up at you. Your blood runs cold, and you glance around quickly for a King’s Guard. There’s still no one around.

“What would I eat?” He repeats your question, smirking as he retakes hold of your hips, “I would order that all the best foods of Dorne be delivered periodically, blood orange, pomegranates.” His palms work their way behind you as he talks, resting on your ass and pulling you forward.

“Oberyn-”

“We’d gorge upon the finest venison, the boar from the woods and wash it down with our wine,” he continues, pulling you forward until you were forced to straddle his lap, bracing yourself with your hand against the ‘head’ of the Throne, “We would want for nothing, the finest food always available to me upon my request….”

Oberyn’s hands pull your hips down gently, rolling your hips against his. He’s stiff in his tight brown pants, his body disclosing his need for you.

“And I would eat you,” he ponders cheekily, a smirk crossing his lips as he sees your surprise at his readiness to take you here, in the Grand Hall, upon the Iron Throne. You have barely a moment to snap out of your shocked stupor before he’s working at shucking your skirts upwards, fingertips grazing the inside of your thighs.

Heat sparks up your spine at the realisation- he actually wants to do this. He wants to fuck you now, here. You spring into action almost immediately, working hastily on the belt that encompasses his waist.

“As for activities, we would have magnificent feasts, drinking the night away. We’d fuck-” he punctuates with a spank to the bare skin of your inner thigh, causing you to gasp, “into the early mornings, with as many whores as you desire….” He trails off with a smirk as you slip the belt open and pull open his eggshell-coloured long coat, adorned with golden patterning to expose his bare chest under his low-cut tunic.

As you work on the ties of his pants, fingers trembling with anticipation, he slips a finger into your exposed core, causing your back to arch into his touch. Your jaw slackens, the sensation electrified when accompanied by the possibility that anyone could just walk in. The two of you could be put to death for this, as it certainly constituted a charge of treason.

“So wet for me, My Sun. Does the prospect of fucking me here excite you?” He teases unrelentingly, gazing at the needy expression on your face. You can feel him search for that spot inside you, the one he knows will have you positively dripping with anticipation.

“I-I’m the one asking questions,” you say, wanting to sound assured and confident, but you find yourself rushing the words so as to not get cut off by a moan. It made you sound ingenuine. Your lover just smirks knowingly, slowly working in a second finger. You’re already so aroused that it doesn’t take much effort.

“You are?” He murmurs, watching the way you keen for his touch, feeling your hips rock forward in search of contact with that sweet spot inside of you. If Oberyn put his mind to it, he could make you cum in seconds, but he liked to draw it out. Wants to torture you with pleasure. “Ask away.”

You let out a soft moan as his knuckle brushed your clit, fingers buried deep inside your cunt. Drunk on the building pleasure between your thighs, you allow yourself to consider for a moment what kind of king Oberyn would be. With a broken train of thought, as he focused on building your arousal, you find a half-answer of ‘compassionate and just’.

“How would you wish for your crown to look?” You finally find the strength to ask of him. You work him out of his pants slowly, easing his cock out and brushing the swollen head with your thumb. Even through your lustful haze, you could imagine all kinds of styles he would wear, but always gold.

Oberyn, though still moving his fingers, seemed to pause to contemplate this. His eyes searched your face, almost as though looking for inspiration. The silence of the Great Hall is cut only by your laboured breathing, the soft sounds of the fabric of your clothes rustling, and the wet sound of Oberyn pleasuring you.

The quiet is almost too much, and you find yourself growing anxious. Only as you turn your head over your shoulder to check for people does the Prince of Dorne take your chin in his free hand, forcing you to look back at him. He always did ask for your undivided attention.

“I ask they do not place a crown on my head,” he finally drawls in that pretty accent you had come to adore, removing his fingers from you and taking hold of the curve of your ass to lift your hips upwards and align you with him, “Just you on my cock.”

Before the words can settle into your bones, he’s sinking himself into you, using his hold on you to bring you down slowly. You both exhale shakily, the sound teetering on a moan and a whine as he stretches you out around him. He grits his teeth together, the muscles holding his jaw pulled tight as your warmth and tightness overwhelm him.

You begin to circle your hips, grinding them against him as he leans back into the Throne, gliding his hands from your knees and up your thighs, smirking at the obscenely wet sounds that come from where he fills you.

“Lift your skirts,” he murmurs, gazing up at you with hooded eyes. They are practically black, the pupils having swallowed the brown of his iris’ with need, “I want to watch myself fuck you, My Sun.” You whine softly, not in complaint but in contentment, as you bunch your skirts around your waist higher, exposing the sight to your lover.

Oberyn doesn’t allow you to put in all the work, grinding his hips upwards to meet yours each time you sink onto his cock. Your head lolls back, enjoying the trail of tingling skin he leaves as his hands brush over the skin of your waist under your dress. You always claimed that Oberyn had sunshine in his fingertips, his touch leaving a trail of warmth as it brushed your skin. You can feel it now, the gentle heat that swirls under your skin as he drags his hand over your abdomen.

And Oberyn just gazes up at you, dragging his eyes over every inch of you. He loves how your eyes roll back into your skull as he rolls his hips and hits something deep inside you that makes your toes curl. He feels the way the muscles in your thighs twitch at the sensation, and that’s how he knows he’s found it.

“Right there?” He murmurs, voice so low and smoky that it creeps down your spine and settles deep inside your cunt. You can’t manage words, your voice stolen by the throbbing in your clit, so you just nod in agreement.

Typically, he would begin to thrust harder, chase his high. But half of the reason this feels so good is the anticipation of being caught. He wants to drag it out as long as possible, so he uses the grip on your hips to slowly rock them back and forth on his cock, ensuring that each time he pushes into that spot inside you.

You’re clamping down on him, wailing quietly as he teases you. Oberyn was brutal, never settling for anything other than blinding pleasure. But this is almost acute, so strong that you could cry- you do, tears welling in your eyes as he circles your hips slowly, his tongue brushing his lower lip as he watches his dick slide in and out of you.

The sopping sounds of Oberyn’s cock continually slipping in and out of you ricochets off the ancient stone walls of the Red Keep. Your whines of bliss appear to spur him on, lighting something ablaze in him that had sparked with King Joffrey’s last breath. He’s almost delirious when he speaks but utterly sincere.

“I want you to conceive a child - here on the Iron Throne. I want you full of my seed, knowing he was born for the Throne itself.”

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#oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x y/n #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn martell smut #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #game of thrones fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader

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astudyincontrasts · 1 year

Text

Incubus Viktor ~ Part 2

Incubus Viktor x Fem!Reader NSFW

Art by @arcanescribbles my beloved angel

Well. It only took me an entire month of work BUT here you go, my sweetly patient darlings. A continuation of this fun little drabble. Thank you all for bearing with my slow progress and for all your lovely support🖤 Enormous thank you to @insult-2-injury for helping to battle my brain goblins. ilu bb

TW: no y/n, anxiety, new relationship dynamics, how to train your incubus, sex, smut, cockwarming, edging, overstim, body worship, multiple orgasms, anal/rimming, possessiveness, breeding kink(?), attempted assault, off screen implied death

The heavy iron skeleton keys rattled against the lock as you opened the door. You’d become used to their weight, in your hand, in your pocket, clanking about in your bag. And used to the home they belonged to… that you belonged to now, as surely as those rough edged, intricately cast metal monstrosities that let you into your front door.

The landlord had seemed surprised to find you still there when he returned, unexpectedly and unannounced, to check on the place two days after you’d moved in. As shocked to see you standing there, dripping mop held like a weapon and eyes wide as your pulse hammered in your ears as you were to see him letting himself uninvited into your new home. Convinced he’d been someone picking the elderly locks to break in and claim squatter’s rights or else rob you.

He’d stayed shocked while you’d dissolved into irritation and held out your hand for the spare skeleton key he’d so conveniently chosen to keep for himself. He surrendered it without a fight, to his small credit, and as you assured him that you were perfectly happy with your lease of the house and shut the door upon him, you weren’t sure which of you were more suspicious of the other. You, wondering just how much the greasy oaf of an old man knew about the home he couldn’t seem to keep tenants in, or him, left to ponder over why or how you had made it through a single night there.

It had been several months now, and you still weren’t sure you could have honestly answered the question of why you had stayed, even to yourself.

“Moje sladká broskvička…”

The voice purred in your ear, no sooner than you had the door shut and the key turned in the lock on the inside. Broskvička, broskvička, broskvička… That reverberating, gradual manifestation of a voice that licked straight through the shell of your ear to course along the wet ripples of brain matter in its forward and back soft echo that still made your eyes struggle with the urge to flutter shut and thighs clench.

As he’d grown stronger, as you’d fed him, Viktor had gained more control over himself. No longer relegated to only appearing in the dead of night as he had been in the beginning, though he was certainly stronger, more whole after the sun had set. Not fond of brilliant, bright sunshine, and somehow less during daylight hours; that insatiable, insensible pull of him not nearly as intoxicating as it was after dusk.

Still, he seemed to like to be where you were, with you, daylight or no, and even when he wasn’t there beside you the house felt like an embrace, saturated with him and infatuated with you.

“You’re back.” He breathed over your shoulder, and you felt his face press into the soft give of your hair as the climbing, curling grasp of long clawed hands materialized around you and slid up under the front of your shirt to gently rake fine pointed nails over the small swell of your stomach as the black mist shroud that always heralded him coiled and spilled around you like tendrils of living, liquid smoke whilst he himself took shape from them.

The bags in your hands dropped as the weight of him pinned you to the door, his head laid in the crook of your shoulder, the sticky smoke soft strands of his dark hair tickling your cheek and throat.

These desperate, eager greetings had become common. Dogs were less eager to see their masters after a long day. Even though every evening you returned home from work, even though you’d never made a move to pack up your things, even though you spent most spare time fixing up and cleaning the old place, he still seemed to harbor a deep seated fear that perhaps each time you left the house that he was apparently bound to that you would not return. He never voiced this concern, but you could feel it in these greetings, in the subtle way the strange amorphously solid conundrum of his body shivered ever so slightly as he pressed to you, in the tenderness of clawed hands as they slid over your own skin, reassuring himself you had returned to him.

It was intoxicating, if you were honest, to be this desired and missed so badly, to be yearned for.

Turning in your pinion between him and the door arms lifted, hands sliding over the ephemeral texture of his skin as he gathered you to himself with a deep, quiet purring noise of immaculate pleasure that trailed out at the end of each breath in eerie, soft clicks. His kisses traced a map across your throat and jaw, to lick tenderly along the shape of your collarbone. Soft little lines of tingling fire rose from your shoulder blades and down your ribs as clawed fingertips raked gently down the span of your back to press palms hard into the small of your back, arch you toward him.

At times you thought perhaps you’d learned some resistance to that thick, honeyed drug of his seduction, that you’d somehow managed to keep your bearings and sense better as the time had passed, only to be disabused of that notion time and time again when he truly dialed up that unspeakable, heady pull of his that turned bones and willpower both to warm jelly.

No, it was Viktor who’d become better at his control, not you. As if sensitive to the quiet terror that ran like a low current under your eager submission to his power, as if he could see swimming in the back of your lust-drunk eyes the fear of that lack of self control, and so tried to keep that thrumming, beguiling narcotic effect of his in check.

He slipped at times though, too excited, too enthralled and eager and hungry for you.

Not that your appetite for him ran any different.

Whatever he was, however dark and terrifying and arcane, you wanted him. Craved him even without the influence of his seduction. Beautiful and dangerous and achingly gentle in the quiet moments, he was a creature that had infested your desire as surely as he had infested the decrepit old Victorian house.

He crooned wordlessly as your hands cradled up the angles of his face, pressing his forehead to your own with a sigh like it was the first time he’d been able to breathe since you’d left that morning. It made your heart ache a little.

“Viktor…” Voice gently chiding, ready to chase away his concern.

The knock at the door to your back cut you off, and quick as he had materialized, Viktor vanished, dark smoke dissipating into thin air, leaving behind a scent of petrichor and extinguished candles.

Spinning in surprise to gaze through the ancient leaded decorative glass panes of the door’s large window at the figure distorted behind them, you turned the key you hadn’t yet had a chance to take from the lock, and pulled the door open an inch. A toothily smiling masculine face greeted you, a good foot and half taller than yourself, and you felt the hair on the back of your neck rise to stand on end as thick fingers curled around the edge of your open door a few inches from your own face.

“Hullo, lovie. Name’s Barrett.”

“Hi.” Reply dry, cold and verging on impatience. The kind of tone you reserved specifically for overconfident door-to-door salesmen. Barrett seemed to take no notice.

“I been lookin for work in the neighborhood and heard a rumor this old place had been let again. I’m a bit o’ a handyman ya see. Specialty is roofing.” Dark eyes cast upward toward the inside of your obviously sagging porch roof before searching around the slice of room he could see through the barely cracked open door above your head. “I figured as I’d come introduce myself quick as I could, offer my services.”

You did not like how those dark eyes ticked up and down and over you with the same greedy calculation as they had the room behind you. Nor the way his smile spread like an oil slick across the uncomfortably unkempt looking five o'clock shadow of his face. Unable to tell if the dark smudges staining skin beneath the stubble were dirt or faded old scars under his olive complexion.

“Old place like this… sure it could use a lil tender care, hm?”

Did he just fucking wink at you?

“As you said, this place is leased. Any major repairs are the owner’s responsibility. Do go see him if it's employment you want.” Polite but firm, the only hint of rudeness in your inability to unclench your jaw.

He tutted and pushed at the door without exerting much effort at all and you were alarmed to find he easily slid you back a few inches across your carefully polished and restored glossy wooden floorboards.

“Sure you’re right. Silly of me, hm? I jus’ heard this place was occupied again an’ got excited. You don’t mind if I come in, take a look around an’ take stock of what might need doin’ so I can work up an estimate for the landlord, do ya sweetheart?”

Heels dug in as you shoved your shoulder against the door and tried to force the inexorable slow opening of it back closed against his strength.

“Yes I do mind! S-stop!”

He was laughing softly at your frantic effort, like your sudden jolt of hot fear was the silliest, funniest thing in the world, and weren’t your struggles precious?

Neither of you expected the way the door suddenly jerked and slammed shut on his fingers like it had a mind of its own.

Barrett was howling, scrambling on the other side of the door to yank his mashed fingers free, and there was a horrifying moment when all you could do was stand there and stare at those digits turning a sickly hot purple and angry red and think for sure you were about to see them fall severed onto your doormat.

No idea who was more relieved, you or him, when the door eased a fraction and he was able to wrench fingers free before it slammed shut in earnest and the key turned in the lock all on its own.

Only, you knew it was not on its own. Barrett stood on the porch, cursing and grunting and hissing breath through his gapped teeth as you stared at the distorted blob of him through the textured glass, stared at the smudge of blood where his fingers had grasped the door, and mustered your voice once more.

“No thank you! …And no soliciting!”

The sound of him spitting some kind of hateful slur like ‘bitch’ at the door was the only response, paired a short second later with the heavy sound of his footfalls thundering across the porch and down the front steps. Another moment of staring at the door before you bent to grab your groceries off the floor and headed for the kitchen, shaken but alright.

Viktor found you there once more, hands trembling as you tried to simply focus on putting the groceries away. You felt him coalesce, felt him lingering close without touching, felt his confusion at the emotion rolling off you in unhappy waves. Cheeks hot, your face burning and you couldn’t say why, why you should feel so embarrassed or upset.

“You’re angry?”

Viktor’s question came softly behind your left ear, had you grit teeth as you struggled to even out your breathing.

“No, Viktor.” Your answer took the form of a tired sigh as you closed a cabinet door a little too hard and leaned heavily upon the countertop on the heels of your palms. At least that stopped them shaking.

One hook nailed fingertip drew a lock of hair back behind your ear, the sharp of it tracing lightly along the curving, delicate shell of its shape.

“He scared you.” His rejoinder was defensive, sulky, “He meant to hurt you.”

Hurt you hurt you hurt you. You shook off the subtle draw of his voice with a small shiver, eyes closing and brows knitting tightly as you fought the urge to forget your anxiety and seek out his mouth instead.

“Mmnnh. You…you don’t know that.” You pressed back, quietly petulant, turning your face away as you clung to the anger of the entire interaction. Of the stranger who felt comfortable enough to try to let himself into your home and the spectre who felt beholden to enact a violence on your behalf that had left your stomach turning.

The vision of those purpling fingertips and the shrieking of the man behind the door would not stop haunting you.

“Yes, I do.”

Goosebumps lifted along your skin in tandem to that chilling, insistent confession of his and the soft dragging stroke of the pads of his fingers along the shape of your jaw.

“Please just, stop. I don’t… I don’t need protecting.” Railing against the pull of him, you slammed a hand down hard on the countertop, letting the sting of the slap center you, “I can take care of myself!”

There was a soft little hissing, incomprehensible sound that might have been a muffled word in that language of his you did not understand, and his touch dissipated.

Viktor was gone by the time you managed to force eyes back open and turn around sharply. Left you wondering not for the first time exactly how that mind of his worked, how he worked. Left you both regretful to have chased him off with your angry chill and grateful to be left to sort through your thoughts rationally without the clouding influence of his presence.

By later that night however, when he had not reappeared, you had begun to feel worse about your little tantrum. Viktor was not at fault for how the stranger had made you feel both vulnerable and angry all at once. He’d only done what he could to try to help.

Finishing your glass of wine, you rose and dressed, and went downstairs.

Only after getting a crackling fire going in the ornate, large fireplace and settling back against the old tufted jacquard couch did you draw a deep breath and lift your chin and watch the shifting, flickering shadows play about the room. Long and sad, stretching thin along the walls in ever changing shapes that did not exactly correspond to the furniture or items that might have cast them. Watched them lick over the floor, darken the corners and cling to the ceiling.

“Viktor?”

The shadows shifted, drew back. The air in the room stirring, brushing back against your skin like the house itself had drawn a breath into unseen lungs.

“Viktor… please?”

The shadows seemed to suck back behind you, gathering together, portent to the dark spill of slow unwinding coils of heavy smoke that pooled and poured over the back of the couch before those impossibly long, necrosed dark claws came tack tack tacking over the wooden spine of the old couch and creeping slowly over your shoulder, up to curl over the column of your throat as the tip of his nose brushed the soft of your cheek opposite.

“Forgive…?”

Forgive forgive forgive. It suckled at the back of your brain, made you arch hard against the stiff back of the couch and let your neck roll over the cold decorative wooden spine of its upper edge as his mouth pressed to your temple, your hairline. As that thick cloying, molasses sweet darkness made your mouth feel full and heavy, turned a simple exhalation into a low, lingering moan.

“Forgive me, little peach… forgive me please…?”

“Vik…hhmmn… Viktor.”

Hands sought his, tugging carefully as you forced yourself back from the edge of submission, straightened your spine as you sat up, reeling back from that delicious abyss of want as you stood unsteadily and turned to face him.

“I want you,” It came out panting, struggling to finish that thought, “To sit.”

No way to describe how he moved from stooping over behind the couch to sitting upon it, as if he passed directly through it or just… shifted, mind-bending in how he moved without moving, leaving those tendrils of dissolving darkness behind to be seated upon the couch where you had just been, the gleaming irises of hotly golden illuminated eyes cast dejectedly into his own lap under those heavy dark brows, the cupids bow of his mouth parted but downturnt as he sat, arms open along the high armrest and back of the couch, long legs sprawled indolently even in his unhappiness.

Your handsome devil could make the world spin with his sly smirk but oh, the way his pout could turn you inside out. It was unfair, that such a creature should look so vulnerable, so beholden and chastised and dispirited and yet so enticing. Unfair that you should have made him feel this way.

Hands fumbled in their tug at the hem of your modest nightgown and those shining eyes of his lifted from their downcast to watch you tug that long gown up and over your head, his dark brows rising as you tossed it aside to stand before him in nothing save the deeply plunging lace bodysuit you’d hidden beneath.

It was a dark merlot colored confection that bared your entire back and nearly as much of your front, barely a set of sheer, high cut panties with twin slashes of matching lace attached in the center of the front that rose in a vee to cover each breast and only met again where they looped behind your neck. Hands smoothed over your own hips as you stood watching his eyes widen.

Your turn to be the one smiling slyly as you closed the space between you to climb into the spread of his lap and straddle one lean thigh, watching his mouth open soundlessly as he ricocheted from his dejection to delighted surprise, as the radiance of golden eyes raked up the shape of you in undiluted desire, his dark clawed hands hovering, as if afraid to touch and be chastised once more, but unable to deny the bitter, fighting longing to have the warmth of your skin under his palms once more.

You let him suffer his uncertainty as you shaped hands to the beautiful angles of his face, stroking the sharp of cheekbones, the sculptor’s perfection of a jawline.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Skin that soft strange play of cold and heat as you pressed a kiss to the very center of his dark brows where they’d pinched together over the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, I was just scared and upset.”

Another brush of a kiss to the pretty little beauty mark under an amber eye before you straightened and let your weight settle more fully upon his thigh. Releasing a soft sigh as the delicious pressure of his leg became friction with a roll of your hips.

Hands slid to rest upon his shoulders as you rocked yourself in your seat upon his leg, watching him eye you with that insatiable hunger building steadily upon those beautiful, angular features as he lifted his thigh, pressed into the roll of your hips encouragingly.

“Such things I would do for you, milovaná,” That echoing, softly pitched voice of his sounded so longing as he watched you lean closer, for once the one slightly taller than him in your seat, forcing him to tilt the sharp of his chin up, “Precious to me.”

As if still trying to explain himself and his violence. Tongue made a little tutting sound against the roof of your mouth as you shushed him, leaned forward to lip a grazing little kiss to his upper lip. Precious to him. Protective of you. It fizzed beneath your heart, warmed in your veins and joined that delicious, growing weight of the ache for him in the pit of you. Who in your life had ever treasured you so? And you’d been so callous as to scold him for it.

Determined now to make it up to him, to show him that dark place he’d made a home in your heart, to let him taste how deep your devotions ran. Sample your affection and make a feast of apology.

Slow, so slow, the sharp and careful drag of nails and fingertips came at last, down either side of your spine, ghosting over the curve of hips only to play back up the edges of the lace that barely covered the shape of your bottom, catching and toying, threatening to snag. Coy tease, lighting little ticklish licks of electric fire under skin, prickling into the softness of your flesh, urging the roll of hips forward as you rode his thigh unhurriedly.

“You… you are precious to me too.” You managed to sigh out, the marvelous friction of dampening lace against your sex making cohesive thought as slippery as his thigh was quickly becoming. It had him croon delight; both the words and the way you shuddered as the first hint of a lazy flutter teased behind your navel.

Half lidded eyes watched that curious expression of his soften into the slicking spread of a sharp toothed fox-sly smile as deviously delighted in your admission as a devil could be. Was he devil? Demonic? A terribly gentle harbinger if that was the case.

The gleaming brilliance of eyes slanted closed as your fingertips stroked his throat, as you bent close to kiss the tiny dark mole just above the edge of his mouth, and then to lick at one of the strange, small markings carved darkly into his skin. Claws closed upon the spread of your thighs straddling his own as that warm rumbling, eerie clicking purr of his kicked up once more while your mouth strayed along his throat, down across his collarbone.

For as much as he delighted in unraveling you, it was those small moments when you could return his affections, show him softness and offer caress that seemed to undo him the greatest. Made you feel heady with power any time his head rocked back, or his grip upon his mischievous composure slipped. He was scrabbling, clawing for it now, struggling as you sucked soft, deep purple marks across his skin while your hand slipped down between his lean thighs and the ghosting, dark fog he often ‘clothed’ himself with dissipated at your touch.

Always hard for you, always eager and ready waiting.

Viktor’s chest was stuttering, heaving shallow quick breaths as you slid forward, thumbed aside the gusset of lingerie and straddled him in earnest, hooking ankles back over the tops of his thighs with the bend of your legs. All the better leverage as you pressed the thick, dark length of his cock to the part of your pussy. Let him savor that heat he so desired as you bobbed, slicking your wet along him in slow grinding lifts.

“...Beloved,” His voice, the words seemed to coalesce out of the air itself, drawn from somewhere far more distant than the lean column of his throat. The fire at your back guttered then roared, flames fed on more than the coals beneath them. Instead of more reassurances or sweet pleading, the terrible dark beauty of his mouth was left hanging open while the gleam of eyes shuttered behind taut closed lids.

About time he was the one struggling with his words instead of you. The power of it was delicious, had you lifting to settle over top of him, to let him press to your entrance invitingly. Let him feel how you dripped for him, savor that heat, so close…

Hands clenched upon your hips, their long fingered grasp nearly enough to span and touch at the small of your back, thumbs pressing a slow, circular caress, urging, trying to ease you down upon him. Ah but you were determined, wanted him ravenous, wanted to push that envelope as far as possible and see what it bought you. It was in your nature, you were coming to realize; that insatiable dance toward dangers you could not fathom. The girl who wanted the haunted house, the girl who stayed. The girl madly infatuated with the monster in the shadows under her bed.

“Mmn, impatient…” You panted, breath sticky in your throat, filling lungs like water as instead you lifted from over him and sat back once more, hands smoothing along the lean ripple of his stomach, catching a grip at narrow hips and then sliding inward. “Don’t I get to…mmnh… don’t I get to please you?”

“Moje malá broskvička, you always please m… ahhn!”

That seductive tenor of his voice dropped off sharply as your hands curled grip around the thick girth of his cock. Stiff and heavy in your hands, the same otherworldly deep ashen blue and bruised purple as the rest of him, deepening to that inky black at its smooth head. Fingers licked over it, tightening grip as he twitched in your hands and you stroked slow, let one thumb trace the throbbing ridged rise of thick vein that ran from base nearly to tip, watched him slyly as bright eyes slanted open and his dark head lifted.

Toying at the sensitive give of frenulum, you watched his hips rock, rise under you. Watched that dark smooth, thick bell curve head positively drool pearlescent, sticky drips of precum.

That desiccated third arm of his unfolded from behind him to rise up, grasp at the back of the couch hard enough you could hear the wood of it groan and the jacquard puncture under sharp claws. As he had grown stronger the spectre of that strange additional limb had weakened, faded away, until now it only made itself known in the heights of his hunger or depths of his depravity.

It was nearly violent, how suddenly Viktor canted forward, and you so eager to meet his mouth with yours it became more collision than kiss. He was hot against your mouth, eager in your hands. So easy to lose yourself in him, in how the taste of him filled your mouth, made it water for more, made your tongue burn with a soft fire and the back of your throat thicken.

It was a struggle to draw out the tease, to take your time as you toyed with him, drunk on the air around him, lost in that heavy, cloying lust that thickened blood in your veins and made each motion a slow struggle. You smiled sleepily down at him as you rose to take a straddle of him for the second time that night.

This time, however, you let him in.

Painfully sweet, that delicious slow stretch. Your moans soft things under the echoing deep of his long groan as you worked yourself unhurriedly down upon the straining heat of the curve of his cock, the slow gripping, slick clench of inner walls easing inch by inch to give the thick of him quarter. Oh, so full, so deep when at last you were seated completely, hips just barely rolling a fraction every so often as you railed against the clenching, burning, insistent need to feel him move within, to ride him until your legs gave out and mind broke. Free of every little care save the hot spill of him inside you, wiping away the world and leaving just his embrace. Not yet, not yet.

Under you lean hips lifted, fought the obvious urge to fuck up into you with the straining impatience that you move, already. But still you sat, smiling near drunkenly as you squeezed around him, gasping at the hard little twitch you could feel within that inner grasp, gazing into the narrowed fire of golden eyes before you, reveling in how you could feel his ache, his need singing in the silence strung between you, ready to snap as easily as a strand of saliva caught between mouths after a kiss.

The entrancing shape of Viktor’s mouth curled at one edge as the dawning realization of what you were doing seemed to break over him and he channeled all that hot desire to hammer up into you instead into pitching forward once more to press his face to the bare slash of your sternum.

Arms folded around his head and shoulders in a loose embrace, cheek coming to rest upon the strange soft of his dark hair as you held him, felt him mumble sweetly against your flesh as his own arms finally enfolded you fully, clawed hands shaped dark wings to the planes of your bare shoulder blades. So delicious, to just sit there, full of him, surrounded by him, warm want seeping through veins and skin, soft fire burning flush under cheeks and hot up throat and scalp as you luxuriated in the lapping, licking waves of the building tide of lust rising with every second you refused to stir to motion. Just holding him within and relishing that intense, unspeakable feeling of completion he always offered so eagerly.

It was a sensation that had haunted your waking hours and sleep alike, had you eager to race home at the end of each day, frequently distracted you from your work. How wanting him infiltrated every innocent thought any more, every quiet moment. Had you squirming in your chair at work, pressing thighs together and struggling to keep the small of your back from arching at the sweet, intrusive fantasy of him under you, in you, of just sitting upon him, struggling to focus on what you needed to do as he whispered adoring filth in your ear.

No way to tell him, to find the courage to give voice to those dirty little thoughts… but you could show him.

Viktor’s head tilted and you loosened arms to allow him to gaze up along you, the sharp of his chin still pressed to your sternum and eyes shyly half-lidded as if seeking approval, agreement. It had you smile once more, that so terrifying a creature could be so deeply infatuated with you as to seem wound around your little finger. It was a heady rush, a sweet spice to the illicit thrill of allowing this unearthly monster between your thighs; to let him into your very heart.

And how could you not, with how softly his mouth closed over your own as you tugged him up to catch a lingering kiss from him? With that electric tingling deliciousness of his tongue and its seductive late summer taste of tart crisp apple and bloody, earthy sage, of dripping honeycomb and the briny bite of salt tears.

You kissed him slow and deep, savoring, taking all the time in the world, fingers ghosting along the sharp, long line of his jaw until his arms began to loosen and long fingered hands strayed down along ribs toward the nearly bare curve of your bottom while his tongue painted a wandering, lingering wet lick down the offering of your throat.

You meant to make him stop, but devoid of the distraction of your mouth under his own he went licking at the dark, wine colored lace of that lingerie, tonguing slowly over the pressing peak of one nipple through the thin fabric before nosing the teasing slash of lace aside to close lips over the sensitive sweet bud.

Slow, slow suckle and release, over and over until you were shivering, aching, dragging your own nails down the nape of his elegant neck as the tip of that impossible tongue of his wrapped and spiraled round the singing burn of your flushed nipple, tickling and teasing its stiffness as you moaned long and shudderingly low for him, warmth blossoming, spilling within in slow rivulets.

“W-wait…wait…”

“Wait? Why wait, delicious one?” He murmured, releasing you from his mouth with an obscenely wet little pop that had the depths of your belly clench, had the hot throbbing at your core tighten around him invitingly. He was already headed to uncover the neglected hard nubbed and eager little twin to your hotly colored and glistening wet nipple.

One dark hand slid down between you both, thumb seeking the spread of your sex, unerringly brushing featherlight tease along the swollen ache of your clit, a ghosting caress that had your entire body convulse hard in a gasping little mewl. Calling your bluff, raising the stakes.

“You make me wait. Wait years for you, and now wait all day. Make me worried, so cruel. Little tease.”

Delightful to hear him growl softly at being so denied, no heat in the lovely reverberating, eerie echoing noise of it, only determined frustration and seeping want.

“Wait,” You still insisted breathlessly, writhing over him as his hips dipped only to grind the hard hot length of him up into you, threatening to undo you, threatening to loose that slipping hold he had on his own straining yearning.

Hands pressed to his chest as you struggled to stay still, struggled against the way hips disobeyed you with each new, barely there pass of his thumb grazing your clit. Met resistance as he struggled against that base urge, that all consuming drive, until at last you could feel the shift of him once more mastering that ravenous hunger, feel him give and let you push him back, push him down to sink indolently back in his seat upon the couch.

Gleaming amber eyes gazed up at you tormentingly as that thumb of his began a taut little circle that had you sinking teeth into the plush of your own lower lip, stifling and strangling the breathless whines building up in the back of your throat as you shivered in his lap. His laughter a hissed sibilance, dark and rich as chocolate, soft as satin, licking into your ears as you fought and lost the battle against that first delectable orgasm, head thrown back as the tether snapped and you came undone over him, clenching rush wringing tight at your belly, deep in your core and coursing outward in one pummeling tidal crush of wonderful heat.

“Ahh…there, little peach…” He soothed as he rocked hips beneath the burning complaint of your tensed thighs and bent knees, offering you just a little taste of what you might have if only you’d move for him, give in to the growing urge to ride him to your own destruction. “Isn’t that better? Ah, moje milovaná how you drip for me. Give up, delicious one. I always win your games…”

One hard little buck of his hips drove him up into you as if to make his point for him, leaving you gasping, air whistling soundlessly out of the open oh of your mouth as you clung both to him and the shredding, unraveling rope of your willpower.

Games, yes. You liked playing little games with him, didn’t you? His teasing rocked you backward into a memory of months ago, when you’d been struggling with much needed work to the house and he’d been insistently nipping at your heels, tormenting you with little touches and whispers, pulling you distractingly from the task at hand until you’d given up in an amused huff.

“You want to play, hm?” You’d asked to the empty air, not nearly so bold as you managed to sound, fighting how badly you’d wanted to just strip off paint stained and dust covered work clothes and let him settle between your thighs right there on the dropcloth covered floor.

A stirring in shadows of one dark corner caught your attention as it spilled and spread, gathered and rose to a crouched inky shape undefined save for the features of his face illuminated by the twin lanterns of those brilliant eyes.

Your devil looked stunned, momentarily shocked before those sharp teeth all bared in a gleaming, lopsided curl of a smirk as he came shifting forward, lean shoulders and sharp shoulder blades hunched like a large cat as claws dug into the floor, audibly prickling the fabric of messy dropcloths strewn about. Coiled to spring.

Your own smile spread, grew sprawling until you let out a shriek and turned to sprint off into the house.

There was no sound of footfalls behind you, no huffing breath to match your own as you had skidded through the halls. No quarter to hide here, no place he could not find you, there was only flight and the silent chase from the shadows you could feel stretching out toward you, reaching ephemeral fingers, grasping in your wake.

He got you first in the dining room, massive old unused space bare save for the ancestral table that stretched the length of it. He caught you from behind the door, surging forward in a dark rush of smoke and shade, had you pitching backward onto the table as that pretty face of his shoved hungrily between your thighs, breath cool over the fabric of the pants you wore, the slow dragging swirl of his tongue luxuriating over the denim hiding velvet softness of an inner thigh from his taste and up, inward to lap at the crux of thighs as if even through pants he could taste sodden cotton barely covering glossed lips. You arched in spite of yourself as he pushed the full force of his face hard between your legs.

Only when he paused to moan quietly at the scent of you did you find your moment, shimmied backward over the table to drop off the other side and forced weak-kneed legs to work, to keep up that chase.

Peels of your laughter echoed through the dark halls as you fled, his own deeper in its wake, that otherworldly back and forth reverberation impossible to source, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Up the taut spiral of stairs you went, through the upstairs rooms only to have him catch you as you tried to escape back downstairs via another winding stairwell, shooting out of the dark to press you face first to the wall as he ground into you, weight pinning you to the wallpaper as he slid a hand between you and the wainscoting to slip fingers down within the waistband of pants, stroking, petting, caressing as you rolled against him, panting. The pinch of his teeth catching at the curve of your shoulder.

“Don’t run, little peach.” He was whispering against your skin, teasing clit through cotton in a way that had you bucking, fruitlessly fighting that delectable pull of how well he’d come to know you, how well he could get you. Teasing tight little circles and metronome rubs against sodden panties and in another minute the coiling, tensing, building weight behind your navel was at the tipping point.

“Ah, ahn, ahhhn…Viktor…”

“Nowhere I can’t find you, milovaná. Say I win, let me feast.” Mouth against your ear, teeth tugging soft at the tender shell. Eyes fought to roll back in your head, but you managed to somehow squeeze out from between him and the wall to nearly tumble down the stairs and spill out into the kitchen.

The door to the basement stood dark and silent against the far wall, and without a second thought you fled for it.

“No!”

Suddenly Viktor was before you in less time than it took to blink, barring the door, back to it and arms spread. Handsome features no longer twisted in delight at your new game, but rather stark in deadly seriousness and… terror?

“Viktor,” It had thrown you, pitched you straight into scolding, as if he were a child, “It’s just a basement.”

You’d been down there before, with the landlord, on the day you agreed to the lease. Nothing bad down there, just dust and piles of old junk from previous owners. Nothing to warrant a reaction like this. Especially from a creature so fearless, so impervious as your sweet devil.

Still, he caught your wrist as you reached insistently for the doorknob, grasp tight around fine bones as he shook his head in mute pleading, the brilliance of eyes widening further.

“No!”

His fear, because that had to be what it was -fear- softened you. And while you tucked that dangerous spike of curiosity away for another time, you could not deny that it was there. One more little mystery about him, one more secret he wouldn’t or couldn’t speak.

“Okay, it’s okay…” The course of your stopped hand in his grip turned, lifted, rose to cup the hollow of one bruise-blue cheek as you lifted on tiptoes to brush the soothing invitation of a kiss to his lips.

“Promise.”

Promise promise promise. It pulled insistently at you, had you rock backward, down onto bare heels as you struggled against the tug of its tide, nodding soundlessly, unaware you were moving, being drawn along by him until you felt the rumbling hum of pleasure emanating from his chest under the splay of your hands. Felt the sweet burn of legs bent too long ease with your rocking.

Viktor’s hand had strayed up, caught a tender grasp of your throat and jaw as your hips had begun to roll, to offer him and you both a bare fraction of sweet movement. One gentle hook clawed fingertip traced tenderly over the give of the edge of your mouth and soft of your cheek with his grasp. His other stayed firm in its grip of your upper thigh, thumb picking up its encouraging little rubs again to your now hypersensitive and slicked little clit.

“Do you give up, little peach?” He was murmuring invitingly, the tone of that slithering, seductive voice insidiously knowing, well aware you’d already teetered across your tipping point. His thumb pressing his point as the tickle of his nail dragged slow across that hot little bundle of nerves, making you tense and struggle not to writhe, struggle to swallow a pleading little whimper of a noise you knew he could feel beneath the palm he had cupped to the column of your throat.

All the answer he required.

Hands fell away, and then the delicious stretched feeling of him within you was gone, as gone as the body beneath your straddle was. Only to have arms enfold you from behind, to be lifted, moved, weightless until you felt the warmth of the fireplace licking at your face, felt the soft itch of the ancient oriental carpet beneath your bare skin. On your stomach and no recollection of how you got there, Viktor caged over you, on his knees, dark head dipping as his face came pushing, shoved into the bare expanse of skin between the space of shoulder blades.

One elegantly long clawed hand caged the nape of your neck, kept you pinned as your own arms folded up alongside your head where Viktor kept you shoved to the floor, fingers digging into the old fibres of the carpet as he lavished you, mouth making a slow map of bare skin, lifting goosebumps as lips grazed, teeth pinched tenderly, as the sweet damp of his tongue tasted and toyed along the hollow trench of your spine.

This was worship, this was holy. Here in the dark, flickering flames lighting orange, dancing behind closed eyelids as you succumbed, welcomed that tender monster to make a meal of you any way he wished. Managing to get knees under you one by one, you pressed hips up, pushed the invitation of backside up against the beast caging you in, and felt the desiccated dry grip of that third arm come grabbing, gripping tightly at the plush curve of your bottom.

Slowly, unhurriedly, your lovely devil made his way down the expanse of your back, the grip of his hand leaving the nape of your neck as both hands instead took a grasp of the backs of your thighs taut enough to dent and dimple the yielding give of tender, generous flesh. That terrifying third hand slid from its own grip, dry scrape of nails raising little lines of hot fire where they scraped across skin. It caught the lace that barely covered the cleft of your bottom, grabbed hold and dragged the scant remaining protection of it aside, leaving you fully bare to the humid wash of Viktor’s breath.

Hips pressed up mindlessly, your train of thought long gone off the rails as you sank into the delicious release of inhibition, worry or shame, enveloped in the intoxicant of your sweet devil and unconscious to all save the cloyingly sweet sensations of his caress.

You could have luxuriated in it forever, floated lost within it… right up until his hands slid upward, shaped to the pretty curve of your ass, thumbs pressed to the crease where thighs and bottom met, and prised cheeks apart. The sudden wash of vulnerability had your stomach flip, had your lungs sucking a sharp breath as you felt the sinking grip of his teeth mark the inner, tender curve of one cheek, heard him murmur delight at the soft squeak it earned him.

Oh but then, then came that endless, dragging tease of his tongue. Warm and soft as it traced down that exposed cleft, rolling and slowly roiling in its wet warmth as it passed and pressed against the puckered give of your asshole. It had you gasp, had every line of you tense and shiver as he licked, toyed against that tautness.

“Would you give me this, little one?” He teased in obvious eagerness, either oblivious to your mortification or else delighting in it, “Let me have every inch of you, every sweet part?”

Heat flooded cheeks to rival that rolling off the licking flames of the fireplace you lay before, and protest died small deaths on your lips, mumbled into nothings as his tongue pressed, licked and pushed at you.

This was not a liberty you’d ever offered anyone, and not one of your former partners had ever even asked. It had your jaw clenching, teeth whining in their crush and grit together as he strayed lower, slicked along and slowly licked across your entrance to gather the dripping wet left behind from the first release he’d so sweetly offered you. Ah but that relief did not last long, not with how he strayed back up, redolent with your own heat and lubrication, to slowly, slowly slide that tongue of his within the gradual, easing give of your ass.

“Don- don’t… ah!!”

Foreign, filthy, incredibly vulnerable and above all intensely arousing, you squirmed on your knees before him. Panting, gasping each time he withdrew only to press in further, you were dying by inches, aching below where his attentions had focused, clenching hungrily around nothing as his tongue pressed more and more deeply into you. Electrifying and confusing, it had you keening quietly with each coiling slow, slippery thrust.

You wanted to demure, wanted to beg him to stop, to not… but oh.

Hot wet curling, licking pressure deep within had you moaning soft encouragement instead, had you digging fingernails into the carpet and pressing back against him. Debased and uncaring, drunk on him, for him. Begging him to do whatever he wished, however he wished, as you felt your tightness open, yield and give to the thick glistening push of his tongue.

Beneath you rough carpet teased ticklishly at the sensitive, achingly proud points of stiff nipples, the scant lace of that bodysuit long since gone awry to leave both breasts mashed bare to the floor as you writhed and rocked face down on your knees, positively oozing down your thighs for him as he ignored the eager enticement of your hungry sex in favor of tormenting you in this mortifying, gloriously debauched new way.

Horror and delight mingled until you could not untangle one from the other, until you were pleading his name, practically shouting it between stuttered, strangled moans. But he would not stop, not until bones had nearly gone to water and you were scrabbling at the carpet beneath you, hovering interminably on the verge of cumming around nothing at all. Until it would have taken just a breath of his blown over the throbbing want of your clit to send you over, or even the merciful press of a single finger within you to give you something, anything else to end this wonderful, mind-melting agony.

Only then did you feel him withdraw, and let your entire body go limp, bottom still ignominiously in the air, huffing breath and groaning softly at denial of your own release.

Not for long.

Arms came gathering, lifting. Easing you onto your side. Head found a pillow against the bend of his arm as Viktor curled himself along the back of you. Warmth at your back as inviting as the heat from the fireplace was at your front, rolling licking flames washing in soft lapping waves as you melted back against Viktor with a begging little hum.

No need.

Gathered close, he nuzzled into the spill of your hair, pressed his mouth to the ticklish little nook behind one ear. Over hip and thigh his free hand came stroking a soothing little caress before gripping, raising your top leg, prickling of claws under the crook of your bent knee.

Just enough to give him space to slot himself home once again.

There had been many times, since that first night, when he’d taken you so hard you felt sure he’d break you in half. When he’d left you so fucked out and wonderfully bruised in his hungry and enthusiastic hedonism that even standing the following day was a sweetly painful reminder of just how thoroughly he’d made you his own. You craved it, if you were being honest, reveled in the times he lost all control and the whole world dialed down to the raw need you each felt. No art or grace in it, nothing but a mindless drive to be as deeply, viciously connected as two desperate creatures could get.

This, however, was not one of those times.

No, this was slow, the way he pressed and slid teasingly between your thighs, cock slicking along wet folds as you could feel your entrance clench with each slow thrusting pass that failed to fill you, that slid right by. That cruelly adoring monster nuzzling kisses to the rising curve of your shoulder not satisfied until your hips were rocking, bucking, trying anything to have him inside you once more.

Only after you’d practically come to tears with denial did that terrible, beautiful creature of yours finally relent, pressing, easing at the throb of your entrance. No words for that delicious, hard ridged way the head of his cock spread you as he sank into you unhurriedly, had eyes rolling back in your head as you tensed outward like a strung bow from crown to the small of your back. Lids shut tight, blotting out all the world save for him, the heat of him spreading, filling, finally.

“Are we done playing, beloved…?”

That silken, beguiling echo came slipping into your ear in all its undoing glory, ruining consciousness, leaving nothing but sodden, heavy want in its wake. His third hand slid over your side, cupped up the softness of a breast as you shuddered at the horrifying sandpaper and twig feel of clawed finger and thumb pinching one tender nipple, prickling at singing skin with a twisting little tease that thrilled through you in peals of painful pleasure.

“Yes…yes!” You choked on it, near drooling, tears leaking from the tight clench of shut eyes to run hotly over the bridge of nose and drip onto the pillow made of his folded arm.

Tender, slow. Utterly unhurried in how he took you, hips rolling with a small snap at each end as you wormed and pressed to him, letting you suffer sweetly for your sins as he fucked you slow as he liked, reveling in your undoing as the stringing bliss of each slow built orgasm came one by one by one. Until you were little more than a shivering mess, core trembling and hands gone to weak shaking as he fucked you lovingly through each little ruination, letting you milk at him with each frantic little release, giving you no rest as he rocked into you, kept you keening softly to accompaniment with the deliciously obscene wet sound of your coupling.

Enthralling, every time, the way he felt both too much and not enough all at once. How he turned you into a base and greedy little thing, like beneath it all you were just that yearning, just your hunger and desire and nothing else. Distilled down to his.

The focus of each lewd, unraveling little thought; the way he dragged against you within, the way he pressed almost painfully at the zenith of every thrust against cervix, how the deafening pulse of your own blood in your ears sang his name, ran hot and thick in a soft choral thrumming just for him.

Yours, your own. Your making and undoing. The dark stain of your soul and shadowed hollows of every chamber of your heart.

Your beautiful, exquisite horror.

One hand had lifted, reached back to grab a fistfull of his hair, had him laughing softly as he suckled and bit at the red flushed curve of your ear. It felt like hours, like ages, before he finally shoved his face hard into the hollow of throat and shoulder, until he succumbed, growling softly punctuated with quiet clicking, eerie delight as hips lost their gentle rhythm, became almost slovenly frantic in their last few thrusts before he buried himself deep in one final hard drive.

Impossible to ever become used to that sensation; to the unspeakable lush heat of his release spilling out as it overfilled you, at the sweet little swell within and tautly obscene stretch you could literally feel. To the elation, the searing fire of the commingled slurry of yearning and satisfaction that quadrupled as he came within you, the way it kindled every last ounce of you, inundating and overwhelming, wiping away everything save that writhing, wringing, blinding ecstasy that spun out slow deaths in trailing, pinwheeling sparks coursing out the length of limbs, simmering to nothingness at the tips of clenched fingers and curled toes.

He was speaking, but you could not make out the words, drowning as you were, slipping into the dark, warm waters as oblivion folded around you, the incomprehensible tenor of his voice trailing after you into the welcoming maw of unconsciousness.

No idea what time it was when wakefulness found you again.

The confusion of disorientation reached you first. No fire, no rough old carpet or hard floor under your skin. The sensation of warm, soft sheets and the give of mattress, the scent of your own pillow under your cheek flooded in slowly. Your own bed. Freed of the tickle of lace or constriction of lingerie, skin bare and smoothly clean, save for a slight lingering stickiness between the sweet throb of gently swollen, used folds.

The darkness of the bedroom was absolute, the silence heavy. At your back was a soundless rumble, and the lovely circle of long limbs tangled around you had you smile sleepily as you sank back into relaxation, fingertips tracing over the open sprawled palm of one elegant hand, up along forearm in a caress that had Viktor stirring at your back, unfitting himself until you could roll onto your back and he could settle over you, the weight of him pinning you gently to the mattress. Head tilted back into the pillow to allow the lazy trail of kisses down the offering of your throat.

The delicious warmth of blankets left you as Viktor reared up, soft glow of golden eyes opening in the dark as he began to sink back down, between the spread of thighs that opened for him in silent invitation.

Somewhere down below in the dark of the house came the soft tinkling of shattering glass.

Viktor was caged back over you in a heartbeat, before you’d even half registered the noise from the depths of the house below you. The torpor of sleep fled sharply as his clawed grip scooped under you possessively, as the air in the bedroom grew thick, chill and viscerally rife with brittle rage.

“Viktor?” Sleep-thick voice strained a whisper.

“Sssshh.” The hushing noise escaped him, not soothing nor calming, but like the escape of steam between sharp teeth. “Stay here. Hide.”

“What?!” Heart hammered hard against the cage of ribs as your hands tightened their grip upon his shoulders, fear sharpening the edge of confusion to a knifepoint.

“Do not leave this room.” The hateful focus of brilliant eyes upon the closed door of the room shifted, dragged attention back to the bewilderment of your features. Felt the backs of his fingers graze your cheeks before hands took a firm hold.

“Listen to me, sweet one. Stay. Hide… Now.”

And the next instant he was gone.

You could hear heavy footfalls on the stairs, and an unfamiliar familiar voice calling, too muffled to distinguish individual words. Still, it struck you to action, obeying the simple directions Viktor had left you with. No closets, no room in the large bureau either. No time to make it to the bathroom and nowhere in there to really hide either. Up off the bed, dragging the comforter along, you wrapped up in it and dove beneath the bed to tuck up in a huddle, pressed shivering to one corner near the wall, praying to be mistaken for a pile of discarded bedclothes should the owner of that voice make his way into the room.

“Lovie…? Where you at little lovie?” That voice, clearer now in the hallway, coming closer. “Come on out, sweetheart. I just wanna talk. Really did a number on the ol’ hand earlier. Think you could make it up to me? Ya know a man works with his hands…how am I s’posed to…”

Even under the suffocating swaddling of the comforter the sudden, oppressive darkness flooded in, black upon black, blotting out any semblance of light and squeezing air from lungs like the slow wringing twist of a wet cloth.

Out in the hall the footsteps had stopped.

“What… what the fu-”

There was a scrabbling, a scrambling, a sound of frantic, blind fear followed by the deafening rush of wind and wings and a thousand gaping, gasping maws sucking all remnants of air left behind, starving sharp teeth clacking in a cacophony ivory chorus.

And then the screaming began.

Once, when you were little, you’d seen a rabbit chased by a cat. You’d watched the brown streak of it with the orange tabby hot on its tail, and a second later when they were out of sight you’d heard the shrill scream of the rabbit. The terrified pitch of it ear-splitting in its intensity with a primal, gripping panic that verged on the most intrinsic of fear made audible.

Not since that unfortunate rabbit had you witnessed a sound so alarming, so horrified; the noise of a creature come face to face with its death and begging that it were not so.

No matter how tightly you shoved the soft thickness of the comforter to your ears, no matter how hard your hands pressed the cotton batting fabric of it over either side of your head, nothing could blot out that revolting, blood chilling sound.

Time ground to a halt. It was still ringing in your ears, still as shattering and sickening as when it started. Was it coming from you, or around you? Where did you begin and the sound end? And huddled, shivering, horrified in your dark little bundle of blankets, jammed as far up under the bed as you could get, you waited, shoulder and hip bone and elbows aching against the press of the hard floor.

A hand closed on your ankle, grip tight, and pulled.

Only then did the spell break, did you realize the sounds had stopped as your own terrified shriek burst from your throat. Hands scabbling hot panic as you were dragged from beneath the bed.

“Malá broskvička, sshhh… shhh…”

No one there but Viktor, crouched long limbed beside the bed, unwrapping you hurriedly from the bundle of blankets, cradling you up, hands soothing, calming, cupping your face, drawing you in, smoothing tenderly along arms and back, cradling the nape of your neck as you pitched forward into his arms, clinging tightly, trying to quell the shaking of your own limbs with how tight you gripped him. Heart a jackhammer in your chest, like that terrified rabbit of memory had got caught beneath your ribs and was frantically trying to kick itself free.

“Viktor! What…what happened, what was that?!”

He would not answer for a long time, simply gathering you to him, cooing wordlessly or else in that language you did not understand. Smoothing your hair, kissing and thumbing away hot tracks of tears you hadn’t even realized you’d shed. Until the pair of you lay upon the floor, in the crumpled mess of comforter and your panic had subsided into a bone-tired exhaustion and the knotted fear in your stomach faded to a vague nausea, until the tension had eased to a dull ache behind your eyes.

“Viktor?” You pressed again, cuddled close, fingertips trembling in little aftershocks as you touched his chin, traced the shape of his mouth. Whatever had happened had pulled the curtains from the windows, left them hanging in tattered shreds so that the silver moonlight streamed in, offering a thin, blue cast illumination to the shape of the beautiful horror cradled up against you.

“He meant to hurt you.” He murmured. “I told you.”

Told you told you told you. Blood drained from your face as you watched a sad little smile turn one edge of Viktor’s mouth under your fingers. Tried to shove aside and silence the thoughts that flooded in of what might have happened, had you been alone, truly alone in that great house.

“I will never let anyone harm you, my sweet one.”

The words were darkly reassuring, dripping horrifying promise as he turned his face from under your touch to press a kiss cool as the first frost to your forehead. One clawed hand slid from its gentle grip of your hip to span the slight swell of your lower stomach and your frantic heart stopped dead in your chest, world pitching violently on its axis at his next words.

“...Either of you.”

#viktor x reader #incubus viktor #monster viktor #viktor arcane #viktor fic #arcane fic #viktor au #arcane au #viktorxreader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor #mdni

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beansidhebumbling · 1 day

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A Rhysta Snippet inspired by the amazing @theladyofbloodshed

His ribs began to ache before the Manor came to view. It should have been a sign in hindsight, that blooming flower of pain in his side, a warning corsage from the Mother. But the swirling snow obscuring their sight and Feyre's wringing hands, picking in turn at her ragged nails and then the fine leather of a scabbard Cassian had pushed onto her that morning for protection, were bigger concerns.

His lovesick fool of a General, was continuing his pining from 6 feet away, fists clenched and jaw tight, a wound spring of longing. Rhys would never have called his brother hesistant until now. But love did strange things to males his mother had said. As Cassian’s eyes bore holes into the back of Feyre's head, fear or idiocy, probably a mixture of both, prevented him from comforting the Saviour.

Which left Rhysand with the honour.

He was going to thrash Cassian in the ring for this tomorrow.

Falling in step beside the girl he said lightly,

"Relax. I think you've faced down worse than whatever that place houses."

He tipped his head towards the looming shadow of the building that had emerged from the gloam just a moment prior. With each step further detail of the house was revealed, candlelit windows with iron bars on them, marble pillars and statues of beasts of old caught his eye. The humans had spent Tamlin's coin well it seemed.

'You haven't met Nesta.'

Feyre let out an unconvincing watery laugh.

He'd heard more than enough about the eldest Archeron. Whispers between Cassian and Feyre had reached his ears in Velaris. And he was not blind to the tears that carved new paths on the archer's ice-nipped face. He always had a particular disdain for those who failed to care for blood, hence his hatred of the mirror.

'Nesta hasn't met me.'

He muttered darkly.

'Stop it.'

Feyre snapped firmly.

'You'll have manners, Rhysand. Do you understand?'

She was very like Rowena when she said his name like that. His sister would have loved her. A fellow pain in his neck.

Huffing in agreement and feeling like a scolded child he stormed forward to knock on the great iron studded door they had reached.

----------

He had always liked romance books, a secret youthful pleasure his mother indulged and his father abhorred.

He dreamed his first meeting with his mate would go like the great love stories he'd devoured, a single glance, a fleeting touch that would explode his world of night into symphony of colour and sunshine.

Instead as a human opened a door, his pulse began to rise, a tremendous searing heat radiated from his heart and the snow around him whirled with fae cast gusts of innate power before being evaporated when he got his first glance of her.

She was resplendent, his mate, her delicate eyebrows furrowed in distrust even as the corner of her mouth softened at the sight of her sister.

He attempted to correct his expression into something gentle and charming so she might like him. It was imperative she liked him.

Instead Nesta Archeron with a beauty so sharp it shredded the snowflakes around him, took one glance at his pained grimace, his pointed ears, his damned wings, and promptly shut the door in his face.

#Rhysta #Rhysand #Nesta

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justforbooks · 6 months

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‘Chandler Bing,” wrote Matthew Perry in his puckish, self-mocking memoir, “changed the way that America spoke”. The actor’s bold words were true – but only up to a point. Yes, there was a period in the late 1990s when people overemphasised the verb to comic effect: “Could that be any more annoying?” But that was really more of a verbal tic. The Matthew Perry/Chandler Bing paradox was that he demanded not to be taken seriously, and in doing so, became the ego ideal of generation X, which is a pretty serious job. So even though he had – no question – the best lines in Friends, he was never what he would have been in an earlier era: the sidekick.

So much of the plot structure rested on Chandler being the second string: the maladroit loser to Joey’s lothario, the joker skating beneath Ross’s romantic gravity. He was never intended as the leading man. He and Monica were never story-arced to get married. The One With Ross’s Wedding: Part 2 was meant to just be a one-night stand. Friends co-creator Marta Kauffman said years later: “We thought it was going to be funny, then we were going to get rid of it.” In the event, they actually had to stop taping because people in the delighted audience were screaming.

Of course Chandler was the romantic lead. His was the spirit of the age: self-deprecating, metrosexual, all ironic distance, no ambition. It had a gravitational pull. It’s the classic stuff of romance, the Emma plot: the guy who creeps up on you, because, duh, he’s everything. Except Chandler did that to his own creators. Incidentally, he’s a way better character before he gets together with Monica. And he’s a way better character when he hates his job. The unfolding of adulthood was like kicking two legs off a stool. Gen X is a shadow of itself when it grows up.

Perry always said how much like his character he was, to the extent that when he auditioned for the role, he went completely off script and just started delivering more material: he wrote 10 jokes for every episode, and reliably got two in. His particulars were telling: an only child whose parents divorced when he was one. His real-life dad was an alcoholic, later recovered, an actor, but small-time. His mother was press aide to Pierre Trudeau, the Canadian prime minister. Before Perry developed acting ambitions he was an obsessive tennis player, nationally ranked in Canada by the age of 14. He discovered drinking around the same time and was, he wrote, “a broken human being” by 15, when he moved to Hollywood.

The great mystery of Friends is why none of its players made much cinematic impact beyond its enormous influence – and this was truer of Perry than of anyone. He turned in completely fine performances in unremarkable films: Fools Rush In, Almost Heroes, The Ron Clark Story. He co-created and co-wrote the TV series Mr Sunshine in the early 2010s, but it lasted only a year before low ratings killed it. It is possible that the residuals model sapped everyone’s ambition: Warner makes a billion dollars a year from syndication reruns, of which the cast get 2% each. That’s $20m (£16.5m) apiece.

More important but harder to quantify was the cultural effect of Friends: people really fell for those characters, hard. All six of the actors had the world at their feet, but nobody really wanted to see them step out of role – because it broke the spell. It is impossible to overstate how seriously we all took it, when Jennifer Aniston married Brad Pitt. It was as if Rachel herself had achieved the unthinkable, a Little Mermaid move where she crashed out of the ocean and brought the fairytale into real life.

Perry’s romantic history was, of course, chequered, which is to say, eventful, but nothing lasted. The details of his relationship with Julia Roberts are so 1990s, it is unreal: he wooed her by fax (yes, kids, this was a thing). And Perry dumped Roberts to avoid getting dumped himself, he said later, relaying deliciously: “I can’t begin to describe the look of confusion on her face.” It was a move that had all the logic of Chandler Bing himself.

Back then, we would have called Perry a commitment-phobe, but what he actually was was a drug addict. The story of his dependency is told through his changing appearance in the passing seasons of the show: “heavier” when he was drinking, thin when he was on drugs, thin with a goatee when he was on a lot of drugs. The rest of the cast protected him when he was too gone to deliver his lines, and tried to intervene many times, having guessed at only a tiny fraction of his substance abuse.

It is incredible, really, how long he survived, plausibly playing this character who may have started life so similarly to Perry himself, but diverged in one critical way: like all the Friends characters, his was almost impossibly clean-living. It never really made sense, all the high jinks they got up to, powered only by coffee. It was very much generation X, the US edition: such a show in the UK would have had at least one very heavy drinker, and Central Perk would have been a pub. Perry was its guilty secret, the One Who Wasn’t Really Very Like His Character at All Any More, and he was powerfully aware of that.

That 2022 memoir, called Friends, Lovers and the Big Terrible Thing, concluded with a thankful utterance that was no less credible for being obligatory in a recovering addict: “At this point in my life,” he wrote, “the words of gratitude pour out of me because I should be dead, and yet somehow, I am not.”

Perry’s entire adult life was plagued by addiction. Telling his story in numbers, he estimated that he had been in twice-weekly therapy for 30 years, checked into rehab 15 times, and attended more than 6,000 AA meetings. He had numerous other health crises, including a perforated colon in 2019 that put him in a two-week coma. “So full of shit it nearly killed me,” he said of the event.

But in a pre-opioid world, he would have just got clean, eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t have made old bones, but he wouldn’t have died this young, not at 54. He should have had a longer sunset. His death feels tragically discordant – an unjust end to a life lived in the service of the punchline.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #matthew perry #chandler bing

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littlemisspascal · 5 months

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New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

Cleaned up the Library a bit--call it winter cleaning ⛄🧼🧹

New Works Added ✨

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

@spacecowboyhotch Din Ambrosial

@absurdthirst @pedropascalsx Din Vivid / Dave High Infidelity

@missredherring Din Then We’ll Find Out Together

@beskarandblasters Din Uncut + Grasp & Tug / Tim Sexfiles.mp3

@the-dendrophile-bookdragon Oberyn A Lion Admits Snakes

@writeforfandoms Oberyn Birfday / Din Birfday

@psychedelic-ink Whiskey + Joel Hoofbeats

@movievillainess721 Whiskey Love You, Anyways

@blueeyesatnight Whiskey Cast Iron & Sunshine

@wardenparker @absurdthirst Joel + Frankie Three’s Company

@wildemaven Joel He Makes Life Better

@iamskyereads Joel Joel, Interrupted

@nobedofroses Joel A Different Kind of Sleepover

@clawdeewritesfanfic Joel Wild and Unruly

@kteague Joel Second Chance

@pennyserenade Dieter The Hollywood Hedonist Method

@prolix-yuy Dieter Crawling Back to You

@novemberrain-writes Javier Whumptober Stabbing

@redahlia-writes Javier Practical Magic

@popcornforone Mr. Ben Drenched / Dave The Cabin

@criticallyacclaimedstranger Pero Seed

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #my library #din djarin #javier peña #dieter bravo #joel miller #agent whiskey #oberyn martell #dave york #frankie morales #mr ben snl #tim rockford

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morallyinept · 6 months

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A list of all my favourite AGENT WHISKEY Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 2

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Agent Whiskey Masterlist - @queenquazar

Agent Whiskey Masterlist - @tropes-and-tales

View Carré Series - @ghostofaboy M!Reader

A Little Bit Of Honey - @alwaysbethewest

Things He'd Say To You - @beabliss

Two Left Feet - @linzels-blog

Jack Of All Trades - @covetyou

Cowboycember - @anabdaniels

December 3rd - @nobedofroses

Treat Me Like A Slut & Do It For Me - @sydneyinacoma

Cast Iron & Sunshine Series - @blueeyesatnight

Cowboy Christmas - @morallyinept Husband!Jack

String Lights - @palioom

Sleigh Ride - @ladamedusoif

Sunny & The Grinch - @gnpwdrnwhiskey

Christmas Indulgence - @movievillainess721

Mulled Wine - @ladamedusoif

Christmas In Cabo - @absurdthirst

Snakebit: Ghosts Of Christmas Past & Present - @blueeyesatnight

Trussed Up - @wannab-urs

Pressing - @fuckyeahdindjarin

A Baker's Dozen -Jack Daniels - @avastrasposts

Birthday Kiss - Jack Daniels - @something-tofightfor

I'm On Fire - @scribbledghost Featuring Frankie Morales

Stay Close To Me - @alwaysbethewest

The Lodger - @ladybess-a03 1900's AU

New Year's Surprise - @wardenparker & @absurdthirst PlusSize!Reader

Pick Up - @toxic-seduction

Whip It Out Whiskey - @nerdieforpedro

Doing Life With Me Series - @gnpwdrnwhiskey

How Do You Do It? - @mishasminion360

Gentleman Cowboy - @ladamedusoif

Restless - @lady-bess

Cowboys Like Us - @kedsandtubesocks Featuring Din Djarin

Cuts - @pedroshotwifey

Whiskey & His Baby Girl - @absurdthirst PornStar!Jack

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey kingsman #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x female reader #pedro pascal character fics #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #jett's fic recs #fic recs

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itsscatballou · 1 year

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You Are Sunshine

Long time lurker, first time writer... fanfic writing is new to me, please be kind!

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol and loss

This is all fluff, I hope you enjoy!

Daryl x reader (no gender specific descriptions)

Word count: 1800

Summary: you and Daryl exchange gifts and you learn how he feels about you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house was warm, slightly too warm if you’re being honest, and you’re beginning to regret the heavy knit sweater you decided to wear to the party. You don’t know why you didn’t realize how warm the living room of the Grimes’s Alexandria house would get when all these people – your family – gathered together. The living room was big, but with this many people and the fire roaring, the space felt small and stuffy. You could crack a window, but your best guess told you it was no higher than 25 degrees outside, now that the sun had set, and you could imagine the groans and complaints about the draft. Instead, you just roll your sleeves up as high as they could go, and take a sip of your drink in hopes that it would make you more comfortable. You choke a little as you remember you’d poured yourself a whiskey, and prepare for the heat that gulp would send radiating from your stomach to the rest of your body. You wouldn’t be here much longer anyway, it had to be close to midnight, Judith and Carl had already gone to bed, and everyone finished exchanging gifts half an hour ago.

You loved this holiday, or at least what your group had turned it into. The idea came to you the first winter in the Prison. Everyone had been through so much, and it felt unresolved with the Governor still unaccounted for. The anxiety hung in the air. You called a meeting, making it known to everyone that if your math was correct, New Year’s Eve was just a couple of weeks away, and it was time to do something fun, something that felt normal, and something to celebrate your lives. You declared to the group that New Year’s Eve would officially be celebrated as a Christmas/New Year combo – a way to tell each other how glad you were they’d made it another year (of course with gifts), relaying how important to you they are, to celebrate the future you were planning together, and to remember and grieve those lost that year. You didn’t expect it to catch on quite as fervently as it did, you expected to awkwardly push for it each year – and you were willing to do that, it was that important you. The need never came, though, as each year everyone began talking about the gifts they were gathering before you even had to remind them the date was approaching.

The memories of the holiday celebrations of the past brought a smile to your face, and looking around now as everyone chattered together, you felt the sense of gratitude the celebration was meant to elicit, and not just because of the handful of gifts you’d been given. Looking at the small pile of scavenged goods and handmade items, and a massive cast iron skillet that Carol had gifted you (you’d be sure to make her something delicious in it soon), you remembered you still had one gift to give. Where is Daryl, anyway? You thought as you scanned the room – you’d seen him earlier sitting between Rick and Carol. Your eyes had met across the room, as they had been doing for months now, and you felt that flush in your stomach that you always felt. You’d both lingered in each other’s gaze for a minute, before Rick leaned over to talk to Daryl, and Maggie began asking you what seeds you’d received from Carl and comparing hers to see if either of you wanted to swap. That was at least 20 minutes ago, and you haven’t seen Daryl since. You run a hand on the back of your neck to wipe away some of the sweat your cowl neck was causing – it is sweltering in here now – and remember your idea to open a window. As you look toward the windows overlooking the front porch, you see him. He’s standing against a post on the porch, looking in at everyone. His gaze sweeps your way and your eyes do that meeting thing again – and, yep, there’s that heat in your abdomen that follows.

You grab the little wrapped package you left in your coat pocket as you head out the front door.

“Did you get as hot in there as I am?” you ask him as you stride up to him and lean against the railing of the front porch beside his post.

“Yeh, I jus’ needed a minute to cool off.” He replied, not turning away from watching the party inside.

“Well, I’m glad I caught you alone out here, I have a gift for you and if you hate it, at least everyone here won’t see you open it.”

He turns his head at that. “You got me a present?” he asks, and you can hear the surprise in his voice.

“I did. You are hard to shop for, you know? I don’t know anything about motorcycles and you’ve been wearing the same ratty vest since I met you. I have no idea if you will like this at all,” you drawl as you pass the parcel to him.

He looks you in the eyes for a few long seconds as he takes the gift from you. Your heart is already racing from the eye contact when he turns his attention to the small metal box he is unwrapping, and you begin to sweat as if you’re still inside that living room. This was a dumb idea, he is going to laugh at you, why did you even think this was a good gift?

“ ‘Spretty… what is it?” he sheepishly asks you, and you laugh.

“It’s a cigarette case,” you chuckle again as you take the box and pry it open from the right side, expanding it on its hinges to show the compartments inside. “Your packs always get so smushed in your pockets.”

You see a grin slowly spread over Daryl’s face – god, you love that grin – and he meets your eyes, and for the fourth time that night your heart wants to leap out of your chest. “ ‘sgreat,” he says, not looking away from you. “I love it.”

“Really? It’s okay if you don’t. You won’t hurt my feelings,” you lie to him, but he can already see on your face how happy you are to give it to him. There is no trace of a lie in his eyes as he replies, “really. I love it.”

“I got ya somethin’ too.”

Your brow furrows, “wait, really? You got me a gift?”

He nods, and reaches into his pocket to bring out a small velvet draw-string pouch. You shyly accept the pouch, carefully pull the opening apart, and lightly dump the contents into your palm. A dainty gold chain with an attached pendant falls out. You hold it up into the light from the window to examine it, and your breath catches. In the center of the pendant is an opal stone, rounded and displaying a shimmer of pinks and greens as you move it. The gem is nested in gold and surrounded by outstretched rays of tapered gold bars, uneven in length, each twinkling with small embedded diamonds.

“Was out with Aaron in some nearby towns, saw a jewelry store. Tha’ made me think of ya” Daryl breaks the silence while you study the necklace, your mouth open in disbelief. He shifts nervously on his feet.

“Daryl, it is absolutely gorgeous! It’s…it’s a sun?” you ask, finally looking up at him. He nods subtly. “A sun made you think of me? Because I think the world revolves around me?” you tease, nudging his arm a bit with your elbow.

“Nah… ‘cause tha’s you.” He says back, with a shy seriousness.

When you raise your brows in question, he continues, “Yer… warm. Ya bring warmth and brightness with you. You… ya seem to light up a room, and make this dark world...” he trails off, “Yer smile is sunshine. Yer sunshine.”

You want to gape at him – you are pretty sure you’ve never heard him speak that much before – but he is already avoiding your eyes in what looks like embarrassment, and gaping would definitely not help. You’re shocked by the revelation that he has feelings for you. Daryl feels what you have felt for him for months. You wonder how long he has felt that way, how long have you both been pretending not to feel that way, too scared the other wouldn’t reciprocate?

You touch your hand to his arm, pulling his eyes back to you. You want to say so much in that moment. You want to tell him everything you feel for him, tell him that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to you, tell him that you are so thankful for the gift, and you just want him to know that everything he feels for you is returned. But you can’t. Not a single word comes to your mouth. Instead, you gently touch his face, stare longingly into his eyes, and travel your gaze to his lips. And then you kiss him. He tenses at first, and you begin questioning everything you just read into this moment. Uh oh… Did you totally blow this? Suddenly both of his hands are holding your face, and he’s returning the kiss. Not just returning it, he seems to be pouring everything he wants to say into your mouth with his. Your heart is pounding in your chest so hard you’re sure he can hear it, too. You want to stay in this moment forever, his warmth and his passion breathing life into you, his smell surrounding you, the taste of his lips consuming you. That’s when you feel it.

Something off… not with Daryl – god he is perfect, this moment is perfect – no, something off about the house. It’s quiet – too quiet, compared to the low hum of voices that was drifting from the party just moments ago. Do you feel eyes on you? You pull back from the kiss and look toward the windows and almost jump. Everybody is staring at you, all of them crammed against the two windows of the living room, watching you both kiss. A mixture of shock and knowing looks across their faces, and no one seems to be blinking.

“Uh, Dar…” you say, trying to draw his attention to your audience, when suddenly applause erupts from inside. Clapping, cheering, some whoops you think came from Rick. You can’t help but giggle as you hide your face in Daryl’s neck in embarrassment.

“We should probably go inside and get their mocking over with,” you say, slowly pulling away from Daryl and heading towards the door.

“Righ’ behind ya, Sunshine.” He says, following you.

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mindshelter · 2 years

Text

Under yellow sunlight, Kon is a near-perfect solar battery.

Kryptonite radiation disrupts the energy transformation process; cells lose massive amounts of heat, giving rise to extreme pain. The few thousand survivors of Krypton’s initial collapse succumbed to the poison gradually—as their ceaseless fevers burned their bodies alive, their cells began to eat themselves. Organs and blood vessels fell apart. After months of illness, the last fragments of their civilisation died with chattering teeth.

The excess energy Kryptonians store outside of red star systems accelerates the process to hours.

—on. Kon. Can you—me?

Something warm and damp brushes across his chilled skin. The world blends into light; indistinct globs and streaks. Kon tries to breathe. His lips are numb when he purses them together and takes the harshest exhale of air through his nostrils. The air smells like iron.

Can you hear me?

He nods.

Good. It’s done, alright? They’re gone. I’m so proud of you.

Kal’s lessons about Kryptonite hadn’t warned Kon of just how quiet its effects were. His blood roars, and everything about him is desperate, hungry, aflame—but the world finally becomes so, so still. For a few precious moments, everything is blessedly silent. It hurts—it hurts, and Kon wants everything to stop, but when the spasms in his legs forces him onto his knees, he remembers, with relief—

Something could kill him so easily, leave him so weak. He almost feels human.

It feels like peace.

There’s a steady hand laid across his cheek, holding his head in place. There’s the press of cloth to his face, swiping over his mouth, under his nose.

Kon tries to make use of his tenuous connection to his arms, reaching out to the source of the sound. His vision splits and wobbles. As the image recoalesces, Tim takes his hand.

The world saturates with noise. He hears the hum of the ground below him, the thunder of approaching aircraft, and the conversations of people who have gone about their days none the wiser, thousands of miles away. Kon narrows his focus towards the fibres of Tim’s leather gloves, and the steady tempo of his pulse underneath.

“Hi,” he croaks. The sound is noiseless to his own ears, but he thinks Tim smiles. It’s a faint, soft thing, peeking through Kon’s haze like daybreak.

It colours his words, too. “Hey, Conner,” Tim says back.

Kon smacks his lips, tasting metal and acid. It hurts. There’s rust between his teeth, painted onto his gums, and he needs every dredge of energy to speak. “Y’re… here.”

Tim adjusts his hold on Kon’s hand, a gloved thumb brushing over his aching knuckles. His hair begins to flutter—languid at first, and then with frenetic rhythm as the whir of a motor overhead grows louder.

“…hold on?” Kon asks, now loud enough to pass for a whisper, as a younger version of Tim’s voice echoes in his mind. You’ve got one job, Conner. Hold on. Nothing else. He’s so tired, but if Tim makes him promise—he’ll try.

“No need this time. Everyone is safe, and so are you.” Tim replies kindly, squeezing Kon’s fingers. “We’ll take care of you, okay? You can rest.”

The last thing Kon is aware of before he gives in is the wildness of Tim’s hair, and the way it flies in all directions even as the helicopter rotor gradually slows to a stop.

_____

The blade had forced its way into the flesh of Kon’s back and created an exit wound. Its trajectory had shattered part of Kon’s shoulder blade, and moments later, the tip had re-emerged just leftwards of his sternum. It was meant to be a killing strike—a blow straight through the heart. Surely even a God would have dropped dead.

Kon’s heart beats steadily under the flimsy linen overtop of his chest, between his lungs, tilted to the right side of his breastbone. The room is alit with sunshine and lamplight alike, casting a delicate glow over the outline of his knees, the metal bedframe, and the dark of Tim’s hair. Perhaps he shouldn’t be flattered that, in their haste to defeat their monster, they made the fatal mistake of overestimating how human he was.

“They think I’m,” Kon mumbles, “I’m some sort of… vampire, or something.”

Tim blinks down at him. He looks ragged.

His face remains carefully neutral, but his eyes are bloodshot—red-rimmed and swollen in a way Kon understands are from a long bout of tears, rather than too few hours of rest. He knows Tim is hoping Kon will give him the courtesy of ignoring it, but Kon isn’t sure he should.

It’s never for his own benefit, Kon knows; when Tim keeps his voice steady, his heartbeat grounded, and his temper even, he means: you will be alright. Things are under control. Everything is going to be okay. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel safe.

It’s not cowardice; it’s pure courage. But the very last place Tim needs to be brave is when it’s just the two of them.

“Like,” Kon adds. He mimics a stabbing motion, jabbing the imaginary weapon into chest. “Stakes. To kill me.” His body stiffens before going limp, weight sinking further into the flimsy mattress, and lets his eyes slide shut for good measure.

In his periphery, Tim scoffs.

“If you’re trying to cheer me up right now, knock it off.”

Kon cracks one eye open. “Who says I am? Not everything is about you, man.”

Tim blinks down at him, clearly aiming for unimpressed, but the nascent glare slips when Kon meets it with a smile—it wavers, loses balance, and slips away. Kon can’t quite figure out what’s left, bared on Tim’s face; he’s not sure what the subtle twitch of Tim’s jaw means, nor the restlessness of his hands, tucked close to his body, fingers drumming against his knees.

Each deep breath makes his insides prickle. “Were you here all night?”

Outside, the sun is directly overhead. Kon had only woken up and been accosted by a flurry of well-wishers an hour earlier. Tim had lingered in the background while Kon wore his best grin and said his brightest hellos, and lingered again, by the doorway, as the others cleared out, one by one. After glancing at Tim’s fidgeting stance, and his cape draped over the single chair at his bedside, Kon had waved him over to come sit back down.

Predictably, Tim bristles. “Well,” he starts, body growing animated, “I. Do you… want me to leave? If you’re tired, or you really need a nap, I can—”

That’s not a no; Kon will take it. He begins to laugh, but a flare of pain quickly cuts it short. Through a wince and a single thump of his fist against his chest, he says, “Dude, I asked you to come back over and sit with me. What do you think, idiot?”

Said idiot’s brow furrows as he, with complete seriousness, mulls the question over. It’s fucking ridiculous; Kon can’t conceive of a single instance where he wouldn’t want Tim to stay.

In that inopportune moment, something clicks.

Everything else is dwarfed by the knowledge, the joy, that Tim had chosen to be with him, seated on a rickety chair until the sun rose, waiting for Kon to stir. That he had given Kon his company and their tangled hands as they had waited for help to arrive, and the thousands of fragments of himself he had offered over the years to Kon without asking for much in return.

This gravity—this pull—Kon thinks it must have been there for nearly his whole lifetime. Contracting, growing denser until the heft of it became impossible to ignore. At some point, the light inside of him must have swelled. And swelled, and burst outwards. It rests at the core of him, now, vibrant. Roaring with life.

Oh.

Tim seems to be finished thinking when he serves Kon with his best, most frightening glower—frowny face number sixteen—as he says, “Don’t call me an idiot, idiot.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” Kon shoots back easily. He times the silence by counting to three. “Idiot. But seriously, Tim, I don’t mind. I’m…”

Thankfully, Tim doesn’t push for Kon to finish that thought, throwing him one last crotchety grunt before his attention returns to his lap.

They sit in companionable silence before Tim says, “Does your chest hurt?”

Tim has never asked him to be brave. Neither does Kon, and he can only wish that Tim knows as much. It’s unfamiliar territory, watching the subtle twitch of Tim’s jaw, the restlessness of his hands, tucked closed to his body. Looking at what’s left, bared on Tim’s face, after the charade of exasperation fades—and seeing undisguised concern.

Perhaps this is courage, too.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “It still hurts a lot.”

Maybe Tim hadn’t expected Kon to be so straightforward, because he stiffens at the answer before he says, so quietly, “Oh.”

Then, his left hand lifts from his thigh to swipe under his cheek in one hasty motion.

The twitch of his jaw turns into a quiver, and then his head lifts: Tim’s expression is red and wet and alarmed. It's horrible, and Kon can't help but liken it some sort of kicked puppy with a pollen allergy. After a long, dreadful moment, Tim must finally register the fresh tears, because he hurriedly shoves his face into his hands, curling into himself.

“Oh, hell,” Kon says. Painstakingly, he pushes himself upright, and opens up his arms. “Just… c’mere.”

“‘m already here.”

Kon snorts. “Don’t be dense,” he says, aiming for nonchalant and landing, rather inelegantly, on fond. “Dude, look at me.”

Muffled into his hands, “No.”

Suit yourself, Kon thinks, and extends his TTK down his bed, to the floor, until it creeps up Tim’s legs and nudges him forward, the force of it just enough to topple Tim forward. He smiles when Tim wraps his arms around Kon’s neck in an instant.

Kon settles his hands over the small of Tim’s back, grip loose. Tim’s hold is gentle, too, as if he’s afraid too much force would hurt Kon further. It’s almost eerie, how silent Tim is when he cries; the fabric over his shoulder dampens, but there are no hiccups, no sobs—only shaky intakes of breath.

“I just need a bit longer,” Kon says. “A bit more time in the sun and I’ll be good as new.”

Over his shoulder, Tim lets out a long exhale while his fingers begin to skim the groove of his spine, pausing over healed-over flesh. It should be barely more than a raised, pink scar, now.

“Does this hurt too?” Tim asks, words soft.

Kon shakes his head.

This little touchpoint to mortality will blend and flatten to match his skin in the days that follow. Tim traces the edges of it over Kon’s thin shirt, like he knows exactly where the blade had entered.

Does he?

As if on cue, Tim says, “I found you first. I don’t know long you were there, but your lips were turning blue.”

Kon remembers. They were alone, he thinks, under that dark, cloudless sky. He pulls Tim closer, and he responds in kind, pressing his face against the crook of Kon’s neck.

“You were lying there on your side… there were burns all over your palms, so I guess you tried to pull it out yourself—and…” He hears Tim swallow, feels his hold tighten, and his voice cracks once he adds, “You weren’t moving, or answering. I put my boot against your back, grabbed the hilt, and the more I pulled, the more you screamed.”

Hell. “Tim,” is all Kon can say.

“No, I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I made it on time. I haven’t always.”

One day, Kon will challenge that argument and win. For now, he tells him, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Tim buries himself further. His tears are hot. “Don’t be. If you were screaming, it meant you were alive, Kon—I was relieved. It’s worse when… you’re you, you know? Even after everything, I always had it in my head you’d be the last one standing. Out of all of us.”

But I did scare you, didn’t I? “Okay,” Kon says. “You know I would never let that happen, right?”

If the price was his life for this horrid, wonderful world they lived in, Kon would hold his back straight, stand at his full height, and keep walking forward. If he could promise tomorrow would come, that tomorrow would be better, he would do anything. Over, and over, and over.

“Yeah,” Tim concedes. “I know. I hate that about you.”

“You don’t,” Kon rebuts.

No response.

“You love me,” Kon says. And I love you.

Tim shifts, but he does not move away. Those dovetailed truths, so incontestable, sweep over him, bleeding their way into his bones, his chest, his heart. The burning core of him.

It feels like something new. He feels human.

It feels like peace.

for @misspickman, who asked for a “take on how he falls in love/realizes he has a crush on tim, or likes men”! the interpretation is kind of loose, but i’d like to think i addressed the prompt. thank you again for the request! :heart:

#timkon #kon el #tim drake #dc #my writing #fic requests #dfkdjnv yeah i would have had a blast stitching together snippets of kon gradually falling for tim but alas it would have gotten #so far away from me in terms of length #doesn't mean i'm not thinking about it though #ask to tag #merci pour votre patienceeee

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