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#viktor fic
astudyincontrasts · 1 year
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Incubus Viktor ~ Part 2
Incubus Viktor x Fem!Reader NSFW
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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.”
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hyperesthesias · 8 months
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i really want to see a fic where someone is creeping on reader, and viktor smacks the everliving fuck out them with his cane lmao
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alt-gide · 11 months
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gaybybirth · 1 year
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Testing - extra
MadScientist!Viktor x fem!Reader (NSFW)
Synopsis: You sign up to help a doctor with his experiments focused around seeing how much the human body can take regarding pleasure
Warnings: nsfw content; testing limits, dirty talk, toy use, double penetration, fucking machine, anal, nipple clamps, gag, bondage, wax dripping, overstim, multiple orgasms
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Happy Halloween, let's start the day with a bang!
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You signed yourself away—in the most technical sense. You needed the money, the housing, the stability. And he was forthcoming in the contract. Listed everything in vulgar, obscene detail. A strict schedule that told you whatever you were going to experience. Asked for written and verbal consent each time. 
“I want to know the limits of what a person can endure. What they like to.”
You signed the consent form every time. 
After a week of working up to it, Viktor dialed it up. Lived up to his mad scientist reputation. Infinitely. 
You were squatting over a new machine. One toy in your cunt, another in your ass. They pumped in and out based on a speed Viktor controlled with a dial in his hand. His sharp eyes flickered over you—where your wrists were bound and pulled up above your head and over to separate hooks. A gag was in your mouth, drool dripping down over your chin, over your chest. Metal clamps were pressed to your nipples with a little chain connecting them. 
He turned the dial before tugging on the chain, smiling as you sobbed. They were moving so slowly inside you. Stretched and filled you more than you’d experienced there yet. Enough lube and your own wetness making them squelch as they pumped into you. Thrusting hard and deep as Viktor sat the dial down and grabbed a candle. A dark, rich purple that took the flame of the lighter instantly. 
You twitched with every drop of wax that fell to your chest as he turned it over you. Smiling as he coated you in the small waxy droplets. Turned the dial up, humming as your whole body tensed and your thighs started to shake. He liked you the most, he said, at the end of the first week. He had ten other people he worked with and none of them came as hard and fast as you did. 
None of them loved it as much as you. 
“You crave it,” he hissed beside your ear, dropping wax over the tops of your chest. “It is quite entertaining, really. You make a fascinating subject to study.”
His hand reached around as he looked over you, down at where the toy was thrusting into your cunt. Hummed as he ran his fingers over the gag before bringing them to your clit. Pinched it, teased it, rubbed it until your head was falling back and you were crying against the gag. 
“You love the release. Love when I play with you.” He rubbed your clit a little faster, dropped the candle and turned the dial up until you could hardly handle how fast the toys pumped into you. “Love when I spend extra time with you.”
You clamped your eyes shut as you came. Gushed over the toys as you bit down on the gag and jerked on the wrist restraints. It felt so fucking incredible. It was hardly possible to withstand. He kept his fingers on your clit, tugged on the chain between your nipples, and pressed a teasing, evil kiss to your neck. Licked up your vein until his teeth nipped at your jaw. 
“Good.” He turned the dial down. Told you to count out loud to fifteen. Nodded to each one behind the gag as he walked away, toys still stuffed inside you, and he grabbed another new toy out of a box. It was no bigger than his hand and he smiled as he held it up. “Not done yet.”
He kept the toys stuffed inside you, walls still fluttering around them, when he came up and picked up two little clamps. They were tight enough to add a noticeable pressure when he pressed your folds apart, clamping them in place to keep your clit bare. Easily accessible and uncovered. He gathered a bit of your wetness and swiped it over your clit before he lowered the toy down. And it pressed perfectly against your clit and you gasped, whimpered, whined as a hint of suction came through. 
You screamed. Hips tried to moved, but you were kept in place by the two toys stuffed inside you. Where they stayed as Viktor kept the toy there. Unmoving as tears streamed down your face and your next orgasm spun inside you like a goddamn tornado. Viktor turned the dial up just as you came and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. 
He held the toy with one hand as he scribbled something down on his clipboard. Even when you were saying his name behind the gag. Kept it there. There was a word you said, even audible behind the gag, that you’d say if you desperately needed to stop. You weren’t saying it, so Viktor kept it there. 
“Let us continue,” he said nonchalantly. “It stays until you break.”
He turned the dial up and wiggled the toy, smiling as you whimpered and the rope dug into your wrists. 
“Now, will you cum until you cannot anymore or will you beg me to spare you?”
The toys rutted up into you hard and fast as another orgasm worked its way forward and your tears mixed with your drool. You bit down on the gag until it hurt. 
You were going to go until you couldn’t cum anymore if it was the last thing you did. You knew it, and Viktor did too. 
So you didn’t stop—not until you were dripping down the toys and hanging your head. Fucked out, sweaty, covered in dried wax, drool dripping down your chin. Vision hazy as Viktor undid the clamps, the gag, grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged your head back. Studied your face with a wicked smile. 
“Good. We do this again tomorrow. But I put and leave this on high.”
He held up the dial to the toys still inside you and you whimpered. It was all you could do in response. He swiped his fingers over your clit a few times before dropping your head and grabbing his cane, his footsteps echoing as he waved a hand up and left the room, two helpers coming forward and unhooking your wrists, helping you off the toy. 
“Be extra gentle,” he called before the door shut. “She is our most important subject.”
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evanspottres · 4 months
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heyyy!!! i need some help
there was a viktor x reader fic on here (also posted on ao3) that i read a while back - it was multiple chapters, but i think the author eventually stopped updating. i’ve just gone back to find it but i can’t and i’m wondering if anyone remembers it??
reader was from zaun, an artist, taught (young) jinx art, had a weird tense relationship with silco but an established relationship with viktor. where the fic left off she was on a voyage looking for history of runes or something and was engaged to viktor.
it was genuinely a very good fic and i want to re read it but my dumb ass forgot to save it anywhere. does anyone know what i’m talking about?
thanksssssssss 💪🏽
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a-gal-with-taste · 1 year
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Distraction (Kinktober Day 4)
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It's clear Viktor enjoys the odd-distraction... for similar reasons, you enjoy them too.
541 WC - Viktor X F!Reader
Spanking, established relationship, teasing, dirty-talk, minor fingering
Some distractions from his research, his lab tests and forever-going work as a man of science, are often unappreciated. 
They cause far more harm than good, in a way of diverting his attention, forcing thoughts and breaking concentration to focus on less-important events in his life.
Viktor, however, welcomes the odd-distraction. At least, a distraction such as this.
How could he not? When sweet sounds trickle out, in time with slick fluids between your thighs, something he gathers at the pads of his fingertips with an hum that is ever-curious, a low rumble that causes another tiny groan to slip between your teeth.
It’s enough to make him almost forget what he was working on previously.
Almost. 
“You do realize, that such interruptions are unappreciated in the wake of progress and change?”
“I… I-it wasn’t…!”
Juices smear, and a high-pitched sound, just as sweet yet twice as all-consuming on his senses, bursts out from your bitten-lips with the sharp strike, this one landing closer to the back of your thigh than your already-reddened backside.
“It was,” Viktor says, patient ,and a bit smug as your cry breaks-down into whimpers, soothed into silent humming as he kneads at the tender-flesh. “I appreciate the reminder to take a break, believe me. But the timing was much-less warranted, I’ll have you know.”
Haggard, your attempt at sarcasm was brief, “Well, s-sorry, maybe n-next time i’ll leave you t-to starve-”
The next round of blows are sharper, more digits than palm, the force of which leaves your voice to echo around the lab-walls, Viktor’s desk to gain new nail-marks at its surface, and for the man himself to be forced to find stability by leaning over you, chest to back, exertion from both parties filling the slim-air between with pants.
One broken with a whimper, the other with a breathless chuckle.
“You wear me out.”
“You're going to wear me out.”
“Hopefully,” Another, softer slap against your ass cuts off your breath in a gasp, then a whisper as you press your face onto the surface beneath you. “Hopefully this wears you down. Hopefully, this leaves some marks. Hopefully, this serves as a reminder to you, to not interrupt my work…”
Trailing off, eyes the color of melted-gold become hooded, and in a rare show, unfocused as you turn your cheek, showing off a heated-face with gathered wetness beneath your eyes. A bit on your bottom lip too, from where you drooled over a dry-lip that you now lick from, before you attempt a tease once more.
“Like y-you don’t love the distraction, Viktor…”
A pause, as your breath catches, and you both just gaze at one another. Fondness and desire, love and lust, pleasure and pain intermingling as one…
Until the latter of all-three aspects of this relationship becomes more prevalent, as Viktor lands another blow to your ass, one that stings even as he reaches to sooth away your cries into a moan, with his fingers once more reaching further down between your legs.
“You’re correct, I appreciate the odd distraction. But I enjoy this far more.”
And, based on how your shrieks mix so sweetly with your moans, it’s clear you enjoy it too.
Maybe that’s why you distract him so much.
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storiumemporium · 2 years
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Milk and Vinegar
Viktor has a conversation with an old friend. | Viktor & Reader | 0.7k | Gen |
A lackluster reentry into writing fanfic for y'all but, it's what I could manage 😔
A pseudo-character study.
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Dawn cuts like a knife in most places of the world, the sharp haze of morning lit without pretense.
This is felt with particular clarity on the rooftops of Piltover, soaked in by the eyes of Zaunites.
His hair is askew, shades of familiar tiredness sitting against his face, a picture of more late nights spent poring over texts and angrily battling with theories in the pursuit of invention.
Viktor has always been like this, even since before he'd left- once upon a time it had an endearing quality, a cat furiously seeking out it's owners fish, no matter how many times it has been reprimanded.
Stirring at expensive foreign tea, you note with something like dull amusement how it sparkles in the cup- wondering if that's a genuine byproduct of the leaves, or if it was a cheap gimmick to bump up the already exorbitant prices; jingling keys in front of a child.
"How have you been?" His voice rasps and it almost makes you wince, cutting through the blissful quiet of the early morning. "We have not seen each other in..."
His head shakes, eyes remaining sharply focused on the extravagant skyline.
"Well..." Your voice is music, it always has been, a divine melody gracing tone deaf ears. He had nearly resented it once upon a time, now Viktor wishes he could bottle it beneath his pillow at night- if only for the blissful rest he would have under it's lullaby. "Where do I start..? After you left..? That's- a lot to run through, Viktor."
He begins to straighten, a leisurely, groaning stretch that abruptly stiffens about half way up, his body coming to a sudden rigidity, his shoulders squared out with purpose and poise.
When he faces you, he looks like he's going to war. "I feel that I owe you the time- if, you are willing. If you are not..." he works his mouth, gaze faltering briefly from your own, "I would not blame you. On our parting I broke many promises, ones I will not be able to make up to you."
Your smile is venom and perfume. "I don't resent you for it, Viktor. You've played the game with the best of them- truly the finest example of Zaun and Piltover alike."
Your cup hits the surface of the coffee table- some exotic sandstone from Shurima, likely painstakingly transported across land instead of just being teleported, all for the sake of gloating- and it clatters hard enough to set Viktor's teeth.
"Well- let's see. After you left me saying you'd be back, I continued to work that shitty brothel every day for an- frankly embarrassing amount of time, clinging to the hope you'd be back. Until I realized you wouldn't.
You never even sent me a letter, nothing to tell me where you'd gone, what had happened. It was easier for me to lie to myself and say you had died out there, shunned by them, than to accept what I knew really happened. They saw exactly how brilliant you were and are, and decided to keep you. And having everything you wanted, you didn't need me anymore.
So I decided that moment- that night, staring out at the skyline of Piltover from all the way in our poor downtrodden undercity- I'd make everyone regret overlooking me. Everyone."
You gesture belatedly now, the cold anger having sunk away.
"Most people just think me an expensive prostitute. But you'll find I have more- sway in this city than most. Even Councilwoman Medarda."
Your speech, delivered like sheets of ice, leave his mouth feeling full of cotton. He remembers a sweet girl trying desperately to wash oil out of her hair, sniffling and embarrassed as jealous girls pointed and laughed- he remembered a girl who smiled dazzlingly at him when he awkwardly helped clean the places she couldn't see, the girl that seemed to more often than not forget that Viktor was different.
The woman standing in front of him is not that girl. Not anymore.
You have harsh angles that didn't exist before, and the extravagant silks clinging to your curves reveal themselves to be snares designed to strangle all those drawn in by your intoxicating aura. You've become a predator in his absence, and suddenly the awkwardness turns to sheer dread.
His already rasping voice becomes strangled. "Why did you invite me here?"
He feels as if death has raised his scythe just behind Viktor's back.
"I simply wanted you to know I was in town, now, and likely won't be leaving for awhile. We're likely to run into each other again, but until then, I wish you much fortune, Viktor."
Viktor practically flees your gilded bear-trap.
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vale-writes · 2 years
Text
No Time For Me pt. 3
heyyy!! this is the tumblr version of the ao3 viktor fic i posted here. (kudos/reblogs are appreciated!) in this, Jayce confronts Viktor on his mistakes and how he treated you.
700~ words
tags: arguing
Viktor did not sleep well. In fact, he slept worse than he ever had since he started sleeping in his lab. He was on his third cup of coffee of the morning. His hands shook as his pencil scratched along his paper, but he couldn’t shake the fog of exhaustion from his head. He rested his head on the desk and closed his eyes, thinking he could maybe catch a moment of rest. That was until he heard three quick knocks on the door. Viktor shot up in his seat.
“Come in, Jay-” he started. “Viktor, what the hell is wrong with you?” Jayce’s voice boomed throughout the lab as he slammed the door open. “What did you do to Y/N?” 
“I was busy,” he sighed. “And I may not have spent enough time with them, so they became very upset. I tried to talk to them, but-”
Jayce stormed over to the desk and spun Viktor’s chair to face him. “You ignored them for months, Viktor!”
“Well if you already knew, why did you ask?” he snapped back and leaned forward in his chair, getting face-to-face with him. Viktor’s eyes narrowed at him as he snarled, “I’m not going to sit here while you berate me about something I already know I did wrong.”
The two held the heated eye contact in silence, waiting to see who would give in first. Viktor kept his piercing glare and deep scowl. Jayce scoffed and backed off, pushing Viktor’s chair back slightly.
“Did you even apologize to them? They’ve been holed up in their room since last night. They’re a mess right now,” he said as he crossed his arms. “They only let me see them because I brought them food. They didn’t even eat breakfast.”
Viktor blinked in surprise. He’d known you were upset, but it was rare for you to hide away like that. Did he really cause this? No. This wasn’t his fault.
“How is it my fault they’re not eating? I’m failing to see how I’m the cause for their irrationality,” he leaned back in his chair again and crossed his arms. “I’ll admit, I could’ve been.. Nicer. But they knew I was busy. How could they expect me to just drop everything for them?”
Your smile had been on loop in his mind since last night. He couldn’t bear to think of himself as the reason that that smile would be gone. He shook off his guilt and went back to scowling at Jayce.
“Nicer?” Jayce repeated incredulously. “Viktor, do you know how relationships work?” 
Viktor scoffed. “Of course I do! I’m only saying-”
“You need to stop talking. I’m going to tell you how they work.”
Viktor sighed and waved his hand in a “go on,” gesture. 
“Relationships are a collaborative thing. You can’t have a one-way relationship. Currently, that’s what you have. Oh- sorry, had,” He ignored the way Viktor almost leapt out of his chair at him. “Y/N put all of their effort into loving you, and you repaid them by kicking them out of your lab? By locking them out of your life?”
Jayce sighed. “I get it. You’re busy. I’ve been busy too. But you don’t see me locking Mel out of the lab and telling her to get lost. You need to actually make an effort and try to be there for your partner. Otherwise, don’t get into relationships in the first place. You hurt Y/N. That’s what happens when you don’t know what relationships are.”
Viktor looked down at the ground as Jayce’s words flew around his mind. Was he right? Was he the only one in the wrong here? He was so used to the logic and thinking of his work. How could he be so stupid to assume the same would apply to you? You were a living, breathing, person. You weren’t one of his projects that he could just toss to the side. 
“I need to think,” he said as he hurriedly got up and headed for the door.
“Viktor,” Jayce called as Viktor left, his voice serious. “Don’t run away from this.”
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beef-bakery · 2 years
Text
The Doctor, the Boy, and the Books
Rating: little!Viktor drabble SFW - 1.2k Words
Summary: wittle babwee viktor learns how to read
Warnings: a small sentence about physics I stole from wikipedia that I was told to cite. So this is me saying that I stole it from Wikipedia. Thanks internet
Contrary to popular belief, Viktor wasn’t born smart. He had to work his way up just like everyone else. Books were a rarity in Zaun; the fine paper fitted to the printing presses was too expensive, so Zaunties like him used a shoddier imitation. Reused, in a way. Recycled hand-me-down paper from Topside, and remade into a coarser material.
And so, Viktor learned to read from street signs. Of course there were the volunteer Topsiders who offered teaching services along the Promenade, but it was simply too far for little Viktor to venture out on a day trip all alone, especially with his bad leg.
Oftentimes Viktor would find himself alone, staring out the window from his apartment’s second floor, his parents gone to work. He would gaze at the billboard across the street for hours, trying to decipher the shapes and scribbles he would come to learn were letters.
On special days, Viktor would allow himself a walk; not too far, of course, because he had to mind his leg, but at least two blocks over and back. Staring at signs became a pastime for Viktor, who traced the letters he could reach and wondered idly at the ones he couldn't.
One day, Viktor’s father came home with a letter sheet. “I got it on the way back from work from the volunteers,” he had said, presenting it proudly to his son. Touched, Viktor had poured over the paper, sounding out the letters and testing his memorization skills.
Eventually Viktor learned to read. It was a joyous occasion. He spent the day in his fridge, looking through the labeled items, proud that he could decipher what they meant.
Perhaps this would've been enough for any other child; to be able to read was a luxury. Only Viktor was hungry for knowledge, and the words, phrases, and paragraphs in his home became all too familiar.
By this time Viktor was slightly bigger, having grown half an inch since his mother had last measured him. He had proudly puffed his chest out, beaming wide enough to show off the gaps between his teeth.
Viktor wasn’t an idle child by any means, often tinkering with found items and taking apart anything he could find to learn how it functioned. But now that he knew how to read, Viktor found the urge to learn insatiable. Emboldened by his newfound height, Viktor decided to take a different route on his walk, instead heading farther West.
Walking farther down the poorly lit streets brought a sense of unease to Viktor. His excitement dimmed ever so slightly,replaced with worry. Forcing himself not to chicken out, Viktor continued on.
It was a door left ajar that caught Viktor’s attention. Light shining from the inside brought him to the door, his lame leg screaming for a break. Viktor pushed through the door, marveling at the room. It was well heated and bookshelves covered every wall imaginable. Viktor walked forward, wincing at the sound his cane made when it hit the hardwood floor.
How strange that such a lovely gem was hidden deep within the Lanes. Viktor almost didn't want to touch the books, but curiosity got the better of him, forcing him to pull one of the books out. It almost looked untouched; the pages weren't bent, and the hardback cover made a satisfying creak when he opened it. Viktor stood, staring open mouthed at the book. It wasn't missing any pages, so he didn’t have to deduce the ending based on only inference. It was almost heavenly.
Viktor looked around, book still in hand. He found an armchair in the corner and slowly eased himself into it. His leg thanked him and he let out a sigh of relief at finally sitting. He opened the book once more, turning to the first page.
Physics is the natural science that studies matter, its fundamental constituents, its motion and behavior through space and time, and the related entities of energy and force…
Viktor lost himself in the book, his mind whirling with the strange new concepts and ideas that the book presented. How odd! He had never known objects to vibrate, and yet they did. Not visible to the naked eye, but nonetheless, natural frequency was found in every object.
It was dark by the time Viktor peeled himself from the book. Viktor gulped, dreading the walk back home. He had a vague memory of the long walk to this place, and he knew it would take longer going back: his fear of the dark and the people who lurked in it always caused him to become overly cautious and slow down.
For a small moment, Viktor entertained the idea of staying overnight. This place was warm, well lit, and most of all, filled with books! He could stay there forever if only he didn't require nourishment to survive.
The sound of a doorknob turning caught Viktor’s attention, his head whipping to the side. The door slowly creaked open and Viktor found himself frozen. A skinny man walked through the door, his body hunched with what looked like exhaustion.
Viktor’s wide eyes watched as he closed the door behind himself, turning to lock it. The man turned back around, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he hung a lab coat on a rack. He turned back around, finally making eye contact with Viktor.
His eyebrows raised and his mouth fell open. He didn't move into any defensive position, or try to remove Viktor from the premises, only continued to watch him. Viktor imagined that he looked quite defenseless, almost docile. Viktor had always had an angelic look about him, innocence dancing through his eyes as he looked up at the adults around him - the only people that ever talked to him.
This innocent picture was bolstered by his current position; his cane leaned against the nearest bookshelf and his lame leg stretched out in front of him. The book in Viktor’s lap was well loved, pages marked with scraps of paper Viktor had found in the bin.
“Come to read?” the man asked, settling on the chair across from Viktor. Viktor nodded aimlessly, still in shock that he hadn't been kicked out yet.
“What’ve you got there?” Viktor lifted the book ever so slightly, revealing the cover to the man. “Ah, the Basics of Physics? A good read, that one.” Viktor found himself nodding in agreement, relaxing slightly. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Viktor, sir,” he said, shifting his leg ever so slightly as his uncomfortability from sitting so long in the same spot finally registered, now that his mind was no longer consumed with absorbing knowledge.
“How’d you find this place, Viktor?”
“I was on a walk.” The man hummed in agreement, leaning back and closing his eyes with a groan. Viktor watched him with wide eyes, not returning to the book. The man cracked an eye open.
“Don't stop because of me.” He waved a hand. “Go on, continue reading.”
Viktor returned to the book, allowing the world to vanish once more. Silence was comfortable between the two, and the joy that filled Viktor’s heart could not be dimmed by anything, and certainly not his mother’s scolding the next morning.
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delacoursshp · 8 months
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"3…2..1.. DIVE!"
cedric diggory x fem mermaid reader
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- use of y/n, reader is in slytherin AND IS A MERMAIDDD, reader is independent, cedric is your cheesy lover, triwizard cup (2nd task) drama, you almost being caught as a mermaid
warnings: nothing
i write quick stories, but dis one felt a tiny lil longer than usual so enjoy😋
-
the bell rang. you were so glad to be out of ms trelawneys lesson. she was such an oaf, with her ''ooohh i see potentional murder ahead!" or her 'aahh i see much death in your future!'. like, honestly!
not that trelawneys sayings would've been a surprise; half-blood mermaids were very rare and often seen as demons. and funny enough, you were one of them.
you made your way down the stairs to study in the library.you avoided pansy parkinson and her little group, as they always put themselves in drama and you were never up for that.
once arrived, you yanked about 5 books from a shelf and then seated yourself at a table next to a big window.
you began reading. first book, second book, third book-
ding!
19.00.
you closed the books quickly, put them back and then rushed so fast out of the library, making people turn their heads.you went upstairs, third floor, to the prefects bathroom, then muttered something that sounded like 'pine-fresh' and the painting swept forwards and you quickly stepped in.
there was nobody, as expected, except for the mermaid on the painting onto the wall. you waved politely and she waved back excitedly, looking as if she had missed you really much. you undressed, leaving yourself completely naked, then stepped into the pool.
after what felt like 10 minutes you felt your body heat up, your toes clench really hard, and your breathing quickened. the double eyelids formed onto your face.
what used to be your legs had now shaped into a long dark green, grey-ish shiny tail. your skin turned a little grey too, and your nails extended in length. your iris had become bloodred of colour, and your black pupils dilated until there was just a thin red line around the black dot. you sighed as all the changes finished, and relaxed.
about 50 seconds later, you heard the prefects bathroom opening open. it was him.
you looked up, hoping it was him and not someone else. the painting creaked and there you saw the tall, fit, brunette figure walk through.
"cedric." you whispered in happiness. he smiled at you before sprinting and hastily jumping into the pool.
you squeaked. "cedric!" he laughed, shaking the water off his hair and swam towards you. "well, hello beautiful." he smirked, eyeing your sea creature body. your breasts were practically naked, except for the shell symbols spread around your areola.
"ced. your clothes are wet." you said sarcastically, staring up into his eyes while his arm rests around your shoulder.
"doesn't matter, love. how've you been? mind helping me with the triwizard cup? i think it has something to do with, you know, your kind. i heard sirens when i opened that egg. anyways, i hope they wo-"
you admired him as he kept talking about the upcoming triwizard task. you were so lucky to have him, he never judged you on being a mermaid. of course, he's also the only one that knows about it.
your deadly- (but oddly attractive to cedric) -eyes were caught by cedric as he finished the topic. he stared at you, and if looks could kill, you'd definitely been dead. you leaned your body onto him, resting your head on his shoulder.
"i don't know what i would do without you, cedric." you spoke softly. cedric chuckled.
"well, luckily that's something you don't ever have to worry about."
"promise?" you whispered, stroking his arm with your dainty hands.
"promise."
the mermaid in the painting clasped her hands onto her mouth, and her watery eyes blinked dramatically. she wiped them with a piece of seaweed.
cedrics hand that wasn't at your shoulder, trailed down your tail and felt at the texture.
he was mesmerized. he'd seen your mermaid self once before, from afar. now that he sees it up close, it's so much prettier.
you smiled softly, exhausted from reading so long before. you glanced at the mermaid, who winked back at you.
"i love you." cedric suddenly said, what made you turn your head immediately.
"i love you, cedric" you said back, not breaking eyecontact.
"good. fish babies!" he joked.
you giggled and sat yourself sideways onto his lap. your tail flicked up and down in excitement, making the water splash. cedric grinned at your actions. then you locked lips with him, drowning in his taste.
if only this moment would never end.
-
[CEDRICS POV)
it was the day of the second task. i was really nervous, but i prepared my bubble charm so everything should be fine.
bagman went on and on about this and that. to be fair, i wasn't listening. i was watching the lake before me, swinging my arms unpatiently.
"okay, enough chit-chatting! now, are we ready, best contestants?"
bloody right i was ready.
"3...2..1.. DIVE!"
an enormous splash erupted from the lake, onto the murmuring crowd. i swam and swam all the way down, trying to find what i was searching for. i didn't know exactly what. i just knew it would be guarded by mermen.
many minutes passed, and i saw 4 vague figures. i swam a little closer, and saw the four figures clearer. they were all tied up, cornered by merpeople.
one of them was a girl with rather bushy hair, next to her a boy with hair so red it looked like fire was burning in the lake, and next to him was a little girl, and right next to her was-
oh no. this couldn't be.
i frowned my eyebrows and my mouth dropped in fear. y/n.
the fact that it was y/n tied up, wasn't the worst thing. it was that her tail showed. a mermaid transformation took about 10 minutes, right? so whoever put her here must have done it quick! or else she would've been killed by them already.. if anyone up there sees she is a mermaid, things could get disgusting.
i examined her unconscious face, searching for any wounds. it was rather hard, curse the bubble charm for blurring my view.
i grabbed a knife i brought just in case from my pocket, and cut the ropes around her wrists. i carried her heavy figure up the water fast, as i felt like time was running out. our heads popped out, and y/ns eyes opened slowly. the first thing she saw was my face. then she looked around, very confused. she saw the water floating around her, and it looked like she was about to faint.
-
[YOUR POV]
what? what is going on? you felt fear, anger, and confusion rise up within you. please let this be a nightmare, you thought.
a soaked cedric with a bubble around his head was looking at you, worryingly. when you wanted to say something, but it came out as a whimper, he shushed you. "shh, it's okay, leave everything up to me right now, okay?" he whispered.
"and we have our first contestant up! cedric diggory!". the gryffindors, hufflepuffs, ravenclaws and a few beauxbatons cheered loudly. some looked confused at your slightly new appearance; your grey skin & red eyes weren't hidden. cedric tried to hide you from the crowd.
he grinned at them so nobody would find it off, and then swam to dumbledore with you, both of your bodies underwater, except for your heads.
"sir, she- she's.." cedric tried to make up an excuse to make sure your body stayed beneath the surface. you looked at him, terrified.
dumbledore smiled. "it's okay, boy. i'm not stupid, you know. show her to me."
cedric hesitated, but you nodded, after all, he was the headmaster. what choice did cedric or you have?
you shyly turned around, horrified to see his reaction, but dumbledore kept his same expression. "ah. and so i was right." he said, his eyes twinkling.
you frowned your eyebrows in surprise, looked at cedric, and saw that he was doing the same. "your bubble still functions well, i'm assuming? 2 hours they work, yes?"dumbledore said.
"uuh, yes, sir." cedric said. "turn around, dive, go north, then west, you'll find a cave, go through there and leave the rest up to me."
you and cedric looked at eachother in both relief and confusion, then cedric nodded.-you swam forward, cedric holding onto your hand. a smile crept up your face, as he struggled to keep up with you.
"keep up, tough boy." you mouthed, feeling a little less worried then before.he just chuckled nervously at you. the moment of it was almost romantic, if to ignore the context. you felt a sense of joy, being in your other home, together with someone you wanna spend your entire life with.
hopefully, the next task would be a lot less terrifying.
-
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ 
idk idk idkk. i don't rlly like this ☹️ but!! i felt like i wrote the task scene okay, right? 😝 anyways, hope u enjoyed!
- @delacoursshp
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astudyincontrasts · 2 years
Text
Incubus!Victor x Fem!Reader NSFW
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@uwuboowoo wished for Incubus!Viktor drabble and how was my monster loving ass to say no? Featuring a surprise treat artwork collab by my beloved queen of Viktor art @arcanescribbles 🖤 Full glorious art work here!
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Thematic horror, slight initial dub con, over stim, breeding kink, mindbreak themes, monster fuckin.
    ⊱ ───── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─────  ⊰
There was a creepy scent to old houses that you hated.  Like the ages of dust and previous lives had built up in the walls and floorboards like layers of varnish, a must of creeping damp and mice living in the plasterwork, of old burnt dinners and long since extinguished candle wicks.  A scent no amount of perfumes or cleaning agents or open windows could ever truly dissipate.
And this house was old, according the the landlord it also hadn’t been occupied in years.  Said he couldn’t keep a tenant in it.  They all kept breaking their leases, some without a word, just up and vanishing and he wouldn’t realize they were gone until the rent checks stopped arriving.  Some had left lots of stuff behind.  He showed it to you, piled haphazardly in the dank basement, told you to go ahead and ransack it for whatever you might want, he didn’t care.   Just happy to have the place inhabited again and bringing in cash.
It certainly wasn’t your first choice of living arrangements.  Nor your second, third or fourth.  But you were desperate for a place of your own, something you could afford without the necessary annoyance of roommates to help pay the rent.  This place came cheap as dirt and it was big.  Spacious enough for a family and instead all yours.  Besides, it had beautiful bones.  Victorian embellishments setting it apart from all the art nouveau of the latest architecture.  And you could imagine it with a bit of elbow grease; cleaned up and undingied.  Lace curtains at the open windows in summer and a crackling fire in the maw of the living room fireplace in the depths of winter.
The keys were heavy, intricate iron things in your hands.  Skeleton keys, the landlord explained.  Said he’d long ago lost the proper pair to just the front door - if he ever had them.  Couldn’t recall anymore.
You’d known of the house since you were a kid.  It was that house.  The one every town seemed to have, looming dark and just eerie enough to have garnered its share of local legend in the form of absurd urban fairytales.  
The one that stuck out the most was that the place had been owned once by a young man, a scientist of some renown.  Not happy just to dabble in the sciences he’d turned to the arcane, to dangerous dark magics beyond the scope of human comprehension.  It had killed him in that house.  Obliterated by one of his own experiments.  And ever since then the place had been haunted, had become some kind of portal for the dark things he’d been trying to unlock.  It was why no one would stay there for very long and eventually why no one stayed there at all.
Until you.
It felt a little bold, a little exciting and headstrong to be the one taking up residence in the ‘haunted’ house.  Weren’t you edgy and brave?  That’s what you kept telling yourself as you set up house, brushed away the cobwebs and layers of thick dust.  Swept up the floors and unpacked.  Kept repeating it to yourself as night began to gather and the already dark corners deepened, the floorboards sighing softly underfoot and pipes rattling like bars of a cage when you ran all the taps at once to clean out the stagnant water before your well-earned evening ablutions.
But that musty old scent still clung to everything.  Pervasive but not terribly unpleasant if you were honest; like an old bookshop full of mouldering texts and ancient leather-bound tomes.  
The old clawfoot tub was enormous.  Let you sink right up to your nose in frothy bubbles and hot, steaming water.  So what if those demonic looking claw feet were oddly off-putting?  Just a little more upsetting in some way that you couldn’t put your finger on than a normal porcelain tub foot.  Black and iron and just something about them...  Never mind.  The bath felt lovely after all that dusty, dirty work.  Knotted muscles unwinding until you felt like warm jelly by the time you climbed out and toweled off.  Treated yourself to the luxury of a short, black slip nightdress; felt indulgent indeed to have nothing between skin and soft silk.
The bed was old and came with the house, but the mattress new, the single splurge you’d allowed yourself thus far.  Large and soft and fit for a queen.  You fell into it blissfully and after a moment’s internal debate blew out the votive candle you’d left on the nightstand.  No electric set up in here yet.  You were too old for a nightlight and it wouldn’t do to burn your new home to the ground in your sleep. 
Regretted it as soon as the light was extinguished, however.  
The dark came rushing in like a tidal wave, oppressive and heavy.  Pitch black until eyes adjusted and the sheer of old moth-eaten drapes allowed the night outside to illuminate the black with deep hues of dusky blue, moonlight silver where it managed to eek through and skim a surface here or there.  You lay there in the silence until it felt deafening.  Struggling for sleep in spite of your fatigue and the recent relaxation of the bath, fighting the urge to get up and light not only that candle by the bed but all the others you’d scattered around the room in little clusters atop dresser and bureau and desk. 
The house sighed.  Creaked.  Settled.  Swore you could hear soft footsteps if you just listened hard enough. Bare feet slowly walking the halls. Good way to drive yourself crazy in an old home, listening so hard to the silence you started hearing things that weren’t there.  
And then there was a sigh much closer.
You stiffened under the sheets, eyes widening slowly in the gloom.  It sounded like it had come from directly under the bed.  No.  Not possible.  And then there it was again, only... only this time it was a soft hissing.  Like escaping breath or slow steam leaking from a pipe.  Tink tink tink tink.  Attention riveted upon the foot of the bed and the old iron scrollwork of the bedframe.
And the dark, long fingers curling one by one over the intricate metalwork, black clawed nails tapping in soft succession as they came creeping, climbing.  
Voice failed you, scream lodged silently in a thick lump in your throat as you watched a shadow rise, pool, puddle and spread up over the edge of the foot of the bed to spill slow and black across the sheets.  Limbs failed you, frozen rictus unable to grant your fervent desire for them to propel you up and out of bed and out the house and down the street.
Out of that spilling, smoke like spread of shadow two brilliant eyes opened like golden sparks, spitfire and luminous, like some sickly beautiful tapetum lucidum of a large predator, only this wasn’t just a reflective shine, oh no.  These were lit from within, gleaming gold with pupils blown.  
Your entire body jerked as all the candles in the room lit themselves at once in a quiet roar of flame.  And there, climbing slowly up into your bed was the spilling sprawl of a long limbed creature shaped like a man... a young man.  Face sharp angled and the sneered smile of his mouth a shape of terrible beauty.  Skin the color of grey bruised blue that deepened and flushed to near plum in places.  Long limbed and stark naked, save for the swirling cling of dark shadow that billowed away like campfire smoke only to gather again, washing back off and over him in loose licking wisps.  
Up he climbed, clawed hands fisting in the bedsheets, slowly drawing them down off you, and to your horror... not just two hands, but three.  Two perfect leanly corded arms and then a horrific third that seemed to climb from his back, twisted and gnarled and black and eager as it grasped at your ankle, texture like a tree branch but terrifyingly warm.  Any urge to kick it off you was squashed by those other two impossibly long fingered hands as they closed upon your knees, pushed them spread to accommodate his slow upward climb and let that grip slide inexorably slow up your thighs.
The entire nightmare came spilling to a halt just there, hovered between the splay of legs he’d made, the terrifying beauty of that face lowering ever so slightly as luminous eyes narrowed with a deep, slow inhalation.
“Aaaahhh.”  His voice came in hissing layers, soft echoes forwards and back in a susurrus that somehow managed to align in the center before parting again, a maddening soft play that sunk loving fangs in the tender wet give of your brain, sweet venom spreading like heat, eclipsing panic with something that made your eyes want to roll back in your head, made the small of your back burn to arch and nipples stiffen against the thin black silk of your nightdress.
“I’m so hungry....”  The shape of that exquisitely beguiling horror of a mouth spread, smiled, teeth white and sharp in the display of that half-tilt smirking pleasure.  So hungry so hungry so hungry... it reverberated in your skull in that hissed sibilance. Something snapped internally.
“Please don’t eat me.”  Voice squeaked out of you, soft and cracked and higher pitched than you’d ever heard yourself.
“Eat you?”  It’s - his - head canted, lovely mess of dark hair shifting, spilling across his forehead.  “Yesss.... I could eat you.”
Face fell, buried itself in the silk covering the apex of your thighs and again came that deep inhalation, this one followed by a nearly purring groan of bliss before those brilliant eyes lifted to gaze up at you from under the thick of dark brows. Every fibre of you tensed at the light pressure of that face shoved against that most intimate hollow.
“So fresh...  Its been so long since I’ve been fed.  And you.  Succulent.  But not quite ready yet...  not ripe.  Sooooooon though.  Very soon.  Eat you first, yes.”
Thighs were trembling under his grasp as you watched the black of his tongue lick out and wet his lower lip.  
“Please.  Please no.”  It was barely a gasp of a breath, fists tight in the sheet under you, still unable to force limbs to any kind of motion, the whole of you a shivering wreck.  Why did you have to pretend to be brave?  Why would you come live in the house everyone knew was cursed?  Stupid girl.  Stupid, dead little girl.
His face turned, eyed the expanse of one smooth thigh before him and he dipped his head, dragged the wet lick of his tongue over tender flesh before pausing to glance up at you again.  Dark brows lifted and that smile spread once more.
“No?”   No no no?  It bounced off the inside of your head like echoes in a cavern,  “But you are so sweet.  Juicy.  And no one’s ever complained while I ate them...”
That horrifying third arm released your ankle, desiccated dry touch slipping away tenderly to rise and catch the hem of your slip and drag it up over your navel, leaving entire lower half vulnerably bare to the famished golden glow of those eyes and that eagerly opening maw.  Sharp clawed fingers splayed over the soft of inner thighs, pressed the spread of them even further as you finally, finally began to squirm, to try to escape, scuttle backward against the pillows and out of the bed.
He caught you easily and hauled you back, lifted your backside up under the scooping span of impossibly long fingered hands.
“Please....Please!!!”  Voice was shrill, pleading, heart a terrified hammer you could feel straight through to your spine.  Convinced any second now that mouth would split that unsettlingly gorgeous face in twain and all those jagged teeth would sink into your most vulnerable flesh and begin to tear you into bite sized hunks of still living meat.
Instead came the slow, sinuous roiling lick of that black tongue.  Slicking wet and smooth as oiled silk through the tender folds of your pussy; a lingering, savoring slow drag from stem to stern, coiling a circle around your clit before withdrawing.  Leaving you breathless, unconsciously lifting toward its touch as it vanished.  
The creature rocked its head back, the gloriously knifepoint angles of that jaw upthrust as he moaned long and low at the taste of you.  Head lowering again slowly, the illumination of those hypnotic eyes doubled, fire stoked.
“Ahn, moje malá broskvička...”  One finger slowly stroked along the part of your pussy, so careful of that sharp nail, letting its point drag along ticklishly.  “Come to save me from starving.  Such sweetness.  Let me eat you up and keep you, lovely little peach.”
You were gulping, gasping.  Confused and more than anything, more than all the blinding fear and irrational panic, you were inexplicably aroused.  Skin singing soft heat, a luscious effervescent flutter winding lazily in the pit of your stomach, begging more of that tongue, of the touch of cool hands that left fire in their wake, mind numbing, mouth filling want like you’d never known.  
It made no sense.  You ought to have been repulsed, horrified.  Instead you were... craving?  Wriggling in his grasp instead of struggling.  It had that knowing smirk back on that exquisite mouth as he dipped back down, licking, laving, soft and languorous as the impossible length of his tongue slid through folds and caressed clit, over and over and over again in endless untiring patterns until you were keening.  Face turned to the side and arm thrown over your eyes, cunt on fire for him, the taut knots coiling and doubling in shuddering ache within begging to be released.
He blew softly on your clit and you convulsed, earning a soft peel of delighted laughter from him.  And then that mouth closed on the pulse running through that hypersensitive little bundle of nerves and sucked.  Sucked as the tip of his tongue curled over and around it and oh, you came undone.
Sharp nails dug gently into the grasp of your lifted buttocks as you bucked and thrashed and whined release so intense you felt it in your bones.  White hot ecstasy fizzing hot supernova collapse before it shattered outward, spangling searing little points of spitfire stars across the black of vision, a trillion little points of tingling light and sweet agony relief spattered like celestial freckles over skin and nerve and bone.  
Swore you heard him moaning softly along with you as you came, like he felt it.  Like it was his own release.  
You went limp, panting, shivers slowing gradually.  And thought perhaps he’d lower you back onto the bed.  He did not.  Instead he sat back on haunches and lifted you further, your knees and thighs draped over broad shoulders, his arms circling your waist to keep your lower half cradled up against him.  
In he delved again.  Mercifully avoiding the slow subsiding throb of your clit and instead licking at the still convulsing flutter of your entrance.  Tongue pushed, pressed, dipped within and a sharp gasp caught like a stone in your throat as it slid in.  And then more.  Further.  Thicker.  In and in and coiling, curling the entire time.  A constant mind-blanking delicious roll against climax-soaked walls.
On the bed your hands shifted, stretched, found his knees and grabbed a sharp grip, digging your own short, blunt nails in hard.  Nothing had ever felt this good, nothing in your whole life.  Swore you could feel that tongue from tips of toes to behind your navel as it slid roiling slow twists within, licking parts of you no one had ever tasted, as hot and slick and thick as a snake.  Had your head thrown back and mouth open like your heart would come tumbling out of it onto the bedsheets for him to scoop up and devour.
And once he found that perfect spot within?  Oh.  Hard thrusting slow press licks unrelenting, until your toes curled so hard you could feel your calves begin to sear with the promise of a crushing cramp of muscles, until you were thrashing again, only held together buy the embrace of his arms wound round your hips, one hand slid down to drag the gentle scrape of long nails over the tender round of a half uncovered breast as his tongue lapped a second, harder orgasm out of you.  
This one mind shattering.  Deep, wringing waves crashing through you, against you, over you.  Left you gulping, whimpering between airless gasps, every ounce of you gone perfectly rigid and quivering before you broke.  Eyes rolled back so hard you were certain you’d gone blind.  Sublime, succulent release as you unwound slow, waves eased to soft lapping, the sucking slide of the tide going back out as he let you slip down onto the bed.  Came to lay between your thighs, head pillowed upon one.  Kissing lightly at your swollen, aching clit.  Each little brush of his lips convulsing your stomach gently.
You lay sucking breath in little shivers, fingertips gone numb, mind a glorious blank struggling against the odds to try to understand what was happening, who and what he was.  
“Delicious one.”  He was murmuring, purring thick voiced praise as if he was as undone as yourself.  Delicate, almost loving little kisses to that overstimulated, overwrought bundle of nerves.  It hurt, it burned, wonderful agony you sighed little whimpers against.  “Do not run away, delicious one.  I will not hurt you.  I could eat you always...  stay.  Malá broskvička let me fill you up.  I’ve waited years for you.  Decades.  Starving.”
One little lap of the tip of his tongue and you moaned wantonly with a single full body convulsion that had him lift his head to gaze up the length of you with a wicked smile.  He shifted to press another kiss and you begged him to stop with a mumbled incoherence, tears gathering to streak from the outer edges of your eyes.  
“My pretty thing.  Don’t be afraid.”  That sibilant echoing accented voice.  Interspersed with a language both familiar and unknown.  Another kiss, this one softly sucking.  You arched, strained, small of your back fit to break as a third release rolled over you in almost painful little burst of bliss.  So much, too much.  He just wouldn’t stop and for some reason you could not find it in yourself to beg him to.  As if you’d let him keep this up until you were reduced to little more than a jibbering mess of eager wet jelly, a hollow shell of yourself.
Lungs sucked air and you forced the train of thought down the tracks, set shoulder to it and shoved while wheels slipped and slid and tried for traction.
“Come... here...”  Voice a husk, wrung out and hoarse, softly cracking at the end of each word.  He obeyed, left off his next planned torment, pad of a finger just hovering over your abused clitoris, and climbed.
Came to hover over you on all fours, and just out of focus you could see the thick, heavy hang of his hard cock between lean thighs.  Larger than any you’d had the like of in your admittedly limited experience.  Still, you struggled to tear eyes off it and up to those pretty amber orbs gazing down at you in subtle amusement.  
It took such effort to lift hands.  Once you got them off the bed though it was as if a sticky mire had released.  Free to flex and feel, sensation returning in tingling slowness.  You reached to trace the fine cut of his jaw slowly.  Watched those eyes slant near shut.  Let hands card through the sticky smoke strange spill of dark hair and down the elegant line of his neck.  Over shoulders and down arms, along chest.  Pausing at the strange cut of black scars in arcane shapes, shadows against the bruised grey blue of skin that felt simultaneously warm and chill to the touch.  Like it lived between worlds.
One hand rose to trace features as he held still for it, watching you curiously as you traced the purple shadows under bright eyes, the impossible sharp of cheekbones and then the strange sweet of his mouth.  Let you smudge his lips, opened to the pry of your fingers and sucked soft on fingertips that went seeking sharp canines on every ivory.
“What are you?” It came out more marveled than you meant it to and he preened visibly, settling down half over you, all three hands still busy, softly stroking lingering caresses that made you struggle to maintain coherence.  they tugged at the thin straps of the shift you wore, slid along arms and ribs and cupped at breasts, tweaked lightly at a nipple through slippery fabric.  Sometimes felt like there were more even than three as you fought to stay cogent.  
“Once as you are.  Now?”  
He sighed and lowered himself slowly.  Press of face to your throat, bite of sharp teeth along jaw and lick of a tongue against your lower lip.  Every inch of him a murder of gathered crows, soft wingbeats close in whispers against skin and black as pitch.  
“Now... hunger.  Want and craving.  From barely alive to starving.  Until you.  Please.  I want to eat.  Oh little peach, let me.  Are you better?  So warm and soft my pretty girl.  Could eat you forever.”
While you struggled against the urge to spread thighs again and plead he go right ahead, you dug nails into the strange elastic give of his skin.  Like digging into smoke and viscera.  
“Name...name yourself.”  You huffed out, straining toward his mouth.  He smiled sweet as any devil and licked over your lips in a wet line before sucking tenderly at your lower lip until the plush of it was swollen softly.  
“Viktor, once.  I remember Viktor.”
You latched to it, grazed nails down the lean of his throat over the sharp rise of his adams apple and down to collarbone, watched him slant eyes and stretch his throat for your attentions.  Lifted head off the pillows to lick at his collarbone and felt him cradle up the back of your head.  Claws carding through the skeins of your hair and along scalp.  
And then you wrapped arms around his shoulders and kissed him.
He tasted of incense and cedar.  Rosemary tang and the succulent bittersweet of late summer strawberry.  Like dragging your tongue along a high tensile power line.  Scent of him both petrichor and beeswax.  Heady, improbable things that had you reeling while he gathered you closer.  Bent to kiss you with an infinite softness that belied the taste of yourself on his mouth and the way he melted into you.  One hand found your cunt again and spread folds in a slippery caress, opened you vulnerable like soaked petals before he stroked at your clit again, picked up a little caress to the swollen, puffy throb of it that broke your hold on his mouth as you instantly lapsed into another little crumbling, shuddering orgasm, too abused and overwrought to have any resistance left.  
The blade of his nose pressed to your cheekbone as you came again for him, felt the coursing wet starting to drip between the cheeks of your ass and knew full well the bed beneath you was ruined.  So much for those new sheets and mattress.  
“You smell like summertime.  Taste of sunshine.  I’ve been in the dark so long.”  So long so long so long.  He was nuzzling at your throat, licking along your cheek where desperate tears had spilled with that last release.  One spidery hand splayed over the soft of your stomach.  “Sweet peach.  Let me fill you?”
And your shattered little reptile hindbrain simply nodded heady agreement as you slid hands down between you both and found his cock.  Heavy, hard.  Leaking nearly as badly as yourself.  It was him this time who caught breath and sighed as you stroked him, grasp trembling weakly as fingers slid along veined girth. 
He buried his face between breasts before nuzzling at the slippery black silk still mostly draped over them.  Licked at the fabric over the stiff upward press of a nipple, bit gently over it, the soft silk ticklish as it soaked through before he’d managed to drag it aside, moaning quietly to himself as he sucked slow, thrusting into your hand and drooling precum along one bared thigh.  
When he’d had enough, he released the soft torment of that now gently burning little stiff bud and lifted you, turned you on hands and knees as he took you slow in spite of his dripping ache and your eagerness.
That desiccated third hand found a hard grip on your hip as he fitted himself to you and eased in.  The hard ridge of the head of his cock a gripping spread that had you pushing back hard, eyelids flickering heavy as he sank in, mumbled half coherent praise of how well you took him.  So much.  He rocked against you, a gradual give and take until he was deep as either of you could go and you were worming against him, listening to his ragged breath as he bit at the nape of your neck, your ear, burned slow kisses across the curve of a cheek.
One hand came up to wrap spidery long fingers over the slope of your shoulder, the edge of a finger dragging against the catch of your lower lip as he began to move.  Press of his cheek to your temple as he kept your face turned toward him, wanting to watch you come undone with him buried inside you.  And if you thought what he could do with his tongue was unspeakably sublime...
For all his obvious need he was shockingly tender.  Hips a delicious rhythmic rocking that had you pitching gluttonous little moans each time he hit up against your backside, made you feel little more than a hollow vessel that’d just been waiting this whole lifetime for him to fill you.  
Drunk or drugged with him, and miles beyond caring.  Nothing had ever felt so good, the nirvanic bliss eating away at your insides, that throbbing ache rebuilding over and over again each time you thought there was no way he’d drag one more orgasm out of you.  You were on fire, itch more intense the more he scratched it for you, and your body ready to give out with all of it.  Thighs and the brace of arms you were holding yourself up with both shook weakly.  Sweat dribbling down between breasts and the pinch between shoulder blades.  You felt him lick a bead of it off your temple as he murmured soft nothings.
“Sweet peach, so warm.  Does that feel good?  You take me so deep, little one...  look at you shiver.  Such a good girl to come to me like this, to feed me so well.  On your knees for me, my delicious one, such noises you make.  Do you like how I make you feel?  Do you want me to be rougher?”
Sharp nails bit lightly into your all too human flesh and had you whining as he picked up his pace a bit, sweet friction doubling as your walls squeezed around him in fluttered, staccato grasps, stomach taut as a drum and breath coming in little gasping moans so embarrassingly wanton you wished to die.
Only the fact that he too was rapidly coming undone and making many unrestrained sounds of delight of his own that were starting to drown yours out saved you.  One hand slid under you, nails grazing at your belly, across your navel.
“Will you swell for me, malá broskvička ?  Let me make this sweet belly round and soft with little ones.  You are so perfect for it, almost ripe.  A few more days.  I can smell how badly you want to be bred, pretty one.  I will give you all you wish.  Say you’ll stay.  Please, stay.”
“Yh...yes.  Yes...”  Like you had the capacity to say anything else when it felt like you’d never have the willpower to climb back out of this bed again?  
When he came inside you it nearly sent you into a spiral, your arms giving way, cheek smashed to the bed, one of his hands braced on the back of your head as he snarled softly over you like a large cat over a kill, filling you indeed, until it dripped out and ran down your thighs, until your stomach felt deliciously, softly, slightly distended.  Whatever dark thing about him that had you so fuck-dumb absolutely tripled with his seed inside you, spinning hot little tendrils within that wrapped around the senses, made every little sensation feel ten times as strong.
He twitched within you obscenely as he came, and your walls milked at him in fits of slow squeezes as you rode out the slowest, longest release of your life, shuddering with strangled mewls as he doubled over you, scooped you up to cradle you back against him as he sat up, face shoved in the spill of your hair while he rasped out unintelligible worship with cool breath.
“Mine own.  Ahn, I cannot live if you leave me.  I will adore you, malá broskvička, make you my treasure.”
Treasure treasure treasure.  It echoed softly in your ears.  And then, just as suddenly as they had lit, all the candles extinguished in one guttered whoosh, room plunged back to darkness as you pitched forward against the pillows and soiled sheets, suddenly unsupported, the strong grasp of him vanished.  No longer filled with the delicious stretch of his cock or caged in by that long limbed body.  Just enough energy left to roll yourself over and watch wisps of shadowed smoke curl outward in the air and dissipate.
Consciousness found you the next morning groggy and exhausted, so tender that even the softest touch of your own fingers had you double up in hot agony.  Not a dream, nor nightmare.  You had little pink lines of scratch marks up one hip and over a shoulder and the sticky mess between your legs to prove it had all been terribly real.  Well, not terrible.  But certainly real.  Quite clear now what had happened to all those other tenants.
Packing up and running as far and fast as you could seemed like an incredibly wise move.  But you found, as you sat in yet another gently warm bath up to your chin, that you were not afraid.  That instead you were craving, disappointed ever so slightly that you’d been used and left a sticky ruin without so much as a little cuddle or a bit of care for your tender state.  Found yourself sliding a hand over the shape of your stomach throughout the day each time his words came hissing back to you softly.  The house felt somehow warmer, too.  More welcoming and less darkly menacing in its silent, looming way.
Besides, you could always change your mind.  Why not stay one more night?
Part 2
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hyperesthesias · 6 months
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Can you actually write something smutty for Viktor? Or just a guide on how to? I really want to write some Viktor smut, but I'm worried I won't do his disability justice as I'm able bodied and a dumbass
Of my twelve years on this webbed site, this has got to be the best ask I have ever received lmao
I would be happy to help, friend. I'll answer this in two parts.
Yes, I am planning on writing Viktor smut for Viktor x Anya. I had a lot happen in the year since I made the post you're referencing, but I've finally been able to get back into fandom stuff. I wanted to lay some backstory with them first though, as I am apparently a PWP kind of person lmao. It's coming soon! (No pun intended).
You've taken the first great step in recognizing that your experience and knowledge may not be congruent with potential portrayal, and therefore asking for advice. I don't mean to sound patronizing at all. I am an author and I have seen many professional authors that don't do this, so you're already ahead of the game! I wouldn't consider that dumbassery in any way, shape, or form.
I'll put the rest under a cut due to the nature of this post.
*Disclaimer to this is, of course, I don't speak for every disabled person, this list isn't extensive, and these are my opinions.
I, personally, operate under the assumption that Viktor has Post Polio Syndrome. Looking at photographs (x, x, x) it's pretty clear the animators used PPS as a framework for Viktor's movements and posture, as well as his mobility and assistive devices. People with PPS often develop need for braces, canes or crutches, and treatment for scoliosis -- all of which Viktor has. You are more than welcome to headcanon something different, as I don't believe the writers or animators have ever confirmed or denied PPS, but based on my own experience and research, I would bet money on it.
That being said -- regardless of PPS, or otherwise -- the first thing to consider when writing smut for any disabled character is fatigue. It may not be the obvious thing, as mobility devices often are the first thing to catch an observer's eye. But there is so much that goes on beneath mobility devices. Fatigue is a big one.
Consider the worst flu you've ever had -- all the time, every day, even in your sleep. It can be maddening, like you can't get any relief -- even if you take pain reliever or use other analgesics. Most people with a severe flu aren't exactly in the mood to be frisky, especially spontaneously. Many physically disabled people rely on preplanning. Having a date night where they can plan for extra pain reliever, or where they can schedule the rest of their day or week to conserve energy for a special night. The psychological energy that people need to conserve alone can take a lot of effort. Being disabled is also mentally exhausting, especially when you have a partner and their needs to consider. Giving a disabled person time to prepare for sex (or other tasks) is essential.
Related to that, is the fact the energy levels aren't always consistent. A disabled person and their lover could be going at it like rabbits for a while and then suddenly the disabled partner may need to stop because their "battery" (their physical energy levels) has run out. They may need a break for a few minutes, or they may just need to end the sexual encounter altogether.
The worst thing you (or your character) could do is take this personally. It has nothing to do with their partner, it's their body that is (frustratingly [on many levels]) not cooperating.
Something to toy with (no pun intended) when writing characters with energy level deficits is vibrators. Twice the work with half the effort. Don't be afraid to write smut with toys and vibrators -- it doesn't even have to be kinky. Toys and vibrators are normal and vanilla, all things considered. The only reason they haven't been normalized is because of patriarchal standards as to what sex is and is supposed to be.
The second thing to consider is physical limitations of positions and potential discomfort. I've seen several fanfic writers describe situations and positions that Viktor simply would never be able to do (e.g. lifting his partner onto a table or desk).
Viktor doesn't have a lot of strength. That's not to say he can't be rough or that all smut has to be vanilla. But realistically, it's absurd to think that he can lift someone else or manhandle them with any force, or thrust at the speed of light (💀). He also doesn't have any balance whatsoever post Act I. During Act I, he's able to hobble somewhat without his cane, as long as he has something to hold onto, as seen in episode three. But in Acts II and III, his balance issues combined with scoliosis would make any positions where he has to stand much more difficult.
Therefore, if you're wanting to write a scene somewhere outside of a bedroom (e.g. the lab, his office, etc.), he'd need something to balance himself. Seated sex is a great concept to play with -- very disability friendly and offers many options for all sorts of scenes. Desk/table sex is also realistic, as long as your character lifts themself onto the desk or table, and he's able to lean on it.
Scenes that take place in the bedroom also have their own limitations. He has zero use of his right leg, which means he'd need more time to get in and out of different positions. Missionary would take a toll on his back, I'd imagine, from being hunched over -- not that he couldn't do it at all, but that was more of a sidenote. Having your character straddle him, while his back was supported, is probably the most comfortable position I can imagine. Or spooning. Or maybe doggy, though I think his back and hips might get tired. But I'm just spit balling at this point. Utilizing objects from the setting is important -- pillows, having your character bent over the back of a couch, etc. This is where creativity comes in -- it's just important to keep in mind where his limitations are located on his body: his back and his leg/hip.
There are also adaptive devices for sex and disabilities.
One final thing I want to say is: don't overcorrect. This is common. It's one thing to keep a character's disability in mind, but it's another to make a disability the entire character. Just because Viktor is disabled doesn't mean he can't have the filthiest, most disgusting, raw, life changing, I-should-visit-a-confessional type of sex. However you headcanon him to be in bed is exactly how he can be. If you see him as a cruel Dom, he absolutely can slap the shit out of whoever has the pleasure of being beneath him, while he makes them beg for his mercy -- with his back and leg supported. If you see him as a bratty sub, he can be that, too -- while he lies there with a back pillow to relieve pressure off his spine. If he's the plainest, blander-than-vanilla type of lover, that's exactly what he is -- while he takes a few extra minutes to move from one position to the next. If he's any combination of those things, more power to you.
The point of writing a scene, is the point you're trying to make. Meaning: a lot of writers worry about conveying ideas and settings perfectly and with detail, while losing sight of the main point of their story. Rarely will you ever have to add paragraphs to a piece of writing in order to convey something, especially if it's not the main point. Often, it only takes one or two sentences. Keep the main point of the scene in mind. If you're writing a fic where Viktor and your character are secretly getting it on in the lab, then the point and the idea of that scene is the forbidden sex they are having. Not necessarily his limitations. You can easily acknowledge Viktor's disability by saying something like: 'Viktor sat on a chair at the far end of the lab, away from the door's line of sight. He leaned his back against the seat, allowing his spine to settle, before he coaxed his lover onto his lap. His lover straddled his legs, reaching to kiss his neck, while his hand trailed up their thighs...' You've successfully conveyed the limitations he has in two sentences, while maintaining the focus of your scene, and without reducing Viktor to a caricature of his disability. Less is more throughout your fic.
As a side note, which is completely my headcanon -- and something I've vaguely alluded to in my Viktor x Anya fics -- is that Viktor also has erectile dysfunction as a result of the PPS. Polio is a neurological virus, meaning is attacks the nerve cells, the main cause of the atrophy in PPS. It isn't common, but it's not uncommon for males with PPS to struggle with ED. As such, in my own personal stories, I have mentioned that Viktor takes medication to help with it. Sildenafil (the generic for Viagra) is a medication that specifically targets nerves.
That's my own person interpretation, though, and has no bearing on what we seen in Arcane lol.
To close this off for now, I want to reassure you that your efforts count and they matter. No one will write any depiction of disability 'perfectly'. Disability is unique to every person, and one person's spinal disability will look different to another's. Even people with the exact same diagnosis and prognosis will differ in how they experience it. You're not a dumbass. You're very intelligent to recognize the need for external resources. Enjoy yourself, enjoy the work you write, and keep asking questions.
If and when you decide to write your Viktor smut piece, I would love to read it. And likewise, if you'd like to read what I write I'd be happy to send it to you! If you're comfortable coming off anon, you can message me privately and we can talk more!
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alt-gide · 11 months
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kanskje-kaffe · 2 months
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“You’re not ugly,” said Viktor. “Although, I am used to physical deformity. But mine are much easier to hide. May I?”  Silco looked up in confusion, which seemed to be permission enough. Viktor held up a hand in front of the scarred side of Silco’s face, closing one eye so he could only see the unblemished right half. Silco blinked, strangely self-conscious. He felt like an insect about to be pinned.  “You’re not actually very old, are you?” asked Viktor, still holding up his hand.
One of my favorite scenes from Anoint With Affliction by @withercrown, a stunning Vilco fic that everyone should read
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arom-antix · 1 month
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As part of a two-part reverse bang-bang, here's some more Valentines art to which @probablytoooldforthis wrote an amazing fic, Sweets for the Sweet! Please go check it out, I promise you won't regret it, and keep your eyes peeled for the second chapter - and artwork, of course - coming out on White Day aka the 14th of March!
Also, I this is an unrendered version, the finished version will be posted within about a week's time (hopefully) since I don't have access to digital drawing at the moment YuY
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spacervanguard · 5 months
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