#and the sky is awash

[teathattast]

it's you, and it's a cloudy night to smoke one

oh, things happen when you move to the city

when you're with me, oh, how you feel me

oh, things happen when you call me pretty

[xvysarene]

𝕋𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤

Pairing: Rafayel x Fem!Reader Prompt: “You left me to drown.” Words: ~2.2k Genre: Light Angst, Comfort, Suggestive (mild) [ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

The sky was awash with streaks of crimson and gold bleeding into the indigo expanse, signaling the impending dusk.

You stopped beside the colossal sea stack, admiring the breathtaking view. Waves crashed against the weathered rocks with gentle tranquility, a stark contrast to the turmoil within your heart.

“Are you done running?” a whispered voice carried away by the salty breeze.

Voice that you hadn’t heard for almost a year.

You couldn’t help the wry chuckle escaping your lips. “Last time I remember, I was the one waking up to an empty bed after a night of giving myself to you.”

Your skin involuntarily tingled with the residual sensation of his touch. His lips, warm and insistent, had traced a map of pleasure across your skin, exploring every curve and contour with a thoroughness that left you breathless and wanting more.

Months-long restrained emotion bubbled up to the surface. "Thomas couldn't find you, your aunt couldn't find you, even your bodyguard couldn't find you. So pray tell Rafayel, are you done running?"

Even in the fading light, you could see him taken aback by the hostility dripping from your words.

“I thought you would be happy to see me after all of this time.”

Exasperatedly you turned towards him, finding him standing several steps away from you.

He looked the same, if not even more handsome, and you hated that it made the fury inside your heart momentarily dim.

All-white button-up and trousers hugged his figure, one he knew that you loved as if it was a tactic to unravel you. He was a blank canvas in the explosion of colours surrounding you both.

“No notes, no messages, all I'm left with is a ridiculously priced ring adorning my finger." You rubbed the now empty ring finger, still feeling the phantom weight of the gemstone.

He didn’t miss the gesture. “Did you not like the ring? Is that why you threw it away to the depth of the sea?”

“Is that all you can say after walking out of my life?” Your voice rising, annoyed at his nonchalance.

Annoyed at the absurdity of this situation like you hadn’t seen each other for months.

His brows furrowed at the accusation. “I did not walk out of your life, didn’t you receive the stuff I sent you?” 

If he was referring to the plethora of stuff stacked inside a box under your bed collecting dust, then yes you did receive them.

You had attempted to decipher the meaning behind the items he sent each month, desperately trying to connect them with his whereabouts, but to no avail.

Even with the resources and connections Thomas had, Rafayel seemed to be always one step ahead, not leaving any breadcrumbs of where he might have gone next.

“You are present in all of my paintings; you remain a constant in my thoughts,” he continued when you remained silent.

Since his departure, new paintings arrived biweekly or monthly at Mo Art Studio, each delivery serving as a soothing balm for Thomas's weary soul.

It wasn't until his manager pointed out certain colour choices and what you had always considered random lines and patterns that you began to notice elements of yourself in his paintings; the shade of your irises, the main lines on your palms, the arch of your eyebrows watching his antics.

You gritted your teeth. “Provide a reasonable explanation for your lack of verbal communication.”

He tore away from your gaze, suddenly looking timid, hand rubbing the back of his neck. It was a habit of his whenever he felt nervous. “I embark on a self-discovery,” he began.

“I needed some time for internal reflection. It allows me to really dive deep into my thoughts and emotions without any external distractions—just let me explain first,” he said rapidly before you could chide him on thinking that you were a distraction.

Honestly, you couldn’t even voice out any response as that wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

“I've been overly reliant on you, and limiting our communication forced me to depend on my own. I want to be someone you can rely on instead; someone you can lean and depend on.”

“What about that woman, then?” you blurted out, the question heavy on the tip of your tongue ever since you had first come across the article.

It had been seven months and two weeks since his absence when you stumbled upon the article.

Normally, you weren't particularly tuned into the fashion industry, but somehow the news from Nexusburg had found its way onto your daily curated feed.

You had vaguely recognised the designer’s striking face and figure. Your attention, however, zoomed in on those unmistakable tendrils of dusky purple hair, despite most of his head being obscured by the dark tint of the limousine’s window.

“I commissioned her to create… something of great significance.” You sensed ambiguity lacing his words. “You know how reporters constantly fabricate stories that lack truth."

“Do they, really? Lack of truth?”

Rafayel approached you with hesitant steps, fearing you might slip away from his advance.

“You left me to drown, Rafayel.” The words pierced through him like shards of glass. “Drowning in ‘what if’s’, drowning in my insecurity.” 

As he drew near, he took in the multitude of emotions playing across your face: hurt, confusion, anger.

“You were gone for eight months. Eight months! Did you believe that merely slipping a ring onto my finger would make me feel better for your absence?”

The anger drained your body of energy as you sank onto the rock behind. Jagged edges kept you painfully aware that this was reality, not a mere figment of your imagination.

“I'm sorry,” he pleaded. 

"You're selfish, Rafayel," your voice trembled with a mixture of anger and hurt. "You know my insecurity gets the best of me at times, and yet you didn't even stop to think for once on how I would feel…this is not the first time."

You could see the moment realisation began to flicker in his bluish-pink eyes.

When Rafayel hired a new female bodyguard and began spending a significant amount of time with her, it left you feeling uneasy.

It wasn’t until his own bodyguard confronted him in front of you, chastising him for neglecting your feelings and the lack of communication as she noticed your distress, that you finally felt at ease with their relationship. You understood their brother-sister dynamics.

But this time, days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months since you last saw him. Doubts began to plague your mind.

“It was nothing like that,” he protested. “Nexusburg was my last stop. I had thought of returning as soon as the designer finished her work.”

The article's prominently highlighted phrase 'SECRET ROMANCE' had stirred your restless heart to its breaking point that day.

You recalled standing atop the very sea stack towering behind you, witnessing the light glinting off the ring as you cast it into the unforgiving waves below.

"You went on a journey of self-discovery, but it seems like you've forgotten why you needed it in the first place.” 

Rafayel's heart constricted with guilt. “I never meant to make you feel that way, I—I thought you would understand.”

Then, he retrieved something from his pocket, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“How…?!”

The marquise-cut lilac tanzanite glimmered with a captivating hue, casting a hypnotic light against the backdrop of twilight skies. Delicate accents of soft pink pearls surrounded the gemstone, lending a gentle touch to the intricate design.

It still managed to steal your breath away, its beauty as enchanting as ever.

"I specifically requested the bijoutier to blend my crushed scales into the band. It brings me comfort knowing that you’re safe, and knowing that you think of me whenever you touch it.”

He traced his finger along the smooth surface of the gemstone, the memory of him quietly placing the ring while you slept was as clear as yesterday in his mind.

The outline of your figure etched against the soft glow of dawn. Vivid shade of pinkish-red blemishes against your skin, evidence of the intense night shared between the two of you.

“It motivates me to finish my journey, so I can return to your embrace as soon as possible… Until you threw it away and I thought of the worst.”

You gazed at him in disbelief as he unveiled that the ring held far greater significance than you had ever imagined.

Who would have thought that he could charm the ring that way? Everything slowly made sense why he had immediately called you repeatedly moments after you threw the ring.

Then there was Aunt Talia rushing towards you, tousled and wide-eyed, far from her normally immaculate appearance as you made your way back down.

Barefooted, as if she had rushed out of her nearby house in a hurry.

He returned just two days after you had discarded the ring. When calls were left unanswered, he enlisted Thomas and his bodyguard.

You had threatened to call the police on Thomas when he couldn’t stop appearing in front of your front door. His bodyguard, the only one with a working mind it seemed, nodded in understanding and promptly ushered Thomas away from your doorstep.

“The ring reminds me of you,” longing laced your voice.

As you glanced down at the beauty, the sparkling gemstone and pearls seemed to reflect his hair and eye colour. Its elaborate design mirrored his complexity; intricate and beautiful yet multifaceted.

“And here I thought that you didn’t like the pearls I handpicked… I knew that it was too good to be true when the oysters were being friendlier than usual.” 

Pale skin crimsoned as he snapped his mouth shut. His flow of thoughts always seemed to have a mind of their own, escaping from his mouth before he could rein them in.

It was frustrating how you still found it endearing, even at times like this. Perhaps the lover you knew hadn’t changed much after all.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, "Rafayel, you can't just waltz into my life again as if nothing happened.”

"I know I messed up, Y/N," he admitted, his eyes pleading for understanding. “But I couldn’t stand away any longer."

Despite your anger towards his actions, you couldn't deny how much you had missed him too.

He inched closer, giving you plenty of time to move away, however, you remained rooted to the spot.

Familiar strands of dusky purple hair, the very ones you had passionately tangled your fingers in as he ravished you the last time, just within arm's reach now.

A hand reached out, moving away your salty-breeze ruffled hair from covering your face.

"Why did you choose to see me again at last?"

Aunt Talia had invited you for a high tea, weeks after Rafayel's persistent attempts to see you finally ceased. Deep down, you knew that this was another attempt made by him. 

But you remembered how the older woman had opened her doors whenever the insecurity became too strong during his absence, and it felt disrespectful to sever ties just because you weren't ready to face her nephew.

“Rafayel is coming,” Aunt Talia calmly said moments earlier.

The clink of her cup meeting the saucer caused you to jerk, tea sloshing around your rose-adorned cup dangerously.

“You’re free to leave anytime, I’m not going to force you to meet him.”

Looking up, you found orchid-coloured eyes boring into yours.

“Just keep in mind that he will never stop searching for you. Yes, he’s selfish, but you know how us, Lemurians, are,” she sighed then, “ We're relentless when it comes to protecting what we cherish. And you, my dear, hold a special place in his heart.”

"I needed to understand why you did what you did, why you left without a word,” you finally admitted.

Regret flickered his eyes. "I should have been more considerate.” 

As his long fingers traced the curve of your jaw, your breath hitched. It had been too long since you felt his caress against your skin, and you found yourself longing for more.

Laboured breaths and dilated pupils told you that his body had reacted similarly. Finding the mutual desire in your eyes, he closed the gap between you without any word.

Lips collided in a fervent kiss. Fueled by a mix of pent-up pain and yearning. Each brush of his lips against yours was a plea for forgiveness, a desperate attempt to mend the fractures in your relationship.

Bodies molded together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle long overdue for completion. There was an insatiable hunger for each other that needed to be satisfied.

“I will wait for you, whenever you're ready to accept me again in your life,” he murmured gently as his lips parted from yours.

You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity in those bright orbs you loved so much, and felt a tug at your heart. Silently, he took your hand and slid the ring back onto your finger, to its rightful place.

The same lips that you had just kissed earlier were now on top of the lilac gemstone.

“Keep this so I know that you’re safe, and whenever you’re ready—” Artist's palms cradled your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks lovingly. “I’ll be waiting for you at the end of the aisle, witnessing your beauty wearing the veil I've designed just for you."

As the light faded on the horizon, you realised that perhaps this love was worth fighting for, even if it meant navigating through the perilous waters of forgiveness and redemption.

[shortnotsweet]

[ “SOMEBODY TOLD ME”]:

BREAKING MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME. SEVENTEEN TRACKS AND I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS GAME. A BREAKIN’ MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME—BUT HEAVEN AIN’T CLOSE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.

— The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)

Princess Rhaenyra’s insolence is wearing her stepmother’s patience thin. Queen Alicent is not ten years her senior, but even during her own sixteenth year, she cannot recall herself behaving so brazenly. She would never burst into courtly discussions in nothing but gilded armor and the underskirts of her riding leathers, awash in blood. (She would never be spotted in blood that was not her own, anyway. Alicent has never picked up a sword, not one that belonged to her.) Nevermind that Rhaenyra is attending to diplomatic affairs with bared teeth and scales, no—the crux of the matter is just that, her affairs. Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight, a beauty incomparable to any fair maiden, Alicent included. She indulges herself with appetite of a spoiled child, the confidence of man, and the pickings befitting only to her royal blood. Criston Cole. Daemon Targaryen. Harwin Strong. Laena Velaryon. She’s full of love, isn’t she? That selfish, foolish girl. What does Rhaenyra Targaryen know of love, of duty? She is a child in so many ways—she thinks killing makes her a man, thinks the throne is hers despite being a woman, thinks she can have her knight and her uncle and her protector and Laena Velaryon in one fail swoop. She’s wrong. She doesn’t know herself half as well as Alicent does. Alicent, who sees her for what she truly is, who wants to see all of her and more of her and none of her. Alicent has been stolen into the Keep by her own father—both of their fathers—but Rhaenyra is the key to this place, is the window to everything barred. Rhaenyra Targaryen has a dragon. Rhaenyra can fly.

That’s what Rhaenyra had promised her once, with her lips pulled back in a grin, exposing the white of her teeth like the violently radiant creature she was. “Perhaps when you grow tired of plotting against me, we shall ride on dragonback together,” she had said. The tease.

Alicent had yanked her into an empty corridor by the silk of her sleeve, ready to chastise her for her ill behavior. Conversing with the lords and ladies of the court at a feast was one thing, but chattering about her bloody encounters in battle over the pudding tureen were another. The lord at her elbow was going green. Alicent’s own face was likely red; her heart raced whenever Rhaenyra got like this. Alicent had never seen the battlefield—only seen battered men in dented armor and the slumps of corpses lined along dirt roads in the aftermath of war—but her own imagination terrified her like nothing else.

(Rhaenyra is better with a sword than half of the knights in Westeros, and more lovely than the lot. Her reign has not yet begun, but already the commoners flock to her—lured in by tales of her beauty and fine hair—and soldiers would follow her into battle. Alicent would not follow, but she would watch and bite her nails down to the quick.

She thinks of the figure Rhaenyra cuts in full armor, the heat in her gaze underneath the slots of her helmet. Alicent remembers the weight of her own hand in Rhaenyra’s—which was gloved—when the princess rode up to the spectators box and grasped it in her own, bringing Alicent’s knuckles to her lips. She thinks of Rhaenyra murdered in the sky, skewered with another man’s sword, plummeting to the ground, torn in half, streaking crimson across the clouds. Alicent would scream, or cry. She might laugh. She would throw herself from the window of her tower. Rhaenyra’s bloody exploits terrified Alicent for reasons she could not identify, and excited her for reasons she refused to.)

“I’d sooner be confined to the castle for the rest of my days than get on the back of that bloody lizard,” Alicent scoffed. Rhaenyra only tucked her hand over Alicent’s, where it was resting on her forearm. She flexed her fingers, moving to release her grip on the dark fabric, but Rhaenyra intertwined their fingers and held them fast.

“You’re confined already. You are already accustomed to such a thing. I know you. But—”

“But you forget yourself. You think you’re invulnerable, Rhaenyra. You don’t know who you are.” Alicent intends for it to be a sneer, but instead it comes out quietly, and too gentle for disdain. She can’t know. Rhaenyra is as trapped as she is, but they’re trapped together. They belong together. She belongs with Alicent.

“I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and all of Westeros. I am a dragonrider. I am—I am your daughter. In a way. Your sister, too. Your enemy. Your sword, your shield.”

“And what am I?” What else is left for me? Alicent wonders.

“My Queen. For now.” Rhaenyra cocks her head, and the gleam in her eyes burns like fire raining down. “When I am Queen, you will be my lady.”

[konigbabe]

heavenly sin

Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Tags/warnings: smut (pure unfiltered filth, no plot); voice kink; p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; female masturbation; fingering; cunnilingus; established relationship; no y/n; references to Christianity and ferocity; extensive wordplay

Summary: It's been known that Leon is one kinky bastard.

A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. N is for narratophilia aka being aroused by sexual storytelling.

Tried something a little bit different to explore my knowledge of English. A wordplay of sorts (I basically threw random words together in hopes that it'd make some sense). Bon Appetit.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

“You enjoying yourself?” As Leon discards his gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity. “If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”

It started as a joke, a fleeting spark in the sea of banter. Leon’s flirtatious nature entwined in perfect harmony with his tender heart.

Fresh out of the shower, your heart longed for the man whose sudden departures have become routine. A standard in your life.

The sun made its final descent below the horizon, the sky painted in shades of amber and gold – the bedroom awash in a warm and inviting glow, as if every object was kissed by the sun's final rays. The light filtered through the sheer curtains, creating patterns on the floor that danced like flickering flames.

And in the midst of it all, Leon's call came through, cutting through the stillness.

The conversation began innocently. Calling to let you know he’ll be home soon. It was as though his tenderness was butterfly's wings, fluttering in your chest and making your heart skip a beat.

His sincere words slowly spilt over into something else. Something more. Something promising.

It’s now that the phone lies next to your ear, and Leon's voice, like a silk ribbon, unwinds into your consciousness, stirring a deep and primal desire within you. Building the anticipation need inside you.

“After that, I’d bent you over the table. You’d already be naked and dripping,” Leon’s voice a song of Solomon, “but I’d be far from done with you.”

A gasp, soft and quiet, escapes your parted lips. Every fibre of your body, every cell is set on fire. The setting sun casting flames over your naked skin of yours. Flesh burning. Body wrapped in a cocoon of passionate flames – your palm pressing against the sensitive nub, the pressure light as a feather. Slow, languid strokes of your fingers follow Leon’s words.

Muscles tightening as the pressure keeps adding with each sentence. Slow and steady. With a pace of a gentle stream. Dipping one finger deep inside your slick walls, only to stop when you reach fully inside.

A stream of docile moans flows from your throat.

“Just to feel you take my cock. Hear those gorgeous gasps as you beg me to give it to you,” hand gripping the messed-up sheets underneath you, squeezing tight as you add another finger, curling them upwards.

“Rough, just how you like it. Pretty sure we’d break the table,” Leon’s words are accompanied by a light chuckle, hiding much more sinister and vivid ideas inside his head.

The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him cuss. Your voice carries the weight of longing, desire, and devotion. Making Leon wish to finally be home.

“Fuck. Could spend all day between those lovely legs of yours.” Leon’s voice descends to a low murmur, tinged with raw, feral hunger.

With a touch as tender as a butterfly’s wing, thumb circling the aching nub of nerves; it ignites a wildfire of ecstasy within your body. As you lightly graze your opening, feeling the softness of your slick walls, a delicate gasp escapes your mouth, akin to a prayer of submission to this moment of pure passion and pleasure.

“Just to taste that pretty pussy of yours on my tongue.”

Leon's voice pours into the phone, rich and sinful. You hear the front door open with a soft creak, the sound echoing through your body. He's finally home, his presence filling your senses with a heady aroma of musk and lust, a tantalizing potion that you can't resist.

He gazes at you with eyes like storm clouds brewing with desire. The air is thick with the scent of sex and your yearning, hanging in the dimly lit bedroom, resembling a heavy fog. You keep your gaze locked with his, transfixed as Leon strides in, his figure outlined by the glow of light seeping in from the hallway.

You don’t stop–

–instead, your fingers delve deeper. Nails grazing the tender walls, the slight discomfort only adding to the pleasure. Like a deer caught in headlines, your eyes stay on his.

The sound of your slickness echoes in the room as you thrust in and out, unconsciously matching the rhythm of Leon's steps – left in, right out, left in, right out – a dance of carnal desire.

And just like that, he stands on the side of the bed.

Leon’s eyes gleam with a fierce intensity. A perfect blend of predatory sensuality and effortless ease. With the grace of a pather; clad in a black henley shirt, the first two buttons undone, exposing the slight curve of his clavicles. It molds to his chiseled form as though it was a second skin, making Leon exude a primal magnetism that draws you closer to your high.

Spellbound by the scene in front of him – by you; fingers deep inside, eyes glazed over with orgasmic ecstasy as your work yourself to your high.

The air is thick with the sweet scent of your desire, a heady aroma that fills his senses with an overwhelming urge to indulge in your rapture.

He steps closer, placing one knee on the bed. The mattress creaks under his weight, but his gaze never leaves yours. It's as if you're the only person in the world that matters to him right now. The heat emanating from his body is palpable, and you feel your heart race as his presence commands the room.

“You enjoying yourself?”

His tone is low. A seductive purr sends a wave of electricity through your veins. Hot like molten lava. Dripping like honey, sweet and luscious. They linger in the air, coating everything around you with a sticky warmth.

His name leaves your lips in a deep sigh. Soft walls squeeze your fingers.

As he discards his fingerless gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity.

Leon’s arm flexes, the sinewy muscles bulging when put to work. Your eyes lock onto his, drinking in the raw masculinity and primal allure of his being. A contented moan escapes your lips, an instinctive reaction to the overwhelming sensuality of the moment.

“If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”

His towering form casts a shadow over you as he leans closer. Lips so close you can almost taste the desire that emanated from him. The heat of his breath dances across your skin, making your senses swirl in a dizzying haze of lust; igniting a fire that burns with the intensity of Samson's strength.

“Wanna gimme a kiss?” he whispers, his lips almost brushing against yours. You’re still able to feel the soft graze of the plump skin atop of yours, sending a fluttering sensation to your heart.

You can't help but feel intoxicated by his voice, each word rolling off his tongue with a silky smoothness that sends shivers down your spine. It's almost like he's casting a spell, using his voice as a weapon to ensnare you in his grasp. And you willingly surrender, caught in the web of his honeyed words; like Delilah, powerless to his will, swept away by the power of his seduction.

Lips grazing his, you push your face upwards to be closer. The kiss is both gentle and fierce; a tantalizing dance of lips and tongues that leaves you breathless and wanting more. The taste of him a mix of mint and spice. You stop the movement of your wrist between your legs. Stilling, feeling the wet squeeze around your fingers, your mind becomes a blank canvas, a vast expanse of nothingness.

The taste of him lingers on your tongue as he pulls away. Thick fingers wrapping around your wrist, he nudges your fingers out of you. A displeased grunt leaves your lips at the sudden emptiness. Only to have your breath stop; watching as Leon brings your hand, fingers visibly sticky with your juices, tongue swirling around the tip of your index finger before taking two of the fingers in his mouth. It’s as if he’s tasting the forbidden fruit, savoring the flavor of your arousal like the sweetest nectar.

Feeling the wet tip of his tongue swirl around your fingers, you can’t help but let out a soft moan. The rough texture brushes over the pads of your fingers. Licking every drop of you off of your fingers, leaving them clean before he licks his own lips.

“Missed that taste.”

His eyes never leave yours, dark and intense with desire as he slowly releases your hand.

“Missed you almost that much too.”

His words wash over you like a warm embrace, seeping into your pores and settling deep within your bones. As his body moves over yours, his hands glide across the burning expanse of your skin, tracing patterns of passion that leave you breathless in anticipation. The soft touch of his lips on your navel sends ripples of pleasure through your body, each sensation building on the last until you're gasping for air.

Leon sinks to his knees at the end of the bed; his movements smooth and graceful. Years of never-ending training left him in full control of every muscle. Arms sliding underneath your knees, he holds you firmly as he grips your hips with unyielding strength.

A single tug. Confident in its prosecution. He brings you to the edge of the bed, your glistening cunt hovering in front of his face. The sight of him there, between your legs, both captivating and overwhelming.

The wet tip of his tongue peaks from within his kiss-bruised lips.

Before you know it, you’re completely undone. A mess. Leon's tongue turns your body into a temple of pleasure; his movements sinuous and calculated. With each flick and swirl of his tongue, he's coaxing you to heights of ecstasy.

His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing cunt, flicking and teasing your clit as you squirm beneath him, one hand grasping his soft hair while the other squeezes your breast. His fingers, thick and rough, plunge deep inside of you, finding all the right spots to drive you wild. Each thrust of his hand sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you moan and writhe with need.

"Such a fucking filthy little thing," he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath making you shiver. He devours you with his mouth and hands, taking you to the brink of ecstasy and back again; fingers scissoring and pumping, working you over until you're a quivering mess of desire.

The blunt pressure of the tips of his fingers pressing mildly against your inner walls sending pinnacles of bliss across your body until you’re mewling at the sharp pleasure that ripples down your spine.

You claw at the sheets, unable to control the waves of sensation that crash over you.

And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, you let yourself go, your body convulsing in waves of pure pleasure. Ecstasy; Leon’s name a sweetened melody on the tip of your tongue.

He stands up afterwards, a towering figure before your eyes. Your aching legs fall from his shoulders onto the bed. Leon looms over you, appearing almost god-like, a divine being sent to ravage you with its passion.

Disposing of his shirt, you lay on the bed motionless, senses on high and in anticipation as you watch the man strip. With every article of clothing that comes off, Leon’s body reveals itself in all its glory. Shoulders and chest sculptured, shaped by years of intense training. Someone who’s worked hard to achieve such a physique. Rippling muscles that flex with every movement he makes. His arms thick with veins and biceps that bulge with raw strength, capable of holding you up effortlessly. You can see every ridge of his abs, each one chiseled to perfection.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he rasps after ridding himself of the last article while you shamelessly stare at Leon’s sheer size and the strength of him.

“Very much,” you breathe out when he crawls on top of you.

His cock rests atop your stomach, heavy and pulsing with need; leaking as he marks you in his precum. Yet, neither of you moves. Unbothered, you remain locked in his gaze before his lips capture yours in a short passionate kiss. Drawn together by the irresistible pull of gravity, your lips meet in a collision of desire and longing.

Legs wrapping high around his waist, his hand leaves the side of your neck and travels the side of your body, igniting a trail of heat as it goes. Leon strokes the length of your thigh, only stopping when his fingers rest under your knee momentarily. Then you feel the blunt tip press against your aching cunt. The anticipation inside you unravels like a tightly wound spool, releasing a flood of sensations that spreads throughout your body.

“Ready?” he breathes out; his warm breath tickles your skin as his lips brush against yours once again.

The silky texture of his hair brush against your fingertips. Legs tightening around his upper body, you pull him closer to you. “Yeah.”

The pressure against your throbbing cunt intensifies as Leon presses forward. The crown of his cock splits you open with ease, enveloping him. Welcoming him eagerly in your wet heat. As if he belongs there.

Leon’s touch’s electric, sending shivers down your spine as he claims you with each bite and kiss. His teeth graze your chin, softly nibbling at the skin as he lets out a guttural grunt. Keeping one hand on the side of your neck, possessive and tender, surely to feel the rapid pulse of your jugular vein, he hooks his thumb underneath your jaw and pushes upwards.

When your head is tilted upwards enough to his satisfaction, his lips latch on the front of your neck. Small, quick bites decorate the stretched skin. Followed by a wet kiss, he sucks on the skin. Vulnerable and exposed.

Moans cascade from your lips, an ode to his cock splitting you apart slowly. A divine intrusion into your depths, filling you.

He stills when he’s buried balls deep inside of you; bottoms out in your quivering walls, slick with post-orgasmic arousal.

The feeling of fullness, of being completely filled, is almost too much to bear. Your breath hitches in your throat, body trembling with pleasure as it strains to accommodate him; to make enough space to take him in.

Your eyes flatter shut as he waits, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck while his hand cups the underside of your breast with his thumb teasing your nipple in a leisurely manner.

A moment of content falls between you. Bodies molded together; two halves of a whole.

After a few seconds, you press the sole of your feet into his skin, feeling the taunt muscle contract underneath you.

A subtle but unmistakable gesture. A wordless plea for more.

A fuck me of sorts.

Your body speaks volumes, a language he's learned to decipher. And with a low growl, he responds to your invitation. A low roll of his hips. A test of your readiness. It becomes a measured beat that tests your strength, the pressure of his cock firmly pressed against the walls of your cervix.

It has you sent into a harmonious frenzy.

Leon continues with the rhythm. Relishing in the tight squeeze of your cunt, in the way you sing for him, his name a sacred hymn on your lips. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, every nerve ending on fire as pleasure courses through you.

His hands sear a blazing trail on your burning flesh. Every touch feels as if he’s branding you, etching himself onto your skin.

The wetness of his lips causes goosebumps to raise on your skin. Moving like a reverent prayer. Worship of your body as his tongue swipes over your sensitive nipples.

Your name escapes his lips and is met with a low moan.

Tantalizing and peaceful.

Leon’s unhurried movements slowly transform into something more. Rough and hasty. Teeth nibbling at your jawline, feeling the bone underneath the skin, your nails bite into the tight muscle of his shoulder blades. Surely to leave indents that will bloom into bruises and marks. Your back arch, offering yourself up to him as you focus on meeting his thrusts.

As his hand wanders down the length of your body, his fingers dance along the curves of your waist and hips before grazing the globes of your ass; giving it a rough squeeze before wrapping his fingers under your knee and pulling away from your neck.

Meanwhile, his other hand braces his body weight by your face. Leon’s fingers entwine around your ankle. Pushing your leg up and over his shoulder, you moan over the painful stretch of your hamstring as he gazes at you.

He moves with a frenzied urgency. Lowering himself to rest on his elbows, his fingers find their way to your clit.

The way he flicks over the sensitive nub elicits a series of moans and cries from you only to be silenced by his lips crashing onto yours.

The kiss is wet and messy. Hungry. Both of you eager to take and dominate, his tongue dancing with yours in a frenzied manner.

It's like he's a man possessed, lost in the rhythm of his movements and the feel of your body beneath him. You writhe and moan, lost in a haze of sensation and desire as he takes you higher towards that ultimate release. That sweet orgasm. Every motion is a symphony, a perfect blend of power and finesse, as he explores the contours of your body with a deep hunger.

Mind becoming blurry, your senses are consumed by the raw, primal desire Leon elicits with his thrusts. Moving to brace himself better, it feels impossible when you feel the blunt pressure hit even deeper than before. Gasping, you move your hips, trying to take him as deep as possible.

The smell of sweat and sex fills the air, and you can hear the sound of skin slapping against the skin as Leon moves with increasing speed and intensity. His determination to tear you apart only grows each time your hips meet, sending bolts of electricity throughout your every cell. His thumb flicks over your clit, applying pressure and circling the aching bud until you’re quivering underneath the mass of a man above you. Inside you.

The sound of his grunts and moans blends into a symphony of pleasure, each note building up the tension within you. You feel like a volcano on the brink of eruption, bubbling with molten passion until it finally snaps. Erupts.

A tidal wave of pleasure washes over you. Sweeping you in a vortex of delight. A thousand stars explode in your mind, each one brighter than the last, painting your vision with vibrant colors. Your body convulses, spasming in rhythm with the waves of pleasure that ripple through you.

Gasps leave your lips. Desperate for air, you cling to Leon, whose thrusts never wavered. Whose fingers continue to tease your clit, now throbbing and exploding with sensitivity. His eyes lock on yours, lips parted with low moans escaping from between before you bring his face down to you, swallowing each cry of pleasure but eventually, he pulls away.

You watch as Leon’s eyes snap shut, brows furrowing in pleasure as he stills. His full length buried inside of your spasming cunt, filling you up with his cum.

Your body’s spent. Yet your mind’s still reeling from the sheer intensity as Leon remains buried inside; his breath ragged and uneven before he pulls out with measured slowness, teasing your oversensitive clit with a gentle tap. You shudder at the sensation of him trickling out of you.

“Hi.”

The simple word leaves your mouth in a breathless whisper. A mere welcome that was meant to be addressed when he first entered your home instead of now. A warmth spreads through your body, settling low in your belly as you take in the sight of him; the way his blond hair falls across his forehead, resembling a halo of an angel. Cheeks tinted in light pink and lips curved into a small smile as he looks at you.

“Hi.”

[starfinss]

Efflorescent — Tighnari

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Tighnari + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 8,495

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Triggered by unseasonably cool weather, Avidiya forest is alive with rare flora. Upon going to investigate it, you and Tighnari get more than you bargained for. 

It was supposed to be an ordinary expedition. And by all accounts, it was, until you found that stupid clearing.

The weather that week was uncharacteristically cool for Avidiya Forest, as ushered in by a passing thunderstorm, and the change in temperature had caused flora that rarely bloomed to come to life, painting the forest with splashes of color, and it wasn’t until a few days after the storm that you began to take notice of the unusual plants.

So when Tighnari had rushed to your room that morning, rousing you from your slumber, you were just as excited as he was to go look for rare samples.

The conversation as you walked into the tree line was full of quiet excitement, the clinking of the glass sample jars in your rucksack almost musical against the morning stillness. You were used to the characteristic balmy humidity that was omnipresent in the rainforests of Sumeru, and the cool breeze felt lovely against your skin. The sky was perfect blue, cloudless and painted with streaks of gold and marigold hues as the sun rose.

The Akademiya would never allow this.

You smiled to yourself at the thought, knowing full well how strenuous it would be to get permission to do this if you were still with the Akademiya. You’d have to talk to your instructors, get permission, write a paper, write another paper, write a proposal, and the list goes on. It was all far too much for you, when all you ever wanted was to go out and discover.

“What are you thinking?” Tighnari asked, head cocked slightly to the side, eyes inquisitive.

“Just about how nice this is,” you replied, pulling your rucksack up higher on your back.

“It is quite beautiful,” Tighnari said fondly, “I wonder if we will find any Avidiya Lilies.”

You hummed in assent, your interest showing in the way your eyes lit up. You’d only seen the flower he mentioned as a bud, coiling along vines encircling trees. It only bloomed when it was cool enough, just after a storm, and since the cool had lingered, you were wondering if the flower had remained in bloom, just as Tignnari was wondering.

Small animals skittered past you as you walked, shroomboars and foxes paying you little mind, as they were used to the presence of the forest rangers such as yourself and Tighnari. You loved it out there; totally at one with nature, and filled with a sense of peace like no other.

Avidiya Forest was like a living organism, so full of vibrancy and life, awash with color and all sorts of smells. If you were hungry, you could stop and forage for mushrooms. If you were thirsty, there were plenty of clear streams you could drink from. Nature provided, and that was one of your favorite things about it. You took a deep lungful of forest air as you walked, a smile spreading across your face.

“There!” Tignnari cried, his voice hushed as he knelt beside the path, “creeping silkweed.”

You knelt beside him, studying the small, pale blue blossoms, which were blooming on a fallen log, attached to a delicate vine. Your fingers brushed against the fragile petals, and you withdrew your shears from your pack.

Carefully, you snipped off a segment of the vine, packing some soft dirt and clear water from a nearby stream into the jar before adding the sample. With a satisfying click, you screwed the lid closed, replacing the jar in the rucksack.

“I’ve only seen those in bloom at twilight, and even then, they often stray closed. It’s amazing to see them in bloom right now. When the conditions are right, they’re supposed to glow. It’s very beautiful.”

You stared at the remaining flowers on the vine, admiring the way the pale blue of the petals tapered off into white the closer it got to the soft yellow of the center. Veins of deep indigo laced up and along the petals, a beautiful contrast to the gentle color.

You stood when Tighnari did, listening intently to the information and facts he was giving you, happy to have the field experience rather than just looking at drawings of plants in a dusty textbook.

Tighnari looked like a painting in the fresh morning light. The dark of his hair was a sharp contrast to the lush green around you, the chartreuse of his bangs elegantly framing his pale, delicate face. Your face felt warm as you watched him, and when he saw you looking, he gave you a friendly smile.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asked gently, his eyes genuine, and you blushed, tearing your gaze away from his face.

“No, I was just listening. You were talking about the hypanthium of the silkweed blossoms?”

Tighnari nodded, eyes lighting up as he continued on talking about the various parts of the flower, and you went right on listening.

It wasn’t until about two hours later, when you were sitting down to rest and refresh yourselves when you caught your first lungful of something new.

You paused mid-gulp as you drank from your waterskin, moving the spout away from your lips as you took another deep breath. It was something you’d never smelled before, like jasmine and lavender, vanilla and lemongrass. It was indescribably scrumptious, smelling of earth and flowers, of your favorite incense, all at once, shifting, sending your senses into overdrive, even if it was still rather faint, requiring several deep breaths to get another whiff of; the kind of scent that you had to take several lungfuls to fully appreciate, or to even place. You had to wonder, out of academic curiosity and for more selfish reasons, where exactly that wonderful scent was coming from.

“I see that you smell it, too,” Tighnari mused.

You nodded, and suddenly, you were aware of how nice Tighnari’s voice was. It was musical against your ears, making you smile.

“It’s new,” he continued, frowning, “I’ve never noticed it before, and with my oversensitive olfactory system, it would have been very evident.”

“Is it dangerous, do you think?” You asked.

“I doubt it,” Tighnari said, glancing sidelong at you, “do you know of anything that would smell like this?”

You shook your head. “It smells like… like many things. All of them are wonderful. Maybe it’s supposed to draw in certain insects, or animals. I don’t know what made it this strong. That’s interesting.”

Tighnari’s brows pushed together, and he was clearly deep in thought.

You’d never noticed just how good looking he was before. You already knew that Tighnari was handsome, that was obvious. You were attracted to him, as many undoubtedly were, and he was a very dear friend. But right now, lit by the sun filtering through the canopy above, he looked more incredible than anything you’d ever seen. With him this close to you, you could smell the earthen scent of his soap, and—

“I’d like to take a sample.”

His voice snapped you out of your staring, and you coughed to hide your embarrassment.

Get ahold of yourself. Think about all of that when he isn’t less than a foot away. Collei already teases you enough.

Truthfully, you wanted a sample, too. You were always hungry for new information, and this was no exception. You eagerly pulled a sample jar from your rucksack, passing it to Tighnari. He sniffed the air once, then a second time, before motioning for you to follow him.

“I learned about plants like this in the Akademiya,” Tighnari explained, “they’re bait, like you said, for small animals and insects. I don’t think the plant is carnivorous, it’s just a way to spread the pollen around, since the scent is nearly irresistible. I’ve never heard of it affecting humans, or my species, this strongly before, however.”

You remembered something like that in a textbook, but the name of the flower in question escaped you. Also, the flower you were thinking of usually affected animals roughly the size of a squirrel or a fox, and not the size of a fully grown person.

The scent got stronger as you walked, off the beaten path and into a clearing.

You stopped after stepping past Tighnari, your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. There was a waterfall tumbling off a cliff and into a clear, glimmering pool. The pool was lined with stones worn smooth, as well as large slabs of slate. Patches of young grass were peeping through the cracks and bleeding into the small, surrounding meadow. Soft, golden sunlight was scattering through the leaves, casting speckled patterns across the grass, gleaming on the water.

Finally, there, growing on the stone wall, nestled in a curtain of vines beside the waterfall, was a blanket of lotus-like flowers. They were reddish pink, some tinged purple, with multiple layers of petals circled around a small yellow center. Filaments, thickly coated in pollen, were protruding from the flowers’ centers, and you imagined that this was the most likely cause of the powerful scent.

“There they are,” Tignnari said, and you were suddenly hyper aware of his athletic form at your back. The scent of that soap you noted earlier was mingling deliciously with the overpowering fragrance of the flowers, with the scent of his skin, which was somehow all you could even think about now.

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat and turning to face your companion, “any idea what they are?”

His brows furrowed, lip catching between his teeth as he pondered your question, and you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring how unbearably attractive that simple action was. You swallowed thickly, turning away from him about three quarters, just to give yourself some time to breathe.

If only you could remember the effect those flowers had on such animals, but, as it often happens in times of need, you were drawing a blank.

It was Tighnari’s turn to clear his throat, and the intonation made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Shears, please,” he said, and you forced yourself to nod as you passed them to him, a jolt of electricity passing up your spine when his fingertips brushed against yours. He clearly felt it too, because he looked at you for a handful of seconds before gingerly pulling away with the shears.

Blushing, you trailed after him as he approached the tangle of flowers.

Tighnari’s eyes were lovely. Two toned, fading from brown into forest green; eyes like you’d never seen before. They were one of your favorite things about him, among other things. The cut of his jaw, the way the space between his eyebrows creased when he was focused, as he was now, carefully taking a snipping of a couple of the fragrant blossoms.

You forgot to breathe until he handed you back the jar, and that was when you got your first direct hit of the scent. It was like being kicked in the chest in its intensity. It made you dizzy, as you cradled the blooms in your hand, putting soft dirt and water into the jar, placing the flowers down and fastening the top. You put the jar into your rucksack as carefully as you could with your hands shaking as badly as they were before you gently pushed the bag aside and sat down on the soft grass.

Your head was spinning. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, like how you can after you’ve been running.

“I need to rest,” you said.

“It’s the scent,” Tighnari said, his voice lower than it was before, “something is… wrong.”

Oh, Gods. You were getting warm. And not normal Sumeru weather warm, worryingly, feverishly warm. You pulled your shawl off, draping it over your rucksack and rolling up your sleeves.

Tighnari rolled his shoulders back, softly breathing as he sat down beside you, and you could feel that heat spread across your body at an alarming pace. You could hardly take your eyes off him, and you watched with rapt attention as his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. What were you feeling?

Everything was warm and getting even warmer; everything was hot, and you felt like you were suffocating.

“Stop that,” you blurted, “stop— everything.”

Tighnari looked puzzled. “Stop— stop what? I’m not doing anything.”

The crease between his eyebrows was back as he studied your face, and you felt yourself grow miserably warmer.

“You’re perspiring,” he said, softly, “I am, too. Whatever this is, it is affecting both of us. Your breathing is accelerated, as well.”

You realized it was. Your breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts, and you consciously tried to take deeper breaths. You quailed away in surprise and needless alarm when he reached for you, and when he pressed two of his fingers to your pulse point, you felt like an electric shock went down your body, stronger than when he’d touched you before when he took the shears.

“Your pulse is very quick,” he noted, “but still strong. It’s much too cool for you to be suffering from heat stroke, but it is hot out here all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

You nodded absently.

“Mydriasis,” he muttered, “I suspect with myself, as well. Archons, it really is too warm.”

Sure enough, the dueling color of his irises was thickly ringed around the pale circumference of his pupils, which were widely dilated. His breath was quick, matching yours, and you felt heat begin to simmer beneath your skin, nearly suffocating where his hand still lingered, though gloved, against the skin of your throat.

Your own gaze fell to his lips, soft and full, and you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss him. You’d wanted to kiss him before, in several instances, but doing so would irreparably damage your platonic friendship, which was the last thing you wanted. Now, you could not give less of a damn. You’d give anything to feel his mouth against yours, to feel his skin—

Stop. Stop, Archons help me.

“The scent,” Tighnari said, voice lightly breathless, “there’s a-a correlation between the scent and these symptoms, I think the microgametophytes in the air, combined with the odor is having a physiological effect, on the both of us.”

It took you a handful of seconds to process his words, because the sound of his voice was suddenly the most distracting thing in the entire world; no song you’d ever heard could compare, and the heat beneath your skin was becoming nearly unbearable.

“Pollen,” you said, your brain catching up, “you think it’s the pollen?”

“Yes,” Tighnari said, the hand on your throat dropping to the curve of your shoulder, “it resembles oxytocin, in a very heavy dose, coupled with accelerated lutrophin production, driving reproductive urges.”

It clicked in your head.

Your face turned several shades of red, and you nodded once. Of course. What better way to spread the pollen than to draw in whatever unsuspecting animal, slather the stuff on its fur or whiskers when it leans in for a sniff, and then passing it along when said animal gives in to its reproductive urges and—

“A-an aphrodisiac.”

Tighnari’s eyes darted away from your face, then back to meeting your own gaze.

“Correct.”

The implication hung heavy in the already suffocating air as the sounds of your breathing overlapped, interrupted only by the thrum of the waterfall.

“T-the water,” Tighnari said, his voice strained, “we should—”

“Tighnari,” you said, addressing him, and you intended to continue speaking, until you noticed the way his breath hitched as you said his name. It sent a wave of suffocating, shameful arousal down your body, and you tried your best to ignore it. His hand against your skin was searing, even through the glove, and it took everything in you not to reach out and touch him.

Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods—

“The water,” you repeated, finally, your eyes flicking to the waterfall, “right. Let’s wash off.”

You figured that this plan was flawed, as the water was probably saturated in the pollen, but you were so overheated that as you hurried to unfasten your clothing, the feel of the air against your skin was a mercy. You pulled at the various buckles fastening your Forest Ranger uniform to your body, pulling off your blouse, then your shorts and boots, but as you did, something caught your eye as Tignnari moved to unfasten the toga he wore over his clothing.

There, straining at the front of his trousers, was a distinct shape against the dark fabric. It was hidden by the excess cloth before, but now that this was gone, the evidence of the pollen’s effects was more than evident.

But you weren’t the only one with wandering eyes.

You realized that Tighnari’s eyes were riveted to your bra-covered chest, to the now-exposed skin of your waist, and you watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. An exquisite flush painted his perfect, pale cheeks as he realized you saw him looking.

Quickly, he pulled off his gloves, then tugging his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him bare chested, and oh, you were an absolute goner. His chest was much more muscular than you imagined (and not that you did), toned and lithe and lean, with hard ridges of muscle in all the right places. Of course, he’d have a great body, you reasoned, with all the activity he does, and like the other rangers, you were certain he stuck to the strength training and cardio work you were supposed to do to keep in shape.

You tore your hungry gaze from his body, standing up to step into the water, which was colder than you expected, reaching your mid thigh as you stepped into the pool. You tried to focus on you and not how the space between your thighs was aching, and you stretched your arms over your head with a breathless sigh.

A soft splash filled the air, and a ripple traveled across the surface of the water as Tignnari stepped into the pool as well. When you turned on instinct to look at him, you wished you hadn’t, because you were helpless, your eyes raking down his defined chest, lingering on the thin threads of battle scars, his body tapering off into a trim waist, where his underwear hung low on his hips. It took every ounce of your waning willpower not to jump him right there.

His erection was even more evident through the thin cotton of his underwear, and you realized you could see the flush of pink through the now damp fabric as it clung to his skin, and absently, sinfully, you wondered what it would be like to put your mouth—

No, no, no—

But then your focus was brought straight back to him as he moved closer, his hand reaching out to catch a droplet of water traveling down the curve of your waist with his thumb. His eyes weren’t shy with their wandering, and you knew it was the pollen talking, but Gods, it felt nice, for him to look at you like you were the most exquisite thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“I-I apologize,” he whispered, but he didn’t sound apologetic.

His hand remained on your waist, fingers tracing a pattern against your skin, causing you to shiver, and your own hand rose to catch his wrist, stopping him. The feel of his skin on yours was like someone applying a salve to a burn, and you had to stop yourself from sighing embarrassingly in pleasure at the sensation.

“Terribly sorry,” he said, sounding even less sorry, and his voice was lower than you’d ever heard it, “I— I can’t seem to help myself. I will go to the far end of the pool—”

“It’s fine,” you said, a little too quickly, your voice light and breathy.

You realized a little too late that you were moving closer to him, and by the time you had, you could feel his breath fanning against your skin, sending violent shivers down your body.

There was a warning in Tighnari’s eyes, but not a particularly firm one, that disappeared with every passing second as his gaze fell to your lips, raking down your body, and you almost lost your composure when he caught his lower lip lightly between his teeth again.

“May I—” Tighnari asked, finally, a note of need leaking into his voice, “may I kiss you?”

Your breath left your lungs in a dizzying swoop as you gave in.

“Gods, yes.”

That was all it took for him to surge forward, his lips connecting with yours more gently than you expected, but that didn’t stop you from tangling your hands into his hair, pulling his body close to your own. You felt his arms wind around your waist, holding you flush to him, and when your tongue swiped along his lower lip, he didn’t hesitate to give you access.

And everything rapidly went downhill from there.

The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, your tongue tangling with his, and you felt one of his hands rise to cup the base of your skull, holding your mouth to his, only separating every so often if only to reconnect. You were suddenly being crowded against the edge of the pool, his arms going on either side of your body to cage you in. Your thighs parted as his hips moved against yours, and he groaned lowly into your mouth when you finally made contact with him where he needed it most.

He was so hard. It had to be uncomfortable to be confined by the little fabric he was wearing, and you wanted so badly to touch him, but he beat you to it, one of his hands trailing up your body to palm your breast through your bra before fumbling with the clasp. You were about to lift a hand to assist him when he managed to unhook the garment, and you broke the kiss briefly to discard it.

“I can’t stop,” Tighnari mumbled against your lips, breathless.

“Then don’t,” you urged, and Tighnari’s grip on your body tightened.

His palm felt like perfection on your flesh, and you whined into his mouth when he rolled your nipple between two fingers, tugging gently and making you arch your back into his touch. His hands were calloused from years of working with them, with the soil, with his bow, and the rough skin sent delightful tingles up your spine.

Your hand slid down his torso, feeling the dips and curves of his defined abdominals, and you reveled in the sound of his breath hitching, his muscles tensing as your fingers crept closer to where the waistband of his underwear met skin.

“Can I—” You started, and he nodded, reconnecting your lips in a chaste kiss.

“Please,” he panted, ��please.”

You’d never seen Tighnari anything but composed, so to see him like this was as disarming as it was arousing. You palmed him gently through the thin fabric, and at the sound of his breath catching sharply in his throat, you pressed a little harder.

That elicited a more extreme reaction. Tighnari groaned against your lips, a sound that prompted a cry of your own, and his hips pushed forward against your hand. You squeezed him through the fabric, your fingers dipping past and grazing just the very base of him, making him shudder, a stricken hiss escaping his lips. Fascinated by his reaction, you teased the clearly sensitive flesh with the soft tips of your fingers until he caught your wrist.

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured, his voice firm.

Tighnari guided your hand to his waistband, and you slowly pulled it down to tug him free. You paused for a moment, breath unsteady as you took in the feeling of him against your palm. He was thick and heavy, and long enough to make you dizzy with arousal. He groaned softly as you explored the new territory, mapping out the spots you knew contained the most nerve endings with your fingertips. Finally, you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Oh,” he gasped, eyes half lidded as he broke away from your mouth, “oh.”

You rested your forehead against his as you looked down to where your hand was encircling him, and you felt him throb against your palm, the tip of his dick visibly twitching. You bit back a moan as his breath expelled itself through gritted teeth.

“Rub the tip— yeah.”

An obscene moan fell from his lips as you slowly circled the tip of his cock with your thumb, and you spread the leaking precum around the sensitive flesh, aiding in your motions as you stroked him, long and slow.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered, eyes slipping closed.

Gradually, you sped up, squeezing where you observed that he liked it, and he grabbed at your body, hands on your breasts, the curve of your ass, and you knew he was unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was feeling at that moment. He let out a quick, stuttering exhale as you squeezed gently, biting back a groan.

You picked up the pace, and he was canting his hips along with your hand, his breath leaving his lips mixed with an incoherent praise as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sharp teeth sinking into the soft skin of your shoulder. He laved the damaged flesh with his tongue, soothing it, and you couldn’t help but moan, thighs rubbing together in a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure building there.

Tighnari’s mouth trailed down your torso, his lips closing around one of your nipples, and you gasped, back arching, your free hand flying to his hair, the sensitivity making your head spin. You knew it was the pollen heightening your senses like this, but Archons be damned if you weren’t enjoying it. You wanted him inside of you more than you’d wanted anything in your life. You wanted anything inside of you. And so, when he pressed his palm between your thighs, his head rising to lock his lips against yours, it was like he’d read your mind.

“Dammit, You’re so wet,” he seethed, breath heavy, expelling through his teeth, “I can smell it; how aroused you are. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?”

Your face turned pink, but you nodded, squirming against his hand as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers finally sinking inside of you.

“Good,” Tighnari said, breathlessly, “I’ve wanted this, too.”

You cried out into the crook of his neck as his fingers filled you, stretching you so perfectly, and you were helpless as you ground your hips down, your fingers tightening around Tighnari’s cock, drawing out a needy groan.

He wanted this, you dully registered, just like you did. That meant he liked you, he felt the same, he— oh Gods you couldn’t think.

“I love the way you touch me,” he whispered, his voice hushed and chaste, “don’t stop, please.“

He whispered more hushed praises into the crook of your neck, hips bucking as you stroked him faster, and his thumb found your clit, making your legs tremble. His fingers weren’t very practiced, but he knew where he was touching, finding every spot inside of you with a certainty that made your knees feel weak, and you gasped sharply, inner walls fluttering around his fingers, making him groan. The pressure on your clit increased, making your hips jump, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, and it wasn’t long before you were grinding down onto his hand like a bitch in heat.

“Tighnari,” you gasped, head falling back.

“Our tactile receptors are affected by the pollen,” Tighnari said, ever the academic, even like this, “making us more sensitive, increasing oxytocin, making everything more intense.”

You were barely able to formulate a response, your brain fogged with desire so strong it was making you dizzy.

“Just don’t stop,” you gasped, back arching into his chest,

He curled his fingers inside of you, making you cry out.

“Not a chance.”

All eloquence and academic vocabulary flew out the window as you stroked him quicker and quicker, his words replaced with moans of ecstasy mixed with your name, muffled by your skin or filling the open air. You felt him twitch against your palm, his hips bucking harder, and from the deliriously pleasured expression on Tighnari’s face, you knew he was close.

“Fuck,” he gasped, “don’t stop, please, please—”

He was going to cum, and you could tell by the way his thrusts grew uneven, eventually stilling to let you control the pace, working him closer and closer to his release, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Ah… shit,” Tighnari blurted, his jaw clenching, face laced with a stricken expression, “don’t stop, I’m so close—”

You wanted to tell him you weren’t going to stop, but all you could manage was a desperate moan as you ground down on his hand, your head falling back at the divine pleasure, and Tighnari’s groans of ecstasy grew louder, mixing almost incoherently with your name as you continued to jerk him off, your rhythm in tandem with his own as he worked his fingers inside of you.

Your climax was creeping up on you faster than you wanted it to, urged on by the increased sensitivity from the pollen. Your free hand knotted in his hair, your fingers raking upwards to wrap around the base of his right ear, making him groan.

“M-my ears— Not usually that sensitive,” Tighnari stammered, puzzled, his expression hazy, “feels good normally, but not— oh.”

You hummed in assent, fingers rubbing where his ears met his scalp, making him cry out against your skin, the combination of sensations clearly overwhelming to him. His fingers were now curling inside of you, making your eyes roll back in your skull, hips moving with his hand as you squirmed in his hold.

All it took was one more squeeze at the base of his dick to send him over the edge.

“C-cumming, I’m cumming,” Tighnari’s gasped, and with a final buck of his hips, your fingers were coated with white, dripping down your knuckles, painting your stomach, and there was so much of it, hot against your skin. You worked him through his climax with sure, even strokes, and he wasn’t softening, even as you milked him dry.

The sounds he made were madly erotic, his face the perfect picture of ecstasy as he rode out his blissful high, his ears drooping to the sides of his head as his face pressed against your shoulder, teeth sinking into your skin once again.

He yanked your hand away abruptly, even as he continued to twitch, and you were suddenly on your back, laying at the side of of the pool, his hands tugging your panties down and off your legs. He held your thighs apart, pinning you in place as his mouth took the place his hand had been, his tongue hot against your cunt.

Your cries were far too loud, but you were beyond caring about volume as he held you down and devoured you, your clit trapped under his tongue, between his lips, and you were aching to be filled, but he wasn’t giving you that satisfaction, not yet. You were already so close, and all it took was that one final push before you toppled over the edge, sobbing his name, your hands knotting in his hair, but he didn’t even slow, not even as you convulsed under his touch.

Tighnari’s tongue flattened against your clit, dragging up in broad strokes, and you felt your head pitch back, gently knocking against the stones beneath it as you tried to close your thighs instinctively, but were barred from doing so. You felt Tighnari’s hands grab at the backs of your knees, hitching them over his shoulders as he moved closer.

“Please,” you cried, desperate and dizzy with torturous desire, “please, please, fuck me.”

You heard him, felt him snarl against your cunt, more animal than human as he sped up his pace, taking your clit into his mouth and sucking hard enough that it made stars dance across your blurry vision. You were suddenly cumming so hard that you couldn’t even breathe, your mouth wide open in a silent scream, back arched off the ground, your hands locked in a white knuckled grip in Tighnari’s hair as you clenched down hard on nothing.

He was gentler this time as he helped you through your climax, pulling away finally when you were incoherent with pleasure. You lay there, panting hard, your eyes half open as you tried to recover, but even that wasn’t enough. You could still feel the effects of the pollen coursing through your system, and from the way Tighnari was looking at you, it was the same for him.

“I’m on a birth control tonic,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him, “just— please, Tighnari, I feel like I’m burning inside.”

Tighnari’s hands went to rest on your parted thighs, pulling you forward and towards him, to where he stood, still thigh-deep in the water. Your own legs were submerged up to your knee as he pulled you flush to him, his cock pressing against your pubic bone.

“I won’t be able to stop,” Tighnari warned, “I apologize if it becomes too much, but I can’t promise you that—“

“Please,” you whined, growing more and more desperate, “I need you, I can’t take this anymore.”

That was all it took. Tighnari nodded a single time, once he was sure of your consent, and he reached between your bodies to line himself up with your entrance, slowly sheathing himself inside of you.

You made a soft, breathy whine as he filled you, a sound he juxtaposed with a heavy groan. The stretch was almost enough to send you over the edge right there, and if it weren’t for the effects of the pollen, you’d probably have felt more pain from the intrusion, but all you felt was a dull ache and a hint of discomfort.

“Oh, Gods,” Tignnari whispered, and you watched his hands flatten on the stones beside your hips, muscles tightening as he took in the new sensation.

His head tipped forward, his breathing heavy and uneven, and you used your thighs to pull him closer, disregarding the whisper of pain in the back of your mind as the pure relief of being filled up overtook you.

“Stay still, stay still,” he growled, the very threads of his control slipping away as he spoke, the warning clear in his voice, but you didn’t listen, pulling him forward again.

Your actions were met with a sound that was produced deep in his chest, like a warning an animal would give, and it hadn’t even occurred to you how the pollen would affect someone like Tighnari, someone with non-human heritage as opposed to yourself, and as he drew himself out, only to press back in again, your mind went blank, all semblance of scientific curiosity tossed out the window.

Your cries of pleasure mixed with his as he repeated the motion, again, and again, and again, and oh Gods, you couldn’t even think. The pace he adopted was clearly with your comfort in mind, but it was rapidly becoming not enough. You needed more, all you could fathom was how much you needed more.

“Faster,” you gasped, your voice barely there, but he heard you, as evident by the way his ears perked up.

Tighnari snarled, his grip on your body tightening, and when you whimpered, he lost control completely.

His fingers were sure to be pressing bruises into your flesh from how hard he was gripping your body, but you didn’t care, not when every cell in your body was demanding more, more, more. You were vaguely aware of your volume, and you put the back of your hand over your mouth in a half hearted attempt to quiet yourself, but it basically did fuck all, especially when Tighnari reached up to yank your hand away, pinning it by your side.

“I want to hear you,” he rasped, “every single sound you make, I want to hear it.”

Your brain fogged further with desire, fueled by the low, rough timbre Tighnari’s usually gentle voice had adopted, and you whined, back arching off the pleasantly cool stones beneath your body. With his words, every last shred of dignity that you’d feebly been clinging to evaporated.

Tignnari hiked one of your legs over his shoulder as he inched closer, rolling his hips in a way that made stars blast across your hazy vision. You’d never been this aroused before in your life, and all you could do was squirm and cry out as Tighnari fucked you absolutely dumb.

“Need more,” Tighnari hissed, his hands sliding along your body, “need more, needmoreneedmore—”

He let out a low, keening moan as you tightened around him, your hips bucking against his, toes curling. You felt like your sanity was slipping through your fingers like a palmful of sand, and you realized with a sudden shock that you were about to cum, and you were about to cum hard.

The climax hit you with the force of a tidal wave, and your body went stiff, back arching off the stones, hands scrambling for purchase and finding nothing. Your mind was a sea of empty thought, stars bursting across your vision as you convulsed, pulsing around Tighnari’s cock, and he wasn’t even pausing, a snarl tearing from his chest as he pushed deeper inside of you.

Your continued climax was making you lightheaded as you panted for breath, the decline less of a decline and more of a work up to yet another peak as Tighnari kept a steady, dizzying pace, making your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Everything was too much, but it still wasn’t even slightly enough, a bizarre oxymoron that sent shockwaves dancing across your electrified nerves.

Tignnari twitched inside of you, making you whimper, and you looked up at him through your lashes, watching his face. The mask of delirium was back, Tighnari’s eyes wild as he drove himself towards his own climax with deep, even thrusts that grew more and more unsteady.

“Take it,” you heard him rasp, “take it take it take it—”

He shoved himself all the way inside of you, and with a sudden shout, he twitched sharply, and you could feel him filling you, stuffing you full with searing heat. Somewhere in the back of your pollen addled mind, you were glad that your birth control tonic kept you from getting pregnant with a guarantee.

You could feel his cum leaking out of you, and when he noticed, his fingers swept along the curve of your ass and shoved the liquid back inside of you, a sensation that made you let out a startled moan.

Without pulling out, Tighnari was shifting, switching places with you on the stones, where the sat himself down, with you in his lap. The sudden change of position caused you to sink down, pushing him deeper inside of you, a sensation that made you gasp sharply. You appreciated some aspects of the shift, however, as this gave you full access to his body, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as his hands found your hips, dragging up and along your waist.

He said nothing as he found your mouth, joining it with his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d been expecting, an expression of affection amid the suffocating lust that afflicted you both.

Slowly, you moved, rocking your hips as you sank back down onto him, a motion that made you cry out, a sound that mingled almost musically with his own cry. His nails dug into the plush of your thighs, one hand sliding down where you were joined with him to rub circles against your clit, an action that made you stiffen sharply, almost started by the burst of sensation.

His mouth left yours to trail down your throat, teeth grazing against the spot he’d bitten before and making you shiver. He was moving with you as you rocked your hips, one hand on your waist to help you along, his hips bucking to meet you every time you sank back down onto his cock. You heard him whisper your name, and you bent to kiss him again, an action he returned with vigor.

Your fingers combed through his hair, meeting where his ears met his scalp, and you heard him gasp into your mouth as your nails grazed against the sensitive skin. He broke the kiss to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, keening desperately, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Keep touching me there,” he finally managed, and who were you to deny him?

Your nails dragged along his ears, making him groan, and you felt his arm wind around your waist, taking over controlling the pace as he pushed you down onto his cock, guiding you as you moved. You somewhat appreciated it; your thighs had been growing sore. You assisted him by rolling your hips as you moved with him, something he rewarded with a sharp buck of his hips, making blurry stars scatter across your vision, a shrill whine tearing itself from your throat.

Tighnari pressed down on your clit, making you tense, teeth gritting and eyes squeezing closed, and you felt him trail open mouthed kisses down your throat, overloading you with sensation, and you sobbed his name as he tugged you closer, filling you so completely. You felt like you were going insane, and not one part of you wanted it to stop.

You couldn’t even speak as your climax drew closer, only able to let out a strangled cry as Tighnari’s teeth sank into the delicate skin of your shoulder, the pain barely noticeable as it mixed with the overwhelming pleasure. If anything, it just heightened it all, your nerves going off like fireworks under his touch.

With a sudden gasp, your climax slammed into you, making you still as the sensations hit you with enough force to make you dizzy. You were vaguely aware of the sounds Tignnari was making as you tightened around him, muffled by your shoulder, and you were suddenly under him again, sprawled across the stones once more, hands pinned above your head with one of his as he fucked you at a near punishing pace.

His eyes locked onto yours as he moved against you, and you couldn’t even imagine what your face looked like. You could feel tears of overstimulation on your cheeks, sweat on your brow, and you were sure you were an absolute wreck, but so was he. His hair was a mess, the chartreuse of his bangs intermixing with the dark of the rest of his hair, and his face was flushed a rather lovely pink, eyes half lidded. His ears had fallen to droop on either side of his head. His lips were kiss swollen and pink, and you were sure your own were the same.

Tighnari’s free hand slid down your body to hike one of your legs up around his waist, gripping at the plush of your thigh, and you whimpered as his nails bit into the tender skin. You were so sensitive it was almost unbearable, and you tossed your head back when his thumb pressed your clit again, letting out an unrestrained wail, tears beading in the corners of your eyes, and you felt Tighnari kiss them away before joining his mouth to yours once more.

You knew he was going to cum from the unsteady way he was breathing, and you were too, far too sensitive to stand anything else. You didn’t know how much more you could take; everything was blurring together in a cacophony of noise and sensation that left you straining against Tighnari’s grip on your wrists.

“Fill me, please,” you gasped abruptly, surprising even yourself, and Tighnari pulled back from your mouth to gaze at you, eyes wild.

“That’s what you want?” He snarled, “you want me to stuff you full of my cum? yeah? You wanna be filled?”

You nodded rapidly, his words making suffocating arousal course through your veins, and you felt him pick up the pace, forcing you into another dizzying climax, your back arching sharply off the ground. You could just barely hear him whispering praises over the thrum of blood in your ears, and you let out a strangled whine as his mouth connected with your nipple, making you thrash in his hold. He wasn’t even letting you breathe, and all you could think about was him, all around you, mixing with the scent of the pollen in the air in an intoxicating fragrance.

Mercifully, he removed his hand from between your bodies, simply resting it on your hip as he chased his own climax next, whispering your name and filthy praises as he drew closer and closer, his pace growing uneven.

He finally reached his end with a low, nearly possessive growl, holding onto you with a bruising force as he stuffed you full once more, heat blooming in your belly, uncaring about the way his cum was leaking out of you. His teeth were gritted, eyes squeezed shut, and you felt his grip on your wrists loosen just enough that you could wrestle free, so you pulled him down to meet you in a fierce kiss.

He finally slowed, his breath heavy and uneven as he came down from his high, his forehead resting against yours as he remained still, softening inside of you. You relaxed back onto the stones, pleased by the cool temperature they brought, soothing against your burning skin. Your breath was still quick and thin as you recovered, and you could still smell the pollen in the air, but exhaustion was taking over, forcing your eyelids to close.

Tighnari pulled out of you, and you whined at the sudden emptiness, but recovered quickly as he tugged you onto the grass and to his chest, nose nuzzling into your hair where he pressed a kiss. Neither of you were able to speak, completely spent, and you shifted slowly to wrap an arm around his bare waist. The pollen’s scent was falling into the background as the exertion began to wash over you, and you could tell it was the same for Tighnari.

You were asleep in a matter of seconds, pressed close to him.

Warm.

You were warm. And it was dark. Well, darker. You’d been sleeping, you knew that much. The sounds of Avidiya Forest were present around you, as well as the sound of a waterfall. Your brain was lagging behind as you woke, still groggy from such a deep slumber.

You were pressed against something solid and warm and breathing, and when you opened your eyes, you almost jumped from your skin.

Tignnari was laying beside you, sound asleep. He was holding you in his arms, in a possessive, tender way, and it was suddenly all flooding back to you. The pollen. That damn pollen.

Your brain finally caught up, and you remembered. You expected you should be sore, but you weren’t. You felt more satisfied than you ever had before, completely rejuvenated. You lifted your head to look over at the curtain of flowers, only to find that the blossoms had closed, taking the pollen’s scent with them. It had also fallen dark, the sun already setting. You’d been asleep for a while, but after that, you supposed that wasn’t surprising.

You focused back on Tignnari. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, so relaxed. Every bit of tension had been drained away, leaving him looking soft and gentle. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek before you could stop yourself, and he started you when he leaned into your touch.

“Hello,” he said, voice still thick with sleep, and you felt your cheeks beginning to warm.

“Hi.”

And there was your anxiety. What if Tighnari thought that what you’d just done together was a mistake? Things surely wouldn’t be the same after that, you knew that much. He couldn’t just fuck your brains out and then act like nothing happened. That wasn’t how Tighnari was.

But then, he was leaning in to kiss you, and every single doubt was expelled from your mind. It was a soft, gentle kiss, full of tender emotions and care, and it made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Was I too rough with you?” He asked after pulling away, and you shook your head.

“No. It was… it was good.”

Tignnari raised his eyebrows. “Just ‘good?’”

You blanched. “N-no, it was more than good. It was amazing.”

A soft, tender chuckle. “I was only teasing you. You were amazing, too.”

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he spoke again. “That wasn’t how I imagined that happening for the first time,” he said, a laugh in his voice, and you turned to look at him, trying not to show the surprise on your face.

From the way he was smiling, soft and affectionate, you’d failed on that front.

“I fell in love with you quite a while ago,” he said, “I thought I’d been clear in my advances, but maybe not. I care for you very deeply, though. If you don’t feel the same, I—”

You cut him off, scoffing derisively at the sheer absurdity of that statement, with a kiss. He held you to him, cradling your face in his hands, until you both ran out of air.

“There��s my answer, then,” he said with a smile. You answered him with another quick kiss.

“I love you, too,” you said, “I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Tighnari snorted, eyes glittering with mirth. “I suppose we’re both a little dense, then.”

You sat up, stretching your arms over your head. “We should wash up. And head back. It’s gotten late. We’re probably missed.”

Tighnari sighed, sitting up beside you. “As much as I’d rather stay here with you a while longer, you’re most likely correct. Collei is probably beside herself with worry.”

You stood on unsteady feet, and Tighnari followed you to the clear pool. The two of you rinsed your bodies off until you felt sufficiently clean before redressing. You were careful to make sure your sample jars were well sealed before you picked up your rucksack, shrugging it onto your back.

“Ready?” Tignnari asked, and you decided he looked lovely in the first rays of moonlight. You smiled at him, taking his outstretched hand in yours and squeezing.

“Yeah.”

Hand in hand, you walked back to Gandharva Ville, basking in the natural symphony of the forest.

Fin.

[angel-sweets666]

running away!

chapter four finale

guard!könig x princess reader

The guard of a princess and the princess escape the royal confines and live in the woods

warning :

könig knocked on your door 5 times to signify that it was him at your door, you peeked your head through “bags packed?” He asked, looking at you from under his mask “yeah.. I’ve got everything” “have you disguised it as garbage?” He asks a question that was purely so he and you won’t get caught “yep! It all looks like garbage, I’ve got one bag” you told him, passing him a bag that was clearly full of clothes and other essentials and luxury’s

“you ready?”

You nodded, glancing around nervously. "I can't stay here any longer. Let's go."

König took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. Together, you made your way to the stables, where two horses awaited with a wagon tied to the back of them , their breath visible in the cool night air. He helped you into the wagon, putting a tarp over yoy , then swung up onto one of the horses . With a final, longing look at the castle, he spurred the horses into a gallop , racing towards the forest that bordered the kingdom.

The ride was exhilarating, the wind whipping through your hair as you left the castle far behind. König watched over you , his presence a steadying force in the night. As you entered the forest, the trees closed in around you, their branches forming a protective canopy overhead. The sounds of the castle faded, replaced by the rustling leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures.

After what felt like hours, you reached a secluded clearing deep within the forest. König dismounted first, then helped you down from your horse. He led you to a hidden cottage that he had prepared, its wooden structure blending seamlessly with the surroundings.

"We'll be safe here," he said, opening the door and guiding you inside. The cabin was cozy, with a fireplace, a sturdy king sized bed, and shelves lined with supplies. It was a far cry from the opulence of the castle, but it felt like a haven.

You sank into a chair by the fire, exhaustion and relief washing over you. König knelt beside you, taking your hands in his. "Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"I am now," you replied, squeezing his hands. "As long as I'm with you, I'll be fine."

He smiled, a rare sight that made your heart flutter. "We'll make a life here, away from all the expectations and dangers of the court. Just you and me."

The days that followed were a blur of adjustments and discoveries. You learned to live off the land, guided by König's expertise. He taught you how to forage for food, how to build a fire, and how to navigate the dense forest. You found solace in the simplicity of your new life, far removed from the suffocating responsibilities of royalty.

König proved to be an adept and patient teacher, his strength and skills invaluable in your new existence. You marveled at how seamlessly he transitioned from a fearsome guard to a nurturing partner. Nights were spent wrapped in each other's arms, the flickering firelight casting shadows on the walls as you whispered dreams and promises.

One evening, as you sat by the fire, König took your hand and led you outside. The night was clear, the sky awash with stars. He pulled you close, his arms around you, and you rested your head against his chest.

"Look up," he said softly.

You tilted your head back, gasping at the sight above. The stars seemed brighter here, more vibrant. It was as if the entire universe was laid out before you, a testament to the freedom you had fought for.

As you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. The forest had become your sanctuary, and with König by your side, you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

this was rushed I’m so sorry, but that’s the wrap for running away!

[plzfeedmebread]

Hold My Hand and Never Let Go

word count: 3360

Pairing: Jake Sully x Female! Omatikaya! Reader Tags/Warnings: adults only, smut, sex, mating, bonding Summary: Older sister of Neytiri, younger to Sylwanin. After Jake successfully becomes one of the people, you take him to visit the Tree of Voices. All the while battling your feelings for him.

Author's note: The scene in Chainsaw Man where Makima and Denji lewdly hold hands inspired me to write this. Was originally gonna be reader and Lo'ak but I wanted to make it lewd, so Jake it is! This is not proof read so apologies for any mistakes! I'll fix em up later~

When Neytiri first brought Jake Sully before the clan, like everyone else you were shocked beyond belief. You offered to cut him down where he stood, had she forgotten the sins of Demons and the Sky People? What they did to Sylwanin?

But by Eywa’s Will he is granted sanctuary amongst the clan. And much to your dismay, your mother, the Tsahik, puts you in charge of training this would be warrior.

Many moon cycles you spend together. It became excruciatingly clear how difficult the path ahead would be. But you persevered, powered by sheer determination and spite; Tsu’tey’s constant dismissal and antagonizing being the driving force.

Though he was future Olo'eyktan, and you future Tsahik, the two of you were not to be a mated pair. It was an unusual situation, but not entirely unheard of. Your parents knew all too well how much the two of you butted heads, always getting on each other’s nerves one way or another.

A compromise then; he would be mated to your younger sister Neytiri. She accepted, noting that he was a great warrior and a promising future leader; Sylwanin always spoke so highly of him.

You put him to the back of your mind, your only focus being Jake and his lessons. Slow at first, especially with the language, he eventually finds his rhythm.

And when he passed his Iknimaya, you were overjoyed beyond words. It filled you with such pride watching him fly his ikran as though he was a natural born Na’vi. Eywa must have truly blessed this man. The two of you giggled like fools as you flew side by side, teasing each other with fake collisions.

Neytiri laughed at your antics, while Tsu’tey merely rolled his eyes, deeming you two a bunch of children.

You couldn’t stop smiling as you painted him in white intricate swirls. And when father declared him one of the people, you smiled brighter than you thought possible. Watching everyone gather around to join hands upon hands, excepting him, you weren’t ashamed of the tears in your eyes. Your gaze briefly met Graces’, the two of you letting out soft laughs noticing each other’s tears.

The day was filled with merriment and celebration. Every artisan of the clan wanted his attention now, showing him their workings, honed by years of trade. Then day bled to evening, filled with feast, song and drink. And when evening bled into night, you stealthily pulled Jake away from the clan, wanting some alone time.

---

Hurriedly you pull him along, your footsteps leaving light trails in the earth. This was your most favourite time, the night, when Eywa was at her most beautiful. Even when the sun eclipsed, She never left her people in the dark; lighting the world in a brilliance of colour.

You giggle when you feel Jake playfully tug on your tail as you arrive at your destination; the Tree of Voices. The grove is awash in soft violet and pink hues, almost romantic in a way.

“This is a place for prayers to be heard, and sometimes answered.” You explain as you grab some of the tree. You connect your kuru and smile softly.

“We call these trees, Utral Aymokriyä, The Tree of Voices. The voices of our ancestors.” You watch as Jake connects to the tree, his pupils dilating for a brief moment.

“I can hear them…” He looks shocked, almost like a babe connecting to Eywa for the first time. You suppose that perhaps that was true in his case.

“When our energy is returned, we live on within Eywa.” He nods and disconnects himself. You touch your hands to his broad chest.

“You are Omatikaya now. You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree…” You hesitate for but a moment, turning from him you hold your hand out to an atokirina.

“…And you may choose a woman. Or man.” You smirk over your shoulder at him. You giggled at the disgruntled face he makes.

“Woman. Definitely woman…You’re unmated too, right? Can I ask, how come you never chose anyone? You must’ve completed your iknimaya long before I came around…”

He is of course right. There is a pang in your chest as you think on it. Once upon a time you would have been mated to Tsu’tey; but your clashing personalities made such a pairing disastrous. So by your own hand, you sabotaged your own future.

You could have chosen another man, but the fallout with Tsu’tey left you with such a strong impression, you couldn’t bare the thought of Eywa rejecting another union; least of all if it were to be your fault.

You curse yourself then, for the feelings burning inside you. As you stare into Jake’s golden eyes, you know with utter certainty, that you desire him. Your heart yearns for him, aches for his touch. He makes you feel comfortable, safe. Like you can express yourself in ways you wouldn’t to others, and he wouldn’t judge you for it.

You explain to him then, the falling out you had with Tsu’tey, and how it made you feel thereafter. Your heart beats fast in your chest, anxiously you search his gaze for anything close to disgust, almost waiting for an upturned sneer.

But it never comes. He simply smiles down at you, something akin to adoration in those eyes. It fills you with renewed confidence.

“And now…I think I am ready to choose a mate once again…But, he must also choose me.” You grab a hold of his hand, holding it to your face as you stare up at him once more. You watch as realisation slowly takes over, his eyes widening in shock.

“Me?”

You nod, leaning into his hand with closed eyes.

“Yes you…” You whisper into his palm. When you open your eyes once more, you don’t expect to see his face drenched in conflict.

“Jake…?”

“[Y/N]…Of course I choose you, but…”

Oh Eywa no, here comes the rejection. You curse yourself once more, you should have known better, should have kept quiet.

But he doesn’t say anything more. You notice he is looking at his own hands, once pinching the palm of the other. He’s grimacing, lost in his own thoughts.

“The people accepted me, and I’m grateful, really I mean that, I couldn’t be happier…But a part of me still feels, because of my demon blood, can I really be true Na’vi? And, what if something happens to this body? Or, or what if something happens to the link bed I’m lying in? Are you sure you wanna risk being with someone who could drop dead at any second?”

You heart breaks. You had no idea he had been harbouring such thoughts, such insecurities. You grab his face in both your hands, pulling him to meet your eyes once more.

“You are more Na’vi than you give yourself credit for. Eywa saved you in that forest from my sister, and it is by Her Will, that you stand before me. Do not ever doubt yourself like this, you hear me? The man I see before me is not his past, but the future he needs only to reach out and grab with both hands.”

Jake’s lips quiver slightly, but he swallows his would be tears and instead smiles down at you. It feels like the sun kissing your skin. He hands move to grab your face in turn. He says nothing, but slowly leans forward. You tilt your head as you lean closer to him. He stops just shy of touching you, as if to give you one last chance to back away.

Not a fucking chance.

You close the gap without a moment of hesitation.

When your lips meet, you can’t help but inhale sharply. The feeling of his soft lips on yours, it is as though something burst inside you; flooding you with a calming warmth. It seeps into your very bones, bringing an unexpected relief, and a sense of Home.

Tentatively, he moves his mouth against yours. Each move slow and meaningful. His thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. You press yourself harder, deepening the kiss. He moans into your mouth when you do, and he feels you smirk against him.

Cheeky.

He licks your bottom lip, and when you squeak in surprise, he wastes no time invading you with his long thick wet tongue. Your legs feel weak as he explores every part of your mouth, from the tips of your fangs, to the slick of your own tongue. The two of you tangle in each other, tasting, lapping up each other, until the need to breath becomes too much.

Slowly you pull away, laboured breath mixing with one another. He rests his forehead against you, his eyes search yours, though you know not for what. You kiss him lightly on the nose, giving him the reassurance he so desperately seeks.

You take a step back, grabbing his hand in yours as you lower yourself to the ground. When the two of you are knelt before one another, you hold his hand up to yours.

“When Na’vi mate…It is a life long bond. We connect our kuru, our queues together. Through it, you will feel what I feel, and I you…Na’vi are taught from a very young age, how sacred this bond is. It is the most spiritual way you will connect with someone, other than Eywa herself. So it cannot happen, until you find your one true mate…It is also, very, very erotic…Or so I’m told,” you can’t help the blush that adorns your face.

You notice though, that Jake doesn’t seem to be shy at all. He looks at you with such reverence. But there is also something behind his gaze, you dare say, almost predatory. As you he would devour you given the chance. The thought alone excites you, a spark igniting a warmth deep within your loins.

“So you tellin’ me young Na’vi teenagers don’t fool around?” You let out a short laugh at his question.

“Some do. But not always. The urges of the body can take over, but tsaheylu will always be sacred. And for some, they would rather share their first time with their mate.” He nods at your explanation.

“So have you ever…?” You shake your head in response.

“Have…you?”

“…In my Sky People body, yeah…” You nod in understanding; the revelation doesn’t surprise you. His people had different cultures from yours, and you mostly chose to remain untouched due to your own fear of rejection.

“Are you nervous?” He asks and you nod.

“But…It’s something I’ve thought about for a very long time…” Your fingers graze his palm, before you slide your fingers between his and gently hold his hand.

“I believe, mating, having sex, the better you understand the other person, the better it feels…I often wondered what my mate would look like…How long, would his fingers be?” Up and down your lithe fingers stroke the space between his own.

“Would his palm be warm, or cold?” You gently grasp his hand, bringing it to cup your face.

“How would it feel, to have him caress my ears?” You press his fingers around the tip of your ear. You bring his other hand to your mouth, gently taking his thumb between your teeth.

“How would it feel, to have him in my mouth? Taste him on my tongue?” Slowly, you let your tongue glide over his digit, sucking him into your mouth. Jake audibly gasps as you, you hear his tail swish behind him excitedly.

You remove his thumb slowly, pressing a kiss to the tip before you move his hand back down. He gulps audibly.

“You, sure you haven’t done this before?” His voice is anxious, and you revel in that fact.

“I am sure…Now, come. Let us mate before Eywa, ma Jake.” You move your queue to the space between you to, and he mirrors your actions.

You watch with baited breath as the pink tendrils seek each other, slowly entwining in brilliant white.

The feeling that floods you is near indescribable; a euphoria done little to know justice from words alone. It is as though you have lived your life as but a portion of a whole being, suddenly made whole through the bond. You feel his heart beating fast in his own chest, but also reverence he holds for you; as though you were the one to paint the stars in the sky, or hold moonlight in your hands.

He pulls you to him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He bites and licks at the sensitive flesh, eliciting soft moans from you. The unexpected pleasure he feels through the bond pulls a low moan from the back of his throat.

His hands are on you, exploring you, every inch of skin set alight as his fingers glide over you. His mouth trails kisses down to your chest. He gives your nipple a teasing lick, before taking the bud into his mouth. He sucks and licks until it perks, then moves to do the same to the other. Your fingers thread through his hair as he does, short gasps leaving you as he does.

The pleasure travels down into your loins, the warmth slicking your walls.

Once he’s satisfied, he sits up to press his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss. He is far less gentle this time, mouth dominating your own for control, tongue lapping and invading your mouth without warning.

His hand travels down to your sex, gently cupping you through your loin cloth. You moan shamelessly into his mouth as you feel him gently stroke you.

The pleasure is soft and gentle, with a promise of something grand in the distance. But this friction is not enough. You whine when he grazes your clothed clit, and it’s all the indication he needs. He tugs at the hem and you hurriedly undo the seams.

His hand his on you again, fingers gently prying into your aching core. When he feels the wetness of you, he moans and breaks the kiss.

“This all for me baby? You’re so wet already and I’ve barely touched you,” he nips at your lip. You gasp as he coats himself in your juices, then gently start stroking your clit.

“J-Jake…” His name feels like a prayer from your lips.

Slowly he moves into you, pressing one finger into your throbbing pussy. He moves his thumb to rub your clit, all the while he pumps that singular long digit in and out of you.

Your cunt sings with a pleasure you never thought possible, your walls becoming wetter with each deft stroke. The pleasure spreads to every inch of you, ecstasy dancing on every nerve. The pleasure only grows when he inserts a second finger. The coil inside you tightening, the promise of orgasm growing ever closer.

Your hands wrap around his shoulders, pulling him as close to you as possible. You can’t help but grind yourself against his hand, your body demanding more friction.

“Yes, yes, yes ma Jake!” Your voice sings his praises and he quickens his pace.

“That’s is baby, you’re so close I can feel it. Cum on your mate’s fingers,” He moves his mouth to your ear and bites down gently. With one final pump of his fingers you cry out loud as your orgasm hits you. Your walls clentch tightly to his fingers, all the while his thumb gently strokes you as you ride out your pleasure.

When the sensation becomes overwhelming, you whine and tap in on the shoulder. Thankfully he relents, and slowly removes himself from your core.

But the night’s not over yet, and you feel as though that was but a taste of the whole meal.

You can feel his hardened cock aching through the bond.

Instinctively you lay on your back, pulling him with you. You spread your legs as wide as you can, and he nestles between. He removes himself from the constraints of his clothes.

Slowly he rubs his member up and down your slit, lubricating himself as he pumps his hand up and down.

His eyes find yours. Your hand rests beside your face, and he threads his fingers with yours. He squeezes and you squeeze back, nodding your head.

Slowly he starts pushing himself inside you. The feeling is strange and unfamiliar, perhaps even a little uncomfortable. He takes his time though, and you feel the strain of his willpower to move at such a pace. Once he is buried to the hilt, he lets out a shaky breath, resting his head beside you. His laboured breath tickles your ear.

He’s waiting for you to get used to the feeling, giving your body a moment to adjust to the stretch. The uncomfortable feeling from before doesn’t take long to subside, and is instead replaced with a soft pleasant feeling.

You kiss his check, and gently grind yourself against him, encouraging him to move. He groans into your ear, the deep guttural sound of his voice tickling your stomach.

He slowly removes himself, just before the tip, before slamming right back into you. The pleasure that hits you is so sudden you can’t help the loud moan it rips from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time.

With reckless abandon he’s pounding into you, his cock moulding itself into your throbbing walls of your needy pussy. Each thrust makes the most lewd squelch of wetness and flesh you have ever heard. It arouses you even more.

Faster he fucks you, the coil of pleasure tightening once again, threatening to snap at a moments notice. His moans are low and breathless, curse words sprinkled in between as he rides his pleasure within your centre.

Your legs wrap around his waist, allowing his dick to hit a place even deeper than before. Your eyes shut tight as the pleasure nearly overwhelms you. You feel his other hand cup your face, the other still holding your hand tight.

“Open your eyes, [Y/N], please. I wanna see you when you cum.”

With some effort, you open your eyes to lock your gaze with his. The feeling in your heart explodes a million times over as you feel his love for you through the bond, and the joining of your sex. It brings tears to your eyes.

“I love you Jake—my mate—my Jake—forever! I’m so close! Please! Don’t stop!”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too [Y/N]…Cum for me again baby, let me feel you one more time.”

The cord snaps and your orgasm hits you hard. The moan from your lips burgeoning on a scream. Your cunt squeezes his cock for all it’s worth. The pleasure burns pleasantly from your clit to the tip of your kuru.

Jake continues his brutal pace while you ride out your orgasm. The sensations that flood him through the bond are enough to bring him to his own release.

“[Y/N]!” With your name on his lips, it only takes a few more thrusts before his burying himself as deep as he can, your pelvis bone aching, as he paints your walls with his seed.

He gives you a few more hard thrusts as he rides out his orgasm.

Finally he collapses on top of you, both of you well spent.

He rolls himself onto his back, pulling you with him. He doesn’t remove himself from you, nor does the bond release.

You lay on top of him then, head reasting on his chest. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart; it fills you again with the feeling of home.

Your hand idly traces the glowing stars on his chest. You are both warm and sweaty. Sticky from your exertions. The air is thick with the scent of mating. But neither of you mind.

One arm wraps around you, securing you to him. He brings his other hand to yours, entwining your fingers in a tight embrace.

“I love you, [Y/N]…”

“I love you too, ma Jake. Hold my hand, and never let go.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

GIF: Originally posted by @kimdokjas

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nudity. Kissing. Language. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Hello there! What a long time this chapter has been in the making. There was an entire week where I had limited time and an even more limited internet connection but I promise I haven't abandoned this story. On a less grovelling note, how good is Dead Boy Detectives? Let me know in the comments what your favourite moment was in the show if you've seen it. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

There's sunlight on your face. It filters past your closed eyelids, rousing you unforgivingly from the tranquil dreamscape you had been wandering through.

You frown, a disgruntled yet pitiful noise issuing from the back of your throat.

Did you get in that late last night that you forgot to close your curtains?

It had been a nostalgic dream - a long and winding path that tracked the edge of a cliff that you walked in sturdy brown boots. An aquamarine sea to your right and a multicoloured floral field to your left, the salt and petal scents of both welcomed with each inhale. The bracing air had ruffled the looser sections of your clothes and threaded through your splayed fingers.

Every detail was exactly as it had been in your childhood summer holidays to the coast. Warmth and adventure and fun. Which is precisely why you are reluctant to leave.

You've passed the threshold into waking however and no amount of stubbornness can aid you. To ease your passage, you use the heels of both hands to cover your eyes from the obnoxious light.

The movement shifts the air around you, alerting you to another strange thing: the absence of your pyjamas. You hardly ever slept naked, and definitely not in the winter months. Come to think of it, these were not your sheets either. They felt far too sleek against your bare skin to be your trusty cotton ones…

You freeze.

Whose bed were you in?

Your mind is flailing like someone unable to swim who has fallen into a body of water as you try to remember, adrenal glands preparing you for potential danger with a hefty bloodstream-bound jolt, carried effectively by a stampeding heart rate.

Your eyelids snap open as muscles lock.

More disarray enters the mix when you find the source of the sunshine.

There's a sky above you awash with vibrant pinks and oranges. A couple of clouds drift in front of the burning orb, alleviating the intensity of the sunrise enough that you don't have to squint for long.

How was it possible that you were both outside and lying on a bed? Where the fuck were you?

The recollections finally break through the surface of your memory lake when you see him.

Morpheus.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Your soulmate.

Your body relaxes and the rising tension disperses.

His position has changed from the one he had taken before you fell asleep; he now sits beside you, studying you with those gorgeous universe-containing eyes. It's a much less predatory stare than the others previously directed towards you but the power within him is still palpable.

The beauty he possesses is overwhelming too; just like how it did with the night sky and aurora behind him, this sunrise is making him breath-taking. The rosy light is accentuating every inch of skin on show, from the angular features of his face to the toned bare chest that expands and contracts with controlled breaths.

"Good morning my soulmate," he says, his deep voice even huskier from not being used overnight.

"Hi," you reply timidly, gaze forced down by the weight of his.

He doesn't seem to like this shyness for he reaches out, tracing two fingertips in circles above your sternum, right over your soul. You're surprised when there is no pain, in fact, you shiver enjoyably from the simple touch.

You wish the same absence of pain could be said for the lower half of your body.

With much muscular discomfort, you roll onto your side and push yourself to sitting. The majority of it is set deep in your legs, right at the top where your femur bones meet your hip sockets, and radiating through your hamstrings. There are also internal twinges left over from fingering and penetration. The collective tenderness is understandable given all that transpired last night. All the pleasure that had flowed between you, those configurations that your body had never been put into before. Ones you dearly hoped to be put in again soon.

"How long have you been watching me?" You ask teasingly.

"Since you began to sleep."

Your smile falters, worry mounting at the inference that you had kept him awake. Had you been snoring? Twitching? Sleep talking?

You reach for his left hand that rests atop the dark sheets. "You must be exhausted."

That same duo of fingertips brush tantalisingly across your bottom lip. "Your concern is touching, dearest, but I do not require sleep."

"Oh." Your lungs deflate with a whoosh. "I guess that makes sense. People must need dreams all the time."

"Precisely," he praises, his tone smooth and seductive as he cups your face in his hand. "And there are many other ways in which I can find respite and rejuvenation."

He pounces on you then, claiming your mouth with a deep kiss. You go boneless when his tongue slips past the boundary of your pouted lips, enveloping you in his intoxicating warmth.

Morpheus kisses you until you are completely pliant; becoming putty in his talented hands. And when he pulls back, his attention goes straight to your eyes. He looks back and forth between each one like he is checking for something, as if the kiss was his way of dosing you up and he is confirming if it has kicked in.

Your mind certainly feels high enough for it to be true. You stare back at him, his irises become darker and darker the longer you look, until you can see your face reflected in the black-mirror eyes.

You seem different. Not just consumed with lust either. There's something else. A confidence. One more formidable than the type you make use of in your everyday life. It lurks beneath your flushed skin, enlivened by his presence.

Instinct takes over as you slip your arms around him and pull him in for a slow and sensual kiss. From crown to nape your fingers glide through his glossy locks, left even more messy from the activities of last night, and then take a path down his back.

His muscles are steel cables under your palms, conducting heat to pass from his body to yours. You breathe heavily from it as images of your prior shared intimacy flash by like a slideshow, turning you on even further.

Lips part company and Morpheus' mouth is suddenly sucking on your earlobe, pressing on your throat.

You are caught between a whimper and a moan.

"Louder," he commands, the rumbling timbre next to your ear making you obey noisily without conscious thought.

"Good. Again."

He nips at the skin over your jugular and your moan further increases in decibels.

"Such sweet noises," he comments between the open mouthed kisses he is stamping along your collarbones. "All because of how I touch you."

His hands find your breasts next, securing one in each. A firm massage has your back arching to lean further into the cradle of his fingers.

He lets go and leans in to hover over your left breast, his breath unexpectedly cool against your skin. His attention flicks up to your flushed face, to the bottom lip caught between your teeth. You want to further explore this kind of play. Hinting at your desires, you edge closer.

Morpheus' smirk is fiendish and there's such promise in those black eyes yet you want to make sure he follows through.

"Please."

"As you wish, my soulmate."

A drawn out groan warps your vocal cords once he seals his lips over the nipple and lightly takes the other between a thumb and forefinger. More of this too, you decide while he lavishes you with mind bending attentions - rhythmically suckling and pinching until your body is covered in a sheen of sweat and you can barely hold yourself upright. After, Morpheus gathers you into his arms and you delight in his luscious scent as your breathing normalises.

"So that makes you feel rested?" You ask softly.

He strokes over your soul again. "Indeed. It was exceptionally restorative, although I would like more, if you are willing."

The glint in his eyes, a quality becoming all too familiar since your official introduction, swiftly undoes the work you had done to calm your breaths. You consider the tempting notion of sharing more intimacy with him, but cannot ignore the self-care that you missed when you let yourself fall asleep in his hold directly after finishing yesterday.

"I think I need to have a shower before we do anything more. Would you care to join me?"

His pink lips quirk with a semblance of a smile. "I believe it would be counterproductive for me to accompany you, given your goal."

"Suit yourself." You plant a playful kiss on his cheek and throw back the covers with a flourish. Your assured, bouncing movements are soon halted however for you are unaware of where to go next. You peek back over your shoulder.

"Umm, where's the bathroom?"

Morpheus inclines his head towards a door that definitely did not exist a second ago.

"Just through there. I trust you will find everything that you require."

He's not wrong. The well-proportioned ensuite is furnished with everything you could possibly want for cleaning and grooming.

The colour palette of the adjoining chamber extends to touch this room too; predominantly black, with accents of pale stone for smaller details like the mirror frame and the soap dish. The stand out feature is the floor. A black marble with flecks of silver that twinkle like stars under the moody lighting. It's as if you are walking on a night sky.

Firstly, you wash your face first to remove the glowy makeup you had put on especially for the award event, then slide the ruby ring off your finger and leave it on the glossy porcelain of the sink before stepping into the shower cubicle.

You are considerate of the time spent under the water, motivated by the thought of Morpheus sitting naked on the bed not 20 feet away.

You're not ashamed to admit that you are impatient to have him inside of you again. To see that passion and darkness ignited within him. Be consensually dominated and consumed by him. And perhaps try out some other forms of stimulation on him. You decide you will ask more about his desires when you're done in here.

As you dry off using a white, fluffy towel, the rubbing and bending helps to alleviate some of the stiffness - something you know will serve you well when you are back on the bed.

You swap the towel for a bath robe and move to stand in front of the mirror. Using the reflective glass, you brush your teeth and apply some products from the assortment lined up neatly in the wall mounted cupboard.

Cleanliness restored and mood soaring, you open the door to return to your soulmate.

He's sitting on the bed like you had anticipated, however he is no longer naked. Quite the opposite in fact. All of his skin is covered except for his head and hands.

Morpheus stands as soon as he sees you, the manoeuvre showing off the flowing nature of the floor-length coat he has donned. You've never seen a coat quite like it; the sentiment reinforced even further by the constellations that appear to shimmer within its lining. He looks so ethereal and poised in it. Kingly.

Leaning into the formality even further, he clasps his hands in front of his torso and then proceeds to speak.

"I'm afraid that something has arisen that requires my attention. I will have to leave for a while."

"That's alright. Give me two minutes and I'll get dressed and come with you."

You begin to remove the bath robe as you walk towards him, undoing the tie with a quick tug. A shake of his head stops you from shedding the garment entirely.

"That won't be necessary." His hands sneak around your waist to pull you closer. "Your body will still be acclimating to the soul bond. You should rest. Rehydrate. Eat."

He gestures to a cloche covered plate and lidded jug atop a newly conjured bedside table.

Honestly, even though the proverbial wind has been knocked out of your sails, you cannot hold on to that disappointment for very long. The consideration he is showing is very endearing and it's hardly surprising given the dutiful aftercare he provided for you last night.

"Okay. I'll stay here."

He kisses you then, possessively gripping the base of your skull so he can get his fill for the time being.

"I will not be long," he whispers.

He leaves you standing at the foot of the bed.

You go to the bedside table. The metal of the cloche humorously warps your image like the mirrors of a funhouse as you lift it from its position. A platter made of the same material supports a bowl of natural yoghurt topped with tropical fruits and a plate of toast slices slathered with creamy honey.

You don't feel a particular urge to consume either yet decide to do so regardless. It has been a long time since you had last eaten. As you take a bite of the golden bread, you think of all the events that have happened to get you here in this room. The intense encounter that had taken you and Morpheus from strangers to soulmates in a matter of hours.

The forces that had been pushing you towards him - nagging sensations, like a series of itches you couldn't quite reach, making you go outside for a cigarette.

How you had met the beings who had orchestrated the whole thing; the resolve bestowed by their counsel smoothing away your doubts.

His determination to unlock whatever had been dormant within you; in the moment you had been certain that your soul was going to be obliterated, revealed instead to be a rearrangement. Just thinking of it is enough of a push to do as he suggested and rest. You had been through a lot.

After downing a large glass of orange juice decanted from the squat jug, you remove your bath robe. Shadows fall over the bed to block out the mid-morning sun when you tuck yourself back under the covers.

The scent of your soulmate is imbued within the sumptuous fabric, making it all too easy to fall into light sleep, even inspiring a dream while there.

A wet dream.

It's unbearable when you wake. You want Morpheus to come back right away. You want to touch him, to let him touch you. With a frustrated groan, you kick off the covers and redress in the robe, turning your attention to tidying up the pile of your clothes to distract from the horniness. You fold the items neatly and put them in the drawers of the bedside table. The box of cigarettes and lighter, you stash under the coat.

It's no use, not in the long term; you are irreversibly riled up, heat stirring agonisingly between your legs so when you hear Morpheus opening the door you pretty much run across the room to him.

You can see from the lust in his eyes that he is as affected as you.

"I saw your dream, my soulmate," he says intensely as he draws you into his personal space. "You have quite the imagination."

Your cheeks burn with equal parts lust and embarrassment.

His body heat is just as feverish - the ferocity of it permeating through your bath robe makes the fabric feel much thinner than it actually is.

He leans to whisper by your ear. "Would you like to make it a reality?"

Your knees go weak, at the question and the ghost-like touches of his words against the shell of your ear.

"Yes. Morpheus, please."

He captures your lips with a bruising kiss, simultaneously baring your body and his own using a mix of confident movements and form shaping.

You secure your hands on his shoulders in readiness, only breaking the kiss so you can jump into his arms. He then spins you around so your ass meets the polished wood of the door.

Broken groans echo around the chamber as Morpheus makes the dream fully come to life, filling you with a fluid thrust.

His eyes are circles of night sky while he waits for you to adjust, redistributing your weight ever so slightly so he can press his palm over your soul.

It remains there until you both reach climax.

-----------------------

Morpheus cleans you like he did before and then you recline side by side on the bed.

"Do you feel happy?" He asks with sudden seriousness while stroking the skin made taut by the spasming muscles of your thighs.

You would have thought it been obvious from the size of the giddy grin on your face yet you play along anyway. "Yes."

"And safe?"

"Of course, Morpheus." You reassuringly interlink your fingers with his, adding, "You could just cheat, you know?"

His chin tilts up, lips pouting. "I could, however I prefer to hear you confirm it out loud."

You laugh.

Saccharine. That is how this moment feels with the post-orgasm tingles and the endearing nature of his statement. He is utterly perfect for you.

You brush a probing fingertip over his soul.

"I still can't feel your emotions."

It is his turn to squeeze your hand comfortingly. "It's been less than a day."

You nod, casting away the despondent thought entirely by asking a subject changing question.

"What would you like to do now?"

He answers immediately, "I would like to stay right here."

You consider this, your focus shifting away from his face, up over his shoulder to the exit.

"What if someone needs you, comes looking for you? There are people out there, right?"

You're fishing for details, blatantly so, but you cannot deny that you are intrigued by the kingdom beyond the door that you had just so energetically fucked against.

Morpheus shifts to block your line of sight, possessively cupping your face in one of his dexterous hands.

"No one can find us here. We will not be interrupted, and I can sense when something is amiss."

-----------------------------

Days pass in a similar fashion. You wake under an invigorating sunrise with your soulmate's blown-iris gaze fixed on your face. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, generating shudders of arousal, in turn propelling you to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You wash and brush your teeth and go back to Morpheus. He fucks you until you can barely move and then leaves you for a few hours while you, in his words: 'rest'.

With your appetite still stunted you cajole yourself into eating and drinking, and wait for Morpheus to return, whereupon you fuck again.

It's a honeymoon phase you reason initially, but when the pattern shows signs of sustaining, when it reaches a week without leaving his chambers you decide to take action.

You had stopped asking if you could accompany him on his mysterious errands after the third rebuttal; perhaps a mistake on your part. And with the emotional connection between you still a no-show from your end, there is no other way of finding out why your partner keeps saying no.

You ask for a slower session. One that won't render you completely exhausted and aching, and therefore physically able to go with him. Not that you disclose this as a reason. You don't need to give any; Morpheus obliges, all too willing to please you.

His zealousness makes you feel guilty for your quasi-deception but something really is afoot. You cannot ignore it any longer.

The sex is euphoric. Beautiful. He brings you to the edge of tears with his gentleness, drawing several orgasms from you. There's even enough time for you to stimulate him with your hands and mouth - something you had been longing to do since the first night.

After, your question waits in the wings as you cuddle. His demeanour is a twin of yours, relaxed and satiated. The way his blue eyes stare at you, it's pure adoration you see in them. Surely he cannot deny you this time.

An hour elapses and then Morpheus stands, clothes appearing on his lithe frame. He announces his intentions.

"There are duties that I must attend to."

You sit up and say with a smile, "Please can I come with you this time?"

"No."

His terse reply is so far removed from the blissful look that had been written all over his perfect features seconds prior that your stomach drops along with your smile.

"Why not?" Your voice is unexpectedly small.

He zones in on this vocal change. "You seem troubled, Y/N."

If you were to be totally transparent, you would tell him that this scenario was starting to bear many of the signs of an abduction. It takes you a good thirty seconds to summon the courage to reply; not wanting to offend nor sadden your soulmate.

You huff out a nervous laugh. "I can't help feeling a little kidnapped."

His eyebrows narrow a fraction. "I did tell you that I would bring you to the Dreaming."

"Okay, how about I re-phrase that. I feel kind of trapped here."

"Are these chambers not to your liking?"

That burgeoning sense of nausea is starting to run deeper. He is deflecting. Expertly so.

You point at the door. "What I don't like is that there is a whole world out there and you seem determined to keep me from it."

The temperature in the room dips as the ceiling-sky sun is blocked out by a conglomerate of greying clouds.

"It is not safe for you outside this room," he says with a controlled cadence.

"I don't believe that. I know for a fact that you are one of the most powerful beings in the universe. What is the real reason you don't want me to accompany you?"

"Because it is not your place to do so."

You blink in shock.

The sweetness of the recent lovemaking is long gone, a bitter taste taking its place. You attempt to translate the subtext of that last statement: Not your place?

Is it because you are human? Does he think you are lesser than him?

You need to hear it from his lips.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He swallows, a fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

"I need to leave."

He's moving towards the door with quick strides. You're out of the bed, throwing on the bath robe as you desperately try to find a way to keep him talking.

"What if I had refused to go with you that night?"

No sooner are the words out your mouth, does the sky above you turn black. Morpheus spins around, eyes equally as dark as he coolly states, "Then you would have suffered."

He stands squarely in front of the door.

"You felt a semblance of it. The instant I touched your skin with mine. Even if you had protested, I would have brought you here regardless. It was imperative that I complete the ritual, and it had to be done in the Dreaming where my power is at its most potent."

Potent power indeed, for there are pulsing shadows leading away from his boot clad feet despite the absence of a sun to cast them. Never before have you been so aware of his preternatural identity. He's Eldritch personified; you suppress the flicker of fear it kindles.

"Your soul would have kept screaming, driving you to insanity. I protected you. Just as I am trying to protect you now by locking you in here."

The repellent taste of bile spews into your dry mouth. He said locked in.

You try a last ditch attempt to appeal to the softer nature that you know is within him, reaching for his hand.

"I just want to help people. Help you, your kingdom, your dreamers. The Fates said I would."

"Is that what they told you?" He says derisively, a dark smile stretching his lips as silver flashes in those nightmarish eyes. "I am disgusted that they gave you such a fantasy."

It would have taken an army's worth of self-control to not shrink away from him with that display. You drop his hand.

In that moment, as he blocks you from getting to the door of your cage, it occurs to you that despite the physical proximity, that this is furthest you have felt from him since he took your hand on that rain covered street.

It's as if a crevasse has opened up between you, leaving you standing on either side. So far apart. The risk of falling into the frozen chasm making it too frightening for you to try and reach him. Not that he would let you.

You know it as soon as he says his next sentence, his tone as flat as the emotion in his eyes.

"You should rest. I will return later."

---------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"Cause they watch us in sleep. And the language that we speak. And the secrets that we keep to ourselves in our dreams, in our dreams."

[drivinmeinsane]

Colt Seavers x AFAB!Reader ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: On unsteady feet and with linked arms, you and Colt stumble along in the sand. You’re hanging onto each other. The warmth of the man at your side is almost more intoxicating than the beer you’ve been sipping all night long. The ocean is refreshingly cool against your ankles as you trail through the lapping waves, shoes and socks clasped firmly in your hands. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: AFAB Language Used for Reader's Genitalia, Anal Fingering, Bottom Colt Seavers, Mentions of Alcohol Consumption, Frottage, No use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 2,955 ※ Status: One-shot ※ Author's note: To be honest, I wasn't going to go full smut before the movie came out, but Colt crying in that second trailer sure changed my mind real fast. ※ Song inspiration: Moves - Suki Waterhouse

Night has placed its rich veil over the beach. This far out, the reaching fingers of the city’s light pollution do not dig into the sky over the blue-black waves. It would be rather tranquil, you think, if you weren’t surrounded by the majority of your fellow crew mates. They’re hell bent on thoroughly enjoying themselves tonight. The film that you have all spent the last four months working on finally came to close this afternoon. For a group of people that have been up since the sun broke the horizon and proceeded to move equipment around and push their bodies to the limits, this after party is showing no signs of slowing down as it crawls steadily into the predawn hours.

At your side, one of your coworkers jostles your shoulder as he tries vying for your attention. He nearly knocks your drink out of your hand with his drunken playfulness. You automatically laugh in response to the joke he says, but you don’t process what actually comes out of his leering mouth. You’ve only had eyes for one individual in particular since the very beginning of this job.

Across the way, awash in firelight, is Colt. He keeps looking at you with those blue eyes of his as he takes long pulls of beer. The bob of his throat catches the light with each swallow. It’s almost as though he knows where your mind has been focused.

You look away from him for a moment to acknowledge your admittedly unappreciated companion. He had just nudged you again, this time without the same playfulness as before. He looks sweaty and is wobbling as if he’s standing in a boat being tossed around by an angry sea. He opens his mouth with a smile that turns into a sudden grimace.

“Excuse me,” he groans, sounding tortured, and stumbles away to go throw up. Before you can resume your patient observation, you feel sudden warmth at your side and hear a slightly hoarse voice rise over the deep bass of the music.

“He sure left in a hurry.”

There’s no mistaking the voice. You know exactly who the speaker is, but you’re still pleased to turn and see that it’s Colt at your side. You lean against an equipment case, letting him stand too close. Everyone else is too distracted with their own enjoyment to bother calling out the way he moves to crowd into your space. His knees almost knock into your thighs.

“He overindulged,” you respond, doing some overindulging yourself. The stunt man’s plaid shirt is unbuttoned so much so that it’s almost obscene the way that his chest is put on display. It’s all golden skin, freckles for miles. The dusting of pale hair on top of it all feels like a reward for your eyes.

“Easy to do. You happy to be finished?” he asks, eyes flickering to your lips before darting back up to meet your distracted gaze.

“And miss seeing your face every morning when you and your bestie play fight over the coffee pot? Or maybe not ‘play’...” you pause contemplatively, “Some of those altercations looked a little too real.”

Colt shrugs easily and smiles. “Coffee is serious business.”

He’s leaned impossibly closer, enough now that you can see the fine lines around his eyes. In your slightly tipsy state, you muse that his hair looks so pettable. He laughs, flushed with his own buzz, and you realize you must have said your thoughts out loud.

“I was going to go take a walk along the tide line and then go crash in the bed of my truck to sleep,” he gestures to himself with a broad hand, “all this off. Do you want to…?”

“Why not, it beats trying to get a Lyft back to the hotel,” you say. Enthusiasm has you eagerly pressing into his personal space in return. His smile is blinding, addictive as a drug.

The two of you slip away from the after party. You doubt that you will be missed on account of the alcohol driven fun that everyone else is having. The crew is used to drifting together and then apart, scattered across the world to preform. It’s the nature of the business. You know you will not see some of them again for months or for years, if at all.

On unsteady feet and with linked arms, you and Colt stumble along in the sand. You’re hanging onto each other. The warmth of the man at your side is almost more intoxicating than the beer you’ve been sipping all night long. The ocean is refreshingly cool against your ankles as you trail through the lapping waves, shoes and socks clasped firmly in your hands.

You’re caught by complete when Colt trips and fully lands face first in the sand. He accidentally pulls you down with him, arm in arm. You both roll over onto your backs and laugh.

Colt puts on a petulant voice and between bouts of laughter manages to get out, “’I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.’”

“Nooooo!” you groan back, drunk enough to play along with his Star Wars bit. It sends him into further hysterics.

Sides aching, your giggling and rough housing fades away until you’re both lying side by side, just above the tide line. Your hands rest so that just the tips of your fingers brush. It’s suddenly real. Intimate. The rush of the waves echos your own heartbeat.

Colt breaks the moment first. He rises on to his elbow and shifts over to close the already small distance between your bodies. You look up at him in wonder as his hand cups your jaw. His face looks so serious, so intense, all of a sudden. The sensation of his thumb rubbing over your bottom lip causes you to swallow, mouth suddenly dry. He licks his own lips in anticipation and before he can lean down to kiss you, you rise up to press your mouths together first. His lips are soft on yours and he tastes like affordable beer.

When you tangle your hands into the bleached waves of his hair, you can feel the grit of sand against your grasping fingers. You feel like you’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment. From the very first time you watched him fling himself off a five-story high set piece and come crashing down like Lucifer cast from Heaven, you’ve wanted him.

The stunt man diverts his attention from your mouth to your neck. He’s busy teasing the skin over your collarbone when you give his hair a sharp tug in a silent warning for him not to leave any marks. Colt whines, a breathy noise that cuts above the steady roar of the ocean. That sound knocks any sensible thought you had right of your mind. You had all the intentions in the world to tell him that you’d rather be doing this someplace where the sand isn’t going to end up where it shouldn’t, but his furrowed brow and heavy breathing sucks any protest from your lungs.

You give his hair another yank to see if his whine had been a fluke. It hadn’t been. He whimpers and shudders again as you tug at the strands of hair grasped in your hands. He moves to fully cover you with his body, sudden desperation written on his features. Your legs automatically open to accommodate him, wanting the proximity just as much as he does. His breath stutters in his chest when his own movements causes your grip to catch in his hair.

Sand be damned, you need him. You work your way impossibly closer to him. The distance between your bodies is completely erased until your pelvises are nestled together. You can already tell from the increased contact that he’s beginning to get hard. You’re sure that you both feel it when you throb in interest, starting to get properly slick with arousal in response.

“On top. Get on top, please,” he suddenly begs.

The moment you release him, he rolls onto his back. You’re pulled along with him in a messy tangle of limbs and sand until you’re seated astride him, positioned directly over his crotch. The change in position makes it abundantly clear how big he is. Eager to get your hands on him, you bypass your own pants and fumble open the button and zipper of his jeans. Shoving his underwear down just enough, you ease his growing erection free from its confines. He shudders at your touch, fingers grasping at the sand in the effort to restrain himself. You could consume him whole.

You grind down on his newly exposed cock. He pants at the feeling of denim against sensitive, skin and bucks upward to chase the friction. Lit by the moonlight, you admire the heaving of his chest and the arc of his neck as he tosses his head back in the sand to bare his throat. If only it wouldn’t be crass to mark it.

Barely able to believe that this moment is real, you touch the bare skin that’s been haunting you for far longer than even the thought of his cock has. His chest is warm against your fingers, flushed with the joy of being aroused and buzzed. You trace the space between his pecs and down towards the scant amount of buttons that are still secured. He doesn’t protest, only watches you with lidded eyes as you start undoing them to fully expose him.

He’s given up trying to hold himself back and has surrendered to the idea of putting his hands all over you. His touch is like a brand against your still clothed body. Colt’s fingers skim over your sides before he is forced to grab onto your thighs to anchor himself when you resume your exploration of his chest.

His shirt falls open under your wandering touch, revealing something you hadn’t expected. A pair of matching bars through his nipples greets you, nearly gleaming in the moonlight. He shivers at breeze skating over his chest and rolls his hips against you.

“Don’t these get in the way of stunts?” you question, mouth nearly hanging open. They’re wildly impractical, but at the same time, they’re so Colt.

Voice slurred, he gathers himself just enough to respond. “I just put a couple of those big band-aids on ‘em so they don't get snagged.”

“Huh,” you utter, wonderingly.

You run your finger over one of his nipples. It immediately reacts to your touch by growing plump and firm under your coaxing fingertip. You’re sure it must be flushed a rosy pink. Colt squirms, another whine making its way from his throat. He uses his grip on your thighs to drag you over his leaking cock. He’s fully hard now. You’re not sure if it's your pulse or his that you feel in your cunt.

You lean down and take one of his nipples into your mouth in a gesture born of impulsivity. He twists underneath you like he’s been shot as you suck hard, teasing the nub with the barest hint of teeth. The metal adorning it is cool against your tongue.

“Yeah. C’mon,” he says, breathless.

Encouraged, you start grinding against him in earnest. The friction borders on uncomfortable but you’re drunk and chasing a high. Colt certainly has no complaints. You’re starting to think he might like a little pain. He’s guiding your body against his, coaxing you into a steady rhythm. His firm grip has you feeling like a toy in his eager hands.

Your underwear is slick and you hiss at how stiff your clit is against the sodden material. It’s hard to tell how much of the precum is from you and how much is from the man frantically rutting against you. The stunt performer is leaking all over his belly and soaking the fabric of your jeans.

He’s so wet for me, you think dizzily.

“Can I put my fingers in you?” you ask, the thought out of your mouth before you can even process the need fully.

“Yes.” He has the relief in his voice of a dehydrating man finally given a drink of water.

Barely hanging onto enough sense to do so, you help him out of his plaid shirt and rise up onto your knees just enough to slide it under his bare ass when he manages to fumble around your thighs to get his pants down to his calves. It’s barely enough room to work with, but your body is burning with sheer want. With your fingers halfway to your mouth, you pause. The look in his eyes changes your mind and you make a split decision.

Pressing the pads of your fingers against his lips, you give him an order that’s bordering on a moan. “Suck.”

Colt obeys without a hint of hesitation. He envelops them into the wet heat of his mouth. His tongue laves over them. If you weren’t so focused on opening him up, you might be tempted to mount his face instead and put his mouth to another use.

With a wet noise, you withdraw your fingers from his mouth. They glisten wetly in the low light. A string of saliva trails after them, gossamer thin, before snapping under the tension. You shift, pinning his cock tighter against his lower belly and your still clothed crotch. He pants in anticipation of what he knows must be coming next and spreads his legs as wide as he’s able without his pants entirely off. You reach behind you and twist enough to slide your spit-slicked fingers between his cheeks.

A whimpering groan accompanies the barest intrusion. His lip ends up pinned between his teeth as you circle his hole, teasing. You slip one finger in, meeting minimal resistance. His hands find your thighs again and you feel his cock twitch and spurt. He’s so worked up that you don’t think he’ll last long. In a haze, you find that a second and third finger are swallowed up easily. The way he clenches down around them makes you wish you could stuff him full, get him drunk off your strap rather than mid-range beer. That thought drives you to cup the head of his cock in your other hand and rub the head of it with your thumb, caressing the dripping slit.

“You’re such a good boy, Colt,” you murmur, losing yourself in the pleasure of it all.

A breathy moan is all he can manage. Any semblance of words have have fled the scene the moment you started working him open.

The darkness is hiding the pleasant blush of his body that you know must be there. If only you could get him under a spotlight and frame him like the main character for once. You crook your fingers inside of him, seeking his prostate and Colt drags you down against him in just the right way in response to the attention to tip you over the edge. You cum hard, jerking in his hold and clamping your legs tight around his hips. Your noises and the way your body spasms on top of his pushes him over the finish line mere seconds after you hit the tape.

He groans your name. His entire body shudders as he orgasms. If it were possible, he’d have milked your fingers dry with each pulse of his cock. Hole still fluttering around your digits, you ease them free and shift enough to dismount. Colt mumbles a shaky thank you as you gently help him back into his jeans and redo the button and zip. Your own underwear is uncomfortably soaked, but you can’t bring muster up the will to care. Not when you’ve managed to wring such noises out of the man still trying to draw you back to him.

Pressing a kiss against his sternum, you make your way up between the channel of his pectorals, to his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, and finally to his mouth. He smiles into the kiss, satisfied and thoroughly spent. You separate from him and he nuzzles his nose against yours before you get too far. His breath ghosts over your kiss-swollen lips.

“Want to try to find the truck?” he asks, sounding on the verge of falling asleep.

“I’m comfortable here.”

You’re doubtful you could stand. Your legs feel as though they’re made of jelly. The journey to whatever parking lot Colt stashed his truck in feels far too daunting.

“Okay, baby.”

Heart leaping into your throat at the endearment, you tuck yourself against his side. The stunt man wraps his arm around you and coaxes you into laying your head on his wide shoulder. It’s a comforting anchor as the two of you make your bed in the sand.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up to the sun cresting the horizon and the sound of crashing waves accompanied by throaty snoring. You’re laying with your head on Colt’s chest, having migrated in your sleep. The stunt man’s thick arm is still curled around you, his hand on your hip. His other arm is thrown across his eyes.

Patchy memories of the night before flash in your mind, but you cannot find it in yourself to be embarrassed. You’d bend him over in front of all your coworkers if that’s what it took to for you to get your hands on his tanned skin again.

Colt senses your movement and peels his arm off his face with a groan. He looks exhausted but perks up at the sight of you. His smile is brighter than the early dawn light. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” you say with a smile of your own.

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 9

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 9/? 4.4k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ There are two things you are learning very well — the volumes of a few words, and the impact of a touch. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: mild angst, longing, mild exploration through touch

Frost. The first of the year.

It covered the leaves that littered the parking lot outside your apartment in swirling fractals and crunched beneath your boots. 

Barely out of October and you could already feel winter knocking at your door. 

The sky was awash in a pale blue-grey as the sun came up behind the overcast clouds. The rain from the weekend brought down most of the leaves, though some of the more reluctant ones still clung to the trees in patches of yellow and orange. 

You unlocked the door to your red Chevy Nova and dropped your leather satchel on the passenger’s seat. 

The fog that had settled in your mind lifted just enough to get your papers graded. Just enough to get most of the dishes washed. The laundry could wait. 

You turned the key in the ignition and — nothing. Well, it wasn’t nothing, there was a clicking that got louder the harder you forced the key forward.

“Come on.”

Had you left your lights on by accident? It wouldn’t be the first time. The lights were turning on though. You threw your weight into the brakes as you turned the key harder. Over and over it whined and whirred and clicked until finally the engine awoke with a rumble.

You blamed the cold.

Happy Monday.

The thing about the fog is that once it settled it was hard to lift completely. You would enter the teacher’s lounge in a daze. You would go through the motions of pouring yourself your second cup of coffee, of finding an open milk carton. Of putting on a bright face and saying hello as you make small talk with the faculty, though your mind was miles away. 

You would sit down on the old, threadbare chair at your desk and review your lesson plans for the day while your mind struggled to adjust to the whirring chaos around you. The fuzzy voice over the loudspeaker. The ringing of bells and hundreds of voices echoing off the lockers in the hallway. The teenagers that you were responsible for filtering into your classroom, the energy of this weekend carrying over into their laughter and antics. 

You would put on that bright face and pull yourself together, though the fog was thick with thoughts you couldn’t seem to shake. Sometimes you were grateful for the distraction of your class — tangible and in need of attention. Other times the mask got heavy. It was hard to breathe behind. There were times when all you wanted to do was hide, but the mask offered little protection.

At the top of fourth period, you stood at the front of the classroom like you always did, checking little marks by the names in your grading binder as your eyes scanned down the rows. You paused when you got to Eddie’s. 

His seat was empty.

Your stomach dropped, as did your face. Everyone’s eyes were on you. You wondered if they noticed the change in your expression. 

Maybe he’s just running late. 

Maybe he’s sick.

You steadied the pencil in your hand, took a deep breath, and continued on down the rows. Inside your heart was racing, mind spinning with every possibility. It took all of your strength to keep the mask on for your class. 

It might have been the longest 50 minutes of your life. When the bell finally relieved you from your post, you barely remembered to grab your purse before your feet carried you briskly, as fast as they could professionally move, down the hallway toward the teacher’s lounge.

You snatched one of the newspapers slumped in a pile on one of the tables and began to tear through it, flipping through the pages with ravenous eyes, looking for something, anything about an accident or a death or his name or anything. 

You sensed someone behind you peering over your shoulder. You could almost feel their hot, labored breathing on your neck.

It took little more than a tilt of your head to see who it was. “H-hi Doris,” you said, stilling the paper in your trembling hands.

“Boy I’ve never seen anyone read a paper so fast in my life,” she said dryly. “Watcha lookin’ for?”

You tucked your wild hair behind your ear and pulled yourself together. “Oh, um,” What were you looking for? Would it sound weird to say? Of course it would. Your mind whirred with appropriate and totally not crazy responses. “My— my car was having some trouble this morning and I uh, you know just thought I’d check the paper to see um— uh, a number for a mechanic or something.”

Ms. O’Donnell stared down at the paper. “Good luck finding one in the obituary section.”

“Ha. Very funny,” you said, folding the paper. “Say uh, you wouldn’t happen to have seen Eddie today? Was he absent for your class too?”

She huffed, un-phased. “Munson? Haven’t seen him. Honestly I’m more surprised when he shows up.”

“Ah, ok.” You stared down at the paper, the words blurring.

“You know he got a D on the pop quiz I gave on Friday.”

You gave a single nod, lips forming a hard line. “Well, he wasn’t able to study, was he?”

“Course not, it’s a pop quiz. You know I’ve gotta give it to you for trying.”

“Yes, well, so is he,” you said curtly. You left the paper crumpled on the table, turning on your heel toward the door. 

Tears burned behind your eyes. You knew it was silly. Maybe that’s why they stung. The whole thing was silly and he was probably just sick like half the school was this time of year. But your feet had their own agenda and that was how you found yourself standing in front of the receptionist in the main office.

“Eddie Munson?” she asked, looking over her paperwork. “No I didn’t get a phone call or anything. I marked him as an unexcused absence.”

“Oh, ok. Thanks for checking.”

“You know, his attendance has actually been… unusually good this year.”

“Yeah— yeah, I know. Thanks anyway.” Head down, you almost ran into Diane as you turned to leave.

“Hey soldier, what brings you to my side of the line?”

“Nothing it’s— it’s stupid. I should get going before my lunch break is over.”

Diane folded her arms across her soft, green cardigan. “What’s up?” she asked gently, guiding you out of the way of incoming traffic. “You seem… upset.”

“It’s really nothing. I’m just…” you glanced around the office.

“You wanna talk about it?” 

Your voice caught in your throat. Your mouth twitched but no words came out.

“Come on, that’s what my office is for.”

Diane led you across the noisy office with all the talking, and phone ringing, and copy machines whirring, through her doorway — into silence.

You sat down and looked around at what everybody else saw when they took this seat — the concrete walls painted a soft peachy-pink. The plants in her window. The few inspirational posters. The warm glow of the three lamps that lit the room. No fluorescents.

Only Diane did not take her usual place behind her desk, instead she took the seat next to you.

“I’m sorry, this is really stupid. Eddie wasn’t in class today, and I— I know it’s like, well so what, but—” you started.

“He’s the one you’ve been tutoring right?”

“Yeah.” 

“He’s never been absent before?” Diane asked with a little chuckle, “It’s almost November.”

“Yeah— yeah, I know. It’s really paranoid of me. He just said that he was going to a party this weekend and I—“ you swallowed, glancing away. 

Diane’s face dropped. “Oh.” She put her hand on your shoulder. “I know this is a hard holiday for you, but I’m sure he’s fine. You’re just catastrophizing. I understand where it’s coming from though.” 

“Yeah— yeah I’m sure you’re right, I just…” you sighed, taking a moment to steady your breath as her hand soothed over your back. “This weekend was… hard. It’s still hard. All day today.” 

“That’s the hidden toll of teaching, isn’t it?” Diane mused, “You see these kids every day and you get so… invested in them. It’s an emotional labor, you know?” 

You did know. Just like the papers you graded, it was something you took home with you. Even before Eddie. That was the thing about teaching, even after you went home the job never really ended. 

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

Her words hung in the air as your stomach dropped, face turning hot. You couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Yes,” you choked out. “I mean I care about all my students,” you added quickly.

If only she knew. 

______

Tuesday, October 29th 1985

Eddie slid his plastic lunch tray along the counter as he waited for his turn in the lunch line like some sort of prisoner.

In his mind he was still cruising the freeway, watching state signs pass, watching the upright citizens of the world go about their daily grind as he watched like a spectator from the outside. Just rambling through. That was what he loved most about skipping school — the feeling of being outside, of wondering what sort of bullshit class his friends were having to fight sleep through as he drove on past with a mug full of coffee and a tank full of gas.

His suffering had earned him almost $300 on Saturday and he was bound and determined to put it to good use. He needed a three day weekend after that. Hell, he really needed to just take the whole week but he figured that might be pushing it.

When he saw the look on your face as he entered your class an hour ago, he was grateful that he hadn’t. He would spend the first ten minutes of it running his fingers over the subtle indents that your green grading pen left behind on his test, feeling for your hand through the paper. Feeling the braille of the lines that came together to form the words “I’m proud of you”.

He could count on one hand the number of As he had gotten in his life — this was one of them. 

He would spend the next forty minutes of class watching you, as he always did, with his cheek pressed against his knuckles. He would imagine you in his passenger’s seat — cruising down the road with a mug full of coffee and a tank full of gas. How you would bring your own tapes and serenade him with Joni Mitchell’s “Coyote”. How he would much rather be a prisoner of the white lines on the freeway.

The lunch lady took his tray and slapped a helping of overcooked green beans that looked more grey than green, followed by a splat of mashed potatoes and a shriveled pork chop. Eddie was grateful for how generous she was with the gravy, it would help combat the dryness. Yum.

Eddie took the tray and gave a gracious nod before making his way to the head of the Hellfire table.

“Hey man, where were you yesterday?” asked Dustin through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Eddie plopped both his tray and himself down with a sly smirk. He shed his jacket, revealing the bandage on his forearm. 

“Oh shit were you in the hospital or something?” asked Mike. 

“No he got a tattoo, you doofus,” laughed Jeff, nudging him with his foot under the table.

Mike rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah that’s super obvious.”

“It is,” Jeff snorted.

“Did you end up getting the sphinx from Powerslave?” asked Dave.

“I actually went with the puppet master, I’ll show you guys tomorrow when I can take this thing off. It’s really sick.” Eddie sawed at the hard, dry pork chop with his knife, stabbing it still with the fork in his other hand.

“So how was um, ‘business’ this weekend?” asked Dustin.

Eddie stopped sawing. He hesitated for a moment, his stomach churning as he recalled what happened. The red in Jason’s eyes as he grabbed him by the shirt. The look on all of their faces staring down at him.

Gareth caught his eyes. “Everybody keep an eye out for Jason Carver and any of his bitchboys. They have it out for Eddie,” he interjected.

The table erupted in questions. 

“Why, what happened?” asked Dustin.

“Do we need to make them pay?” Dave cracked his knuckles.

“No— no we’re gonna just lay low but keep an eye out for them. Chrissy keeps talking to Eddie and Jason’s being a jealous little bitch about it. Keep an eye out for her too,” answered Gareth.

Eddie felt the pressure release in his chest and gave Gareth a gracious look. He caught the remorse in his eyes. There was another thing that Eddie was relieved by — he left out the part about you.

“Shitheads just being shitheads,” said Eddie finally. “But uh, Gareth’s night wasn’t so shitty,” he prompted with a raise of his eyebrows, changing the subject.

The table shifted audibly.

Gareth smirked. “Yeah Cindy gave me her number.”

Cheers, elbow jabs, and banging on the table came from all directions. Eddie smiled at his friend, full and genuine. 

“I called her last night.”

More eruptive cheers. Louder this time.

“What did she say?”

“How’d it go?”

“Did you ask her out?”

“Woah, easy boys, one question at a time,” Gareth chided gently, raising his hands. “I haven’t asked her out yet. We just talked about movies and stuff. I’m trying to feel it out, you know? Gotta take it slow, I don’t wanna scare her away,” he laughed. “It went good though, we talked for like an hour.”

“You should take her to see Goonies,” Dustin suggested.

“She’s already seen Goonies, plus that’s like… is that really a date movie? What kind of movies are date movies?”

Dave snorted, “Stupid movies.”

“Yeah take her to A Room With a View,” Jeff laughed.

“Ew that’s like, serious isn’t it?”

“How ‘bout Rocky IV, that’s romantic,” offered Dustin through a snicker.

“No—no wait the new National Lampoon’s,” Mike chortled.

“Really helpful, thanks guys.”

Eddie chuckled distantly, taking a stab at his green beans. He glanced over toward the door to the teacher’s lounge, across the expanse of the noisy cafeteria. Somewhere behind that wall you too were at a table, eating lunch by yourself in a room full of people. He wondered if you felt as lonely as he did sometimes, a loneliness in feelings that weren’t appropriate to share.

______

Eddie sifted through the contents of his locker, hunting for his chemistry textbook amongst the chaos of loose papers without homes. The door, which shielded him in part from the noisy hallway, was stark. There were remnants of stickers inside from previous occupants, but aside from the papers with his name on it, there was no trace of Eddie Munson. He remembered his first few lockers here, how keen he was to leave his mark on them, to slap Iron Maiden and Slayer stickers on the inside that future occupants would have to scrape to get off. He was less keen to make a home of his sixth. 

“Hey Eddie.”

He recognized the voice. Powder soft and sugar sweet, it was twinged with a tentative sadness. He took one look at Chrissy Cunningham and shut his locker, turning away.

“Eddie, wait,” she pleaded, chasing after him.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” he said sharply, keeping his pace.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she admitted, her white tennis shoes hitting the tile in quick succession to keep up with his much larger gait. 

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“I— I just wanted to apologize.”

 Eddie gave a sharp puff of air through his nose and slowed his pace. 

“I’m really sorry about Saturday. I was really drunk, I didn’t mean to get you in any trouble.”

Eddie stopped, turning to her sharply. “Yeah? Well, the longer you stand here and talk to me, the closer I am to getting in trouble again, so…”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“Well, you have,” he said curtly, turning away. His feet carried him briskly down the hall, leaving her in the gust of air he left behind.

It might have stopped her feet from following him then, but it didn’t stop her eyes from following as they searched for his across the room in chemistry class. 

He would try to avoid them, but eventually the searing heat of her gaze got the best of him. He would concede, and when he did catch a glance of those green eyes from across the room he would think about the time he saw them last. Red and heavy lidded. He would think about the way she stumbled off that couch. The way she crumbled under the weight of Jason’s voice.

So he would concede and meet her eyes for just a moment from across the classroom. Behind them, equal parts desire and remorse. 

______

How would you describe Eddie Munson? You had been asking yourself this question since your first encounter after school. 

There were the obvious things — Plush lips. Strong chin. Soft nose. A jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Big brown eyes like a baby cow. Wild ringlets that framed his face and cascaded down his shoulders.

Then, more subtly — A summer wind. Restless and frenetic, but soft all at once. Soft in the comfortable silence that sometimes fell between you. The silence of listening. There was warmth in him too — the kind of warmth that colored the brightness of his voice when the silence was broken. He was wild, and warm, and restless, and magnetic all at once. A summer wind.

It was a question you would ask yourself after every encounter. Each time you would come away with something more.

What you did know for certain today was that nothing compared to the sight of his sweet face as he took the seat across from you. 

“It’s good to see you,” you said. As if that even scratched the surface.

“Yeah, you too.” His eyes held yours as he shed his jacket around the chair. He leaned forward in it, resting his arms on the desk between you.

You were just happy to see the pink in his cheeks, the extra fluff in his hair today. You could smell the product in it even from across the desk. Your fingers occupied themselves with the pen in front of you. “I was… worried about you. On Monday.” 

His eyes widened. “Shit, I’m really sorry about that,” he lamented. You could tell that he meant it too. “I was uh, getting this.” He presented his forearm with a cheeky grin.

You looked down at the inky black lines on his skin. At the gnarled hand grasping a wooden marionette cross with strings hanging down. You followed them down to what appeared to be some sort of zombie or undead creature hanging from them.

Your eyes lit up like Christmas. “Aren’t those… illegal here?” you asked in a crazed little whisper, the look on your face was wild and fascinated. 

“Only in Indiana.” You could hear the mischief in his voice. “I drove to Illinois to get it. That’s why I had to take the whole day.”

You had to laugh. And you did. “Well I’m glad you’re safe. I guess it was… silly of me to worry so much.”

“No— no I should have at least called in and made up some bullshit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m just glad you’re ok. That’s all that matters.” You looked down at his arm again, at the dark, angry lines across his reddened skin. “Did it hurt?” 

“Yeah, it always does a little. This one wasn’t so bad. I have others.” His dark eyes flashed at you as he hooked his fingers over the collar of his shirt, exposing the ink under his collarbone. “This one hurt the worst,” he said with a soft smirk. His hand lingered there, an offering to your eyes.

You cursed the animal inside you. The one that growled from deep within your abdomen and crawled its way into your cheeks. The one that whispered about what your lips might feel like on the skin that he exposed for you. 

“O—oh yeah I can see why that would hurt.” Your eyes diverted back to his arm, tracing the lines with your eyes. You brought your face closer to examine, but you were more interested in the velvet skin of his forearm. How something could be strong and soft all at once. Your fingers twitched above it.  

“You can touch it,” he said. An offering — an experience. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Your eyes met his. Hesitant, you accepted, lowering your fingers slowly, then your eyes. He was so warm and impossibly soft. You were almost afraid he would feel your pulse pounding through your fingertips as they traced tentative, delicate patterns across his skin. 

There was a gentle puff of air against your face as he sighed at the contact. 

It took courage to look up at him, but when you did he held your gaze with an intensity that made you shudder.

“Sorry, my fingers are cold,” you said with a nervous laugh. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” His voice was gentle, distant, like a trance. “It feels… nice actually.”

You lowered your eyes again, and then more of your fingers across his warm, velvet skin, sliding slowly up and down the solid expanse of his forearm. You could feel the tendons, the soft brush of hair at the edges.

“Does it still hurt?” you asked softly.

“Yeah, a little. Kind of itches more than anything now.”

His palm was facing up at you, so close to the heat of your body. His long fingers twitched. 

You should have pulled away. You knew you should and you were trying but his skin was like a magnet and you could not bring yourself to do it. It was too painful. 

“How was the party?” you asked as a knot twisted in your stomach.

He huffed and shook his head, “Pretty shitty if I’m being honest.”

The knot released a little. “That bad huh?”

His eyes widened, giving a crazed little look, “Yeah, it was that bad.”

“What happened?” 

His brow furrowed as he searched for the words, “Just… drama I guess — involving a certain, uh, basic primate. It’s really stupid, honestly.”

Your fingers pressed concern against his arm, ever so subtly. “Jason?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, casting his gaze away. “Yeah, he’s a real dick. Anyway, like I said, it’s stupid.”

You wanted to press on, but it seemed like he didn’t care to elaborate. 

“I was worried about you, at the party,” you said softly. And then you did something bold, as if possessed by a force stronger than your noble mind — you lowered your palm.

You could feel his approving hum through your hand, the vibrations rippling from under his velvet skin. 

“I knew you would be. I was extra careful.” His eyes flitted up to yours. “For you.”

It was the seriousness of his tone that stirred you most. The earnest, deadpan look on his face, like there were volumes behind those two words.

It opened up a narrow passage, and you entered with the boldest thing that you had ever said. 

“I really care for you.”

You wondered if he could feel your pulse hammering against his arm, feel your hand start to sweat. Your fingers twitched, mind racing with second-guessing. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. You lifted your hand to remove it, but then he did something that surprised you.

His hand below you gripped your arm. 

“No—no,” he soothed, his eyes meeting yours in earnest. “It’s ok.” 

Time stopped — frozen as he held you in his gaze. You might have thought your heart stopped too had it not been so audibly pounding in your ears.

“I care for you too,” he admitted.

The breath that was caught in your chest released, and with his permission, you relaxed into the touch. You squeezed his arm gently — a gesture he returned, and heavy sigh escaped both of you at once. 

It was only a moment, but there a whisper, no — a bold admission in the quiet of the air between you. 

He smiled at you. Breathy and crooked, a wild warmth in his eyes. And for one stolen moment the fear that had nestled itself deep within your chest melted away. 

The animal inside you stirred, stretching outward like a yawn, up into your neck and cheeks again. It was warm this time. Comfortable now. 

The world around you fell away. The concrete walls, and clocks, and bells, and chalkboards ceased to exist. There was nothing else that mattered except hands on skin across the great divide of the desk lodged between you. 

Your mouth twitched but words would not come. You feared that if they did the spell would break. 

Eddie was much braver.

“I wish you could have come. To the party. I mean like, hypothetically, not… realistically. But like, another party. I— I don’t know. Sorry that sounds really stupid,” he said with a little chuckle. His arm remained locked to yours, curious fingers wandering across your skin. 

“No it’s not, I— I wish I could have gone too. Hypothetically. I would have had a much better Saturday night than I did on my own, trust me,” you said with a pained laugh.

He shook his head, thumb rubbing electric circles on your arm. “Oh I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” you said.

And with that Eddie did something even braver — his palm traced its way down your arm until it found your hand. He held it in his for a moment, warm, calloused thumb soothing over your knuckles. You could feel those bones again, those strong fingers that held you steady as you threatened to tremble. 

It was only for a moment. But in this moment there were two things that were abundantly clear for both of you —

1. It felt too good to stop.

2. That things would never be the same.

______

A/N: Well, well — we have an admission! After quite possibly the longest October in history, time is going to start moving a little more quickly now that our forbidden lovebirds are on the same page. We've still got some more hurdles to navigate, but strap in as we prepare for liftoff! 🚀

Another note, I will be closing my taglist. Those of you who are already on it will remain tagged, but anyone else who wants to keep following the story can just follow me (as I would sincerely hope you all are) and turn on notifications.

A smaller note — I have given Freak #3 the name of Dave.

As always, I deeply appreciate any and all comments -- keyboard smashing, theories, small novels, all of it. Hearing your reactions to my story fuels me in ways that I can only begin to tell you.

Please reblog and help others to find my precious creation! ✨

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @newlips @chainsawmunson @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @wordscomehither @alottanothing @bebe0701 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @shotgunhallelujah @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @luna-munson83 @eddiemunsonsbitcch @tlclick73 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @blue-mossbird @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @quinnsfineline @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @emily-roberts @averagemisfit03

[suzteel]

I've been meaning to talk about the change in Tankhun's wardrobe over the course of the series for a while, and this gifset crossing my dash again ended up being the motivation I needed. So here we go!

As highlighted by at gifset, green lighting and backdrops are often used to indicate danger in the show. It is also a color heavily associated with the Minor Family and some great meta has been written about the use and significance of the color on the show and especially about Porsche's final green suit. Green is the color of greed, of danger, of corruption. But green can have more positive associations with it as well: it can represent hope, growth, renewal, rebirth...

But what does this have to do with Tankhun? Well it's all in the wardrobe.

When we are first introduced to Tankhun on the show, he’s hard to miss in his fuchsia robe. It's a color we see a lot of when it comes to Tankhun. For the first half of the season he’s awash in pink and color, wearing fuchsias, reds, golds, and the occasional blue-tinted metallic or sky blue. And his character is much like the colors he wears—loud and attention-seeking and distracting.

But then as we approach mid-season, we start to see a switch occur in the colors he chooses to wear. The bright reds and fuchsias fade and we start to see more subdued colors—solid whites, greens, and blacks (all fabulously and loudly styled of course because he’s still Tankhun). In fact, Tankhun’s primary wardrobe color across SIX different outfits in the last two episodes is black. For Tankhun, it’s a flashing neon sign of his state of mind as the dangerous and perilousness of the events happening around him increases. Now is not the time for bright colors, now is the time to be serious.

But I’m not here to talk about the black, I’m here to talk about the green.

While green is not entirely absent from Tankhun's wardrobe in the first half of the season (very few colors are), the first time it takes a dominant role is in episode 10 when Gun presents Ken’s head to the Main Family. As noted up top, green is a color associated with both danger and with the Minor Family, so it's not a surprise to see green appear in this scene. Both Korn and Gun actually have hints of green in their wardrobe (Korn in his tie; Gun in his cravat). But it is notable that Tankhun is not only wearing it, his entire outfit is green.

On a character level, it's a tantalizing choice. While Tankhun isn't in any more danger here than anyone else, but he's dressed as if he is. And while we do see him respond to guns being drawn with more fear and distress than any other point on the show, there's something bigger going on here as well—Tankhun is playing a role.

Let's look at the dynamic of the scene.

Korn is at the head of the table, with Gun at his left and Kinn and Tankhun on his right. Tankhun, specifically, is sitting on Kinn's right—he's performing the role of Kinn's right hand man. And he's wearing green, a color predominantly associated with the Minor Family. Sitting opposite Korn and Gun, Kinn and Tankhun reflect their dynamic in a way that foreshadows the changes to come. That foreshadowing is pretty blatant when you note the blue suit Kinn is wearing. After all where else do we see this same blue/green color dynamic?

And from this point on, Tankhun continues to wearing green in moments specifically connected to his relationship with Kinn (and Porsche). When Kinn confessed his love for Porsche and Tankhun voices his support, he's again wearing green. When Arm and Tankhun save KinnPorsche in the finale, the collar of his jacket is teal-green. And for his last appearance on the show, the green hue of his jacket exactly matches the green of Porsche’s suit.

It's again notable that when the day is won and the danger has supposedly passed that Tankhun does not return to his brightly colored clothing of the beginning of the season, but remains in his darker clothing. The choice works on multiple levels: it indicates the danger has not, in fact, passed; it points to a more permanent shift in Tankhun; and with the presence of the matching green, it links both the danger and that shift with Porsche.

There's definitely been a lot of meta about Porsche's green suit already, and I'm not going to rehash it because we're mostly talking about Tankhun here, but I am going to point out the similarities between Tankhun and Porsche at the end of the series. Both of them are eldest sons—both failed to be what their parents wanted of them, both failed to truly protect their younger siblings from this world, and both of them have found themselves prisoners in a gilded cage of Korn's making. And neither of them are truly safe there.

But speaking of eldest sons wearing green, it's interesting that despite green representing the Minor Family, the only one who actually wears it is Macau. Vegas is awash in green lighting and green decor, but black and red are his personal colors. He never wears green. Until, of course, he does—when he and Porsche genuinely cooperate for a common cause.

Just some food for thought.

[escapingrealityforamoment]

Jeremiah Fisher has entered the chat… my first go at a Jeremiah imagine 🙈 hope you guys like it!

A local girl, (Y/N), and Jeremiah Fisher find a summer romance at the beach house bonfire, changing their lives forever.

You, (Y/N), have always been a local at the beach where Jeremiah Fisher's family owns a beach house. Every summer, you'd catch glimpses of him and his family, knowing them as familiar faces around town. There was always an air of mystery surrounding Jeremiah, an unspoken allure that drew you in.

This summer, however, everything changed on the night of the first bonfire of the season. The beach was alive with laughter and music, as locals and vacationers gathered around the crackling flames. You found yourself standing near the fire, chatting with friends, when you noticed Jeremiah out of the corner of your eye. He was leaning against a driftwood log, his dark hair tousled by the ocean breeze.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to strike up a conversation. With a nervous smile, you approached him. "Hey, Jeremiah. Long time no see."

He turned to you, his gaze warm and inviting. "Hey, (Y/N). Yeah, it's been a while. How have you been?"

As the conversation flowed effortlessly between you, you discovered that there was more to Jeremiah than meets the eye. Behind his brooding exterior, you found a kind soul with a genuine interest in getting to know you. Time seemed to fly by as you laughed and shared stories, your hearts connecting amidst the vibrant atmosphere of the bonfire.

The night air was filled with the scent of salt and sea, and the sky above was studded with stars. The beach was awash in the soft glow of the fire, casting a warm, intimate ambiance. You and Jeremiah moved away from the crowd, finding a quiet spot by the water's edge. The waves lapped gently at the shore, creating a soothing rhythm that echoed the beat of your heart.

"I've seen you around every summer," he confessed softly, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "But this summer feels different. Being here with you, talking to you... It's like everything has changed."

Your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with him, feeling an electric spark between you. "I feel it too," you whispered, your voice barely carrying above the sound of the ocean. "There's something about this summer, about being here with you."

As the night wore on, the crowd began to disperse, leaving just the two of you behind. The crackling flames provided a comforting backdrop as Jeremiah took a step closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and longing.

In that moment, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you under the moonlit sky. And as Jeremiah leaned in, closing the distance between you, you knew that this summer would be unlike any other.

His lips met yours in a gentle, tender kiss that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you together at that very moment. The taste of salt lingered on your lips, a sweet reminder of the beach and the magic it held.

As you pulled away, both of you were breathless, and a blush colored your cheeks. "I never expected this," Jeremiah admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "But I'm glad it happened."

You smiled, feeling a newfound sense of joy and anticipation. "Me too."

From that night on, your connection with Jeremiah deepened. You spent lazy afternoons on the beach, watching the sun dip below the horizon, and shared secrets under the starlit sky. Each moment brought you closer, and it felt like the summer was slipping away too quickly.

But as the season drew to a close, you knew that this wasn't the end. The magic of that first bonfire had ignited something special between you and Jeremiah, something that would endure beyond the summer. And as you looked forward to the future, you were grateful for the serendipitous turn of events that had changed everything, all because of a bonfire on a summer night.

[acewithapaintbrush]

Splinter remembers the day like it was yesterday. Despite his best efforts to drown out the memories with cheap booze, unhealthy snacks and mindless TV-shows 24/7, he remembers every single detail of the moment Lou Jitsu ceased to exist and became… this. 

The noise of a machine powering up. The light of electricity coursing through his body. The feeling of an otherworldly substance on his skin and the pain of every molecule rearranging itself in his body. 

The memories are fresh, like a wound that refuses to heal. He has learned over the years to accept his new existence and he has even realized that, in a twisted way, he can even be grateful for everything that's happened. Without the noise and the light and the pain he also wouldn't have his pride and joy, his beloved sons. 

Splinter knows all that and he does his best to remind himself of it all, but sometimes the memories will still be too much. Too overpowering. Sometimes he will sit in his chair and stare at the TV without really seeing it and just drift in an endless sea of regret and bitterness so strong he can taste it on his tongue. 

But the fact that he does remember that day so well has actually also been his salvation more than once. Because when the noise and the light and the pain get to be too much, he also remembers what came after. 

Four little turtles, now strangely humanoid, rolling around on the floor. And some weird instinct (Survival? Parental?) urging him forward to scoop them up into his hands. 

And he remembers them tumbling around in his palms. And he remembers the red-eared slider looking at him and immediately holding his tiny arms out with the biggest smile. 

Leonardo. 

Leonardo reaching out to him. Already trusting, already more happy to see Yoshi than any of his prior acquaintances had ever been. 

Leonardo had reached for him first and it's that image that pulls Splinter back from the edge most nights. If Splinter had any recollection of Leo claiming that he was his "least favorite", he might have laughed. Or cried. 

Nothing could be further from the truth. 

And now he is kneeling here, on this cold concrete, and stares at a sky awash in unnatural colors. A portal has just closed and his son is on the wrong side of it. Has sacrificed himself to save them all. 

And Splinter reaches up. Ignores the noise and the light and the pain, and reaches his arms into the sky, hoping against hope that his son will reach back. That those arms will reach for him once more. That he can pull him out, just like his son has pulled him out of the deepest pits of despair over the years. 

But the portal is closed.

He can't reach him.

********

An hour later, April, Casey and him finally find his sons, and for a moment Splinter is convinced that his mind is finally broken beyond repair. Because right there, in the middle of a group hug, is Leonardo. Bruised and bloody and tired. 

But alive. And here. 

He stops in his tracks while April and Casey run forward, questions falling from their lips almost as rapid as the tears are falling from their eyes. 

Splinter doesn't hear a word of mystic powers and portals and last minute rescues. He can only stare at the child he had thought to have lost forever. 

Said child looks up and for a second something vulnerable flashes through his eyes as they find his frozen father. But then it's gone and he grins. "Hey Pops!" 

And he holds out one arm, the other still trapped by a silently weeping Casey. His hand shakes a little and the grabby motions of his fingers look more desperate than they are probably meant to be. 

But they are familiar and they are something Splinter was convinced he would never see again. 

He finally moves, rushes forward on shaking legs to the hand that is once again reaching out to him. He grabs it and bends down, his forehead pressed against their joined hands. 

"I got you.", he whispers, over and over. "I got you. I got you." 

His son has once again reached out first. 

And Splinter is never letting go again. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It always struck me as significant how the others are just tumbling around but Leo immediately makes eye contact and holds out his hands as if to say "Ohhh new Papa, hello there!"

[pjohoo-reclists]

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite Fic Recs

A list of fics with Percy & Amphitrite's platonic or/and familial relationship. Enjoy!

Icicles in the sky: the beach by TheTrueCthulhu9

G | 800 words | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Good parent Amphitrite, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Percy Jackson needs a hug

Percy is struggling with his first day at camp, lost his mother, doesn't know his godly parent, everyone expects him to be more. So he goes to where he feels the most comfort.

Baking Cookies by PunkFlame 

G | 1.4k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Baking, Domestic, Amphitrite is a good step parent

Armed with her new knowledge, the queen exited the water. She needed to find a recipe after all. She wasn't too familiar with the style and popularity of land foods and didn't want to make something that he wouldn't like. This had to be perfect. __ Amphitrite is determined to bond with Percy, and she found out the perfect way. Baking cookies.

My Immortal Stepmother by aislingyngaio

G | 1.7k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Percy and Amphitrite meet again after the Battle of Manhattan and form a bond.

Brought Home by GhostlyPages

G | 1.8k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Kid Percy Jackson, Royal Percy Jackson, Queen Amphitrite, Good parent Amphitrite

“Who’s my father?” He turned his attention back to the Queen who was sitting across from him. “Your father is the King, Poseidon.” She answered him, and Percy blinked at her in confusion. “But isn’t he married to you?” He asked, “How could he be my father when he’s married to you?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked over to Triton as if he would have the answer. Triton had looked away and had a sour look on his voice. He worried that Triton disliked him like Gabe disliked him.

Happiness Does Not Wait by mrthology

G | 2.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite, Percy Jackson & Poseidon

Percy Jackson needs a hug, Slice of life, Family Dynamics

"Who said anything about a quest, child?" Amphitrite asked, laughter in her voice. It reminded Percy of Kymopoleia's, much to his discomfort. He hardly had good memories of his godly sister. “Gods don’t tend to want anything else from me,” Percy pointed out dryly. “You lot always want something.” “Of course I want something,” Amphitrite said, voice awash in amusement. “I want you to come to Atlantis,” she continued, cutting him off right as he was about to speak. She started to walk again, bypassing throngs of gaping students. She was hiding her divinity, but she still looked so much more than human. “As I said, your father misses your presence. And he is incredibly irritating when he sulks.” — Or, Percy spends some time with his godly stepmother, much to his bafflement.

A Mother's Jewel by EclecticPhoenix

G | 3.5k | Complete

Poseidon/Amphitrite, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Family Fluff, Amphitrite Centric, Protective Triton

Amphitrite had no love for her husband's half-blood children. But when Percy Jackson has to stay in Atlantis while he recovers, can she accept him and let go of her resentment? Or in which Amphitrite comes to care for her demigod stepson.

family in disguise by osamugiris

G | 3.7k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite, Poseidon/Amphitrite, Percy Jackson & Triton

Growing up, Good Parent Amphitrite, Disguised gods

"Thank you," he smiled softly. "I like blue candy a lot. Smelly Gabe says food can't be blue, so Mom likes to make blue food and bring home blue candy all the time just to say he's wrong. It's our thingy." "Anything can be blue if you wish," she nodded with a smile. "What's your name, dear?" "Percy," he said. "What's yours, miss?" The woman grinned at him. "You just call me Mrs. A." Amphitrite and (reluctantly) triton have been looking out for Percy his entire life without Poseidon’s knowledge. Percy feels stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

Family doesn't end in blood by HadrianPeverellBlack

G | 3.9k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite, Percy Jackson & Poseidon

Percy Jackson is a Little Shit, Good Parent Amphitrite, Poseidon is a Good Parent

Five times Amphitrite saw Percy help sea creatures, Plus the one time Percy needed help.

I really don’t know clouds at all by Melanthios

T | 4.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Poseidon is overprotective, Triton is a good sibling, Good parent Amphitrite

Percy and the sea fam hold hands on different occasions.

Gratuity At Twenty Percent by inkncoffee

T | 5.6k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Father-son relationship, Family, Good step-mother, Protective Percy

Amphitrite was no fool and she wouldn't be played for one. Not even by the lord of the sea himself. When Poseidon starts disappearing at night, Amphitrite investigates. She's not entirely sure if what she finds is better or worse than what she expected.

Get Well by PunkFlame 

Not Rated | 6.8k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Sickfic, Misunderstandings, Family Bonding

Normally Percy wasn’t huge on physical contact, which is what made the demigod utterly melting into him - and even nuzzling against his chest - all the more bewildering. Not that a single thing in the past few minutes made much of any sense. Firstly Percy never prayed to him, so hearing him do so filled the god with trepidation. Despite whatever situation he thought he would find the demigod in, not for a moment did the messenger even consider that his brother would be lying face first in a bathtub, one foot hooked over the edge of the tub, and the other wedged in the corner. What had happened to him now?

Love Blooms From Within by PunkFlame 

T | 16k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Platonic Hanahkai, Undersea Family, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

Percy grabbed a tissue from the nearby box to cough into, only to nearly faint when he caught sight of what was nestled in the bloody mess. “Are those… petals?” He pushed it to the back of his mind, and tried his very best to forget all about them. Even though the cough and the petals never truly went away. ____ All Percy ever wanted was his Father's love. Some brotherly love would certainly have been nice too, but how could they possibly ever love someone as fleeting as him? (Hanahaki with a familial twist.)

The Sea Does Not Like to Be Restrained by PunkFlame

T | 20k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite, Percy Jackson/Apollo

Undersea Family, Controlling Relationships, Protective family dynamics

As it turns out, when a demigod rejects their godly parent’s domain with such vehemence, the god and their child could become entirely severed from one another. There was little knowledge on the matter, the bottom line seemed to be that if the two did not mend the sever, Perseus would slowly fade away and die, step by step loosing more and more of himself as his soul desperately tried to mend the gaping hole in itself. Triton couldn't even imagine. The most terrifying concept to him was piece by piece loosing what made him who he was. To have parts of oneself ripped from one's very soul until they remain a husk of what they once were, there were scarcely worse things...

Oh Yeah, No, I Totally Forgot by BlueberryLimoncello

T | 93k+ | Ongoing as of 23/8/23

Sally Jackson & Amphitrite, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Sally Jackson is a good parent, Amphitrite is 'aunt Rita', Amphitrite is a homie

Amphitrite really had only gone to that particular beach to see if there was something special about it. To see if the surf was softer, the wildlife nicer, if the nymphs were maybe prettier. She needed to see if there was a reason Poseidon went there so often. But the stretch of sand she’d come to was truly pitiful, it wasn’t anything special or different, it was in fact boringly empty. Or it was meant to be empty. A small child stared up at her with big green eyes, a mop of dark curly hair, and an armful of various colorful buckets and a tiny shovel. Oh.

Who Would Dare? by PunkFlame

T | 120k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Amphitrite

Poison, Sickfic, Undersea Family, Extreme medical trauma

"Listen." Triton's voice cut through Percy’s haze "We both know you're hurt, but you don’t have to play the hero. Now let me see your damn wound." Percy nodded, opening up his stance and allowing Triton to approach him. He lifted the hem of Percy’s shirt carefully, to reveal an inch deep gash that stretched from the top of his shoulder to his upper thigh. Triton froze, eyes widening in disbelief, but he remained silent. He reached out but stopped himself just short of touching the wound. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and grave. "Tell me who did this to you... Now." ________ Triton, at Poseidon's request, goes to seek out Percy; however, he finds him on the brink of death, and brings him back to Atlantis in an attempt to save his life. What will this mean for them, what will this mean for the royal family as a whole, and who would dare to have done this in the first place?

Nothing to make a song about but kings by iwillpassthis

T | 201k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite, Percy Jackson & Poseidon

King!Percy, Undersea politics, Atlantis

Percy knelt before Atlantis’ throne, feeling the ancient power of the sea run through his veins in an uncoordinated dance. You are the sea now, it whispered, and the sea is you. A crown of gold and emeralds was placed on his head. Long live the king. Long live the king. . It’s a fortune that Poseidon has a mortal son, because when an ancient curse hits his kingdom and all the sea gods disappear… well, someone must rule.

[ghoulysaphomet]

Link woke with a start to the ear squelching sound of metal grinding against metal. Not noticing the unknown cloth adorning his shoulders, he sits up, trying to force the residual sleepiness from his eyes.

It's early, possibly around sunrise. The sky is still speckled with barely there stars and awash with hues of oranges, reds and pinks crowning the sun. The maze's walls stand as tall as the first time he'd gazed upon them with moss crawling up the tiles in lazy exploration. The sounds of battle grates on his ears as well as his nerves. He looks, startled at the visage he finds.

The other Link (something is missing, didn't he wear a cloak?) Is brandishing an unknown sword he hadn't been carrying the day before against a tall moblin-esque creature unlike anything he'd ever seen. The monster is at least a few heads taller than the other Link, menacing even without a weapon. It snarls in threat; but other Link answers in kind, showing his teeth before pouncing. His form is so unlike his own, which stems from formal training and experience. This Link's form is more like a bunch of different people's experiences mashed together; an amalgamation of styles. Ruthless in nature but graceful in dodging; it resembles a predator playing with its prey. Link is mesmerised.

Until the other Link's sword breaks, flinging tiny shards into his hands and the ground beneath them. Link grabs his own sword, words of warning on the tip of his tongue as he watches the moblin swipe with sharp claws out at the other man. He barely gets his knees under him before other Link backflips, landing on all fours and pounces with an animalistic snarl. A loud squelch, wet and ragged, echoed by similarly sounding screams, cries loose from the monster. The other Link's blunt teeth and nails are embedded in its harsh black skin, his hair coming undone by the ferocity of his onslaught. The monster pitifully attempts to pust him off but gains a broken wrist as a result. Link can see the way other Link's jaw is straining with effort, the goal not being hitting an artery as much as crushing the trachea maybe. A sick wet crunch echoes around the area before the monster dissolves into black smoke. All Link can hear is the harsh breaths of the other Link as well as his own loud heartbeat.

Finally, it seems the other Link notices him looking. His face has a blood-beard, thick red liquid dripping from his jaw. Hair wild, the ends of his bangs stained crimson. His blue eyes blink before stalking closer to where Link is squatting. A hand reaches out, caressing his chin before landing on his forehead.

"Are.. you okay?" His teeth are stained red, warm breath hits his face. His heart thumbs away in his chest. Suddenly, his lips are dry.

"U-uh. Uhm yeah. Yeah I'm okay - I should be the one to ask you that! Are.. are you okay?" The hand is still holding his jaw, warm and soft. Link doesn't want him to let go for some reason. Unconsciously, he leans into it.

"Your face is red. Do you have a fever?" The other Link asks, pushing some of Link's hair behind his ear. He swallows.

"No. No. Im fine. Peachy."

The other Link frowns, clearly not believing him. He removes his hand and Link resists the urge to chase the warmth.

A piece of moblin flesh is dangling from other Links hair. He tentatively reaches out, aware of other Link's eyes on him like burning candles, and plucks it from his hair. There's something in the air around them. He can't bring himself to look away from other Link's mesmerising eyes; There's small becks of turquoise in his sea-deep eyes.

He knows he's being studied, that he should take back his hand. Instead, he lets it linger.

"..Sky" other Link says.

"..what?"

Other Link's cheeks reddens as he looks away. He clears his throat, licking his lips, seemingly unbothered by the blood.

"Your, ah, your nickname.. it'll be confusing with two Link's here.. and uh.. your.. your eyes. They remind me of the sky" he finishes, face getting redder and redder by the second. Link, or rather, Sky, feels a soft smile coming on.

"Hm.. then you'll.. you'll be Wild!" Because of the finesse and beauty the other man possesses, but the unlimited danger for everyone not knowing where to tread. His eyes like the wild ocean that's courageous, tempestuous, and a hurricane all in one.

Wild cocks his head. Reminiscent of an animal confused. It's cute.

"Why Wild..?" He asks, but doesn't refuse the name.

Sky blushes. "Ah, you know.. we're in the wild.." he knows it sounds weak to even his own ears, but Wild just nods as if reasonable.

"Well.." Wild starts before smiling. His teeth are pink, and the blood on his face has started to crust over and crackle.

"Nice to meet you, Sky." He says, shyly.

It's the most beautiful picture Sky has ever seen.

A short fan-drabble featuring Wild and Sky from @linked-maze by @frulleboi !

Quick Wild doodle to go along with it! 🫀✨️

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: The Endless

Kinktober Masterlist

Kink: Body Horror

Pairing: Dennis x Reader, Ransom x Reader

Wordcount: 6,011

Summary: The evil at the heart of Drysdale manor defies all explanation—and comprehension.

Warnings: Body Horror, Victorian Era, Eldritch Horror, Lovecraftian Horror, Dubcon, Noncon, Monsterfucking, Manipulation, Graphic descriptions of gore

A/N: here’s my super late second Kinktober entry! i’m sorry procrastination got the better of me this month, but i hope you all still enjoy my work. as always, comments, reblogs and feedback are always welcome. 💖 mind the warnings, and enjoy!

You are awake. 

Cool air stirs the moth-eaten drapes hanging over the narrow window, and gooseflesh rises on your clammy, sweat-damp skin. Your hands tremble as you clutch the bedsheets, aching from the tightness of your grip while you stare into the dark. 

Why are you awake?

Your bedroom is awash in gray twilight, illuminated only by a stripe of cold, clear moonlight that spills across the floor like water. The shadowy corners of your threadbare room offer no answers either, and you slowly unclench your shaking fists to place a hand over your heaving chest. 

A dream? No. A nightmare. 

Nothing of it remains now, only dim memories of pulsing warmth, of hungry hands and mouths. You swallow, your tongue sticking to the roof of your dry mouth. You have not slept easily in the manor since your arrival two weeks prior, and tonight is no different.

The wood flooring creaks underneath you as you make your way toward the window, intent on closing it. You pause with your hands on the windowpane, staring up through the glass. It is a cloudless night, the full moon hanging low above the treetops like a fat jewel. The sky around it is dark—there are no stars. No stars at all. 

How can there be a moon, but no stars?

You do not remember opening the window before you went to sleep, and as it creaks shut, the servant’s bell rings insistently beside your bed. You turn toward the sound, your lips pressed into a thin line. It doesn’t stop ringing as you gather your robe up from the back of the chair by the desk in the corner, and tie it tightly around your waist. After a few tries, you get the oil lamp on the bedside table lit, and soft orange light blooms on the wick. The still shadows in the corners of the room now breathe and shift as the flame dances behind the glass. 

The bell rings again. 

The hallway is dark, the cool air still and stale. Your lamp casts long shadows on the walls, dimly illuminating the dusty, ill-kept portraits hanging there. As you pass, the grim faces of Drysdales past glower down at you, the corners of their lips seeming to curve in the firelight.

The light plays tricks sometimes, in the dark. 

You can hear the wind outside, branches scratching against the worn, crumbling sides of the manor, like tapping fingers. The manor had been a grand place once, but try as you might, you cannot imagine it so. Few traces of that splendor remain in the empty rooms of decaying furniture and dead leaves. Much like its owner, the house is failing, curling in on itself in its old age, the water-logged walls sagging inward as if the house were holding its breath. 

You ascend the stairs, careful not to put too much weight on the railing; the iron is pitted and rusting from the damp, and you are not fool enough to trust it. As you reach the landing, door at the end of the hall opens, spilling light into the gloom. Dennis stands in the doorway, fiddling with his spectacles. 

“S-sorry to wake you,” he mumbles. It’s as if he’s trying to look anywhere but your face. When he does, his cheeks go pink, and he looks away again. “H-his chest is hurting again.” 

You offer him a tired smile. 

“You needn’t apologize to me for doing my job, Mr. Drysdale.” In the short weeks you have been at the manor, you have come to know Dennis Drysdale as a sweet, nervous man, and he has done little to dissuade you of that impression. He steps aside to allow you into the room, still stammering as he trails behind you. 

“That may well be, b-but is after midnight. I-I’m perfectly capable of administering the injection myself, but he insisted. Grandfather can be quite…stubborn.” He murmurs the last part as he closes the door with a sharp click. The master suite is bright and warm in comparison to your room, a fire raging in the marble hearth, and the sconces lit. 

“I truly am sorry for waking you.” Dennis catches your sleeve with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, you are not cold at all, your body brimming with heat. 

“It’s really no trouble. Consider it repayment—I did so enjoy seeing the grounds yesterday.” You had thanked him then, too; and his cheeks, already bitten red by the crisp autumn chill had gone even redder. You have found little to like about Drysdale manor, but Dennis’ company remains one of few instances of silver lining.

“P-perhaps I-I could show you more. I-inside, I mean.” His expression turns hopeful. “The music room i-is quite lovely.” 

“I would quite like that.” 

You wash your hands in the darkened washroom before removing the injection kit from the cabinet. The bed at the center of the room is a massive, four postered thing that like the rest of the manor, has seen better days. The intricate carvings on the canopy’s pillars are worn with age now, the gold leaf eroded by time and touch, and the red velvet curtains eaten through by moths. 

Ransom Drysdale lies on the bed, his breath a wet rattle in his sluggishly moving chest. The old man smiles at you as you approach, and despite his age, his teeth are remarkably straight and white. Ransom’s thin, drawn skin stretches tightly across his skull, the bone pressing through so sharply you can’t believe the skin doesn’t split from the force. He reminds you of a baby bird, light and fragile. He beckons you with one frail hand.

“Good evening.” 

“Mr. Drysdale,” you greet him. “Are you not feeling well?” His smile thins, and he gestures at himself.

“This body is almost ninety-five years old. I never feel well.” He watches you with remarkably sharp blue eyes as you put on gloves and prepare the long silver syringe, poking it through the rubbery covering stretched over the top of the bottle. Ransom offers you his right arm, fist clenched as you tie the rubber tourniquet. He doesn’t move as you slide the needle in.

“Don’t get old,” he advises as you put pressure on the pinprick, staunching the sluggish flow of his blood. 

“I don’t think I can stop that,” you reply, wiping at the spot with an alcohol soaked pad before wrapping his thin arm in a bandage. “The Lord gives us each our time.” You clean the syringe off and store it back in the kit. Ransom’s  dry laugh becomes a gurgling cough, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth there is red staining his palm. 

“The Lord?” He scoffs. “Come now, I thought you much more intelligent than that.” You cannot help your own lip from curling in disapproval. 

“Of course I believe in God.” You snap closed the latch of the kit with more force than necessary. His smile widens at your words, and for a moment all you can see are those too-white, too-perfect teeth. There are so many, it’s like his mouth is wider than it should be. 

“Ah, yes. You are a proper lady, after all.” Mockery drips from every syllable, and you cannot stop your own face from wrinkling with distaste. “Please, indulge an old man his eccentricities.” He pats the bedside with a frail hand. “I shall be asleep soon enough.” You glance at Dennis, who stands near the fireplace, doing his level best to not be noticed. 

“You are an atheist?” You ask as you sit. 

“Not by chance,” Ransom replies. “But by experience.” For a moment, there is no sound other than the crackling whisper of the fire. He stares at it, and the flames dance strangely in his eyes. “All my long life, I have seen little of the doings of God.”

“And what have you seen?” The wind howls outside, and the fire burns low, and the old man’s eyes seem to pierce through the very essence of your being. 

“The malevolent dark.” Ransom licks his lips. “Once you have peeled back the veil and looked beneath, my Sweet, there is no way to sew back up the wound.” A chill rolls down your spine as if drawn by an icy finger. You look away.  “How can one be God of godless things?” You want nothing more than to leave this room, for the elder Drysdale’s bright blue eyes to look anywhere but at you. 

“I am not a theologian, Mr. Drysdale,” you reply, swallowing thickly. “I am a nurse.” 

“And is that all you are?” He asks, and you shrink at the hunger in his gaze. “Beneath?” The way he looks at you… Were he a younger man, you suspect he might have reached for your hand—or the hem of your dress. You stand, suddenly, your face uncomfortably warm and your stomach churning. 

“I trust the pain has subsided?” The question comes out curtly, and Ransom laughs, his voice like dry reeds. 

“Yes thank you.”

Though the hallway is as dark and unwelcoming as it was before, you still  prefer the quiet dread over the fevered intensity of the elder Drysdale. Somehow, it takes longer to find your room again, the twisting, labyrinthine corridors more confusing in the dark. You set the lantern on the desk and untie your robe, hanging it neatly on the hook at the back of the door. 

Once you have peeled back the veil and looked beneath, there is no way to sew up the wound. 

As you turn toward the bed, there is a noise like rustling paper. Your chest seizes, and you feel your body clench as you turn toward the sound. For a moment you do not see it, squinting in the dim light of your little oil lantern. There by the door, the corner of the wallpaper has begun to peel. As you watch, it curls down another inch or two, gummy strands of old glue snapping as it falls. You move to fix it, standing on the tips of your toes to reach. But as you press yourself against the wall, it is not spongy, crumbling plaster you feel but warmth. Like skin.

You recoil, retching. 

The faded vines painted on the yellowed wallpaper writhe like snakes as you stare, their leaves trembling. There is a buzzing in your skull, a vibration that makes it impossible to focus on the shifting patterns. You reach up again, and catch the edge of a loose strip under your fingernails. There is a wet, tearing sound as you pull at the wallpaper, your fingers slipping, slick now as you peel the paper back from the wall. Your eyes widen, and you drop the strip in your hand with a muffled shriek as you clap your hand to your mouth to stifle it.

There is no stone or plaster beneath the yellowed wallpaper—but instead there is raw, red flesh. Dark, purple veins ran through it, disappearing beneath the torn edges of the paper. It pulses wetly with the house’s heartbeat, and a lidless, red rimmed eye peers out at you from the gore, rolling as you reel back. 

Warmth trickles from your nose, and you wipe at it with the back of your hand, a whimper escaping your lips as it comes away wet and red. The heartbeat grows louder and louder until it is all you can feel, trembling in your bones. It isn’t half as horrible as the voice, though, the voice that whispers into your bleeding ears like grinding glass—

You collapse to the floor, and as your vision narrows, and on your tongue you taste warm copper. Your body trembles violently, your limbs flailing. The full moon shines down on you through the window, the only light in the starless sky. 

There is no way to sew up the wound.

—

You wake in near darkness to the sound of a knock. The little window at the foot of your bed reveals a darkening sky, its edges tinged with fast fading pink and orange. I slept all day? You quickly rinse your face in the bowl at your bedside, wincing as you wipe at the crusted blood by your nose. It comes away easily, and you rub it between your fingers until it dissipates in the water. 

Another nightmare. 

The wallpaper by the door is whole and unmarred, no signs of the horrific thing you’d seen beneath it. Perhaps you’d scratched yourself in your sleep? It is the only remaining possibility. The knock sounds again, and you call out over your shoulder. 

“Coming!”

When you open the door, Dennis is on the other side. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” There is genuine relief on his features. “You were quite tired, earlier.” In his hands is a tea tray, and your face warms when you realize he’s brought it for you. You step aside to allow him entry. Dennis sets down the tea on the desk, and stands next to it awkwardly. 

“I do not remember your earlier visit,” you say apologetically as shame settles like lead in your belly. “I was remiss in my duties today.” 

“You were unwell.” Dennis waves off your concern, smiling gently at you. “The house still stands, and my grandfather remains as ill-tempered as ever. There is little you have missed.” Your laugh is unexpected, escaping your lips before you can stifle it. Dennis’ smile widens. 

He is so handsome when he smiles. And he is, truly, without the worry and anxiety lining his face, he seems twenty years younger, standing there in your room. 

“You are too kind.” 

“Someone should be.” He holds your gaze a fraction of a second too long, and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. “Your, ah, your tea. We shouldn’t let it get cold.” 

“Oh, n-no. Of course not.” 

There are no chaperones here in the manor to ensure the two of you remain decent, but you leave the door open out of habit anyway, the sunset turning the hallway orange and purple. You drop two sugars into your cup, and then pour in the tea from the little porcelain pot. 

“Have you always lived at Drysdale manor?” You ask, and Dennis shakes his head. 

“Oh, no.” He looks down at his cup. “When my mother died, Ransom took me in.” 

“I’m so sorry.” His smile turns sad. “And your father?”

“Died before I was born. He and Grandfather didn’t really… get along. I’d never met him until the funeral, actually. He raised me. Paid for my schooling…” Dennis pauses, looking wistfully at the bands of fading sunlight. “It is a debt I can never hope to repay.” He turns those soft blue eyes to you. “I know the manor is… less than pleasant.” 

You cannot disagree. “You should not have to stay.” 

“Grandfather will let me go, soon.” He says, though neither of you truly believe it. “He says the time is coming when this house will be mine to do with as I wish.” 

“And what do you wish to do with it?” You ask, draining the last of your tea from your cup. 

“Let it crumble into the sea.” Dennis finishes his cup, and places it back on the tray. “I am truly happy to see you better. You did not seem…yourself.” 

You grimace. “My nights have not been particularly restful, Mr. Drysdale.” Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. “And the nights here are long.” Dennis looks at you with a grim smile. 

“They are indeed.” He casts a pensive look at his teacup. “I should like to visit somewhere with long days.” 

“Somewhere warm. Somewhere the sea isn’t quite so gray, and cold.” Dennis’ expression lightens as you sigh. “I do miss the sea.”

“I should like to see it. Your sea, I mean.” Dennis has seen even less of the world than you have, the majority of his experience limited to the manor and the sleepy township on the other side of the overgrown wood. To one side of the crumbling manor is the wood, and the other the sea. Here, it is as dark and cold as the manor that looms over it, angry waves crashing endlessly against the rocky bluffs. 

“You are a young man, yet. There is plenty of time, if you do not mind me saying so, Mr—”

“Dennis. Please.” His fingers twitch on the desk, like he wants to touch you. “I should like to hear you call me by my name.” You hesitate, almost afraid of the familiarity. 

“Dennis.” His smile is brighter than the setting sun.

“Thank you.” 

— 

The house is a cruel maze. Every turn you take brings you back the the master bedroom, the doors appearing insistently around every corner. You do not want to open them. You want anything but to open them. The doors glow with a sickly pale purple light, vibrating and pulsing excitedly like a beating heart. Around you, the hallway is brightly lit, the chandeliers above you sparkling as if they’d only just been dusted, the wood paneling polished to gleaming. You turn away, and the house creaks around you like it’s heaving a sigh. 

You do not want to open the door, but the dream does, presenting it to you as you try to flee from it, the hallway stretching out in front of you with the doors at the end. 

The handles are cold under your fingers, and you press down on the latch, throwing them open. Ransom waits for you on the other side. With every step you take toward him, he looks younger. He is handsome when you reach him, and though his eyes sweep down over your naked body, you feel no shame. 

“Nothing great can be had without sacrifice.” The knife he presses into your hands is of the clearest, blackest glass. The symbols carved on the hilt vibrate in your skull painfully. Your body moves without your direction, turning towards the fireplace. Dennis stands in front of it—naked too. 

“Cut.” 

You do. 

You have to put the symbols somewhere—they can’t stay in your head, they’re too big. It hurts to have them there, and you need to put them somewhere, anywhere. So you put them on Dennis’ skin, carving them lovingly into his chest. He doesn’t scream. 

“Cut.”

You do. 

The knife slides in like butter, and Dennis’ skin parts as easily as the wallpaper. What pours out of him isn’t blood, thick like tar, like pulled taffy, pooling at your feet.

You sit up, a scream threatening to burst from your throat. Like last night, the only light is that of the moon, painting shapes on your wall through the window. Shaking, you reach for the matches, lighting the wick of your oil lantern with clumsy fingers. 

The dream has done more than unnerve you. Warning t you bells ring in your mind’s ear, calling for you to run, run—and you want to. You look down at your hands—there is blood under your fingernails. 

I have to find Dennis. 

The thought consumes you, driving you as you tie your robe around your nightgown with shaking hands and sweaty palms. The darkness in the hallway is oppressive, bearing down on your little lantern with weight that leaves you staggering. On the wall, the portraits whisper to one another, just out of reach of the dim firelight. You wipe at the blood beginning to leak from your right nostril, and the droplets that have already dried there flake off onto the back of your hand. 

“Dennis!” Your voice is muffled by the dark, swallowed by it—not even the echo returns to your ears. 

Slowly, you ascend the stairs. 

With each step, the discomfort weighing in your stomach like lead grows heavier and heavier. Something terrible awaits you upstairs, you just know it—and yet you cannot stop. 

The air at the landing is thick and warm, and you gag as you breathe it in. You hold your lamp aloft, praying that it will illuminate the bespectacled face of your host—it does not. There is a gurgling moan, muffled by the closed door, and you shiver when you hear it. 

“D-Dennis?”

Pale light leaks out from underneath the door of the master bedroom, and terrified tears gather in your eyes as you approach it. There’s a dull thud, and a wet crunch, and the light pulses like a heartbeat. With a shaking hand, you push against the door.

A scream rips itself from your throat. 

The putrid mass of flesh almost hurts to look at, looming in the dimly lit chamber. It is as though Ransom has been unmade, reduced to a trembling puddle of skin and hands and teeth that cling to Dennis’ writhing body like a leech. Its form is a grotesque patchwork of twisted flesh and horror, malformed limbs, distorted faces that writhed and contorted with sickening fluidity. Its skin—if it could even be called that—was a pulsating, mottled mess of sickly colors; patches of ashen gray and bruised purples that oozed dark, foul blood. 

Everywhere it touches, it sticks fast like glue, the flesh flowing together seamlessly, like they’re one single being. 

Blood trickles from both your nostrils, flowing down over your lips as your brain rattles uncomfortably in your skull. Something like a mouth opens wide, revealing rows and rows of teeth while bulbous unblinking eyes stare at you from his misshapen form. It speaks, and warm blood leaks from your ears at the sound of its voice. 

“Godless-ess-ess things-ngs-gs.” The mouths do not speak in unison, each stepping on the tail of the other as they rush to get the words out. The Ransom-thing pulls Dennis’ mouth open, and his gurgled moan of pain is cut short as it reaches inside. His throat bulges obscenely as the fist travels down it, and the wet choking noises are all you can hear as Dennis turns tearful, bloodshot eyes to you. That horrible light grows warm enough to burn, the skin of your cheeks blistering and splitting open in the wake of its brilliance. 

How can it shine so bright and be so dark?

The world bends, ripping open like paper as the room runs like watercolor paint, with only darkness behind. It’s like he said. You cannot make the words come out of your mouth as your eyes begin to roll, your jaw locking. You taste fresh blood as your teeth sink into your lip, your whine of strangled in your tight throat. Malevolent dark. Blood is dripping from both of your nostrils, leaking warm copper all over your lips and chin. Your head feels full to bursting, like everything inside is going to leak out of your ears, and you are falling—

And you go willingly into nothing. 

—

The sunlight streaming through your window is the brightest its been since you arrived. It is the warmth on your face that wakes you first, and then the terror lances through you, fresh as ever. The same four walls greet your wide eyes as you stare disbelievingly around the room. Your mouth tastes like stale blood, and you find the source as your tongue touches the sore patch on your lip where your teeth had broken through the skin. 

You wash yourself as quickly as you are able before venturing out into the uncharacteristically bright hallway. Perhaps it is the angle of the sun through the window on this particular morning, but the worn carpet seems brighter, its pale red restored to bright crimson. The portraits on the wall have lost their gaunt, fragile quality. Indeed, you can see their rosy cheeks, as if their sallow complexion was shed with the heavy dark. 

As you arrive at the second floor landing, you spy Dennis in the doorway of the master suite. 

“Dennis!” You rush toward him, your heart in your throat as you recall your blood-soaked nightmares. For what else could they be? He looks surprised to see you, pausing with his hand on the door handle. 

“Good morning,” He replies, his expression grim “I was—I was just going to call for you.” You pause in your preliminary inspection of his features, 

He looks at the ground. “He died last night.” 

“What? He—he died?” Your shock makes you take a step back, searching Dennis’ features for the lie. There is none. 

You look past him into the bedroom. Ransom’s frail body is indeed there on the bed, his skeletal chest still. You wait for a moment, to see if those mad blue eyes will open again, but the do not. Dizzily, you lean against the doorframe, one hand on your thundering heart. The memory is there, as sharp and clear as crystal. Tearing flesh and sinew, the thick taste of blood in the air—

 “I-I should check his pulse.” You grimace at the thought of approaching the bed, but you do not know what else to do. “To be sure.” Dennis shakes his head.

“You-you don’t understand,” he says sadly. “I-I was here when grandfather took his last breath.” Dennis’ blue eyes shine with unshed tears, and you suspect he might have cried before you’d gotten there. “I have already sent for the vicar—h-he should be here tomorrow.” You have no desire to approach the bed, nor Ransom’s body. He moves forward to close the door, forcing you back out into the hall. “You… you need not stay longer than necessary. I—I shall of course ensure you are fully compensated for your time.” 

“My time?” You pause, shaking your head. “I—are you alright?” He seems fine, his skin pale but unblemished. There are no teethmarks, no missing fingers, no melting, gelatinous flesh. Instead, he smiles at you, that soft, gentle smile.  

“I was sure you would be packing your bags already. Not… asking how I am.” He reaches for your hand, passing his thumb softy over your knuckles as your cheeks prick with heat as he shakes his head. Your stomach flutters at his words. With a sharp intake of breath, you sink your teeth into your lip, tasting warm copper as it aligns with the delicate bite mark you’d left behind just last night. Dennis drops your hand, as if suddenly aware of the impropriety of having held it in the first place. 

“I—I’ve no right to ask, but… Will you stay? Until the vicar arrives?” 

“Of course!” You exclaim.  In truth, you do desire to leave the manor—more than almost anything—but you’ve little desire to leave Dennis alone in this dismal, terrible place. He clasps his hands behind his back, like he’s trying to keep from touching you. 

“Thank you. For all you’ve done for my family.” His reluctant to say it leaves him floundering for, a moment, his mouth working silently. “And for me.” Your throat tightens, your tongue floundering uselessly in your mouth. 

“Y-you’re welcome.” 

—

It feels as if you’ve wandered into a dream as you pack up your things, emptying the dark wardrobe in the corner of all your personal effects. Your face heats as you recall the warmth of his hand, the softness of his smile. Were you back in the city, were you both unfettered by duty and class—perhaps Dennis might have courted you. And if you had parents to approve of the match, certainly they would. 

Another life, perhaps. 

As you finish tucking the last of your belongings into your bags, a light knock comes at the door. 

“May I come in?”

You look down at yourself hurriedly, smoothing nervous hands over your dress. 

“Yes.” The door opens slowly, and Dennis smiles bashfully on the other side. 

“I thought perhaps we, er, we might have dinner. Together.” He looks down. “T-the cook always goes home just before dusk, and I, well…” Dennis doesn’t have to say it. He doesn’t want to be alone. You don’t either. 

“I would like that.” 

You’ve not eaten in the dining room before—indeed you’d never been in it at all except in passing when you had very first arrived. Now, however, it seems almost warm, the sconces lit, a fire raging in the massive hearth as the dying sunlight fades from the wide, tall windows. He greets you with a nervous smile. 

“Please—sit.” He pulls out your chair for you, and then takes the seat to your left. The dining room is well lit, the cobwebs cleaned from the rafters. The low chandelier is polished to gleaming, and you wonder at the state of the manor. Dennis uncovers the plates, setting aside the dish covers. There is rabbit on your plate, with fresh asparagus in cream—by far the most appetizing meal you have had since coming to Drysdale manor.

“Oh, Dennis…” It feels like he’s done this for you. “This is lovely.” 

Dennis’ rings tap softly against your wine glass as he fills it. Funny. You hadn’t noticed him wearing them before, though you cannot be sure. You pluck the proffered glass from his fingers, and take a sip. It’s light, fruity. 

His expression fills with warmth as he looks at you. 

“I-I admit, I h-have come to quite enjoy your company.” He says softly. “Would it be bold to assume y-you feel the same?” Your throat tightens, and you look down at your plate, your face warming. 

“Bold, yes. Quite bold.” You clench your hands together under the table where he cannot see. “But not untrue.” You smile at him.  Dennis is as easy to talk to as ever—perhaps even moreso, now, without the specter of his grandfather’s disapproval hanging over him. The food is delicious, and you find yourself ravenous for it, eating with gusto. 

“If it is not too grim to ask, what will you do now?”

“What do you mean?” Dennis cocks his head at you. 

“Well, I—you said your grandfather would be letting you go, soon,” you reply, dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin. “I thought you might travel.” 

Dennis chuckles. “Why would I do that? I’ve everything I need right here.” I would let it crumble into the sea. He reaches for your hand, and you let him hold it. “In fact, I… I thought I might ask you to stay with me. Here, at the manor.” You cannot help the look of distaste that flickers across your face, and Dennis laughs. “I know, I know. But it’s mine, now, you see? We can do whatever we like within these walls.” 

“Firstly, we shall take down those horrid portraits,” you reply, and he laughs. 

“See? You’ll make an excellent lady of the house yet.” 

There is a weight to his words that brings prickling heat to your cheeks. 

He sweeps away the plates, uncaring when one of them tips onto the floor, spilling half eaten food onto the rug. Dennis pulls you close and you gasp, your palms flat against his chest. You don’t push him away, though, no, your fingers tangle in his lapels, clinging to him desperately as he stares longingly down into your eyes. 

Dennis kisses you then, softly brushing his lips against your own. You can taste the hunger on his skin. 

“You care for me,” the words are hushed. “And I you.” You grip the edge of the table behind you so hard you feel the blood drain from your knuckles. His mouth is fierce against yours, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip until you gasp. The swift pecks you have been given pale in comparison to the way Dennis seems to want to consume you, the hungry way he drinks down each weak little mewl you make. 

When you imagined Dennis’ hands on your body, you had thought perhaps that his fingers would tremble as they undid the buttons of your dress—but instead they are sure, steady. He parts the layers of fabric until your cheeks burn with the indecency of it all, but you cannot bring yourself to ask him to stop. Instead, it is your voice that trembles as you mumble against his mouth. 

“T-the servants, someone will see—” 

“They don’t stay after dark,” Dennis pushes the two halves of your dress from your shoulders and it pools at your hips as he scoots your hips backward until you are seated firmly on the table. “You know that.” His soft blue eyes are hard and ravenous, now as he looks at you. Your cotton under-dress offers little decency, the dark circles of your nipples poking up through the fabric. Dennis drags his thumb across one of them, glorying in your muted whine.

Your head spins, buoyed by the sweet wine still on your tongue. God in heaven, you want—you want to touch him too, and you do, cupping his face as he devours you. That is what he’s doing, you realize as Dennis’ teeth tug hard at your lower lip. He drinks down each breathy cry as if he has been desperate for them all this time, and you gasp as he drags his mouth down your jaw, nipping at your throat before pulling away to admire the indecent bruise you know is forming at your throat. 

“D-Dennis—!” His gaze does not waver, as if you had not called his name. He fills every moment, so that no space remains for your uncertainties. “W-wait, we should—” 

“We should have each other as we desire.” Eagerly, Dennis drinks in every inch of exposed skin as he pulls aside your collar, licking his lips. He takes his time to with each button, undoing them one by one until he reaches bare skin. “Don’t you think, my Sweet?” He looses the tie at his throat, dragging a thumb across your parted lips as he works loose the buttons on his own shirt. You falter as you reach for him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

You aren’t sure why his words have given you pause, why they set warning bells ringing in the recesses of your mind. You think of your dream again, that horrible, hungry flesh, and for an instant, Dennis’ lips taste of copper. He gropes at your bare breasts, breathing heavily against your mouth as he moans. You push at his chest, suddenly finding him heavier than you’d thought he’d be, and so much more solid. 

“Dennis, Dennis wait—” There is annoyance on his face when he pulls away, an emotion you’ve not yet seen him express, not with you. 

“For what?” He snaps, his eyes hard. “The vicar, so that I may place a useless trinket on your finger?” He holds your hand up, dragging his lips along the back of it. “Oh, but you’re a proper lady, aren’t you, Sweet?”A proper lady. Dennis nips at your fingers with sharp teeth. “I promise I’ll keep you,” he says, grinning darkly as you stare at him. “Forever.” 

Dennis peels away the last vestiges of your clothing, leaving you bare before him. 

“Beautiful.” You’ve had no touch other than your own, and your eyes go wide as Dennis’ cups your warm center with a groan. He slides his fingers along the seam of your lips, parting them to reveal your slick folds. He smiles. “Not such a proper lady, then.” 

Perhaps it is the way he says it, the way he turns his head just so, the smile on his lips turning just a tiny bit cruel. The knowledge passes from your mind and leaves your lips in an instant, his true name falling from your tongue in shock and horror. 

“Ransom?”

The smile widens, curling at the edges of his lips and spreading until it is so wide it threatens to split his skull in two—

“Dennis!” 

“He’s not here, Love,” Ransom’s mouth has too many teeth in it. “I ate him all to pieces.” His eyes are empty black holes when he looks at you, that horrible purple light leaking from his mouth. Warmth leaks from your nose as you push fruitlessly at his chest. “They always did say the resemblance was uncanny,” he says, clucking his tongue at you. “Don’t you think so, Sweet?”

You scream.