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shadowtriovibes · 11 months

Text

before the origin of love

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Blood, Major Hogwarts Legacy Spoilers, Canon Divergence, Ancient Magic Theory

Summary: request [paraphrased]: "You know the part during the game when MC visits Ollivander's alone and Rookwood Apparates her away? Can I request an angsty version of this where Sebastian is with f!MC? Rookwood is angry they killed all his men and casts Imperio on Sebastian to force him to attack her. Even though she’s expecting to die by Sebastian’s hand, he eventually fights the curse off because love is more powerful than dark magic."

a.k.a. y'all thought lily potter was the only one with ancient love magic? think again!!!

“Show your face, Rookwood!” you shout into the darkness. “Come out and fight me!” “My dear, why should I fight you?” Rookwood laughs from high above you, still unseen. “This is child’s play, after all…” You feel like time stops as you see a bright green curse rocket through the air toward Sebastian, who is powerless to do anything to stop it. The curse hits him in the chest with such force that he’s knocked backward, his head tipping forward as he lets out a sickening groan. But instead of watching your friend die while you stood by helplessly, you watch in abject horror as he tilts his head up and locks eyes with you – smoky-green, soulless eyes.

The moment you and Sebastian step outside Ollivander’s shop, you realize that the typically bustling streets of Hogsmeade are disquietingly empty. It’s nearly sundown now, and instead of seeing a friendly mix of witches and wizards doing their holiday shopping or stocking up on supplies for the winter months, you find yourselves all alone.

“Take out your wand,” you murmur to Sebastian. “Something’s not right.”

Wordlessly Sebastian draws his wand and takes a step closer to you, warily glancing up and down the empty streets.

Then in the blink of an eye, a well-dressed figure Apparates into view just across the way – Victor Rookwood, you realize, complete with that infuriating hat of his.

“Rookwood,” Sebastian boldly calls out. “So we meet again. Didn’t you get enough of a telling-off last time?”

You silently aim your wand at him, daring him to take one step closer.

“Well, well… looks like your friend Sirona isn’t here to stick up for you little menaces this time,” Rookwood says with a sneer. “I’m afraid you two are on your own. In fact, I’ve ensured that we have a moment to ourselves.”

Sebastian quickly lifts his wand and aims it squarely at the man’s face. “What do you want, Rookwood?”

“Oh, come, come, no need for such theatrics,” the man drawls, slowly creeping closer to you both. “In light of what Ranrok now knows, you must agree that our interests are aligned.”

Sparks crackle at the tip of your wand as you lift it toward Rookwood.

“Our interests will never be aligned,” you murmur.

Rookwood glances significantly at Sebastian before he challenges you.

“My dear, you would let goblins take what is rightfully ours? The final repository belongs to wizardkind. We would be fools not to work together.”

Beside you, you observe the slightest falter in Sebastian’s aim. You should have known that someone like Rookwood would immediately be able to pinpoint and exploit his biggest weakness – his resentment toward goblinkind, his uncompromising belief that only they carry the blame for his sister’s curse.

You imagine him thinking, Could he be right? Are we fools to allow Ranrok’s goblins to continue ransacking Isadora’s Repositories? Could we instead be using them to cure Anne?

But before Sebastian says a word, Rookwood’s eyes land on the long, thin box in your hands.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” he demands.

Quickly, you slip the box safely inside your robes. You shake your head only slightly, but Rookwood easily detects its significance.

Rookwood continues, “Might this sudden visit to the wandmaker have something to do with our… mutual pursuit?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say softly.

Suddenly, you see Rookwood’s countenance shift as his true motives become clear.

“That repository is my birthright!” he shouts, stepping toward you with a hand outstretched.

Instantly Sebastian steps in front of you and points his wand at Rookwood once more. “I know one thing for certain, and that’s that Charles Rookwood wouldn’t have wanted you anywhere near it!”

Rookwood laughs darkly as he takes a step back.

“The arrogance,” he murmurs, gaze fixed on Sebastian’s determined expression. “I should have known better than to try to reason with a Sallow, after all – you’re no better than your sister, you simpering fool.”

In a frighteningly low voice, Sebastian asks, “What would you know about my sister?”

“Nothing, of course,” Rookwood sneers. “I only meant that I’ve always thought that children should be seen and not heard.”

You inhale sharply, absently lowering your wand as you process Rookwood’s words – the very same that Sebastian had told you were the last words Anne had heard before she was hit with her curse.

Sebastian understands the implication a split second before you do, and you can see bolts of green light shooting down the length of his wand before you even understand what he’s doing.

“Avada–”

Before he can finish his spell, you feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly you’re hurtling through time and space as you’re forcibly Apparated away from Hogsmeade, landing in a crumpled heap in the snowy grass. You’re smack in the middle of a desolate bandit camp somewhere in the Highlands.

Beside you, Sebastian is catching his breath while his hands tremble with rage.

“Where did he go?” Sebastian demands. “Where did the bloody coward go?!”

“Careful, Sallow,” Rookwood’s voice calls out from the darkness. “Wouldn’t want to get yourself into a bind!”

Sebastian suddenly shouts as thick lengths of rope appear out of thin air and wrap themselves around his body, forcing him to his knees.

“Sebastian!” you yell. “Finite!”

Your spell deflects right off the enchanted ropes, and Sebastian grits his teeth.

“I’m okay,” he insists. “It’ll be alright, just – just get him, you can do this.”

Desperate, you find yourself alone while Sebastian struggles against his ropes. You’re keenly aware of the dozen or so fully-grown wizards Apparting into the camp with their wands drawn. You’ll have to take on every single one of them by yourself, you realize, with nothing but your own wand and the ancient magic coursing through your veins to defend yourself.

It feels endless. Simply deflecting their spells takes nearly all of your focus, even if you try to spare some for Sebastian while he struggles uselessly against his bindings. You toss curse after curse at Rookwood’s men and eventually you’re forced to start tossing actual barrels and crates at them as well, until finally you pare down the lot of them to the last executioner with his wand trained squarely at your heart.

“Bomarba!” you holler, and across the field, the burly executioner goes flying into a pile of rubble and melts away into smoke, the last to abandon his mission and surrender.

“Show your face, Rookwood!” you shout into the darkness. “Come out and fight me!”

“My dear, why should I fight you?” Rookwood laughs from high above you, still unseen. “This is child’s play, after all…”

You feel like time stops as you see a bright green curse rocket through the air toward Sebastian, who is powerless to do anything to stop it. The curse hits him in the chest with such force that he’s knocked backward, his head tipping forward as he lets out a sickening groan. But instead of watching your friend die while you stood by helplessly, you watch in abject horror as he tilts his head up and locks eyes with you – smoky-green, soulless eyes.

Imperio.

“So go on, then,” Rockwood demands. “Play!”

The ropes that had bound Sebastian’s arms to his side quickly fall away, and before you can even react he lifts his wand and rounds on you.

“Confringo!” he shouts, and a blaze of fire soars just past your ear.

“Sebastian,” you call out. “Can you hear me? Don’t do this, please!”

You know it’s fruitless. Sebastian himself had taught you that the Imperius curse cannot be fought off, even by the most powerful wizards who have ever been trained to resist its impenetrable influence. Despite his dueling skills and his broad knowledge of the Dark Arts, you have to assume that Sebastian doesn’t stand a chance against Rookwood’s voice in his ear.

“Levioso!” you counter, hoping to merely hold him off long enough to get to Rookwood and force him to free Sebastian.

But to your chagrin, the Sebastian you’ve known and loved since your first days at Hogwarts is indeed one of the most disciplined and talented duelers you’ve ever fought, and even though he doesn’t want to, he’ll surely give you a run for your money.

“Diffindo!” he growls, and the edge of his curse just barely nicks the side of your calf. You cry out in pain and collapse to the ground as you press a hand to the bleeding wound.

“Want me to release your little friend?” Rookwood calls out. “It’s simple, darling. Join me against Ranrok and I’ll let him live!”

You know deep down that you can’t ally yourself with Rookwood. Despite Sebastian’s initial hesitance, you have to imagine that if he were able to understand your position, he’d do the very same thing that you’re about to do.

It wasn’t the goblins after all, it was him, you can hear him say. We can never join him, not after what he did to Anne. There’s only one way out of this.

Merlin, you think. This is it.

Without your ability to wield ancient magic or the wand made of the Pensieve artifacts, Ranrok may never gain access to the final repository, you convince yourself – especially if he splinters from Rookwood. Sebastian can give the wand to Fig after you’re gone, he can hide it somewhere Ranrok will never find it…

It could all work out, you reckon, if you die.

“Never!” you call out to Rookwood. “I’ll never join you!”

“Then you’ve made your choice,” Rookwood’s voice echoes back. “I’ll let the Sallow boy show you what happens to anyone who says no to me.”

Rockwood’s twisted laughter rings out all around you as Sebastian’s opalescent eyes look you up and down. He lifts his wand and aims it at your heart, and you close your eyes with your own wand at your side.

“Avada Kedavra!”

…

…You’re still breathing.

How are you still breathing?

When you open your eyes, Sebastian is standing before you looking entirely drained, his eyelids drooping as he sways from pure exhaustion. However, just before he collapses you catch a glimpse of his eyes – his usual warm brown ones, the same magnificent eyes you’ll never tire of seeing after all this.

“Sebastian!” you shout, running over to support him as he tumbles to the ground. “Wh-what just happened?”

“Did I get him?” he asks in a whisper. “Rookwood?”

Stunned, you cast Lumos and peer across the empty field until you notice a figure lying in the snow far at the other end – Rockwood, you assume. He isn’t moving, and his legs are bent in a sick, absurd way as if he’d fallen from the watchtower that he now lays below.

“Yes,” you breathe. “You did, b-but… Sebastian, how did you–”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. He’s clinging to your arm as you help him to sit up and rest his head between his knees. “I have no idea, I just… I couldn’t do it.”

“He wanted you to kill me,” you surmise.

“I wouldn’t,” he says hollowly. “It… felt like my head was being split open right down the middle, with one half of me forcing my body to move and aim my wand and the other half knowing that I’d rather die than use that curse on you.”

“Oh, Seb,” you whisper.

You’re both quiet for several long moments while Sebastian takes deep breaths, his face still hidden between his knees. You slowly rub his back through his cloak and wait for him to sit up. He looks haunted when he finally does – even more so than he usually looks.

“I hurt you,” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, love,” you say softly, the pet name slipping out so easily that you barely even register at first. “I’m okay, it’s just a cut. Some Wiggenweld will fix me right up when we get back to the castle.”

“Can I?” he asks hesitantly, and you reluctantly let him pull your cloak to the slide so he can see the gash on your calf.

It isn’t deep, and it isn’t even bleeding anymore, but the ripped trouser leg and drying blood stains make Sebastian curse under his breath nonetheless.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers. “Why did I do that?”

“You have no choice,” you remind him desperately. “No witch or wizard has ever fought off the Imperius curse like that before, Sebastian, and you spared me my life. I don’t care about a bloody cut when I should be dead.”

“Never,” he chants mindlessly. “Never, I wouldn’t.”

That’s when a thought occurs to you.

“Sebastian…” you say softly. “It’s possible that there are… other types of ancient magic in addition to mine.”

He frowns. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe there’s something… something primeval, something elemental to our magic that you accessed,” you wonder aloud. “Professor Fig told me that his wife Miriam had spent years studying ancient magic, and it can’t only be that which I have the power to wield. Perhaps you were able to defy Rookwood’s will because you – you connected with a magic that’s more powerful than even an Unforgivable.”

“More powerful than that kind of darkness?” he asks softly. “...That type of magic exists?”

“Of course, it must,” you say simply. “Darkness can’t be more powerful than light, can it?”

He considers your supposition as if it’s the first time the thought has ever occurred to him.

“So… so what, the power of ‘friendship,’ something like that?” he asks, a corner of his mouth quirking up into the first thing resembling a smile that he’s shown since you entered Hogsmeade hours ago.

“Something like that,” you tease him. “Maybe the power of ‘love.’”

You’d meant it entirely in a platonic way, but as soon as the words are out of your mouth, Sebastian goes red and ducks his face.

“That’s – that’s ridiculous,” he mumbles. “I mean, love, that’s… Who said anything about love?”

You’re quiet while you watch Sebastian try and fail to gather his thoughts. He’s flailing, and all of a sudden you realize something clear as day that you can’t quite believe you never recognized before.

“Sebastian,” you murmur. “...Do you suppose you broke through an Imperius curse because you’re in love with me?”

“Wh-what?!” he laughs.

“Because if you did, that would be probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, in all the books I’ve ever read,” you continue. “And if that were the case, I would have to tell you that I’m madly in love with you, too.”

Sebastian is stunned into silence.

“You love me?” he eventually whispers.

“I do,” you tell him. “And… and I never really thought about it before, because it doesn’t really feel all that different from being friends with you, except – except I would have let you kill me rather than kill you, even though I know what’s at stake.”

“I still think you should’ve,” Sebastian jokes quietly. “You’re much more important than I am.”

“Regardless, we couldn’t have let Rookwood find out about the last Repository, and I would have taken the Killing Curse to stop him,” you sigh. “I trusted you would have taken the Pensieve wand back to Fig.”

“I would’ve turned my wand on myself first,” Sebastian says plainly. “Without a second thought.”

Merlin, you can’t believe he actually says things like that.

Rather than continuing to dwell on what could have been, you offer him a hand up and support him by the elbow while he shakily makes his way to his feet. He still looks pale and rattled, but he’s able to start to walk toward the exit of the crumbling ruins – still clinging to your hand.

“Come on,” you murmur. “When we get back to the castle you can rest.”

“What about the Repository?” he asks weakly.

“Let me and Fig worry about that,” you murmur. “You’ve already done more than enough for me today, love. You need to recover.”

“M’not even hurt,” he protests, but he sounds utterly depleted.

“Hush,” you whisper. “Just keep holding onto me, alright?”

It’s not easy getting Sebastian back to the castle; he keeps pitching to the side on the back of your broom as he fights to stay conscious, but you manage to keep him from falling off. Despite his protests, you take him straight to Nurse Blainey so he can get some proper rest (and so someone will be forced to keep an eye on him for you).

“Be safe,” he murmurs while you squeeze his hand in his infirmary bed. “Please.”

“I promise, Seb,” you tell him, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Just be here waiting for me when I get back.”

“You’ve made sure of that,” he grumbles, but he offers you an encouraging smile before you leave for the Map Room one final time.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #victor rookwood #ANON I AM SO SORRY THIS IS MY OLDEST REQUEST I FINALLY DID IT #YOU ARE A REAL ONE IF YOU READ THIS #title is a reference to 'the origin of love' from hedwig and the angry inch

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amiadeadpoet · 6 months

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these two pages on nathan drake's journal

he's such a baby. i want him.

the fact that he has a flower for every one of his girl make me want to scream

#i love him #uncharted #nathan drake #nate drake #uncharted 2 #victor sullivan #ps4 #nathan drake x reader

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revasserium · 8 months

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congratulations 2K followers may I request Victor from ikevil?Theme 17.number the stars.Thank you,have a nice day💕

number the stars

victor; 1,347 words; fluff, mostly -- kinda weird but victor is also kinda weird so i hope you don't mind nonny -- and thanks so much for sending something in!!!

“count the stars with me,” he says one night, his hair dark as the shade of a broken promise, his smile just as sweet. you purse your lips, looking up from the typewriter at your desk.

“i’m… sorry?” you ask, quirking your head as you lean back in your chair, wondering if you’d heard correctly.

victor’s smile is moon-sliver and cyanide, and you find yourself drawn inexplicably to it, like a comet towards the sun.

“come,” he says, offering you a hand, standing by your door, looking for all the world as if he were inviting you for tea. but you know better than that now — don’t you? you wonder.

you get up anyway, telling yourself that you’d been wanting to stretch your legs anyways and the gardens should be beautiful at this hour.

“it’s — it’s a full moon tonight,” you say, tilting your head back to admire the scattered light of the milky way, streaked across the sky. beside you, victor hums in agreement. you feel his eyes on you before you see him, the dull simmer and heat of his gaze as it grazes over your skin, soft as fingertips, strong as sin.

“how many do you think there are?” he asks, casually, turning when you catch him staring, unabashed even as your own cheeks flush with heat.

“what, the stars?” you ask, casting your eyes back up.

“yes.”

you purse your lips, unable to keep your curiosity from bubbling over.

“why?”

victor’s body shakes with his blue-bell laughter, “why not wonder such things?”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes. but of course — has victor ever really needed a reason? or a rhyme, for that matter?

“i don’t know… billions… more than billions, probably,” you say, thinking back to the various headlines you’d seen splashed across the front pages of the papers — scientific discovery this, neighboring galaxies that. you let out a soft sigh as victor turns his head back towards you.

“mm… strange, isn’t it? that we’re all so terribly insignificant and yet… here we are… struggling against our own insignificance every hour of every day…” he flicks a silken strand of hair from his shoulders, leading you towards the tiny pagoda where you’d all shared afternoon tea.

“strange? i… i don’t think so,” you sit down next to him, pressing your palms to the cool of the bench beneath you, “i mean… all the stars up there…” you wave your hand at the vast expanse of night sky, “they’re all just… burning themselves up, aren’t they? isn’t that… a struggle against insignificance too? isn’t that… it’s own kind of curse?”

victor opens his mouth, and then he blinks, pauses. no sound comes from him for a solid ten seconds before his entire body spills into a fit of near-silent laughter. you watch him, caught between confusion and bewilderment, wondering if you’d said something truly strange before he shakes his head and presses a large, warm palm to the top of your head.

“yes — yes that they are… just burning themselves up… all for us to call them beautiful — terrible, isn’t it? i can’t think of anything worse in the world than being a star…” he’s still chuckling when he finishes, pulling his hand away from your head to smile at you, a darkness twinkling behind his eyes that you’ve never quite had the courage to question.

“you’re making fun of me,” you say, narrowing your eyes and making to pull away, but victor shakes his head and pulls you back, humming happily as you topple easily into his chest.

“not in the slightest! i just… i just love the way you think, that’s all.”

you can’t help the shiver that chases its way down your spine at the softness of his words, at the closeness of his voice, brushing by your ear like a summer breeze. you swallow hard as his arm comes almost naturally to rest around your waist, and when you look up, it’s once again to find him watching you. you press your lips into a line and try not to stare at the beauty mark on his bottom lip but —

“ah… if you keep looking at me like that…” victor grins as he leans down, a finger tipping your chin up towards him, his voice thick with honey, warm as poison, “i can’t promise… i’ll be able to keep being such a gentleman…”

you lick your lips, watch as his eyes flicker down to track the movement. your breath flutters in your chest, hummingbird quick.

“i — i thought you asked me out here to c-count the stars…”

victor grins, “certainly i did… and i am… see? they’re right here…” he leans in, so close you’re almost nose to nose, so close you almost go cross-eyed to keep him in focus.

“right here… i think i can see the entire sky in your eyes…”

a tiny whine works it’s way out of your throat and victor tuts, shaking his head.

“i’ve been waiting to use that line for quite some time but…” he makes to pull away, only for you to pull him back with your fingers fisting in the thick silk and velvet of his clothes.

your throat feels dry, but you swallow passed the desert blooming at the base of your tongue as your search his face for a sign — any sign —

“h-how many are there?” you ask, your voice softer than you remember.

victor’s eyebrows twitch, “how many… what?” but the curve of his lips tells you another story.

“how many stars did you count?”

fire licks its way up your stomach into your chest as you feel his fingers tighten around your waist.

“i… i’ll admit that i’ve lost count — i’ve been distracted, you see —” victor’s grin tilts like a planet on it’s axis, and you feel your world shift along with it, degree by degree. like this, you can almost taste the weight of his words, the sound of his breathing, the liquid of his smile — like this, you want to sink your fingers into the fine gossamer of his hair and tug —

he is kissing you before you realize, severing your thoughts with the silver scissor precision of his mouth and you’re left untethered, clutching at him with the tips of your fingers, feeling him pulling you close, close, closer — a thick moan winds its way from his throat and you lean in further, push your mouth to his to take it in, to take it all in —

“please…”

his voice is shaking when he pulls away, his lips the perfect shade of treason.

you don’t feel your own trembling until he pulls you closer, buries his face in the crook of your neck and breathes.

“gods…” he says, wrapping both arms around you, his voice a wreck of barely contained emotions, of barely restrained desires, “by all the stars…”

you find yourself smiling as you let yourself be held, let yourself sink into the tremor and shake of this thing — held between the negative space of your bodies — whatever it is, at least you know it’s precious. at least you know it’s the most sacred kind of burning.

“all of them?” you ask, in what you hope is a light, playful kind of voice, even as victor lets you pull away, to reach up to brush a few fallen strands of hair from his face with your fingers, “we don’t even know how many there are.”

victor’s smile is indulgent and full of surrender.

“no… we don’t,” he reaches up to trail his fingers through your hair, thumbing at the ends as he shakes his head, “but… i think with you… i’d like to try.”

“try… what?”

“why… counting all the stars of the sky, of course.”

requests are open! <3

#ikemen series #ikemen villains #ikevil #victor #ikevil victor #ikemen victor #ikemen fanfic #ikevil fanfic #otome games #cybird ikemen #ikevil x reader #ikemen villains x reader #broseph. hes so weird but i kinda love him okay #i have so many weaknesses but one of them is long-haired boiz i mean look;;;#it started with sesshomaru and went downhill from there i am UNWELL #ANYWAY i hope you liked this anonnyyyy <3 thanks again for requesting!!!!#i'm happy to be writing for this event finally haha hopefully i'll be able to write a few more fics this weekend and then queue them up!#perchance to dream

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

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Literary

Requested Here!

Pairing: college!Victor Vale x fem!reader (literature student)

Summary: You take it upon yourself to show Victor the beauty of literature.

Warnings: fluff, spoilers and references to: The Outsiders, A Merchant in Venice, Invisible Man, The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Lord of the Rings, An Ideal Husband, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Hamlet, Frankenstein, The Most Dangerous Game, Pride and Prejudice. I also reference some of Schwab's other books

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Victor Vale Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Victor is leaning over a book, scribbling notes every few lines.

“What are you reading?” you ask quietly, sitting beside him.

He flips the book up, showing you the cover of one of his many textbooks.

“Hmm. I thought you were actually reading.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re studying.”

“What’s the difference?”

You sigh, shaking your head as you murmur, “Maybe the two different world we lived in weren’t so different. We saw the same sunset.”

Victor ignores you, returning to his notes on adrenal responses.

“Vic, what’s the last book you read?” you ask. “I mean, what’s the last thing you read that wasn’t a textbook, required reading?”

“I think you know.”

“You really need to stop reading your parents’ books, but that’s not my point here. What’s the last fiction piece?”

“I don’t read fiction.”

Your jaw drops, shock evident in your features as you fail to speak. Finally finding your voice, you momentarily forget you’re in a library as your voice raises to repeat, “You don’t read fiction? Why?!”

“Nothing to learn from it,” Victor replies with a shrug.

“Vic.”

He glances at you as a few people whisper for you to be quiet.

“Why read something that isn’t true, that you can’t learn from?” Victor asks.

“Who says you can’t learn from fiction? Just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it can’t teach you something. We learn from trees, fish, paintings… literature is no different.”

Victor shakes his head, and as you look at your assigned reading, you realize you must do something.

“Meet me in your dorm after your class tomorrow,” you whisper before standing. “I have a lot to teach you.”

Victor watches you leave, shaking his head before trying to focus again. He has trouble remembering how you became friends sometimes, but then he remembers how you met…

✯✯✯✯✯

1 Year Ago

Someone decided to put Shakespeare on the top shelf. You sigh, looking around to see if anyone is nearby to help you.

“Who puts one of the most-read authors in history up so high?” you ask under your breath.

Stepping back to gauge if you could jump and reach it, you run into someone. Warm hands land on your biceps for a moment before dropping away.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize.

When you turn around, his arm is over your head.

“Which one?” he asks.

You blink at him, growing distracted, before whispering, “A Merchant in Venice. Please.”

He nods, pulling it off the shelf and lowering it between your chest and his.

“Thank you.”

He nods again and steps back before you rush to introduce yourself.

“Victor,” he offers.

“Nice to meet you, Victor. I’ll see you around.”

His pale brows furrow and you immediately decide you will see him again, no matter what it takes.

✯✯✯✯✯

Present Day

“You’re late,” you chide as Victor enters his dorm.

“How did you get in here?” Victor asks, ignoring your comment.

“Eli keeps a key hidden under the doormat.”

“Idiot,” Victor mumbles.

“I concur, but we’re not here to talk about Eli. In fact, I wish I could forget his name.”

Victor neither agrees nor disagrees, but asks, “What are you here to do?”

You raise your brows, smiling as you tease, “What do you want me to do?”

“I’d like you to leave,” Victor replies flatly. “But it seems unlikely.”

“What and how much had I lost by trying to do only what was expected of me instead of what I myself had wished to do?”

“What is that?”

“Invisible Man, H.G. Wells,” you reply, smiling.

“Why do you make everything about books?”

“Look, I’m here to convince you that fiction, that literature, is beautiful. Vic, there are more lives in literature than we could dream of living; whatever you want to do, learn, be, it’s all in there.”

“Is this going to become another debate on whether pride or prejudice is more detrimental to character development?”

You sigh, looking at the stack of books you brought. Victor watches you, and when he realizes that you’re serious, he removes his trench coat and joins you on the couch.

“You have ten minutes,” Victor tells you.

“Okay, then I get to ask questions, too,” you counter. “So, first, what is your issue with fiction?”

“It’s fake, unbelievable.”

“They don’t have to be about an immortal woman finding her reincarnated lover or parallel earths. Being made up and being unbelievable aren’t inherently connected. Middle-Earth isn’t real, but the imagery makes it realistic.”

“One out of a million, well, I’m convinced,” Victor says, hitting his thighs.

You stretch your arm out past him to stop him from standing. “What kind of fiction did you read before coming to this conclusion?”

“Uh, I remember reading fantasy in middle school.”

Waiting for more, you ask, “And?”

“That’s it.”

Chuckling, you lean toward him. “Literature isn’t about one type of story, Vic. You don’t have to choose a genre and stick to it. No two books are the same because no two people or stories are the same. There isn’t fiction or nonfiction, mysteries or romance, you can read any and everything you want. It’s both/and, not either/or.”

“If your argument is now ‘read what you want to read,’ why can’t I stick to my textbooks?”

You groan, laying your head against Victor’s shoulder. “Because I can’t rest until I help you see why literature is so beautiful and impactful. Why do you think I’m studying it, giving my life to it? Because it changed my life, Victor, and if you give it a chance it can change yours, too.”

“Then what is it you want to do?”

“Is this an invitation?”

Victor sighs as he nods, his shoulder warm from your touch.

“Then, I’m going to teach you and you’re going to be patient and give it a chance.”

“Fine. Where do we start?”

“I mean, your parental trauma is begging for a look at Hamlet, but we’ll ease into it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You intentionally left a copy of Invisible Man by H.G. Wells on his table when you gathered your things after visiting Victor. While you walk to the library to meet him, you hope he’s read it.

“Hey,” you greet softly.

Victor nods, sliding an anatomy book onto the return shelf.

“Glad I caught you while your friends are busy,” you tease, taking the chair closest to him.

“Alone—it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end.”

“You read it. Even though it’s completely unbelievable and unrealistic?”

“All men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings.”

Your eyes widen as you realize that he not only read it in its entirety but enjoyed it enough to remember it.

“Racism, symbolism, foreshadowing,” Victor lists off. “It wasn’t completely incapable of teaching something.”

“Did you just admit you were wrong?”

“No.”

“So, are you open to more?”

Victor shrugs, and you slide a worn copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles to Victor. He picks it up, touching the cracked spine before looking at you.

“Sherlock is famous,” you answer, smiling brightly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Stapleton was a deceiver,” Victor says, rushing to your side as you exit class.

“What?” you reply, surprised to see him.

“The hound- it’s a symbol of his deception and the entire time the moor is symbolizing the cloudiness of the mystery because it wasn’t a real mystery. Stapleton’s death was completely avoidable, yet he isn’t even the one to be attacked by the hound.”

You stop, grabbing Victor’s coat to stop him as well.

“You read the entire book last night?”

“I- I couldn’t put it down,” Victor admits lowly.

“Do you see what I mean now?”

“I’m- I’m starting to. Uh, what next?”

“I don’t have another book for you right now. We can go get-“

“Yes. Please,” Victor adds.

“Ready to try fantasy again?” you ask with a smile.

Victor inhales deeply before nodding. “I trust you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Victor closes the book, he stares at the cover.

“Well?” you ask. “Don’t say anything bad about Aragorn, that’s all I ask.”

“He and Legolas portray a really- a perfect friendship,” he answers.

“Amity.” Victor glances up at you, and you explain, “Amity is usually associated with Shakespeare. His male friendships were built on this mutual respect and beneficial relationship qualities, but Tolkien used it in his creation of the Fellowship as well.

“I think…” you pause as you look at your overflowing bookshelf. “It’s time for a play.”

“Please no Shakespeare.”

“Okay, one, we need to get you over your irrational fear of the Bard.”

“It’s not irrational, he makes me want to puke.”

“Because he makes you feel things; must be weird for you.”

Victor rolls his eyes, and you smile as you find what you’re looking for.

“Oscar Wilde. An Ideal Husband.”

“What’s it about?”

“An ideal husband.”

Victor huffs, and you quote, “Seriousness would be very unbecoming of him. Pray be as trivial as you can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Victor, the point of books is to read it the way you’re supposed to read it. And if you want to talk after finding out what it’s about – in your eyes – then we can. As you gain experience it will be easier to find the common ‘accepted’ views too. But the point is to read for yourself.”

“Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes.”

You gasp, rushing to stand over Victor. “You’ve read Wilde before!”

“Just Dorian Gray when I was a kid. Thought it might help me escape the cookie cutter I kept getting shoved into.” Noticing your smile, Victor asks, “What?”

“You’re getting symbolic and theme-y. My literature lessons are rubbing off on you.”

“Something certainly is,” Victor replies, looking at your leg pressed to his.

“Are you ready to admit I’m right?”

“Not if it means the lessons end.”

“Oh, never. We’re a two-man book club now, Vic.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Are you here to speak to me as Lord Goring speaks to Mabel?” you ask, blocking the doorway.

“More like Mrs. Cheveley to Robert.”

“If you keep using literature references, I’m going to fall in love with you, Vic.”

“I have a request,” Victor says, drawing your attention (and his) from your comment.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He moves to your bookshelf after you open the door, quickly finding what he’s looking for. He holds it up, and you cross your arms.

“You sure?” After he nods, you say, “Go for it. It’s short, read it here if you want.”

Victor doesn’t have to be told twice, tossing his coat over the back of your couch and making himself comfortable with a copy of Hamlet.

✯✯✯✯✯

“This is too long,” Victor reads.

“It shall be to the barber’s, with your beard,” you reply.

“Don’t spoil it,” Victor reprimands.

“Though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Within a few hours, Victor is done with the play and pacing.

“Still want to read your parents’ books?” you ask.

“Yeah. But- if Hamlet can deal with an actual ghost, I guess their passive aggressive advice isn’t so bad.”

You chuckle before pointing out, “Hamlet was troubled when Horatio, Marcellus, and Barnardo told him. If it assumes my noble father’s person, I’ll speak to it isn’t an outright acknowledgment of who it is. It isn’t until he talks to the ghost that he seeks revenge on his uncle.”

“Which applies to me in no way,” Victor argues.

“What does Hamlet do to get revenge?”

Sighing, Victor answers, “Nothing.”

“Hamlet changes his reaction because of his morals and his thoughts. You can change your view of your parents like that, too.”

Victor sighs, and you see his poorly hidden smile after you say, “Though I personally won’t decide to forgive them for what they did to you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What’s your favorite book?” Victor asks.

You answer without hesitation, then ask, “Why?”

“Can I read it?”

“Sure. If you admit you were wrong.”

“I was wrong. Literature can be good, and it is possible to learn from fiction.” He quiets to add, “And you have good taste.”

You lean closer, turning your ear toward him as you ask him to repeat that.

“I’m not your Lord Goring or your Mr. Darcy or any other dashing soulmate,” he says.

“No, you’re not,” you agree. “You’re my Victor Vale.”

Victor’s phone buzzes, and he rolls his eyes as he reads Eli’s message.

“Is he still working on the EO thing?” you ask. When he nods, you murmur, “Someone never read Frankenstein.”

“Would I like it?”

Nodding, you sit beside Victor. “Be careful with Eli, though. Books can teach a lot, but anything short of Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game won’t prepare you to deal with him.”

“What’s that about?”

You consider not telling him, but he nudges you with his elbow, and you concede. “A man who hunts other men for sport.”

Victor hums, looking back at his phone. “Can I admit something else?”

“Depends.”

“I didn’t lie about my thoughts on reading, but I learned something else.”

“When?”

“The week you forced me to read Pride and Prejudice.”

“You learned that you must be in want of a wife. I suppose I could be convinced to consider a proposal.”

“No. Darcy taught- he said, ‘My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me.’”

Twisting toward Victor, you lay your hand over his heart. “The only people for me are the mad ones.”

“Is that a yes? A maybe?”

“It’s a yes,” you whisper. “I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“I told you; we’re easing you into it,” you remind him, kissing his jaw and chuckling when his breath catches.

Bonus: 10 Years Later

“What happened in Merit, Victor?” you demand.

Victor stiffens at your use of his name, no ‘Vic’ or pet name. Rather than telling you the exact truth, he takes your hand and says, “I was benevolent and good: misery made me a fiend. Make me happy and I shall again be virtuous.”

You relax, pulling him close as you reply, “We’re not having the argument about you being a monster again, but you know I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

Victor returns your hug, and you feel a small paperback in his pocket, smiling at how much has changed.

“The world is made up of two classes – the hunters and the huntees. No one will blame you for this, Vic, but it will never be the same.”

“I have you and your books,” Victor replies. “There is no one more equipped for change than us.”

“I can’t believe you used to be against fiction and now you carry around a barely legible copy of my favorite book.”

“What can I say? It is love. Love, and only love. For both of us a new life is beginning.”

#victor vale x reader #victor vale #vicious #vicious ve schwab #requests #fem!reader #as an english major I both love this and know I could have done better lol

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cookstorys · 4 months

Text

Moonlight

Character: Felix

Show : Love, Victor

Warning : Its supposed to be cute but sorry if it came out cringy 😭

—————————————————————————————————————

The moon shined above as you walked Felix back to his apartment building. You both decided to take the rather long way since you didn’t mind each other’s presence. “So you and Victor? You guys have been getting pretty close lately.” You nudged. “Yeah, we have but we don’t see each other like that. At least I don’t think?” He questions. You laughed at his utter stupidity. “Felix I’m just kidding. If Victor liked you I’m sure he would’ve kissed you on the faris wheel by now.” Felix laughed at the obvious tease. “Stop asshole, that’s my friend you’re talking about. So what if the whole thing was kinda rom-com-ish” He playfully hits your arm smiling. As if on queue, silence fell between the two of you again.

As you walk the sidewalk you notice the slight shiver Felix tried to ignore. “You cold?” You asked the fluffy-haired boy. “Yeah, I’m fine just a tad bit chilled.” He smiled shaking a little. “Felix, here. You’re gonna freeze out here love.” You commented, quickly taking off your jacket to put it on him. The jacket fitted him loosely and oversized but neither of you mind, you found him fairly adorable in bigger clothes, specifically yours. Felix was too stunned to even react, ‘love’. Words like that were commonly used by you regularly. ‘Babes, you’re embarrassing yourself.’ , ‘no love.’ Felix had gotten pretty comfortable with the words of affection but this time it felt different. This time his heart jumped out of his chest, his palms were starting to sweat, and he couldn’t control the urge to hold back his toothy smile.

“Thank you [Name].” Felix smiled, praying that the oversized fabric covered most of his blushing face. The attempt was cute but you could still see the heat starting to spread across his cheeks. However, you chose to ignore it for his sake. “So, how’s your mom?” You were questioning if you should ask or not but chose to ask. “She’s good, she decided to take her depression more seriously and just checked into a hospital. So, I should get to see her in about a month or two, depending on her progress.” You were beyond happy with the news. You and Felix were childhood best friends, you knew Felix’s mom way before the depression, even before his father’s death. So to hear that his mother was finally getting the help she not only needed but deserved was amazing. “Felix that’s fucking amazing.” Felix nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

10 minutes later you found yourselves in front of Felix’s apartment building, grinning awkwardly at each other. “I hope you had fun tonight, I had to fight a very aggressive old man for those tickets.” Felix laughed, genuinely intrigued about the situation. “I did! I’m happy all your hard work wasn’t in vain.”

“Well, I’m happy you had fun.” You smiled. This was always the awkward part, the departure. “Well, I guess I should get inside now. Here’s your coat.” Felix was in the process of taking his coat off but you chose to stop him. “Keep it, you look cuter in it than me.” Felix blushed at the statement. The moon’s light illuminated your eyes, making most of your small features stand out. For example, your lips. He really couldn’t stop looking at your lips and how amazing it’ll be to kiss them. Meanwhile, you were having the same thought. Felix looked stunning in the light, his eyes met yours and you could tell both of you were sharing the same thought.

Your hand found its way to the side of his face pulling him closer until your lips finna let his. They move perfectly together as if they were made for this. As the kiss deepened, you pulled away. “You’re a really good kisser.” Felix smiled still hypnotized by the taste of your lips on his. “You’re the one to talk.” You both laughed. Felix pulled out his keys and rushed up the outdoor steps as you watched. “You coming in or what?” He giggled to which you quickly caught on and ran after him

#cookstorys #Felix x male reader #Felix #love victor #Love Victor x male reader

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jeffnotbezos · 11 months

Text

Idc how much of a red flag Victor Frankenstein is, I’d let him do anything to me. His Best friend, Henry too. I’m a simp and someone needs to write a fanfic.

#victor frankenstein #frankenstein #marry shelley #henry clerval #my two favorite babygirls #idc i love them #Victor Frankenstein x reader #henry Clerval x reader #PLS SOMEONE WRITE 273626262663 FANFICS FOR THEM #Smutty smut smut #smut #Elizabeth can get it too idc #my favorite red flags #lomls #red is my favorite color #they’re so silly #cutie patootie #my fav sillies

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pendragonfics · 1 year

Text

Contrast

Paring: Victor Creed/Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader & GN pronouns, fights, conflict resolution, romantic fluff, triggers: alcohol abuse/alcholism and thunderstorms

Summary: After a tiff with Victor, Reader spends the night on the couch. It isn't until a storm comes over the farmhouse that they realise they need to be closer to him.

Word Count: 2070

Current Date: 2023-01-11

The hissing almost swallows his words beneath the just-pulled beer tab, but you catch it. It’s hard not to, as he barely opens his jaw these days to utter inhuman noises. You stare at Victor and wait for one of you to give way. The argument would not be made if he had listened to you, yet here you are.

His eyes are primal as he looks over the can, piercing your gaze.

“What?” he snaps.

“It’s nothing,” you retort. “If you even care.”

If you had dreamed that perhaps you’d be talking back to the Sabretooth himself a few years ago, you would have thought you were unwise, let alone asking for a shorter life span. Maybe that might be anyone else, but sometimes you could manage it. Not many people were this close to the man. Not many people shared this much with Victor Creed, yet you were still one of those he clashed with, albeit with his claws withdrawn.

“I’m too tired for this shit.” He barks.

“And I’m trying to communicate with a brick wall.” You throw your hands up in exhaustion and push your chair back to rise from the table. “But at least the wall would have something to say for itself!”

“Are you calling me an idiot, __________?” The can finds the table forcefully, making a harsh noise as it connects with the surface.

You can smell the drink wafting from his hot breath, yet you’re not in that proximity to your partner. It’s days like this when the liquor finds him that sets you off. It may wet his lips, but the stench of hops, of the acidic sting of bourbon that takes you back to the years of your childhood, when your lack of autonomy and the adults partaking would result disastrously for you.

“Stop putting words in my mouth!” You ball your fists, squint your eyes, and hold yourself in a tight embrace.

He grunts in response, but you feel your jaw tremor as sobs ricochet from your belly to the room. You can’t see well through the sting of tears, and stumbling backwards, you rush for the door. You’re smart enough to snatch the key fob and click the front door behind you. You don’t hear footsteps following, and you cross the snowy paddock to the detached garage.

Years ago, when you were shorter, younger, and impressionable, you lived under your father's roof. He was newly widowed, and with the agony of sadness that made its way into his heart, he drowned himself in the golden water from bars and bottle shops. You learned to take care of yourself young and distrust the drink. It left your father, a kind, intelligent, loving man, a vacant lot where once a palace stood.

Sometimes he was loud. More often, he was violent.

One night, you ran from him and slipped into a snowbank at the lake near your house. You should have died. Somehow, you breathed the water and stayed dry despite being submerged. A neighbour clearing snow found you the following day, head above the ice and fully clothed, alive.

You stare at the keys and realise you snatched the wrong set. Unless you wished to use the tractor, nestled in the barn until the weather warmed, there would be no radio and heated seating to take your mind off Victor and the plague of memories. It wasn’t unpleasant to sit in the snow, knowing your ability. Just…not something you did for fun.

Your eyes grow heavy after some time, and you do not want to kip in the powder when there’s a warm hearth calling for you inside. At this point, the clear sky ahead shows off the smattering of silvery stars above, like a bejewelled midnight sash draped above. You kick the excess white from your boots before you enter and pause at the bedroom door.

No.

Behind you, there’s still half a log in the fireplace and enough decorative pillows on the sofa. You take a coat from the rack by the door and bunker down for the night.

Sleep takes you like an old friend meeting you for a stroll, and then, you are off.

---

He found himself near his home in the early hours of the night, a window of time when the daylight has not sprung, yet the night is a pale navy, traversable by nocturnal beings like himself. But he is recounting it too soon; yes, there is more to the story than his return. Sometime after the argument, he had fled the scene, shedding his cosy clothes for his white undershirt, and leapt from the screenless window frame to the snow below. It had been the tail end of a long slog at his last post, leaving him hollow and mindless. He had thoughts on Magneto and how his order of operations ran incongruent with his, yet he persisted.

Badly.

Victor took off running like an animal from a cage, yes. Yes! He is out, freed, and enraptured by the thrill of it all. He made for the forest and took to work on an oak’s thick, heather-brown trunk. With every slash of his fingers, he tried to release his anger, yet it left him aching and just as empty as before. Before him, the oak tree, perhaps several decades old, tottered in the breeze, its bark half-slain from his touch.

“Goddamned idiot,” he muttered to himself.

The wind had a bite to it, and only now he felt its sting. Not even his lupine traits could muffle the sensation. Now cold, angry, pissed thoroughly off and dissatisfied with his outburst, Victor stood in the snow, seething.

They had tried talking to him. It was better than he could do on his worst days. They had tried. And he hadn’t listened; worse, he glazed over their words. He stood in the snow-filled forest, thinking about what might have made them so worked up, what he had done to make them feel that way.

And then – it hit him.

He feels a jolt through his arm, energy. It snaps through his cells, poises his muscles, and before he can blink or stop himself, he has withdrawn his fist to dole a solid hit to the oak tree before him. It snaps, and like when a seasoned lumberjack fells a foe, the tree falls backward, away from him.

He exhales sharply, staring at the cracked stump where the tree just stood. It looked as if a bolt of lightning had invaded the wood and snapped its core, albeit without the burn marks, and the storm required to dole the hot, instant punishment. Victor now knows what he must do now. Later, he will take care of this outburst. But first, he must make things right with his partner. As he returns to the farmhouse, he notes the station wagon is under the carport, and the prints of his __________ appear old, buried a little under fresh powder. He makes it inside and sees their boots by the entrance, and then as he moves further in –

You are lying on the couch, wearing yesterday’s clothes beneath a snow coat, head crooked on a throw pillow and awkwardly lolled over the sofa’s surface. The last log of the fire has almost extinguished itself, the light very low in the room.

Victor should feel pity when he sees you. He should always feel it for someone with less skill to take care of themselves in the wilderness than himself, the Sabretooth. Yet now, and every time he sees you, there is something in him that expands in his chest that warms thoughts with a kind of emotion previously foreign to him. Silently, he opens the fireplace and lays kindling with some old newspaper balled up. It catches quickly, and deftly, Victor places a new log atop the smoulder of flames.

He looks to you, now bathed in the red-gold glow of firelight and feels that twinge turn in his stomach. He’ll make it right to you in the morning; he must. You look too peaceful to rouse in the ungodly hours of a Canadian morning. He secures the fireplace door and, with the prowess of a natural predator, sneaks his way past you to the bedroom.

He leaves the door ajar and trades his slacks for sweats, and as soon as his head finds the pillow, sleep finds him.

---

You wake in a sweat, but not from your dream. It was a pleasant dream where you and Vic appeared human and traded niceties over decadent coffees in fancy mugs in an arthouse tea shop. Perhaps that was you in another life, but it was amiable, nothing that could stir you from sleep. Your eyes focus and notice the fire still burning. Or is it a new log? You can’t remember, but the room is warmer than when you went to bed, so perhaps that accounts for the sweat.

A low, guttural reverberation rocks the tiles on the roof above your head. Thunder.

It seems quite a (not) fortuitous twenty-four hours for you as you feel yourself rock again. Alcohol is a standard trigger for those raised around it. Most children grow out of their fear of thunderstorms, but you shake along with the rafters with the noise of the storm above.

It doesn’t matter that you went to sleep angry. It would be best if you buried yourself in the bedsheets, or better, in the crook of Victor’s embrace so there could be no change that the storm could touch your awareness. You leave the coat on the couch and scurry to the bedroom. Usually, when a storm rolled in, you would already be in Victor’s arms. You try your best to make your way to the vacant side of the sheets as quietly as you can, but a loud floorboard beneath your toes leads to the amber-gold eyes of your boyfriend meeting yours.

“Storm,” you say.

“X’s, or the –” he’s interrupted.

Another rumble, rhythmically similar to the previous one. When the silver-haired weather girl was around, her thunder was asymmetrical. Not that you knew, from experience. You weren’t a fighter. Just…a mutant stuck in the middle of the war between Professor X and Magneto.

“C’mere,” his voice is low but a good kind of reverberation that makes you fold like origami into his arms. “You okay, __________?”

You wait for the pace of your heart to slow a little before you respond. You know he can hear it beating, and together, you lay in the embrace, quiet as the storm moves overhead.

“You work so hard for us,” you whisper to him, the words dissipating in the early morning air as soon as you say them. “I shouldn’t fuss when you take liberties with your liquor. But…”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I might not be the brightest bulb, but I remember what you told me.” His shoulders flex: you can feel his biceps behind you tense up as you realise what he’s saying. He remembered. “Don’t give that cretin the time; he deserves all hell for what he did.”

“Vic, you can’t kill my father.” You remind him.

“I want to,” he grits out. “…but besides. I was an asshole about it.” He pauses, and, after a beat, as if the words came from somewhere else, but in the intonation of his voice, you heard the words. “M’sorry, __________.”

Your heart races. Never have you heard those words from him in the years of knowing, dating, and living with Victor Creed. You know how hard it is for him. You had always accepted his condolences in the form of his actions and as the blank air where he intended them to be translated as such. You turn in his embrace and bury your head into his chest. Your arms tighten around him, your legs intertwined with his. He bends his head toward you, and in the dark morning light, as the outskirts of Edmonton are waking, your lips meet.

“I ain’t perfect, __________, but I’m trying.” He says, his breath hot on your cheek. He peppers your face with measured, tiny kisses. You nuzzle into the scruff of his neck as another wave of thunder echoes, this time further away than before.

“Vic,” you tell him, speaking into his neck, where you are positioned, his jaw above your head, “You’re just about perfect to me.”

#Victor Creed/Reader #victor creed x reader #victor creed x oc #sabretooth x reader #X-MEN FANFIC #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #pendragonfics #chaotic--lovely

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footballfanficwriter · 1 month

Text

Absent Father

Summary:where the reader is about to give birth and Jude is not home

"When are you going to be back?" I ask as I watch him pack his bag

"In a couple of months Love" he says

"Oh"

"But don't worry it'll be over before we know it"

"Can't you pull out of the squad and say you've got an injury or something"

"You know I can't do that, they'll examine my body to check my story out"

I sigh

"Hey, it's not that bad, we'll call eachother and face time, we're gonna be ok"

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself"

"I'm trying to convince the both of us"

"Jude you know that I'm due any day now right"

"I know"

"And you won't be there by my side holding my hand or getting to witness the birth of your child" I say trying to hold back my tears

"I know baby, and I'm sorry"

"Sometimes I wish you were Just Jude Bellingham, not Jude Bellingham the Real Madrid and England Star

He stops packing and looks at me

"Sometimes I wish that as well darling, but that's not how it is"

"Yeah, I'm going to the kitchen to make a snack"

"Ok"

I leave the room and walk to the kitchen to make something to eat

As I'm busy I hear Jude come down the stairs with his bag

He places it down and walks up to me and towers over me, places a kiss on my forehead and bends down to kiss my belly

"I have to go" he says as he stands up

I come in for a hug and hug him very tightly as if by doing so I can just pause time and stop it from moving

He hugs me tightly as well indicating he doesn't wanna let go

As we're hugging the tears start coming out and I don't even try to fight them this time, i'm silently crying, and pretty sure my tears have now stained his shirt

He pulls away, looks me in the eyes and wipes the tears from my face

"I love you"

He kisses my forehead one more time walks to his bag and heads for the door where his driver waits for him

A week later:

I'm lying on the sofa watching a series that I'm not really paying attention to, all I'm thinking about is how scared I am and how I won't have anyone in the delivery room with me, and the person that I do want to be there is in another country

It's been difficult to talk and Face time with Jude, because he's either very busy or he's too tired to talk, if he's not training, he's doing press, if it's not press it's games, if it's not games he's out with his teammates, there's just always something happening and it makes me wonder if he's trying to avoid me, because if he wasn't ignoring me then he would at least make the time to try and talk to me, it's always me reaching out and calling him but he never does the same

The only interactions we have nowadays is when he posts something and I like and comment under his post and he'll just reply to my comment

I honestly don't know what to do but I just keep telling myself that he's busy and can't talk

I stand up and walk upstairs to get my phone to check if I've gotten any call from Jude

The minute I grab my phone from my bed there's a warm liquid that I feel on my legs

I look down and see water on the floor

I start freaking out a bit but then compose myself and walk to my wardrobe to grab my bag

And walk downstairs and get into the car and start driving to the hospital

When I arrive at the hospital I ask the receptionist for my doctor, but she tells me that in order to see her I have to have an appointment

"Lady listen to me, I'm a Pregnant Woman that's about to give birth, are you really gonna tell me to wait to see my Doctor?"

"I'm sorry I was not aware, I'll go get her"

She walks down a passage and makes a left knocking on a door, 2 minutes later she returns with Doctor Ashley Johnson

"Mrs. Bellingham, what are you doing here?, Where's is your Husband?"

"On a business Trip" I say breathing heavily

"Can someone get this woman a wheelchair?"

A few minutes later I'm in a hospital gown and walking around my hospital room trying to Dilate myself enough to give birth to this baby and Doctor Johnson holding my hand

"So where is your husband?"

"He's away, on a Business trip"

"Your Mother?"

"We don't really get along, let's just say she's not happy with the decisions I made in my life"

"Like?"

"Marring my Husband"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing, she just didn't want me to marry someone who is from a different country number one and from a different culture"

"Your mother in law?"

"She moved back to England to be with my Father in law and brother in law"

"Siblings?"

"They are all married and even if I were to call them they are too far away"

"So I guess it's just you and me then" she says

I nod my head realizing that no one from my family is actually coming

"Yep"

After 10 hours of walking around and trying to Dilate Doctor Johnson informs me that I'm ready to give birth

She calls the rest of her team to come and assist and after two hours

A baby Boy is born

My body is tired and I just feel absolutely exhausted

"Mrs. Bellingham, we're going to clean your baby boy, you just get some rest we'll bring him right back"

"Ok" I say falling asleep

The next day I wake up feeling much better than the previous day, I turn my head to see my baby sleeping peacefully and Doctor Johnson walks into the room

"Hi, how are we doing in here?"

"We're ok, he's asleep"

"Have you spoken to your family yet?"

"No, I haven't, I'll wait for him to wake up first, then I'll make calls"

"And a name, have you decided on a name yet?"

"No I wanna call my husband first then we'll discuss it"

"Ok"

Doctor Johnson stays with me for some time until the baby wakes up

"I'll leave you to it then"

"Thank you"

I grab my phone and the first people I call are my Four sisters

They all get excited and squeal as they see the baby for the first time

"What's his name?" One of them ask

"I don't know, I'm gonna call Jude and we'll talk about it"

"Aww, he's so cute"

"Thank you"

"Congratulations sis, we're so proud of you, we wish we could be there"

I shed some tears and tell them it's fine and that we'll all meet up eventually

The next person I call is Denise.

"Hello love"

"Hi Mom, you alright?"

"Yeah, how are you"

"Oh we're fine, but I have something to show you"

I slightly turn the phone to Show her the baby and she looks in shock

"Mark, Jobe come look"

After some time Mark and Jobe appear on the screen

"Oh God he's so adorable"

"Are you ok though love"

"Yeah, I will be" I say

"What's his name?"

"I still need to call Jude, then we'll discuss it, and then we'll let everyone know

"Ok love, take care of yourself ok"

"Ok"

"We love you"

"Love you too"

The next person I call is Jude, hoping he'll pick up but he doesn't instead he sends a text

Hubby: what's up?

Me: can you call, it's important

Hubby: what is it?

Me: Jude can you pls just answer your phone it's really important

Hubby: just text me, I'm busy rn

Me: with what?

Hubby: With Trent, Madders and Hendo

Me: so you can't just excuse yourself for some time, I'm telling you that this is important why are you being difficult?"

Hubby: no actually I can't excuse myself, we're playing UNO, and I'm losing like hell

Me: oh so you would rather play a game of UNO than to hear what I have to say?

Hubby: just text it to me, I'm sure it's not a big deal

Me: if you consider the fact that you have a son not important then Yeah, it's not important

Hubby: what 🤯 are you being serious, you game birth?

Me: yeah but don't let me stop you from your game, it's most definitely more important than the birth of your son

Hubby ❤

Calling...

I decline the call

Hubby: babe answer the phone

Me: The baby is asleep, I'll call you when he wakes up, if I answer it'll wake him up

Hubby: oh c'mon don't be like that

Me: I'll call you later, get back to your game

I place my phone next to me and admire my newly born baby boy who is fully awake

"Hey Babe, welcome to the world, I'm gonna love you so much more than anything in the world"

He only giggles and cuddles further into my arms and it makes me Coo

2 months later:

Today is the day Jude comes back and to say I'm excited is an understatement we never had the discussion of the Baby's name so I just decided it Myself

And I Decided on Jamie

Ever since Jamie's birth Jude has been calling a lot more often and calling to check on us every day, which is good because then he won't miss that many Moments

Jamie is growing so fast it feels like it was just yesterday when it was just the two of us cuddling in a hospital bed, now he can crawl

Jude should be landing in a few hours and Jamie and I are preparing something to have for dinner, hopefully Jude will be here in time for dinner

Jamie however is on top of the counter grabbing things and putting them in his mouth while I prepare dinner

After making dinner, I get Jamie cleaned up and into his pajamas

And I carry him downstairs where we'll sit and wait for Jude

I'm so excited because we're about to have our first dinner as a family also adding the fact that I haven't seen Jude in almost three months

20:00( 8pm)

Jamie and I are sitting in the dinning room waiting for Jude to come home

21:00( 9pm)

Jamie has fallen asleep on my chest

22:00 ( 10pm)

Jamie is now asleep in this crib and I'm waiting for Jude while doing the dishes and packing away all the table decor that I've put out

23:00 (11:00 pm)

Fast asleep in bed

00:00 ( 12:00pm)

01:00 am

The door to the house opens and I hear Jude walk up the stairs and towards our room, the door opens and I hear him sigh and take his clothes off leaving him in his trunks

He gets into bed and kisses my shoulder

"Hello my love" he says in a husky voice

"I know you're awake, you're a light sleeper, I know you heard me come in"

I shrug him off and try to make myself comfortable on the bed

"What's wrong, are you not going to greet back"

"Hi"

"Is that all I get?"

"Yeah"

"Why are you upset i haven't seen you in 2 months and the first time I come back you give me a cold shoulder?"

"Exactly we haven't seen eachother in 2 months, and you couldn't even get home on time for dinner like you promised"

"Oh, you know I thought I told you that I was gonna be late, because Trent wanted to party for a bit before we were all headed home because we wouldn't see eachother in a long time"

"Does Trent have a two month old baby boy who he hasn't seen ever since his birth and a wife who gave birth on her own waiting for him at home?"

"No"

"Do you?"

"Yes"

"So please explain to me because I must be losing my mind, you had two months, two months with these people "your sheriffs" to laugh and share moments, yet your two month old son has not even shared a single moment with you and you still put your teammates before him to make moments with them and you don't even have one with your son"

He is quiet

"So is it wrong for me to assume that from now on your international teammates and club teammates will forever be the first choice no matter what?"

"No babe, you and James are the most important thing in my life and will forever be my first"

"I can't even look at you right now"

"You were not there when he was born, when we were suppose to name him , i ended up naming him myself because I had to put something on the birth certificate, you weren't there when he started crawling and now you said the wrong name yet he's your son"

"Is his name not James?"

"If you had answered your phone on that day we would have named him together" I say getting out of bed and grabbing my gown

"And his name is Jamie" I say walking out of the room and walking to Jamie's room to sleep there

The next morning I'm woken up by Jamie's cries

I walk to him and pick him out of his crib and walk to the Kitchen to find Jude making Breakfast

"Morning babe"

"What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast, I'm making French toast, still your favorite right?"

"Yeah"

"Great, have a seat it'll be ready in just a few minutes"

Jamie lays his head on my shoulder as he looks at Jude almost as if he's asking who is the guy in our Kitchen making food

He's uncomfortable

"Hey it's ok, that's your dad" I whisper into his ear and kiss his head

I walk to the dinning table and put Jamie on my lap where he stares at me and shows his gums that are without teeth

I smile down at him and shower him with kisses and he giggles

In that moment Jude walks to us and almost immediately Jamie's head goes on my chest and he stops giggling

"Here you are"

"Thanks" I say

He takes a seat across me and looks at Jamie and sends him a small wave, but it only makes Jamie force himself further into my chest

Jude gives me a sad look and I look back at him

He clears his throat and breaks the uncomfortable silence

"So how have you been?"

"Fine, yeah I've been fine, you?"

"Yep same just really tired"

"Yeah"

The awkward silence is among us again and we eat in silence

"Fuck" he says under his breath

"How much have I missed?" He asks

"A lot more than you can imagine" I reply

"Baby, I am so sorry, when you said that I missed so much I didn't know you meant it like that to the point where my own son doesn't recognize me"

"Yeah"

"How can I make up for it?"

"I wouldn't know either Jude, Jamie is a baby, he doesn't comprehend what's happening, it not like you can just throw the words I'm sorry to him and he'll forgive you just like that"

"You're not helping, I'm asking for solutions not for you to make me feel worse than I already do"

"Well you wouldn't be feeling like this if you had been there number 1, if you had answered your phone so we could name him together and if you had made more time to talk to us"

"I called you every day"

"Did you call me when I was a week from giving birth, huh, when our only interaction would be on Social media where I was liking pictures and commenting and you were liking or replying to my comments"

"I called you guys every day, to find out how you were doing"

"For five minutes, you can't really say anything in five minutes"

"I was tired"

"But you were never too tired to go out with your teammates, right?, all that time you spent with them, could have been used to get to know your son, given how difficult it was to be there for him when he was born"

"So what, you wanted me to stay in my hotel room and be left out while everyone was enjoying themselves?"

"If you couldn't do it for me then you could have at least done it for Jamie, you were an absent father, and it's not my fault that after I tried to get you involved in his life and you refused and now he doesn't even know you"

He's quiet and just continues eating his food

After having breakfast Jamie and i walk to the Kitchen and i get started on the dishes while He sits next me with his favorite chew toy that keeps him behaving

Jude walks in

"Let me take him" he says

He goes to pick Jamie up and Jamie starts crying

I immediately leave the dishes and walk to them

"Here take over the dishes, I'll take him

"No it's fine, he'll be fine"

"No Jude let go of him, I need to feed him he hasn't been fed yet"

He let's go of Jamie and I walk to his room to feed him

After 2 hours Jamie falls asleep for his afternoon nap

And I walk to the living room to watch some TV only to find Jude watching TV

I take a seat and Jude pauses his show

"Is he ok?"

"Yeah, he's asleep"

"That's good"

"Mhm"

"Y/n, I'm sorry, I know that the past 2 months have not been easy for you and that you were scared when you had to give birth to Jamie, because I wasn't there for you both"

"It's fine, you were working"

"Yeah but that's not an excuse, I feel horrible, I feel like I'll never get to have a relationship with my son if things go on like this"

"Don't say that Jude, Jamie will get use to you, eventually, maybe not tomorrow or next week, but eventually"

"You were right, if I made the time then we wouldn't be here right now having this conversation"

"True, but you made a mistake and you are rectifying it, now you know what to do and what not to next time"

He smiles at me and I return the smile

"Thank you"

"You're welcome"

He scoots closer to me and places his arm around my shoulder and I lay my head on his

"I've missed you so much"

"I've missed you as well"

"Can you believe it, we're actually Parents now"

"Right, times like these are gonna be fewer, where it's just the two of us bringe watching Movies and series"

"That's true, we're gonna be so occupied, it's crazy"

"Yep"

"I love you"

"I love you too"

He kisses my forehead and unpause the show he was watching.

133 notes · View notes

karatekels · 4 months

Text

TIGmas Day #6 – Wrapped in Red

Today’s TIGmas gift is technically for @argum3ntativ3dr3amgirl, but really it’s for me, because they asked for a prompt that takes place in the Fresh Start universe! I’ve missed this couple so much (and also Victor), and your request was so much fun to write! This might be my favourite CK Terry oneshot in awhile, but I’m looking forward to trying to top it!

TW: Victor meddling, public sluttiness and kinda sorta roleplay, semi-public sex, oral sex (male receiving) fingering (female receiving), ice play, taking dirty pictures of someone unawares (though if they knew they’d be willing), dom/sub dynamics, fucking with the propriety of high society for kicks

---

Wrapped in Red

---

Reader’s POV:

Karla wordlessly hands you a stack of mail, and you can tell by the thick, matte coating on the envelope who it’s from. You suspect Karla noticed too, which would explain why she had all put fled the room after passing it off to you.

You debate just throwing into the fireplace.

Without question, the missive was sent by Lucy Rogers, socialite and daughter of a billionaire that flitted around the elite social circles you were now somewhat acquainted with, fitting in far better into Terry’s world than you know you ever will. She’s a gorgeous platinum blonde close in age to you, and has made no secret about having her eyes on Terry Silver, and had from before you’d even met the man. At every event where she had been in attendance, she had flirted audaciously with him, not even trying to be subtle about it, nevermind the fact that you’d been with Terry going on three years now.

Unfortunately, her status amongst Terry’s associates means that she is around him a lot more than you would like, and you have to keep your temper in check, not wanting to embarrass the love of your life by announcing to his friends and business partners what a complete cow Lucy was, no matter how much she deserved it.

You’re still scowling at the letter, the rest of the mail forgotten when Terry comes downstairs in his red silk robe.

“Worried about letter bombs?” he jokes, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss your cheek.

“It wouldn’t be surprising, knowing who it’s from,” you snap back, not in the mood for teasing. You tear open the envelope with far more force than necessary, the champagne-coloured paper irritatingly reminding you of platinum blonde. Sure enough, it’s an invitation to a charity gala on Christmas Eve, just over a week away, and it makes you feel like a sad, slowly deflating balloon.

Terry, who was returned with coffee and set your mugs on the table, sits next to you on the couch, throwing your slippered feet onto his lap before snatching the invitation from your hands without a word. You poke him in the thigh with your toes, grumpy.

“It’s an event for charity, right before Christmas,” he comments helpfully as though you couldn’t read. “Those are two of your favourite things!”

“It’s at Lucy’s.”

Terry sighs, placing the invitation onto the table and moving to stroke your legs comfortingly.

“What did she do now?”

“It’s not what she’s doing now, it’s what she’s done every time I’ve had to see her!”

“Which is?”

You pull your legs off of his lap, curling up in an angry ball and glaring at him over the tops of your knees.

“Don’t be obtuse, Terrance,” you growl at him in warning, temper flaring as you see the corners of his lips turn up in an amused smile. Of course, the big jerk liked it when you got jealous. “I’m sick of watching her throw herself at you! She’s not even subtle about it!”

“A lot of people flirt with me,” he starts smuggling, but stops when you huffily start to get up to leave, catching your wrist and pulling you onto his lap while you half-heartedly try to get free. “What I mean is, why is it Lucy in particular that bothers you so much?”

You cross your arms defensively, knowing you’re acting like a petulant child, but you can’t help it; the woman positively infuriates you. After a long moment of you not responding, Terry’s finger comes under your chin, forcing your gaze upward to meet his.

“It’s not that I think you would cheat on me or anything,” you admit, wanting to make that perfectly clear. Terry had spent years of your relationship pushing past your insecurities and doubts and making sure you understood the depth of his devotion to you. His expression relaxes somewhat, and he seems relieved to hear that your trust in him hasn’t wavered, so you continue.

“It’s just, even though I know you’d never do anything… it’s awful, watching someone hitting on you when I’m right next to you. Especially since we’ve been together for so long now – it’s pretty obvious we’re not a quick fling to each other!”

“You know I only have eyes for you, love. You can stay with me the whole time, and I’ll make sure you’re the focus of my evening, just like you are anywhere else.”

His powers of persuasion are really laying it on thick this morning, but you’re just so tired of having to deal with this crap. It was one thing for people to not respect you – hell, you’re still wondering what Terry sees in you – but to have to sit there and just take it, to not be able to say anything back… for Terry to never say anything back… it’s really gotten to be too much for you.

“I really, really don’t want to go to this, Terry,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice from shaking and giving away just how upset this situation makes you.

“Not even just for a few hours?” he asks, trying to compromise – after his initial reluctance towards the concept, he’s since become quite adept at making deals with you to get what he wants. “You know these philanthropic events are important for maintaining my image.”

“Can’t you just go without me?”

“Can’t you just ignore it?” he fires back.

“Don’t you think you’re acting like just a bit of a hypocrite?” you snap, not even wanting to think about what would happen to someone if they were stupid enough to be as brazen towards you as Lucy was towards Terry.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands, his voice dropping to that soft, dangerous tone that has the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. You push past the tension, needing to get all this out in the open.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you sic Victor on some poor unsuspecting man who happened to look at me for a second too long!” you growl, flailing until he lets you off his lap to stand in front of him, your hands on your hips. “Or what you’ve said and done yourself! And those people weren’t anywhere near as forward as Lucy!”

“Those people were nobodies,” he retorts, as if that excuses anything.

“I’m a nobody, Terry!” you yell, backing away and out of his reach. “And she never lets me forget it! So go to this stupid party if you have to, but you’re going to have to go without me.”

“Fine,” he hisses, getting to his feet in one swift motion and brushing past you. “Do what you want.”

He leaves the living room without another word, heading back to your shared bedroom. You feel both hollow and completely overwhelmed with sadness, the way you always did on the rare occasions that you and Terry argued. You could both be so headstrong…

You quietly tiptoe to the bottom of the stairs, hearing the shower running in the master bathroom. Creeping up the stairs, you find the bathroom door closed and, upon closer inspection, locked. You bite your bottom lip, knowing that it means Terry wants to be left alone for awhile. Feeling dejected, you make your way to the closet and get dressed before heading back downstairs. Perhaps walking through the gardens would help lift your spirits, or at least distract you until you and Terry cooled off.

“Freeze.”

You spin around to face Victor, your arms crossed. “You know, that stopped being funny within the first week of me moving in here. Can’t you start a conversation by saying anything else?”

“You’re in fine form this morning,” Victor comments, completely unperturbed by your bad mood.

“I’m going to get a lot worse if you don’t get to the point,” you snap. Your relationship with Victor is complicated; you genuinely like and appreciate the man, but he could piss you off like nobody else. You tap your foot impatiently, but when he doesn’t say anything you roll your eyes, starting to walk past him on your way to the garden.

“You know, instead of hiding away or watching the bimbo try to seduce him, you could one-up her.”

How much of your conversation with Terry had he heard?

You stop in your tracks, turning in place to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about giving her a taste of her own medicine, showing her that you’re not fucking around.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” you ask, not completely opposed to the idea. He walks the short distance to the front door, opening it and revealing one of Terry’s Porsche’s parked right out front.

“Get in the car.”

---

Victor is being needlessly cryptic, ignoring all your questions as he drives you from Malibu all the way into Pasadena. At least he’s well-versed in how to manage a brooding Terry, helping you craft a text message letting him know that you need some space and that Victor is with you.

“It’ll keep him from hunting you down,” he explains knowingly and with a degree of pride, as though he approved of Terry’s possessive (not to mention obsessive) side.

He turns into a quieter, nicer suburb on the north side of the city, driving up to a simple, pretty home.

“So, where are we? Who are we meeting? Why are we here?” you ask, insisting on having at least some information before willingly walking into a strange home, even if you fully believe that Victor would never let you walk into a situation that could cause you harm.

“Her name is Charlotte,” he says, pausing in his explanation to get out of the car, walking over to your door and holding it open until you grumpily agree to get out of the passenger seat. “She’s a seamstress, and the granddaughter of Terry’s favourite old secretary. She’ll be able to help you.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at him incredulously. “Victor, do you mean to tell me that you drove me all the way to Pasadena to get me a dress?!”

He gives you a cold look. “Guess Lucy’s gonna get a shot at the boss after all…”

A cold pit of dread and nausea settles in your stomach at the thought. “Wait, wait! I’m sorry, please help me!”

Victor briefly flashes you a wide smile before proceeding up the driveway to the front door, knocking on it. You let out a breath, relieved you hadn’t pushed away your only ally, and resolve to be more polite to him, at least for the time being.

A middle aged woman answers the door, her brown hair up in an elegant, if old-fashioned, bun. She takes note of your half-concealed form behind Victor, but her eyes light up at the sight of the man.

“Victor!” she exclaims delightedly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Morning, Char’. I need a favour.”

Victor’s POV: (HOLY HECK IT’S VICTOR’S POV)

Once he gets you inside Charlotte’s house, the real challenge is getting you to strip down to your underwear in front of a stranger. Eventually, he ends up yelling at you through the bathroom door to “grow a pair”, which got you to silently grumble but ultimately agree to let Charlotte have a look at you and take your measurements. The two of you emerge sometime later, you wearing a robe and glaring at him as though daring him to comment on it. He rolls his eyes; you really are a brat.

“I’ll make you something from scratch, of course,” Charlotte informs you, digging through the mountains of fabric surrounding her desk as she searches for her sketch pad. “But being able to try some of these on can help us figure out what will look best on you for the occasion.”

He’s particularly fond of Charlotte, thinking about their decades-long history as she asks you some basic questions. She reminds him of Margaret: professional, maternal, and no-nonsense, though a good deal warmer than either her grandmother or himself. He’s protective of her, as he is of anyone affiliated with Terry Silver, but he counts their friendship among the strongest he has. Always good at reading people, Charlotte had been the one to help him figure out the complexities of their employer and how to handle him in different situations.

He hopes that their dynamic duo will be able to understand you in the same way.

“I want to look good, but not too slutty or anything,” he hears you explain to the woman, and he can’t keep from rolling his eyes.

“She dresses on the modest side, Char’, but we need to get her a few steps past that. She’s trying to outshine Lucy Rogers.”

“Lucy Rogers?!” Charlotte repeats, looking over her eyeglasses at you with renewed interest.

“Oh, great, you know her too?” you grumble, brows furrowing. Victor thinks that you need to spend less time being intimidated by the bimbo, and more time working on your confidence.

“Victor is right, dear. If that woman is your competition, you’re going to need to step out of your comfort zone and be a bit more daring.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear she doesn’t seem to have any fans in this room,” you joke, picking up on the older woman’s tone, “but I won’t be any competition if I’m tripping over my own two feet with my boobs popping out.”

Victor can’t help the snort that escapes him, busying himself by flipping through magazines and avoiding eye contact with you. He’s come to really enjoy your dry brand of humour, not that he’d ever admit as much to you.

The discussion goes on for quite some time, with Victor chiming in to give his two cents when he felt it was warranted. You try on a few different dresses from Charlotte’s collection, and quite a few pages of her sketch book are filled out with a few ideas. Ultimately, you decide on a relatively modest dress in a deep green, cold shoulders and a midi skirt. He doesn’t comment on it, but he knows it’s not nearly enough to get the job done.

The moment you’ve disappeared behind the bathroom door to change back into your clothes, he’s approaching Charlotte, flipping through the other sketches quickly and finally choosing one.

“This one,” he says with confidence, keeping his voice low so that you don’t overhear. “Make her this one instead.”

You’d rejected it immediately, saying that it was “too Jessica Rabbit” for you, despite that being exactly the fucking point of this little outing. He’d seen the look on your face when Charlotte had shown it to you; you know that it’s perfect, you’re just lacking the confidence to wear it.

“Are you sure she’ll wear it?” Charlotte asks him quietly, though he can tell that she agrees with him.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he says firmly, knowing that he’s talked you into a lot worse when it came to Terry Silver. Charlotte marks the page, closing the book so that you don’t notice, then looks up at him with a smile.

“You really like this one, don’t you?” she asks him, and he huffs, playing it off cool.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs.

“She’s the only one I’ve ever liked.”

---

Christmas Eve – Reader’s POV:

There’s a knock at your bedroom door, and you place the curling iron back in its stand, hurrying to answer it. Pulling it open, you find Victor standing there with a garment bag over his arm.

“You’re not ready yet?” he complains. “He left here two hours ago.”

“I just want everything perfect,” you reply, too nervous to even snap at him. He tosses the bag at you and you snatch it out of the air, moving to lay it on the bed.

“You’ve got thirty minutes, tops, and then I’m coming in here and dragging you to Lucy’s regardless of what state you’re in.”

You ignore him, shutting the door and returning to the bag to put the dress on; you could finish your hair and makeup once you were dressed. Pulling down the zipper, your eyes are greeted by a flash of red rather than the expected emerald green. Taking the dress out, you see that this is one of the rejected designs Charlotte had come up with for you. Had she given you the wrong dress by mistake? There’s no way you can wear this in public!

You hurry back to your bedroom door, throwing it open to find Victor leaning against a wall in the hallway, looking at his phone.

“Victor, this isn’t the right dress.”

“Yes it is,” he replies, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“You’re not even looking!” you snap, and he slowly lifts his head, looking at the silk garment in your hand.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Victor, you know I asked for the green one. I can’t go out wearing this, it’s way too revealing! I’m not –”

“Don’t be an idiot, Y/N,” he interrupts you, and your jaw snaps shut as you bristle at the insult. You hate when he talks to you like a child. “If you’re going to go to the trouble of doing this, you’re going to do it right. I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t –”

“I’m going to say this once and once only, and then we’re nevergoing to speak of this again,” he hisses, glaring at you. “You are a beautiful woman, just as beautiful as Lucy fucking Rogers; far more beautiful if you account for personality. I have overheard far more of you and Terry together than I ever wanted to, and so I am sure when I tell youthat you are fully capable of outshining her when it comes to acting like a little succubus in front of everyone and showing them all that you’ve got Terry wrapped around your finger. Now go put the dress on, finish getting ready, and let’s get this over with.”

Your cheeks are flaming as he finishes his rant, and he spares you any further indignity by reaching over and closing the bedroom door. You exhale deeply, a sheepish grin spreading across your face as you strip and slip the dress on, hardly able to look at yourself – you’ll lose your nerve if you do.

“Hey Victor?” you call out to him as you finish getting ready. He makes an unintelligible grunt in response. “When you say you’ve overheard –”

“Is that never talking about this again?” he interrupts you, and you giggle, swapping out your black heels for red pumps that make you feel like a pin-up girl. You suppose that’s exactly what you look like.

“Sorry, sorry!” you say hastily, not wanting him to stop helping you now that you’ve decided to do this. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, making sure that everything is in place, and notice that your underwear is slightly visible through the dress. Glad you caught your mistake before someone else did, you shimmy the underwear down your legs, and move to head towards your dresser to find a pair that won’t show panty lines through the tight red fabric.

You pause about halfway to the closet, biting your lip. Taking a deep breath, you turn back to the front door. Victor was right; if you were going to do this, you’re going to do it right.

You throw on a coat, covering up before throwing the door open, wanting to spare both you and Victor the awkward situation. But seriously, how much as he heard over the years?

He nods at you, and the two of you descend the stairs and head towards the car, settling into the passenger seat and trying not to feel too nervous. Fortunately, it’s just a quick drive over to the party, so you don’t have too long to dwell on what you’re about to do.

“So why do you hate Lucy so much, anyway?” you ask as you approach the long, winding driveway. Victor keeps his eyes forward, lips twitching as he bites back a smile.

“She makes you seem like a mature, reasonable woman,” he finally gets out with a snicker. “I’ve settled for the lesser of two evils.”

Coming from Victor, the snide comment is practically a dedication of his support, and you grin at him.

“You’re turning into a real sap in your old age, Victor,” you tease, quickly darting forward to kiss his cheek before he can dodge you. “Thanks for everything!”

You climb out of the car before he can cuss you out, and you make your way into the imposing manor, your eyes on the prize.

Terry’s POV:

He hates these ostentatious events normally, having spent enough time peacocking around the rich and famous during his life time, but being here without you adds a new level of torture to the evening. But, he didn’t do so much damage control on his image over the past few decades just to throw it away now, no matter how much he wants to.

He’s been avoiding Lucy as much as courtesy would allow, but everywhere he turns her lithe, blonde form slinks up on him, trying to make conversation. He’s been able to deftly avoid all her attempts to touch him, having used similar tactics (far more successfully) himself in his attempts to ingratiate himself to someone for one reason or another over the years.

She is relentless in her pursuit, sending him another dazzling smile, practically thrusting her ample cleavage into his line of sight at every opportunity. He’s sure any other man would be counting his blessings at such overt seduction by a beautiful, wealthy heiress nearly forty years his junior.

Every other man didn’t have you.

It’s astonishing, really, how little interest he has in other women. It’s been this way from the very minute he met you, like he had tunnel vision that blinded him to any other woman, not that he minds. He has impeccable taste; he found the best and made it his own, and had no need to look elsewhere.

He wishes you could understand that.

Still, he supposes he can’t be too offended by your unwillingness to come here tonight. Lucy was determined to make her advances, and he let her get a lot further than he had any of the men that had thought approaching you was wise, albeit only for propriety’s sake.

Half the time he hadn’t even needed to step in when you were approached by an interested party; you had been more than happy to put them in their place with some snarky comment or outright indignation before scanning your surroundings, looking for him to tuck yourself by his side where you belonged.

He hadn’t needed to get involved, but he made sure to wordlessly convey his displeasure, even if it was only after you’d turned your back on them and started to walk away, staring down at them smugly, eyes flashing a warning in case they needed a reminder of just exactly who they were fucking with.

As you had pointed out during your fight last week, any man stupid enough to try anything more than look at you had been dealt with more violently, either by his hand or Victor’s. It was important to send a message to others who thought that they could touch what was his.

“Such a shame that Y/N couldn’t be here tonight, Terrence,” Lucy says with mock disappointment, appearing by his side once again and standing far closer than was socially acceptable.

He agrees with conviction, his eyes looking right past her as he tries to calculate who else he needs to speak to before he can get out of here. What he really wants is a quiet Christmas Eve at home with you before he spends the next day spoiling you rotten; he loves the shy smile and the snarky comment that he gets every time he gives you a present, something that takes him back to his early attempts to win you over. The appreciative sex afterwards is just a nice bonus.

Lucy is chattering about something, but he isn’t paying attention, having seen a flash of something in the crowd. If his eyes weren’t so accustomed to finding you in a crowd, admiring you, they may have passed you by. He blinks, confirming that you are here tonight, after all.

Ordinarily his mind would be racing with questions – How did you get here? Why didn’t you come with him tonight, or at least tell him? – but your choice of outfit for the evening has his mind going strangely blank.

Contrary to your typical modest attire, you’re here in a cherry red, knee-length silk dress with a daring slit up one thigh, the bodice tight around the curves of your waist and breasts. Your hair frames your face in tousled curls, your makeup dramatic and eye-catching, and your gait is confident as you strut towards them both in a pair of red pumps.

You look like sin personified.

“Well well,” you purr as you approach, completely ignoring Lucy standing to his side. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” you tease, playing with his tie as you pointedly step into his personal space, your nose wrinkling as you look at the spectacular décor in Lucy’s extravagant ballroom with disdain. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stare up at him with a playful expression, his cock twitching against his thigh. It’s been ages since you two did any sort of sexual roleplay, especially in public. He’s honestly a little flustered by your sudden appearance and your attitude, stammering as he asks what you’re doing here.

“What, a girl can’t surprise her man on Christmas Eve?” you reply with a coy smile, batting your eyes up at him.

“A girl can, if she’d bothered to RSVP,” Lucy seethes bitterly as she glares at the miniscule amount of space between Terry’s body and your own. Neither of you so much as blink, let alone break eye contact with one another to acknowledge the other woman.

“Oh relax, Lucy. I’m not here for the food and parting gifts,” you reply with a roll of your eyes, pointedly looking him up and down with a wicked grin that has him slipping his hands into his pockets to keep from snatching you up and having his way with you, propriety be damned.

“I would’ve hoped you’d taught Y/N better manners by now, Terry. She’s clearly still not used to behaving properly in our circles,” Lucy cuts in icily, and this gets his hackles up. Overzealous attempts to seduce him were easy to ignore, but insulting you in front of him was absolutely unacceptable.

“Actually, I RSVP’d for her in the hopes that she would be able to join me this evening after all,” Terry cuts in, trying to diffuse the situation before it became an all-out catfight. “Go and check the invitations, and then you can come back and apologize to Y/N.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, and after a moment of speechlessness Lucy storms off. You watch her leave with a small, pleased smile, before looking up at him.

“Did you really RSVP for me?” you ask hopefully, your femme fatale routine slipping a bit as you bite your lip nervously.

“It is always my plan to have you by my side, my dear," he croons, and the smile you give him is dazzling.

“Well now I feel extra silly for coming here tonight!”

“Why is that?”

“You clearly don’t have the reservations about stopping Lucy in her tracks the way I thought you did.”

He frowns at you, disappointed. “Did you really think I would tolerate her speaking about you like that?”

“No, I guess not,” you admit with a sigh, avoiding his eyes. “I’m just tired of people questioning my place in your life, Terry.”

He casually wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you off to one side of the ballroom for a bit more privacy.

“How long have you felt this way, Y/N?” he asks, gently but firmly.

“I don’t know, a couple of days after we met?” Your tone is teasing, but your eyes reflect insecurities.

He sighs, brow furrowing in frustration. “What more can I do to dispel that ridiculous notion?”

“Nothing. You can’t control other people, Terry, no matter how much I know you’d like to. Especially since you have to maintain a decent relationship with these people. It’s just something I’ll have to work on accepting.”

“I’ll walk out on these people and never look back if you ask me to.” It’s a fairly empty promise, as he knows you would never request such a thing of him, but he hopes it conveys his devotion to you.

“I’ll make up an opportunity to speak to her privately and try to patch things up or something; I don’t want to give her any ammunition,” you offer instead, and he’d give away every cent he has before letting you defer to Lucy Rogers – or anyone other than him, for that matter.

"Or, if that goes South, I’ll just yell at her then!” you say with a shrug, your grin slightly wicked at the thought of telling off your rival; not that she posed any competition in his eyes. “I just want to put the issue to bed.”

“I’ll put you to bed,” Terry purrs, gripping your hips possessively. He’s always loved when you turn that temper towards someone else, and the thought of it being in regards to your claim on him gives it an extra edge that he likes very much. His hands drift lower and lower, subtly tracing the curve of your ass several times as he’s unable to detect a panty line.

“I was in such a rush to get to you that I may have forgotten to put some things on,” you inform him while looking like the epitome of innocence, confirming his theory that you were going commando. The flirty little pout you give him makes him want to put you on your knees, running the head of his cock along that full lower lip.

He hisses, eyes scanning the room for his options, before taking you by the hand and tugging you out of the ballroom and into a hallway. Spotting serving trays laden with spare bottles of champagne on ice, he impulsively grabs one of the ice buckets in his free hand as he leads you to an empty powder room, missing the smirk you throw over your shoulder. It was time to make the depth of his devotion to you clear to everyone present, yourself included.

The minute the door closes behind you he’s got you pressed up against it, kissing you fiercely as he fumbles for the lock next to you. He wants no interruptions, just unfettered access to you. How you managed to make yourself more and more desirable over the course of your time together baffles him, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought, his hands running up your legs and under your dress, confirming that you are in fact bare beneath it. He growls into your mouth, one hand coming up to fist in your curls as he ravishes you.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, parading around in public looking like a high-class escort? When everyone knows you already belong to me?” he demands, speaking in a timbre that echoes his desire.

“Do they?” you ask breathlessly, squirming back against the wood of the door and baring your neck to him. “I guess I just wanted to make sure everyone knew.”

You give him a pointed look, your tone thick with implications.

He peels you off the door and into his arms, leveling you with a stern look.

“Are you suggesting that I don’t appreciate what I’ve got?”

“No, I’m suggesting that other people don’t appreciate it,” you grumble, glaring at the floor.

He lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to look up at him.

“What exactly did you have in mind, Madam?” he murmurs, the cheeky pet name making a fond smile cross your features as you think back to the first week you’d met, when he’d played along with your little game of treating him like an escort to teach nosy restaurant patrons a lesson about judging the two of you.

“I didn’t think much further past surprising you and dragging you away from Lucy,” you admit, embarrassed. He smiles, amused at your antics; you never thought things through until you were right in the thick of it, when it was too late.

“I can do you one better,” he purrs, his hands running down to your hips, giving them a possessive squeeze that has you biting back a whimper. He lifts you up to sit you on the counter in front of him, your dress too tight for him to spread your legs enough to stand between them. “How about I make you come for me right here, right now, so that anyone who comes by to eavesdrop knows exactly who I belong to?”

He knows he owns every single inch of you, mind, body and soul, and that you know that as well, but he gets the sense that you still doubt the degree to which you possess him. This seems as good a time as any to prove it to you. He slips a hand between your thighs, slowly working his way up under your skirt and distracting you while his other hand reaches into the ice bucket, retrieving an ice cube.

“Terry!” you moan softly, throwing your head back as you spread your legs as wide as you can, straining the fabric. Feeling devious, he leans forward into the crook of your neck, nudging your hair out of the way with his nose before laying hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slope of your neck, feeling you turn your head to give him better access. Perfect.

Slowly, so as not to alert you to his scheme, he brings his hand up to your shoulder, reluctantly pulling his lips away from you so he can watch your face as he runs the ice cube over the same spot. You make an audible gasp, your eyes going wide as they open in surprise.

“F-Fuck!” you whimper, squirming for him on the counter and biting your lip as you try to keep quiet. He can’t have that.

He trails the ice cube down your collarbone to your cleavage, leaving it right over your heart.

“I don’t want you keeping quiet, my dear,” he purrs, running his thumb along your lower lip and pulling it out of your mouth. “I want Lucy and every other person who so much as thinks about coming between us to hear what I do to you.”

He slowly bends down, bracing himself with hands to either side of you on the counter, using his lips to pull the ice cube from between your breasts and into his mouth, his tongue snaking out to warm your skin. You sigh, clutching his head to you, as though he’d plan on going anywhere.

You, however, have other plans, shoving him away from you with a gleam in your eye as you slip off the counter, grabbing his belt as you sink to your knees.

“After all our time together, you think I still don’t know how to read you, Terry Silver?” you ask coyly, quickly pulling his cock out of his pants. “I saw what you wanted from the minute you laid eyes on me here tonight.”

You open your mouth, giving the head of his dick a kittenish lick while staring up at him. He bites his tongue, fighting the urge to take control and choke you with his cock down your throat until your pretty makeup runs down your face along with your tears. His cock twitches against your tongue at the thought. He can have you like that when he gets you home.

“Christ, Y/N,” he groans, grabbing a fistful of your hair even as he tries to let you keep control. “I brought you back here to get you off,” he says with amusement.

“Funny, I thought you brought me back here so that everyone would know we belong to each other,” you retort, slowly tugging your spaghetti straps down your arms – one easy tug at the fabric would have your chest bared and ready for him.

“Use me, love,” you beg him in a husky, breathy voice that sends fire through his veins. “I want them to hear what only I can give you.”

His vision blacks out for a moment, a product of the sheer intensity of his desire.

“Are you sure, darling?” he asks, his restraint hanging on by a thread.

“Please, Sir,” you whine, looking up at him like the desperate little slut you’ve become for him, and he gives in with a snarl, his free hand joining the other in your hair as he slips his cock into your mouth.

“Get to work, baby girl,” he orders in a rough voice, and you eagerly obey, hands reaching around him to the backs of his thighs to pull him closer as you take his length, swallowing him as instructed. “Oh fuck, that’s it.”

You moan deeply, your tongue teasing the underside of his cock, making his eyes roll into the back of his head. Christ, you were perfect.

“Pull your dress down,” he growls, and your hands immediately pull the cups of your bodice down, freeing your breasts. “Play with them.”

Whimpering as you choke on his cock, you reach up to your breasts, kneading them and pressing him together, your eyes still focused on his face, looking up to him for approval.

“Play with them the way you need,” he specifies, watching you with a hungry expression as you play roughly with your nipples, pinching and flicking and slapping them as you plead with your eyes. He wants them sensitive and sore before he even gets started with them.

“There’s my good girl,” he hisses approvingly, hips thrusting harder and faster as he uses your mouth. “Don’t stop.”

By the time he comes down your throat with a roar of your name, you’re a squirming, weepy mess, grinding against your heels wantonly as you try to stimulate your clit. Still, you swallow every drop of him and lick him clean for good measure, his perfect little fucktoy.

“Thank you, Sir,” you chirp up at him with a silly grin, well on your way to looking like the mess he adores. He reaches down, offering you his hand and gently but firmly pulling you to your feet and up against him, kissing you deeply, his hands moving down the curve of your spine to your plump ass, squeezing it firmly so that you moan against him.

“Such a good girl,” he croons approvingly. “Bend over the counter for me.”

You hasten to obey, yelping as your tender, abused nipples press against the cold marble countertop. Your ass looks delicious poured into the red silk fabric, straining against it, and he can see your thighs quivering with anticipation.

He quickly pulls his phone out of his inner coat pocket, taking a series of pictures without you being any the wiser. He wants to capture this moment. Then he reaches into the ice bucket, intentionally jostling the remaining ice cubes with his hand to watch you squirm, your fingernails digging into your palms as you clench your hands into fists, forcing yourself to stay still. Your patience has come a long way since he first got his hands on you. Selecting a larger cube, he comes to stand behind you, hips pressed against your ass in a way that has his cock twitching again. The things you did for an old man’s libido…

Reaching down with his free hand, he grips your chin, pulling you back to arch upward until you can see yourself, flushed and trembling, in the mirror’s reflection. Wordlessly, he brings the ice cube to your lips, teasing them.

“I want you to keep this between those sinful lips of yours for me,” he requests, and you shiver before opening your mouth and taking the ice from him. “That’s it, now watch yourself in the mirror. I want you to see what I do to you.”

Taking another cube from the bucket, he immediately sets about teasing you, running it from the nape of your neck down your spine to your waist before repeating the path in reverse, watching you whine around the ice and shake as you try to keep still. He continues his torment as he contemplates his next move, eyes roaming your body’s erogenous zones as he decides how to make you come apart from him.

“Turn over,” he commands, and you straighten up and flip over to lean back against the counter, the ice still in place between your lips. Reaching between your legs, he places his ice cube between your thighs, which immediately clench around the ice to keep it in place. It still drove him wild whenever you, his little spitfire, became submissive and obedient to him, his ego and need for control both more than appeased.

Practically purring, he bends to your mouth, taking the ice cube from between your lips and tucking it into his cheek before kissing you, his tongue seeking to thaw your chilled lips as you melt against him faster than any ice, kissing him back with the fierce passion of yours that he’s come to be addicted to.

“I love when you look like this,” he purrs, gripping your waist tightly, his thumbs to either side of your bellybutton. “Like a gorgeous little angel that I’ve taken and defiled.”

“Terry!” you cry desperately, and he can tell that you’re fighting the urge to either beg him for more or get yourself off. As much as he loves watching you play with yourself – his eyes flit down to your breasts, still red and clearly sore from your previous attentions – he wants to be in complete control of your pleasure from here on out.

Instead of replying, he lowers his face to your chest, moving the ice to the tip of his tongue as he teases your breasts with the ice, hearing the slap of your hand over your mouth to muffle your shrieks. He slaps your hip sternly, not letting up from his ministrations; you know better than that by now.

He continues his torment until the ice shrinks down substantially before sucking it back into his mouth, straightening up enough to kiss you and slip it back onto your tongue.

“Swallow it.”

You don’t even hesitate, right on the edge of orgasm, and gulp down the remaining ice in a depraved move that makes you both shudder.

“Such an obedient little thing,” he moans appreciatively as he watches, his hand sneaking between your legs to confirm that the second ice cube has completely melted, trails of cold water running down your legs. He yearns to get on his knees and lap his way up your thighs, drinking up the water like he was dying of thirst, but he’s had his fair share of pleasure so far this evening.

“How do you want me to make you come, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“However you want Terry, just please!” you whimper needily. Always so generous, even when it came to your own pleasure…

“I want you to decide, Y/N.”

“Your fingers or your cock,” you request breathlessly. “I want you to be able to talk to me…”

He makes a pleased, rumbling noise in his chest, feeling a wave of pride wash over him. He knows how much you love his dirty talk, how often it’s made you come, and how hard.

His fingers run up your thigh and under your tight skirt, and you spread your legs as much as the fabric will allow.

“My fingers then, since this dirty little dress is so tight I can’t fuck you without ripping it off of you,” he decides, easily slipping two fingers inside of you. You’re soaking wet, your arousal starting to stick to your upper thighs, and Terry seriously considers whether or not to ruin your pretty dress now, if only to bury his face between your legs to taste your sweet nectar.

Sticking to the plan, if only because he wants to shred this dress in the privacy of your own bedroom where he doesn’t have to worry about leaving evidence behind or finding a way to get you out of here naked, he pumps his fingers in and out of you, relishing in the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him as he strokes your g-spot. Your cries take on a higher and higher pitch as you moan shamelessly, and he knows that you’ve forgotten where you are, letting out a quiet chuckle. You’d be getting your wish then; everyone outside would know he was making you shriek like a wanton little harlot. His possessive side purrs at the thought of all the stuck-up snobs in the ballroom being made aware of the fact that Terry Silver was in a backroom with a woman more than thirty years his junior, making her scream in ecstasy.

Not just any woman, he amends to himself, his thumb moving to your clit and stroking it almost apologetically. His woman. The love of his life, the only woman he would have like this for the rest of his days.

He debates moving up the proposal he has planned for New Year’s Eve, wanting to stake his claim here and now so that there would be no doubt that you belonged to each other. But he’s had that planned for ages now, and you deserve something far more special, so he refocuses on his efforts to have you screaming his name.

“I can see I’m going to have to expand your wardrobe again,” he coos in your ear as he fingers you, adding a third finger and speeding up his thumb’s movement against your clit until you are bucking your hips desperately against him. “If you’re going to act like a needy whore then you’ll need to look the part, and this dress isn’t going to last the evening.”

“Take me home now and I’ll be the neediest whore you’ve ever seen.”

His fingers fuck you harder-faster-deeper at your words, making you chant his name like a mantra, and there’s never been a sweeter sound.

“Not until you come apart for me right here, right now, my dear. Let everyone hear what I do to you,” he hisses through gritted teeth, punctuating every word with a thrust of his fingers. His free hand grips your chin tightly, squeezing as he holds your gaze.

“Terry!” you pant, writhing against him as you gasp for breath. “I’m so close!”

“Come for me, Y/N,” he commands, his eyes bright as he stares at your face. “Come now!”

Your cry of “OH FUCK, TERRY YEEESSS!” echoes throughout the room spectacularly, and he’s sure everyone on the premises can hear you as you come, his fingers continuing to pump in and our of your tight pussy and tease your clit, drawing out your orgasm.

You start to slump down the bathroom cabinet onto the floor, your knees going weak, but he grabs you by the waist and lifts your boneless form up to sit on the counter before withdrawing his other hand from between your legs. Sinfully licking your juices from his fingers, he watches you catch your breath, chest heaving and face flushed. He’ll never get over the way you taste.

Having given you enough time to recover, he pulls you to the edge of the counter to kiss you breathless. When he eventually lets you up for air, he gently cradles your face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he looks down at you with adoration that borders on reverence.

“I love you so much, my princess,” he croons, feeling you lean into his touch. “You are what I cherish most in this world; you are my everything.” He’ll remind you of how much you mean to him all day, every day, if that’s what he needs to do to get the concept to stick in that stubborn head of yours.

“I love you, Terry; you’re my whole world,” you coo up at him sweetly, twining your arms around his neck and pulling him down so that your foreheads touch. “And I think we’ve proved our point to everyone!” you add with a giggle, your eyes darting over to the door nervously. He pulls you off the counter and to your feet, holding you close to him.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he starts, immediately feeling the tension in your shoulders relax; you haven’t gotten any better at making your own decisions, and he’s just given into your natural inclination to follow his lead at this point. He releases you, tugging off his suit jacket and throwing it over your shoulders, before reaching back to the champagne bucket, retrieving the bottle.

“Hide this under my jacket,” he instructs, and you take the bottle, using the other hand to hold the jacket shut. “We’re getting out of here, and I’m going to get you home and into our tub with that bottle. If Lucy or any other airhead is stupid enough to look at you the wrong way, remember that they’re jealous of you for having what they never will.”

You nod with determination, tucking yourself under his arm, and he kisses you on the temple as he pulls open the door, guiding you back into the party and towards the exit. He notices your hips swaying intentionally, your posture projecting more confidence, and smiles softly, pleased you finally seem to be accepting your role in his life.

Lucy hovers by the doorway, glaring at you with obvious distaste, and you look past her to the exit, trying not to start anything. He appreciates the effort; he desperately wants you out of here and into the bath. Champagne tasted best when licked off a lover, especially so when it was stolen from an enemy.

“Leaving so soon?” the blonde snaps at the two of you, and he feels you tense up under his arm. Giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he moves to speak on your behalf.

“Yes, unfortunately Y/N seems to be a little under the weather. Just look how flushed she is!” he teases, grinning as you smack him in the stomach. “I have to get her home to bed right away. Apologies for our early departure, Laura,” he manages to keep his voice steady despite desperately wanting to laugh at the woman’s face as he calls her the wrong name.

“Great party – I’m already looking forward to the next one!” you add cheekily, both of you stalking past her without looking back. He reaches into his phone as you stroll through the property’s extensive front gardens, making a call to Larry to meet you out front with the limo.

“Do you have any enemies that we can take down together? That was fun!”

You duck out from under his arm, and he watches you with amusement as you skip down the stone path, heels in your hands and swimming in his suit jacket. He’ll do anything if he can do it with you.

Nevermind making it to the bathtub; you’re naked before you’re halfway home, foam from the stolen bottle of champagne spattered across your naked body as you lay spread across the backseat of his limo.

---

UGH, I love these versions of Terry and Reader so much it hurts! Hope you all enjoyed! I’m off from now through the first week of January, so hopefully the rest of the TIGmas posts will be along shortly. As always, thanks for reading!

#Thomas Ian Griffith #Terry Silver #Terry Silver x Reader #Cobra Kai #Fresh Start #TIGmas #12 Days of TIGmas #Smut #Romance #Christmas Fic #The Return of Victor #I Love These Two So Much

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thewriterg · 2 years

Text

♡︎Espresso shot♡︎N.D

Pairing(s): Nathan Drake x Fem!reader, Victor Sullivan x Fem!reader, Chole Frazer x Fem!reader,

Summary: You had a cover job everyone who had a brain and a past had one and the last person who you excepted to expose your cover was Victor Sullivan the man who screwed you over but in the end he got a metal taste in his mouth

Word count: 1,600+

Warning(s): Violence, Weapons, Blood, Pet names, and Language

A/n: —GIF isn’t mine— Um sooo late just now watching uncharted and it’s so good!?

“Take a left here gotta make a pit stop”Sully directed Chole as she looked at him suspiciously before reluctantly taking the direction the man gave her Noticing that Nate also didn’t look like he had much notice about the sudden change

“Why are we at a coffee sho- hey where the hell are you going!?” Chloe called to middle age man as he walked into the small café while Nate quickly rushed behind him leaving Chloe to muttered incoherent curses under her breath before following behind the pair

“Sully are you gonna tell us why we’re here or did you just suddenly need a macchiato with espresso” Nate questioned as the two men stood by each other third in line while you and two other workers in green aprons worked around the counters

“You see that girl right their y/e/c, ponytail” He questioned the brunette while he squinted his eyes seemingly to get a better look at you nodding his head subconsciously before turning back to the man

“Yea shes pretty hot too” Nate acknowledged with a hum inspecting the girl as she worked with a small smirk on her face while she shook the cocktail shaker in her hands above her head straining the caffeinated drinking into the plastic cup swiftly sliding down the bar-like counter to a customer who grabbed a straw giving the girl a smile while they brought two fingers to their lips bringing them down to their heart they were a regular anyone could tell

“Well be careful, don’t wanna fall in the colleague Lover’s category pretty cliché don’t you think?” Sully replied while Nate practically was on the brink of whiplash the way his attention shifted to the man

“I’m sorry what!? Another person are you out of your goddamn mind Sully!?” Chloe raised her voice looking up at the man in disbelief drawing attention to the group in the small usually peaceful café

“Chloe you’re causing a scene” He dragged in a sing song voice not bothering to throw a glance at the girl while you had finally looked up from the coffee machine locking eyes with the man while he smirked at you waving his fingers in sync before you whispered something into the ear of you co-worker before walking faster than necessary out of view of the group

“Well she doesn’t look that happy to see you” Nate acknowledge while Sully slipped out of line Chole grungy followed them both while Sully walked into a door that clearly had employees only in boldly written letters that led to an outside alleyway

“Whatever happens next don’t get in it, let it go and just watch me risk my life” Sully sarcastically smiled as they slowly walked up to your standing figure while you smoked a cigarette with sunglasses on you face and a black leather jacket resting on your shoulders while your black combat boots tapped against the gravel underneath your feet

“Have fun sweetheart” Nate threw the sarcasm back at the older man stopping close enough to get a good view but far enough not to be caught in the crossfire

“See you dyed your hair, aww haven’t you grown up” Sully taunted while you let the nicotine hit you lungs before blowing the smoke back out into the air

“Come on y/n/n, you’re my buddy my old pal” Sully pushed as you continued to ignore the man before letting the cigarette drop out of your fingertips before crushing it under your boot finally bringing your gaze to face the man before you continued to walk away

“Come on you can’t ignore me forever” Finally your last straw was feeling his fingertips gazed your shoulder blade while you bit the inside of your cheek nodding slowly and for a minute Nate thought you completely agreed without restraint

That was until you you punched Sully square clean in the jaw taking the arm that rested on your bringing it behind his back while he let out a low groan while you stood behind him threatening to break his collarbone and forearm at the same time all in once

“I know I had it coming for me” He grunted before sweeping his leg from under your feet knocking you off balance as you landed on the gravel before bringing your hands above your head pushing your body up while your feet landed on the ground quickly throwing a kick to the man’s side with a thud while he hauled over you ran full force jumping on the man’s back before propelling your body Weight up and onto the man’s shoulders wrapping your legs around his neck while one of your hands grabbed a pipe above your head while the other pressed a dagger towards his neck

“Which way do you want to die you want me to snap your neck or slit your throat” You offered while Sully clawed at your clothed thighs while you cut of his air circulation

“You’ll know I-I can’t find the gold without you Y/n please don’t do it for me do i-it for your s-sister” He choked gasping for air it was a while just as the man started to turn blue you finally let him go hopping down from his shoulders as he gasped for air before you grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket staring into his eyes that you’d grown to hate

“I’m only doing this for my sister Victor never think for a second in your small little pea brain that I’m here for anything but that mate” You finally pushed the man back from you before you began to walk out the alleyway coming into eye contact with Nate and Chole as you let out a humorous-less laugh nodding your head before turning back around going back over to Sully who were doubled over as he looked up at you with his eyes squinted before you swung you leg back kicking the man in his pelvis as he fell to the floor groaning rolling around like her were on fire

“Come on, that was a low blow!” He shouted as you began to resume your walking out of the alleyway passing both Nate and Chloe putting your sunglasses back on your face not acknowledging the pair before Nate jogged over to his coworker who clutched his knees to his chest

“Sorry think I’m just gonna have to fall into that category even with it being a cliché and all” Nate stated amused while lending a hand out to Sully which he took propelling himself up wobbling slightly at the burning feeling in his upper thighs

“You know I almost felt bad for you” Chole responded with a small smile on her face at the man’s struggle while he looked down at her in horror shaking his head before beginning to limp out of the alley to the parking lot with a laughing Nate at his side

“I’m sweaty, hot, and hungry put icy hot on your dick and get over it now come on” You raised your voice loud enough for the group to hear as you leaned against Chloe’s car tapping your foot against the concrete

“Oh you’re definitely hot sweetheart” Nate muttered under his breath with a small smile while Chloe looked at the man in disgust shaking her head before grabbing her keys out of her pocket

༒༒༒

“I found my cross in a crypt in genoa but I didn’t know it was a key to a much bigger fortune Sully knew and here we are… Doesn’t say what happens after we turn the keys ‘Trust in your fellow man for one will go to heaven and the other to hell’.” Chole spoke reading over the practically ancient journal

“Well it’s ironic as the only point in having two keys was that the 18, didn’t trust each other” Nate stated passing out glasses of red wine when he finally got to you he stood tall with a small smile on his face

“Oh you’re adorable” You smiled before taking the bottle instead of the cup holding it by its handle downing a good 1/4th of it before before sitting back on the counter

“Or chug it down like your on spring break. All good” Sully put his hands up in surrender as he continued to sip on his own glass a whine you rolled your eyes before you got up from your seat and passed the man taking his previous position on the couch which he complained about of course having no interest in the mam or the conversation you ignored him continuing to make yourself comfortable while Nate laughed light and Chole smirked at the scene

Nate got a sudden boost of confidence as he set his now empty wine glass against the counter making his way over to you before he lifted your legs sitting down next to your laying figure while he rested your legs on his thighs while you stared at him for a while and Nate started to get nervous under your gaze before you shook your head muttering something incoherent and turning your head facing the couch cushion

Somewhere in that time Nate started to subconsciously rub your legs and as the time passed you started to feel yourself blinking slower and your breaths get lighter and soon enough your closed as your body started to go limp and Nate acknowledge the heavier weight that set on his thighs before returning back to his Conversion with Nate and Chole

It took energy and a toll on your shoulders being a shot of espresso but Nate was willing to handle

#nathan drake #nate drake #nathan drake x reader #nathan drake x you #victor sullivan #uncharted #uncharted x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x yn #i love you #fluff #romance #thewriterg

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lordsisterxotome · 2 years

Text

A Poor Substitute (Victor x Reader)

Fandom: Mr. Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor x Reader

Prompt: Phone sex | Wet dreams & “Prove to me that you deserve this.”

Warning: Smut! Minors DNI!!!🔞 Mutual masturbation | Phone sex | Voice kink | Praise kink | Dirty talk

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 2125

Ko-fi: Click here to support me on ko-fi!<3

Author’s Note: Day 3 of @xxsycamore‘s Visions of Temptation event! I woke up with a sore throat this morning but luckily my one class of the day was canceled so I didn’t have to go out sick.

Tag list: @yesmarsx @nad-zeta @kisara-16 @cheese-ception @cailann @vespeshadowmoon @ravenarld @juminly @wonderwrench @cilokgoang @ikesimp100 @niphredil-14 @otome-and-fanfiction @ichigostellaglynn @crystal13unny

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please fill out this form.

Drawing up your knees, you reached between your legs with trembling fingers, sucking in a sharp breath when they brushed your swollen clit. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, worrying the flesh as you teased the bud, increasing the pressure with each rub.

You’d been so pent-up all day, it was embarrassing. Victor was gone for a week and you went sex-crazed? Ridiculous. You had grown too accustomed to his affection, which demanded he push you to the point of insanity with his tongue or cock whenever he could.

When he’d left, he’d asked if you would be able to handle yourself until his return, a stupid, teasing smirk on his stupid, beautiful face. You’d wanted to smack him and kiss the living daylights out of him at the same time, but now you just wanted him with you in this bed, his fingers between your legs instead of your own.

The mere memory of his fingers was enough to make you moan. His were so much thicker than yours, so much longer. Victor played your body like an instrument, drawing music from your lips and wet from your depths. He reached places inside of you you hadn’t known existed, making you gasp and writhe in the warmth and safety of his hold as you reached climax after climax until you were absolutely spent.

You imagined those moments now as you sank a finger into your core, trying and failing to imagine that it was his. Your chest heaved with frustrated arousal, hardened nipples straining against the fabric of your bra. Whining, you pumped the finger a few times before adding another, scissoring yourself. Two fingers of your opposite hand circled your clit, teasing the bud as you rolled your hips into your hand.

You sighed as the pulse deep in your belly began to strengthen, heat seeping into your veins. It wasn’t nearly as much pleasure as what Victor gave you with a mere brush of his fingers, but it was enough to take the edge off as you slowly worked yourself towards your climax.

A sudden buzzing made you startle, eyes that you hadn’t realized closed shooting open and hands flying to either side of you as you bolted upright. Your eyes found your phone, ringing where it sat charging on your nightstand. Groaning, you ignored it, brows furrowing as you lay back and replaced your hands between your legs. You set a fast pace, rubbing hard in an attempt to drown out the phone’s impatient buzzing.

After what felt like forever it stopped…only to start up again a moment later. You snarled this time, cursing whoever had distracted you from your pleasure once more. Again the buzzing stopped, and again it started a few seconds later. With an annoyed huff, you tore your fingers from yourself. Laying limp across your bed, you exhaled a slow breath, taking a moment to accept the fact that your arousal had evaporated before snatching the phone off the nightstand and ripping the charger out in the process.

In your frustration, you didn’t bother to look at the caller ID, a mistake as, before you could even get a word out, a booming voice asked, “You were touching yourself, weren’t you?”

Victor - the object of all your desires and frustrations - had such impeccable timing.

“Hello to you too,” you muttered, clamping your thighs together against the embarrassing rush of arousal that flooded you at the sound of his voice. You really were ridiculous.

“Tell me.” The tone of his voice, deep and husky, brooked no lenience. Even so, there was something strained to his cadence, something you hardly recognized but that made you pause a moment before you answered slowly, “…Yes.”

A groan echoed through the receiver, making your breath catch and your pussy flutter. One sound had no business being so sexy. “Are-are you…?” The words came out higher and breathier than you meant them to. Something in your brain broke at the idea of Victor in the same position as you, just as desperate, just as needy for the other’s touch.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Only all day?” you tried to laugh, but you could feel a moan bubbling in your chest. Your pussy was already wetter listening to his voice alone than it had been when you were fingering yourself. What a traitor.

Victor growled, the sound making you whimper as you wriggled against your pillows, legs spreading once more. “What were you doing before I called?”

“Fingering myself,” you confessed.

“How many?” Heavens above, his voice could shake mountains to their foundations - that’s what you thought as you covered your mouth to stifle your needful cry, pussy clenching around nothing.

“Two,” you answered shakily. Your fingers brushed through your swollen folds, the electric fissures you’d been looking for before all too happy to emerge at your touch with Victor’s rough breathing in your ear. “But it’s not you.”

He chuckled, the sound warming you from the inside out. “I keep imagining it’s your mouth or your pussy around my cock instead of my hand.” The warmth you felt turned molten at the thought that he was just as starved for you as you were for him, pleasuring himself to thoughts of you. “But it’s not you.”

The image of him, naked and flushed, muscles straining as he took his heavy, weeping cock into his hand, made you breathless, tiny mewls and gasps escaping as your fingers circled your opening. You imagined the pre-cum that would be beading at the tip of his thick head, the pulsing vein that ran along the underside, the slight curve of the staff. A burst of heat soaked your fingers, back arching into the bed beneath you as they slipped into your slick heat.

“Are your fingers in that tight pussy?”

You shivered, feeling his voice in your bones as you gasped an eager “Yes!” Setting the phone to speaker, you used your newly freed hand to grope your breast, teasing your hardened nipple through the lacy fabric of your bra. “I wish you were here.”

He was silent for a moment, long enough that you thought you’d lost connection, and then he commanded, “On your knees.”

You nearly knocked the phone off the bed in your scramble to do as he said. Each breath came rapid as you rolled onto your knees, keeping your upper body pressed to the bed and widening your knees. Your arousal dripped down your inner thighs in this position, making you shiver at the exposure it brought. How could you be so unseemly wet when he hadn’t even touched you?

“Have you done as I asked?”

The rumble of his voice, deep and smooth as honey, made you shudder. “Yes.”

Even so far away, you felt his smirk, felt the phantom imprint of it against your skin. “Good girl.” A shuffling sound reached your ears and you wiggled uncomfortably as you waited for his instruction. Closing your eyes, you tried to imagine your lover was there with you, his breath fanning over your skin rather than finding you through a phone receiver. You remembered the feel of his body against yours, pressing against your back, his cock nudging you open…

“Two fingers inside.” The sudden, harsh words made you jolt. “Use your other hand on your clit.” He spoke with all the authority of the CEO he was, ordering your pleasure as if it was his right.

A little shifting and shuffling found your hands tucked between your legs, your toes curling against the comforter as you did as he said. Two fingers disappeared inside of you again, two other fingers tracing circles into the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

“Done,” you breathed, slowly beginning to thrust those digits in and out of your throbbing heat. The embarrassment you’d felt before as you’d tried and failed to get yourself off evaporated, replaced by a blank-eyed lust as you fingered yourself. “What…What are you doing?”

“Jerking myself,” came his grunted reply, and you shivered, biting your lip against the smirk that threatened to unfurl. Was it possible that Victor was worse off than you? You always thought you were the more attached one in the relationship, but maybe Victor was just better at hiding it. “God, your pussy is always so tight around me, squeezing me,” he huffed. If you listened closely you thought you could hear it, the slap of his hand around his erection, pumping himself.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers,” you whined, straining to reach the places inside of you he always did. You remembered the first time you and Victor had made love, how he’d had to stretch you and ease you open with his tongue and fingers before he would even consider putting his dick in you. “What else?”

“You always milk the cum out of me so well. Your cunt is always so hungry for it.” That made you blush, pussy clenching down on your fingers as if in agreement. It was true; you loved it when Victor came inside of you, begging for it as he fucked you closer and closer to your orgasm. You loved how close it made you feel, how tenderly he would hold you even as his hips ploughed into you mercilessly.

Still, you buried your face into your pillow, cheeks burning with a vicious blush. You were only masturbating on the phone with him, but hearing him praise you so freely was unusual. It made your heart flutter and your knees weak.

A long moan peeled from your lips, too loud in the too big space of your bedroom. You hadn’t realized how much space Victor’s presence took up until now, how he filled your everything so not a single part of you wasn’t marked with him. Your fingers moved faster as you rocked your hips into your hand. You knew he could hear each gasp, each mewl and cry. You wanted him to hear it, wanted to pet the ego that knew he could make you feel good, could make you cum to the thought of him.

“Victor,” you mewled. Your fingers slipped through the copious amount of wet your body was producing, your back arching and your knees spreading a little more in a useless presentation to a lover who wasn’t there. “I want to cum so bad.”

“Prove it to me,” he growled, curls of heat licking through your lower belly. “Prove to me that you deserve this, that you deserve to cum.”

“I need it! Baby, please!” You were so close, so close to obtaining the relief that had eluded you all week. “It hurts without you! I need your cock, your fingers, your tongue!”

“I know, darling.” His heavy breathing filled your senses, and you swore you could smell him, something of the taste of his skin on your tongue. “Such a good girl. Won’t you cum for me? Make those pretty noises for me to remember until I get back?” he coaxed, and your walls contracted, warning you, urging you on.

“I’m close,” you gasped, mewling with each plunge of your fingers. “Victor!”

“Cum, baby.” A part of your brain connected the strain in his voice with his own climax, with the way his defined abs would be tensing right now, his body curving around the pulsating dick in his hand.

You spasmed, crying his name at the same time that milky white spurted from the reddened tip, his seed gone to waste where it painted his thick thighs and pooled on his stomach. Collapsing onto your comforter, you lay boneless in the wake of the orgasm coursing through your limbs. Satisfaction, warm and fuzzy, settled in your abdomen.

Only one thing could have completed your happiness.

“I miss you,” you murmured, taking the phone off speaker in order to hear his voice more closely.

“I love you,” he answered, his voice soft as it only was when he said those three words, and your heart melted as you whispered the words back.

“Are you going to sleep now?”

“Mhm.” Rising on legs that were just stable enough to carry you to your bathroom, you cleaned yourself up, pulling on your fluffiest pajamas when you were done. “You?”

“I have a few emails to send.” That was your Victor, ever-dedicated to his work. The thought brought a smile to your face. “I couldn’t focus on them before.”

“Sleep soon.” Flopping back into bed, you pulled the blankets around you, cocooning yourself and trying to preserve the afterglow of your orgasm. “I’m waiting here for you.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, “Sweet dreams. I’ll be home soon.”

#visionsoftemptation2022 #mlqc #mlqc smut #mlqc victor x reader #mlqc victor #mr love queen's choice #mr love queen's choice victor #mr love queen’s choice victor x reader #otome #otome x reader #romance #smut

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jeex02 · 10 months

Text

Crying cause hes so cute 🗿🥹🤲💞

Anyways have some cute drunk vic fluff too

(Not profread and a year old 🧍‍♂️🏃)

Victor ended up being roped into drinking with some buisness patners. He ends up drunk somehow? *cough* whereisyourhightolerance. Anyways Goldman drops him of at home. Victor is leaning all his weight on goldman, poor guy. You open the door for him and try to help him inside and hes just like "excuse me dont touch me i have a wife" and you just let go and he somehow ends up walking into a wall and you just tease him about being drunk and hes just like??? After he figures out that he needs help he lets you guide him to the couch at least. Then he starts being like "what are you doing in my house? Where is my wife?" You walk out of the room and bring back some water to sober him up and then just tell him that you are his wife and he just stares in disbelive. Wispers to himself "im one lucky man" *insert drunk victor smile* you chuckle at his attidude and he just scoffs. He also argues with you about not wanting to sleep yet and wanting to stay looking at you. In the end you somehow manage to get him to lay down... He falls asleep on the couch while listening to you talk. The next day he just has an headache and is forced to stay at home by you. Me grumpy all day long. (Pfff Also you calling him a dummy under your breath while he drunk Cause damn he is )

Anyways he probably also still remembers everything cause yes he was drunk but dude has high tolerance??? Pls immagine him remembering that he said that you shouldnt touch him cause he has a wife to you (his wife) and he just *boom red* every time he remembers (would die from being flustered af if you continued to tease him about what he said the next day)

#mlqc victor x reader #mlqc victor #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #mlqc fanfic

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fluentmoviequoter · 5 months

Note

hey, since you are taking requests and I can’t seem to get enough of victor vale, could you write a victor x reader story where reader gets gravely injured by eli and dies but victor brings her back and she becomes an EO?<3

Thank you so much for requesting! You didn't specify what power the reader gets so I decided on the ability to control weapons; hope that's okay! Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!!🤍

Warnings: spoilers for Vicious (and a changed ending w/ the final line of the book), descriptions of injury/torture (punching, slapping, stabbing), threats, murder/death, reader is revived becomes an EO, Victor is kind of a softie?, a little fluff I think. I feel like these warnings make it sound worse or more violent than it is.

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

Back to Life

When you decided to walk around Merit and clear your head, you didn’t expect everything to go this horribly wrong. What was supposed to be a lap around the block before returning to the Esquire Hotel turned into a suicide mission. And no one knows where you are or what he’s doing, or so you think.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I can’t think anymore, Victor,” you plead. “We’ve been in this room for days, just let me walk around and I’ll surely come up with an idea while I’m gone.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Victor argues.

“We know Eli’s here. What if he knows who you are?” Sydney asks quietly.

“How could he? Victor, think about it, I’m the only one here that Eli hasn’t seen. If any of us can go outside, it’s me. Just a few minutes; I can get Mitch’s chocolate milk and anything else we need.”

Victor sighs and rubs his hands down his face before conceding. “Ten minutes. One more and I come looking for you. And trust me, you don’t want me to have to come find you.”

“Thank you,” you say, heading for the door. “I’ll be careful and I’ll be right back, I promise.”

The door closes, and Mitch sighs before asking, “And if she doesn’t keep the promise?”

“She won’t break it on purpose,” Victor points out. “Someone breaks it for her, though, and I expand the known pain scale.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You feel like someone is watching you as soon as you enter the hotel lobby; you ignore it because it's a crowded city, so people are probably looking around. Walking out of the hotel, you take a deep breath of fresh air before turning right. When you arrived in Merit a few days ago, you noticed a small store sure to have chocolate milk and the few items Sydney requested. Nearing the store, you still feel like you’re being watched. You turn around to see if anyone looks out of the ordinary but don’t see anything and tell yourself to stop being paranoid. When you turn back around, you see a fake smile, one you recognize from Victor’s pictures, before everything goes dark.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Stop pacing,” Mitch demands, trying to focus on his laptop. “She said ten minutes, it hasn’t been ten yet.”

“Sydney was right, I shouldn’t have let her go,” Victor snaps, stopping just long enough to speak before grabbing his coat from the back of the couch. “I’m going to find out where she is.”

“Eli doesn’t know her, Victor.”

“He knows more than you think, Mitch. I’m good at figuring things out, I figured him out incredibly quickly, but we don’t know anything. Yes, he’s killing EOs but if he decided to keep a few alive and recruited them, somehow, this game is over for us. We only win by keeping the element of surprise. So, stop trying to tell me she’s fine when you don’t know either.”

The door slams before Mitch can respond, so he sighs and shakes his head before clicking his track pad and returning to his previous task.

“He didn’t promise to come back this time,” Sydney says quietly.

“He will,” Mitch responds, turning to face her. “Victor Vale always comes back. He’s been planning this for too long to let anything get in the way now. After waiting so long, he’s not missing his chance.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sydney whispers. “Because if Eli does know about her, I don’t think those plans are going to matter.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Wake up,” someone demands, pulling your head to one side.

You wake with a start, but something holds you in place. The coppery tang of blood fills your nose and mouth as you feel it running down your face. Twisting your wrists, the rope surrounding them cuts into your skin. Hissing in pain, you force your eyes open.

“I’m not big on introductions, but tell me your name and this goes faster for you,” Eli says, twisting a silencer onto a gun as he leans back against a table across the room for you.

“Where are we?” you ask thickly, your tongue moving slowly against the swelling around your face.

Eli cocks his head, and his jaw tics as he trades the gun for a knife. Spinning the handle and pointing the blade at you, he walks toward you until the knife is an inch away from your chest.

“Your name,” he repeats, his voice low.

“Are you mad I know something you don’t?” You’re doing the one thing Victor told you bothered Eli: fighting him. But when he’s this close, you can’t help it. “Because I know your name, Eli Cardale.”

He swings his hand, his knuckles making contact with your cheekbone before the back of the blade scrapes across the same path. Your head jerks to the side, and you feel the warmth of new blood pooling under your eye before it runs down your cheek.

“Is this how you want to play this?” Eli asks.

Your chest heaves as you wish you could fight him, wanting nothing more than to take his weapons and level the playing field, if only slightly. He raises the knife and brings it down to your leg when you don’t answer. Screaming at the feeling of the knife entering your thigh, the desperate need to take his weapons and gain some control becomes overwhelming and seems to numb the pain.

“Answer the question.”

“You’re the only one playing, Eli. Are you really this jealous of Victor?” you ask, provoking him further. You can’t help it when you spit, “Cardale.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The door slams again, and Victor throws a file onto Mitch’s keyboard.

“Find them,” he demands. “Now.”

Mitch opens the file and sees numerous pictures of you in different places. Some are with him, Victor, or Sydney, and some are just you, but all have been taken in the last week or so. Since you started traveling with Victor and helping him plan his revenge. The final picture looks fresh, the ink smudged from being placed in the folder. It’s also the most concerning: you’re tied to a chair and looking far worse than when you left just half an hour ago. In an instant, it feels like you’ve been gone a lifetime.

“I’m on it,” Mitch promises, setting the picture beside his laptop as he brings up building schematics and security cameras for the neighborhood.

“What happened?” Sydney asks, walking up behind Victor and Mitch.

Victor turns quickly and raises a hand to stop her. “You don’t need to see those… Eli found her.”

Sydney’s eyes widen as she looks at Victor. “I said he didn’t know. I said everything would be okay.”

“Sydney, hey,” Victor says, bending over to catch her eyes and her attention. “It’s not your fault. We all knew the risks, but now we need to focus on getting her back.”

“I think I know where she was going,” Sydney offers.

“Good. That’s a start.”

“Where?” Mitch interjects.

Sydney tells him the store name, and he maps a walking route, using the mapping software’s street view function to see it as you did.

“There’s an alley between here and the store. Backs up to an abandoned sheet metal factory, right across from the Falcon Price project,” Mitch explains, looking up to see Victor.

Victor stares at the screen, his jaw clenched as his hands form fists. His rage is muted, and Mitch can’t decide if that is better or worse than his previous outbursts.

“I’m going alone,” Victor announces. “If I need backup, you’ll know.”

“What does that mean?” Sydney asks as the door closes yet again.

“If you start feeling pain, he’s not winning,” Mitch answers. “Let’s hope he still has the element of surprise.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t see Eli anymore, just his weapons. The knives, ranging in size from a pocket knife to a butcher’s knife, the guns, and, possibly the worst, but thus far untouched, the hammers. With no control and no escape, your mind wonders what you would do if you could get one of those weapons away from him. Kill him? He’d heal, but it might give you time to get away.

“Just tell me who you work for,” Eli says, wiping your blood from a small carving knife.

You glance down at your wrist and see a small ‘V’ carved into it. A weird decision on Eli’s part, but the reminder of Victor serves you well.

“Well, that depends,” you say, your words slurring together because of the blood loss. “My first job was-”

Eli cuts you off, placing a hand on your left shoulder as the other punches you in the stomach. All of the air rushes out of your lungs, and you cough up blood, each movement making the pain sharpen. Eyeing the weapons, you try to cause one of the triggers to press with your mind, sending a bullet into Eli’s spine. It doesn’t work, of course, but Eli follows your line of sight and smiles to himself. He picks up the knife and holds it up to show you.

“You like this one? I do, too,” Eli says dramatically.

“Then use it on yourself,” you reply.

Eli rolls his eyes before footsteps echo outside. He walks around you, stopping behind you. Without visual of him, you panic, pulling against the restraints and thinking of nothing but inflicting a sliver of the pain he’s put you through. Rounding the chair you’re tied to again, his hand lands on your shoulder again before the knife plunges into your stomach.

Barely feeling the pain, you watch the knife fall to the floor as Eli runs. Your mind lists the weapons on the table and plans revenge on Eli using his own weapons. Coughing, the wetness fills your ears as blood coats your lips, and you don’t feel the ropes snapping around your wrists and ankles.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Victor says calmly, looking over you as he kneels before you.

“I’m dying,” you argue.

“I’m not gonna let that happen.”

You nod as Victor shoves something against your stomach, and you watch the knives behind him as everything gets cold and dark.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Sydney, turn the dial on that IV,” Victor says in the darkness.

Forcing your eyes open, you expect to see a mirage or some vision of heaven. Instead, you see Victor and Sydney, alive and well, standing over you.

“What did you do?” you ask, your voice scratchy and your throat raw.

“The better question is what did you do? Eli is cruel but that was overboard, even for him,” Victor replies.

Sydney nods at him and walks out, squeezing your hand as she walks by. You watch her, her touch lingering as you remember what happened.

“You brought me back?”

“Of course. Most of your wounds were external, but…”

“He stabbed me in the stomach.”

“Yeah. You died right after I got there, but the internal damage wasn’t too bad, so I packed the wound and focused on getting your heart restarted. Lucky for us, Mitch can hack hospital networks and account for the supplies I stole.”

“Why?”

“Because they’d notice that amount of blood missing from-”

“No, why’d you bring me back?”

Victor stares at you before answering, “You’re important. You’re part of this… team? And no one deserves to go like that.”

“Did you ask her yet?” Sydney asks, peeking her head back in the door.

“No,” Victor answers with a sigh.

“Ask me what?” you interject.

“If you’re an EO now.”

Your eyes narrow as you look at Victor, who shrugs.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How long did it take you to realize you had power?” you ask Victor as he changes your bandages.

“Immediately after I came back,” Victor answers. “I was still thinking about the pain and then I looked over at Angie, and… you know.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “But, I guess I’d know by now, then, and we can give Sydney a firm ‘no’ on the EO question.”

“We’ll see,” Victor says quietly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What superpower would you have wanted?” Sydney asks as you sit beside her on the couch, cartoons playing in the early morning hours.

“I don’t know,” you answer. “Invisibility would be cool.”

Sydney nods and pats Dol’s head when he looks up at her.

“What are you two doing awake?” Victor asks as he walks into the room.

“Just talking,” you answer.

“Want to make us breakfast?” Sydney asks, smiling at Victor.

He sighs, doesn’t answer, and opens a cabinet to pull out several ingredients.

“I did not think that would work,” Sydney whispers to you.

You laugh and begin to respond before the sound of two knives scraping together draws your attention. Looking to the kitchen, you see Victor removing a knife from a drawer, you know he’s getting it out to cook, but you can’t help it as you think about the last time you were around knives. Sydney says something else, but your focus is locked on the blade until it drops out of your view.

Victor’s eyes widen as the knife falls to the counter and then slides away from him. He slowly looks at you, opening and closing his mouth several times before asking, “Did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” you answer quietly.

“Sydney, go in the other room,” Victor says, his eyes still on you.

“But, I-”

“Syd, just go, it’s okay,” you assure quietly, smiling at her as she walks past you.

“What were you thinking about? When you died,” Victor amends.

“Um, mostly about all the weapons he had,” you answer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“And now?”

“The knives scraped together and that sound- When I looked over and saw the knife, I thought about how I don’t like seeing them and it happened.”

“Can you try to do it again?”

You shake your head, looking at your hands in your lap. Victor walks across the room to you, his footsteps silent. He sits beside you and gently lays a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s normal to be scared, after everything you went through. But we also have to be smart about this; we need to keep it a secret while keeping everyone safe.”

“I’ll try again. If you leave.” Victor shakes his head, and you add, “I can’t risk hurting you accidentally. Just walk out of the room and I’ll try again.”

Victor seems to consider his options before standing. He hesitates by the door, then tells you to be careful. The last time he left you alone, he nearly lost you, and he’s not sure he can take that fear again. He can numb physical pain, but if anything happens to you, the emotional hurt may be too much to bear. Waiting just outside the doorway, he tunes into your pain, ready to barge back in at the first sign of injury.

You’re not confident, so you decide to try something small. There’s always a chance the knife sliding was a freaky coincidence, and you’re still an ordinary human with no mind-knife-wielding powers. Stepping to the counter, you look at the knife and picture it standing on its tip.

And it does.

So, you imagine the utensil levitating above the sink. And it does that, too.

Shaking your head in unbelief, you feel powerful enough to do something reckless. So you back up against the wall and mentally aim the knife right beside your head. It lurches forward and lunges into the wall beside you. You bark a laugh at the change you’ve experienced, a night of wishing you could move a knife, and now you can control them to your mind’s content.

At your sound of surprise, Victor rushes back into the room, his eyes bouncing between you and the knife lodged in the wall. “What did you do?”

“Tried to shoot my eye out.”

You smile at your reference, but Victor seems unimpressed with your dangerous test. Looking at the knife, you bring it to your side and spin it slowly in midair before setting it back on the counter.

“So, you have telekinesis?”

You haven’t considered the possibility you can move anything, so you look at a magazine Sydney left and imagine it opening, but nothing happens.

“Do you have your gun?” you ask.

“Yes. Why?”

“Pull it out.”

“No.”

“Victor, I don’t think I have full-blown telekinesis. I can control knives, but Eli had guns, too, so there’s a chance I can manipulate them. Please let me see your gun, I promise not to do anything dangerous this time.”

Victor takes a deep breath before pulling his gun out. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just hold it there.”

You look at the gun and picture the magazine falling out. It takes a second, but it does.

“Why’d it take so long?” you ask. “The knife was instantaneous.”

Victor looks at the gun and then up at you in surprise. “It pulled the bullet from the chamber. You emptied it.”

“Of all the powers I could have gotten, I can control guns and knives with my mind,” you say with a short laugh. “That’ll come in handy.”

“It certainly will,” Victor agrees, missing your sarcasm as he bends to pick up his bullets.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor’s thumb brushes over the v-shaped scar on your wrist, a comforting habit he’s picked up since bringing you back to life.

“Stay exactly where I told you too, okay? If I send out a mass pain wave, I need to know where you are,” he explains.

“I will, I promise.”

“Good. And don’t intervene.”

“I can’t promise that, Victor,” you say, shaking your head. “I won’t let him kill you. I can’t.”

Victor nods slowly. “Don’t intervene unless absolutely necessary, then. And you could at least try to act like we’ll see each other again,” he adds.

“We will,” you promise. That one you’re sure you can keep.

Slipping through a hole in the fence, you enter the Falcon Price project and find the spot Victor told you to wait in. You hear more of the fight than you see, but when you hear the police approaching, a sign that Serena is out of the picture and they are learning the truth, you know you must do something. So you move.

✯✯✯✯✯

Only a thin plastic sheet separates you and Victor after rounding a corner. It also separates you and Eli and you and the weapons. Eli looks toward an opening while Victor struggles on the floor, losing blood quickly. Eli turns suddenly and lunges toward Victor’s knife. Footsteps echo and ripple the plastic sheeting as the Merit Police storm the building. Just before Eli’s fingers reach the handle, you turn it, plunging it into his chest. Victor glances up at him before slumping again. As Eli claws at the knife and tries to pull it out so he can heal, you push it in deeper, twisting it for good measure. And revenge. Raising the sheet, you walk to Victor and pull one of his arms over your shoulders as you help him up.

“You won’t win,” Eli says through gritted teeth.

“Yet you’re indulging our fantasies,” you bite back. “Have fun in prison, Cardale.”

Eli yells, alerting the police of his location, and you pull Victor out of the building and into the shadows. His eyes begin to clear as he numbs his pain.

“There you are,” Sydney pants, running to your side. “Mitch found somewhere for us to go. Come on!”

She turns and leads you as you help Victor stand again, following her as quickly as possible.

“I told you not to move,” he says.

“And I told you I wouldn’t let you die.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor passed out when you started treating his wounds, allowing his pain to rise to its natural level before darkness overtook him. That was nearly two days ago, and you sit by his side, changing his bandages as needed, checking his vitals, and impatiently waiting for him to wake up. You’re reading one of his parents’ books, his edited version obviously, and don’t notice your leg bouncing anxiously.

“You’re going to dig a hole in the floor,” Mitch says as he enters the room. “How can you read that?”

You shrug. “It’s insight into Victor’s mind. Where else could I get that?”

Mitch tilts his head as he concedes that Victor would never share openly. He asks a few questions and checks on Victor before standing.

“I’m going to go check the police database and see where Eli is headed,” he says.

You nod and wait until he is gone to go to Victor's side. He looks relatively good, considering everything he’s been through. His wounds are healing quickly; his unconsciousness is the only thing obviously wrong with him.

“I really need you to wake up,” you whisper, unconsciously tracing the ‘V’ Eli left on your wrist. “You said we have to be smart and safe with our powers. ‘We,’ Victor.”

You run your fingertips lightly across his palm and up his wrist, feeling his steady pulse beneath your skin. His heartbeat increases, and you look at his face in anxious anticipation. Then it happens. Victor Vale opens his eyes, and smiles.

“We it is.”

#victor vale x reader #victor vale #vicious ve schwab #vicious #fem!reader #i love all the victor requests; please keep them coming!

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