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undercoveravenger · 4 years

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Judgement Day

Pairing: Cato x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Original Request: “Hi! Can you write a super angsty story for a Cato x male reader? One where they both like one another but neither of them is making the first move. Cato is distant because he doesn’t know how to deal with these feelings and male reader takes this as Cato not liking him. Something happens that makes Cato super jealous and finally confesses to male reader.”

A/N: Y’all don’t understand HOW LONG I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me to write for Cato. Like, this man could choke me out with his biceps and I would probably thank him. Please ask me for more Hunger Games things when my requests open back up!

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Cato had always known that he was going to end up a tribute. He’d been raised to be a survivor and trained to be a winner. He’d fought and clawed his way through District Two’s Tribute Academy to earn the right to Volunteer when he turned eighteen uncontested, and he’d never once doubted his choice.

Never once, until he was on the train to the Capitol watching the videos of the other Districts’ Reapings and saw you for the first time. You hadn’t been from one of the Career Districts like Cato, but instead of looking weak or scared as you took your place on the stage the way many of the past tributes from most of the outlying districts always did, you merely looked resolute- acknowledging that you may not be coming back, but determined to go down fighting.

The resilient spark that he had seen in your eyes haunted him throughout the rest of the ride into the Capitol.

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Cato’s thoughts had been torn away from you when he was handed over to his stylists, but his attention had snapped right back to you when he saw you before the tribute parade. He’d known that he looked brutal in his golden armor and shining headdress, but somehow your stylists had made you look striking in a way that was both strong and beautiful and altogether different from him.

They’d taken the color palette of autumn trees (Lumber was the specialty for District Seven, so that made sense) and cut miniscule leaves out of the fabric, sewing and weaving them together in a way that made the long cape that flowed from your shoulders look like they’d been caught a breeze right from the forest and bound it to you. In a strange way, Cato could almost relate to that thought. The rest of your outfit was a dusky brown with thick ridges and swirls marked into the fabric to make it look like the rough bark of a tree, leaving you and your District partner looking like the very embodiments of autumn as you stepped up into the carriage pulled by a pair of bay horses, their coats shining a brilliant crimson as the bright lights hit them.

Cato had had to drag his eyes away from you when his and Clove’s chariot lurched into motion.

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When training had started, Cato had already begun to suspect that he felt something for you, though he thought it was merely an attraction. He was proven wrong when his heart lurched in his chest when one of the trainers had you trapped in a wrestling hold, wrenching your feet up off the ground and slamming you backward onto the hard training mat.

He knew in the back of his mind that you weren’t in any real danger yet (the trainers were there to help you all stand a chance in the arena, not kill you before the Games even started after all), but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t positively fuming at the fact that someone had dared to put their hands on you. He shoved his way past the couple of other tributes that’d been lined up at the wrestling station, holding your gaze as you pushed yourself back to your feet. He looked back to the trainer in front of him when you shook out of your daze and made your way to the back of the line.

Cato grinned as the trainer lowered into a fighting stance in front of him, quickly launching himself into the match. He managed to duck out of the way of the trainer’s grappling pretty easily, having gone through much more intense training back in his District anyway. He kept his distance when he could, keen azure eyes waiting for any opening- there.

He moved immediately upon realizing that the trainer was favoring his left leg, moving quickly to knock him off balance and then throwing him hard to the mat, pinning him face-down against the stiff plastic. Cato let a self-satisfied grin slip onto his face as he moved to get off of the trainer, the corners of his lips twitching up ever higher as he met your awed (e/c) eyes and suddenly he found himself hoping that the line between the two of you and the mat never moved again.

“That was incredible,” you told Cato as he came to stand behind you in the line and the blond had to fight back a smile at the fact that you were speaking to him for the first time.

“If you thought that was impressive, you should see what I can do with a sword.” He winced internally, knowing that while that sort of thing mattered where he was from, you probably wouldn’t find it nearly as awe-inspiring. You’d probably just be afraid of him.

You just chuckled and Cato’s hope was restored. “Well, no offense, but I’d just as soon not be on the other end of a blade from you.”

Cato laughed, a little relieved that you hadn’t taken his thoughtless remark as a threat. “That’s probably a good idea,” he grinned. “Really though, I’m not too bad. It’s Clove you’ve gotta watch out for,” he nodded toward his District partner, wincing when one of the throwing knives she was using struck the target with deadly precision.

“Thanks for the advice,” you muttered, eyes wide as you watched her throw again from across the room.

Cato opened his mouth, struggling to come up with something to say. “Uh, what about you?”

“What about me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked up at the blond.

He shrugged, looking away sheepishly and hoping you couldn’t see the ghost of a blush forming on his cheeks, “What’re you good at? Clove’s got her knives and I’ve got swords and spears. What’s your thing?”

Your brows furrowed as you looked away, clearly deep in thought. You brightened, grinning at him as you cocked your head toward the throwing station. Cato watched curiously as you picked up a throwing axe, tossing it idly between your hands. “It’s a little different the way we do it back in District Seven, but it’s a good way to have some fun once the work day is over.” He watched as you pulled back, the axe turning head over handle as you released it, the sharp end of the head sinking deep into the target with a loud thud, nearly as precisely as his District partner.

“Holy shit, that was cool,” he murmured, smug satisfaction settling in his chest as you flushed at the praise. “What else do they teach you out there in the woods?” he prodded, hoping you’d open up about yourself now that he’d gotten you talking.

You opened your mouth to speak, but cut yourself off as the bell to signal the end of the training day chimed. “Ask me tomorrow and find out.”

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Just as you’d asked, Cato met up with you as soon as you made your way down into the training room the next morning and you showed him many of the other things that growing up in District Seven had taught you. In exchange, he helped train you in a few different methods of hand-to-hand combat.

With all the time the two of you were spending together, it was no wonder that he’d grown quite fond of you, something that he’d struggled to hide, even during his televised interview.

Caesar Flickerman, dressed this year in a gaudy shade of blue, had shaken his hand warmly and guided him to sit in one of the chairs situated before the massive audience. A few minutes of meaningless banter passed before Caesar finally asked a question that threw Cato for a loop. “So,” he had started, wide blue eyes fixed on the blond and hands clasped in front of him, “Is there anyone that’ll be in the Arena that makes you nervous?”

Retrospectively, he knew that Caesar had been asking whether there was anyone he was worried about facing, but in that moment the only face that came to mind was yours. “(M/N),” he’d answered reflexively, scrambling to backtrack as soon as your name had left his lips. “The boy from District Seven, I mean. We’ve spent some time together during training. He’s good; he’ll put up a good fight in the Arena, no matter who he’s up against.”

Caesar had caught on to his hesitation and, in true interviewer fashion, had to probe further. “You’ve spent time together?”

Cato schooled his expression back into the nonchalance that his mentors had wanted him to show, forcing himself back to the effortless confidence he was meant to exude. “We talked. Sparred some. He showed me some things he knew and I showed him some that I did.” He forced himself to laugh, “Of course, I still have plenty of tricks up my sleeve, so it’ll still be a hell of a show.”

Caesar had laughed, making a few more jokes to the audience and shaking his hand again for the innumerable cameras before dismissing him.

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Cato forced himself to sit through the next few Districts’ interviews with relative indifference, but then it was your turn and Cato had to force himself not to visibly perk up, though his eyes remained fixed on you.

Caesar greeted you the same way he had the rest of the tributes and guided you back to the interviewee’s chair, setting into his wheel of questions easily. Cato had nearly tuned out your interview entirely when one question in particular caught his attention. “Is there anyone special waiting for you back home?” Caesar had asked, leaning forward like he was expecting some juicy gossip. “A handsome boy like you must have a girlfriend waiting for you, right?”

You’d flushed, the brilliant red of your embarrassed blush bright enough to even be seen on the huge screens the interview was being projected up on. “No, uh, no girlfriend.”

“Seriously?” Caesar had asked disbelievingly. “Surely, there must be a girl-”

“No,” You’d protested, raising your hands defensively, “I’m actually, um,” you’d turned your gaze to your lap so you could avoid his eyes, “I’m attracted to boys.”

Caesar let out a noise of understanding, sitting back in his chair and shooting the audience a knowing look. “If that’s the case, allow me to revise my question, is there anyone back home that you’re interested in?’

“Back home? No,” you shook your head, offering Caesar a polite smile. Cato could tell that Caesar had been about to push you for more details when the buzzer went off, signaling that they had run out of time to question you. The interviewer looked slightly off-put, but he had to abide by the rules so he shook your hand for the cameras and sent you off.

Something about your interview had left a bad taste in Cato’s mouth, so as soon as you’d retaken your place in line and your District partner had made her way up onto the stage Cato found himself storming down the line of tributes until he reached you, grabbing the front of your shirt and dragging you close enough that, though it looked like he was snarling an insult at you to anyone else, only you could hear him asking you to meet him on the roof that night. When you gave him a barely perceptible nod, he released you, shoving hard on your shoulders for show before making his way back to his place, a frustrated grimace on his face.

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The interviews ended late, but the Capitol was still in an uproar even later into the night when you finally made your way up into the rooftop garden where Cato had been waiting for you. He turned to face you as soon as the elevators slid open, azure eyes reflecting the lights of the city as you came to stand beside him, looking out over the city.

He was quiet for a long moment as he stared out over the horizon, but eventually forced himself to speak. “I don’t want to be here,” he said finally, chancing a look over at you. “I thought I did. I mean, I Volunteered and everything, but it just didn’t feel real until now.”

“What changed?” you asked.

Cato wasn’t really sure that he knew the answer until he thought back to the way he felt after your interview. The burning ache that your words had left in his chest had been jealousy and the way he hadn’t been able to take his mind off of you since he’d first seen the recording of your Reaping had been far more than just an attraction. Finally, like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a heavy rain, the answer dawned on him. “I did.” He bit out a laugh, “I met someone, and it made me realize how much the Games were going to take from me before I even realized what I was going to lose.”

“Clove is a lucky girl,” you mused, taking a seat near the railing around the edge of the roof. “Or is it that girl from Twelve? You might have to compete with that bakery boy for her, but you seem like you’d be more her type than him anyway…”

Cato turned to look at you curiously, “It’s not a girl.”

You seemed surprised, but you were quick to shrug it off. “Then maybe you’re after the bakery boy yourself, then? Or what’s-his-name from One?”

“Nope,” Cato hummed, grinning a little as he dropped down to sit next to you. He remained quiet for a moment, clearly entertained by the way you were seemingly running through the list of other tributes in your head. “Y’know,” he started after a moment, “It would be a lot easier for me to tell you that I have feelings for you if you were to stop guessing every other tribute.”

His words seemed to stop you in your tracks and he couldn’t stop the grin that threatened to take over his features as you stared back at him in surprise, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, like you’d been about to suggest another name. “M-me?” you forced out eventually.

Cato laughed, nodding. “Sorry, I made it weird, didn’t I?” He huffed, turning his attention back to the galaxy of lights spread out below you, “I just-” he shrugged, “I didn’t want to go into the Arena tomorrow without telling you how I felt. You don’t have to worry about saying no; it’s not going to make me target you or anything. I’ve already asked the rest of my alliance to leave you alone, so you don’t really have us to worry about.”

“What if I wasn’t going to tell you no?” Your voice was steady, even and contemplative, even though what you were talking about could give the both of you a major Achilles heel in the Arena in just a few hours.

Cato jerked around to face you, visibly stunned by your words. “What?!”

“What if I liked you back?” you prompted, turning to meet his gaze. “Would it change anything anyway? We’re from two different Districts; we’ve got a worse chance than the wanna-be lovers from Twelve.”

Cato sighed; he knew that you had a point. No matter how much you liked one another, you were still going to be thrown into the Arena and be expected to kill each other. “I don’t care,” he said finally, determined blue eyes meeting yours, “I don’t care if I only get a few days or a few hours. I just want to be with you, even if I only get a little while.”

You looked torn and Cato couldn’t blame you. On the one hand, being able to be with someone who liked you a lot would be great, but it would hurt more when one of you was killed in the Arena, but forcing yourself to stay away from the person that held your heart? Cato was sure the not-knowing would kill him.

After a moment, you nodded and Cato felt the weight in his chest that’d been dragging at him lighten, if only a little. You scooted closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to the top of your head before turning back to watch the lights of the city before you again.

Cato knew that there was no way he could promise you forever, not when you were about to get thrown headlong into a bloodbath, but he could promise you that he would be here to hold you in his arms until the sun began to rise and that, even as the canons sounded to start the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, he would be praying for a miracle that would allow him to stay with you.

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mandrs-writes · 3 years

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My Writing Advice

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a writer. I vividly remember writing stories about my dog way back when I was seven years old. And when I was eleven I was bold enough to think I could write my own novel and sent drafts to my older cousin for editing. Writing was my life, my escape, my passion. And it still is. But I haven’t always had a good relationship with it.

When I turned thirteen, I struggled severely with undiagnosed depression and anxiety. High school was terrible for me. All that passion I felt for writing? Gone. It wasn’t until I was older, that I was diagnosed with depression and began taking antidepressants. At the time, I was attending college to become a nurse, which was literally just a crapshoot because I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do with my life. Finally though, I came to the realization again that English, or writing, was more my passion. So I changed majors.

I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English literature with a focus in creative writing. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Wow! You probably wrote a lot during college!” Wrong. While I did write a lot of thesis papers, did a short stint in poetry, I think I wrote one short story for my fiction workshop. But other than that? Nothing. I don’t know when it happened, but I developed a severe fear of writing.

What is a fear of writing, you ask? Honestly, I don’t know. All I know is, I would write something and get literal anxiety over it because I hated it that much. I would agonize over every little detail until I was ripping my hair out. I despised my writing, something I used to be so passionate about, it was now something that caused me great distress.

Why am I sharing this with you? Well, as some of you know, I am now a very active fanfic writer for ereri. I update roughly two fics a week and sometimes I sprinkle a one shot in there if I’m feeling sassy. So how did someone like me, someone who used to agonize over my writing, go from hating every detail of it, to sometimes pumping out roughly 10k words a week and actually enjoy my writing?

While I am no expert on writing, I want to share my advice, regardless. I’ve come into contact with so many great writers who I know struggle with similar things that I once did, and sometimes still do (I’m far from perfect). Here are some tips I have when it comes to writing. I hope it helps:

Get in the right headspace. Clear your area of any and all distractions. Lock yourself out of social media, turn off your phone, kick your significant other out of the house— whatever that looks like for you, just create the perfect space for you to create. Any distractions could easily pull you out of your creative mindset and ruin your flow. I personally always work in my living room, away from my desktop because I just know I’ll play video games if I try to write in my office. I find the perfect playlist for the scene I’m writing (I seriously have so many playlists for writing. If you don’t have Spotify premium for playlist making, I seriously suggest you get it), sometimes put a Pinterest aesthetic board up in the background, and just get to it. My fiancé knows when I’m writing not to bother me and he stays in the other room. Make sure you establish clear boundaries with your housemates when you’re writing. Interruptions can sometimes not be pretty.

Once you’re in the right headspace, JUST WRITE! Seriously, I know it sounds like a no brainer, but it’s a lot easier said than done. Whatever is in your head, just write it out. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, silly or irrelevant. Just write it. Writing and editing are two very different beasts, and when you’re in writing mode you need to focus ONLY on writing. Again, I know this sounds very obvious, but I know from experience that this is much harder than it sounds. My best suggestion is to find a writing partner to do sprints with. Set a timer for 20 minutes and see how much you can write in that time frame. When you’re writing with a friend, it becomes a challenge to see who can write the most in that 20 minute time. You’d be surprised what you can do in that short amount of time. And what you write might actually be amazing! I know I’ve surprised myself on more than one occasion writing like this.

Keep editing and writing separate. I mentioned this earlier but it’s so important that you do this. Our brains work differently when we edit and write. When we write, we put our heads into a creative mindset where we are inspired to create and expand on new ideas. However, when we edit, our brain slips into an analytical mindset which is great for critiquing and finding errors but TERRIBLE for creation! That’s why you MUST keep these two things separate. Believe me, I know this is hard to do. I used to be SO SO SO bad at this. I would write a paragraph, go back and read it, edit it, and rip it apart. My confidence would be shot, and I wouldn’t be able to write anything else for that session. Eventually, I forced myself out of this bad habit with lots and lots of practice (again, writing sprints are AMAZING for this!). You might think that what you’re writing isn’t any good and you might be itching to go back and read it and fix it. But I assure it, it’s probably A LOT better than you think it is. Leave it alone. Let it sit. And when you’ve finished writing your chapter, let it sit even longer. Don’t touch it for another 12 hours. I’m serious. When you have a fresh pair of eyes and your brain is in the analytical mindset, THAT’S when you should be editing.

Always carry something with you to write your ideas down. Whether it’s your phone or notebook and pen, always be ready to write down an idea! Sometimes a juicy idea or thought will come to you at an unexpected time like in the shower, while you’re driving, or while you’re trying to fall asleep. That idea WANTS to be written down! Whenever I’m laying in bed, thinking about my stories, I’ll grab my phone and write down a line or phrase or idea that pops into my head. It might not make sense, but my brain is trying to get it out on paper so that’s exactly what I do. I might not use it, but at least it’s there if it does end up being good!

Find a friend/beta reader to read your stuff. And I’m not just saying this for editing purposes. No, I’m saying this for confidence purposes. I’ve always struggled with self-doubt. Like I said before, I struggle severely with depression and anxiety, and sometimes I get into really bad slumps with my writing where I think I’m the worst writer there ever was. My imposter syndrome flares up and I wonder what the hell I’m even doing with myself. Luckily, I have a friend and beta reader who refuses to let me falter when times are hard. And maybe we don’t beta read each other’s works in a traditional sense (I don’t really know how a normal beta reader behaves, to be honest). What I do know is, my friend will leave interactive comments throughout my whole chapter, commenting on what she likes, what she thinks works really well or what could be better. Having her interact with my chapter and tell me what is good and what isn’t, significantly boosts my confidence and makes me feel loads better about my writing. Honestly, if it wasn’t for her, I probably would’ve given up on writing by now. But it’s reassuring knowing my number one fan is always rooting for me on the sidelines. Get yourself a fan that roots for you, too.

There’s no such thing as too many ideas. I always hear people say ‘I have too many ideas. I don’t know what to do with them’. I know what you can do with them… WRITE THEM DOWN, SILLY. If you have inspiration for an idea, WRITE IT. I know you might feel like you have too many projects and that might stress you out. And if you are stressed by the amount of wips you have then maybe you should set some aside. But if you feel a great amount of inspiration for a new idea when you already have another idea in the works, write it anyway. Whatever you do, do not squander that inspiration! That idea wants to be written. Even if you don’t think you’ll do anything with it, it’s great practice and if the inspiration is there, it should be relatively easy to get the idea out on paper. I’ve written multiple chapter fics before because I had so much inspiration for the idea and then never posted them. I was so overcome with inspiration that I just NEEDED to write them. So I did. Maybe I’ll go back to them and finish them one day when the inspiration strikes me. And if I don’t, that’s okay. It’s good practice to listen to your inspiration and use it as it comes. Stifling your inspiration will only hurt you in the long run.

That’s pretty much all the advice I’ve got. This might be a little rambly and I’m sorry for that. I literally was just thinking about this last night and wanted to get my thoughts out so that I could maybe help some people that are in similar situations that I once was a year ago. If you want to write, but you don’t think you can, just do it anyway. Writing takes practice. It’s not something you can master on the first go. It took me almost a year to find my writing voice and I’m still developing it as I go. Don’t get discouraged. If this is something you want, you can do it! Just write!

#writing #my writing #writing advice #text post #i hope this helps #advice

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mnthpprt · 4 years

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Chapter 46: Thorns

[Sorry for the lack of updates, life has gotten busy lately. But I’m back and I bring some big bad interactions!]

“Of course, Anaïs,” the pureblood agrees. “Walk with me.” Though he politely offers his arm, it is more of an order, one I do not dare to disobey. I look at William for reassurance. There is no playful smile on his face, no witty comment. Oh, no. Instead, all he gives me is a slow, serious nod. All the words in the five languages I speak are not enough to express how wrong this feels.

“Alright,” I finally sigh, taking a hold of Vlad’s arm. It feels surprisingly robust under the sleeve of his coat, dark and billowy, which only ads to his already mysterious air. Usually, that is a quality I would appreciate in a man. Right now, however, it just makes me want to run for my life.

“Come,” he says, “I want to show you my garden.”

To my surprise, neither William nor Charles follow us out of the room. They know not to question the pureblood’s authority. I make a mental note to do the same. Vlad guides me down a hallway, and then another. The deeper we go into the building, the warmer and better lit it becomes, it seems. I was wrong about this church. It is far from abandoned, let alone decrepit, and it is certainly a lot bigger than I previously estimated. I think he lives here. As much as I dislike the idea of a murderous vampire in such close proximity to the city and all the people I have come to care about, I can at least appreciate that he is taking good care of the place. Even if the hairs standing on the back of my neck prevent me from enjoying it.

We come out through the other side of the building, where I am met by the sight of the beautiful city below us. The neighbourhood of Belleville, perched atop a hill on the North East edge of the city, is - and remains, even in my time - mostly inhabited by immigrants and the working class. In my present, most of the buildings, including Vlad’s church, don’t exist anymore, having been demolished and replaced by housing projects.

While the temple itself is nothing special, safe for it’s larger than usual size, I can’t help but mourn the inevitable disappearance of something so beautifully old, of all the history that will be wiped out from this place in favor of modern gentrification. I can see why Vlad chose to make his home here. Ironically, I doubt he knows what will happen to it.

“Ah, I see you enjoy the view from here as much as I do,” he chuckles, breaking my distraction. I nod, suppressing the chill his calm voice sends up my spine. “This way, Anaïs.”

Despite the majorly bad vibes I get from him, I let him guide me around the back of the building. We come to a stop on its side, where the sparse rose bushes along the wall become dense and frequent, melting into a lush garden that even the one in the mansion couldn’t compete against.

“It’s breathtaking,” I mutter, looking down at the vast expanse of white roses before me, flanked by a myriad of flowers of every shape and color. I glance at Vlad. He smiles, satisfied. “May I...?” I hesitate to let go of his arm and step onto the narrow path that cuts through the vegetation.

“Go ahead,” he nods. I do not like the smug smile on his face, but even I have to admit he has a right to wear it. This garden is... Wow. Just wow.

I walk ahead of him, marvelling at the pristine state of every single petal that has yet to wilt under the impending summer heat, but slow to a stop when I spot a plot of unfamiliar buds near a corner. They look like a bizarre cross between dandelions and arnica, only bigger, unlike anything I have ever seen. It is not until I approach them that I notice the thin mesh cage that has been built over them. Despite their odd shade, white with a slight blue tinge, they seem too unassuming for such measures to be taken. Most of the species they resemble tend to be considered weeds, not treasured and protected like these are.

“What are they?” I manage to ask quietly. Though I do not take my eyes off their striking petals through the mesh cage, I hear Vlad’s footsteps settle beside me.

“I presume you already know what blanc is, correct?”

My eyes widen in surprise, and I crouch to get a better look. I knew they were rare, but I was not expecting these little things to be the only source of nourishment to vampires. They look so... plain. Ordinary, even, were it not for my knowledge in the topic. There is nothing magical about their appearance at all.

“I have never even drank blanc before,” I say from the ground. “I have tasted it, though, and it is disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose, making Vlad laugh.

“I have to agree, Anaïs. But that is not why I keep them. I prefer my food fresh,” he concludes, leaning over me. His voice is somehow menacing and detached at the same time. I purse my lips, unnerved, but give him a questioning look. “They are extremely prized, which I enjoy. Besides, they have a certain beauty to them, don’t you think?”

“I guess they do,” I shrug before standing up again. I have been distracted for long enough. He’s good. “So now I know why you keep those flowers, but what about your friends back there? Why did you bring back Salieri?”

His eyes become a darker shade of red, almost like blood, though his expression remains unreadable.

“Be careful how you address me, fetiță.” His tone is cold, a mortal warning. I am quick to throw my open hands in the air between us in an attempt to appease him.

“I mean no disrespect, but you do kinda owe me an explanation.” He narrows his eyes. Shit, I should not have said that. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I go on. “Look, I might be new to all of this, but I am not stupid,” I say slowly, taking a step back. He responds by taking a step forward. “I know that you could tear me apart without breaking a sweat. All I want is to understand you, so I can avoid doing something that will get me killed a second time, okay? Please, at least give me that.”

My plea seems to make him relax, and I smile, relieved.

“I suppose you have a point,” he concedes. “I will do my best to answer your questions.”

My smile grows wider as I hold onto his arm once again. He wanted to walk, so let’s walk.

“Let’s start with something easy,” I muse, breaking the ice. “That word you called me just now... What language is it?”

“Romanian,” he answers as we begin to stroll through the garden. “It means ‘little girl’.”

“Of course it does,” I chuckle under my breath. Our height difference is more evident now that he is standing by my side, towering over me. Then again, most people do. “Wait. Romanian? Did you fight against the Ottoman Empire, by any chance?”

“So you’ve heard the stories too,” he sighs. I hear a tinge of amusement mixed in with the resignation of being found out. “I have not used this name in a long time. I suppose history never forgets...”

That confirms my suspicion, and I must admit, I really hoped to be wrong about this one. But no, I happen to be casually hanging out with the man whose notorious cruelty inspired Dracula. Funnily enough, at least Bram Stoker got the vampire thing right. I wonder how the author would react to finding out they are real. He’d probably lose his mind, and I would not blame him. I almost did too.

“Okay, next question,” I move on, eager to change the topic. I must get to the juicy stuff before I get distracted again. “Why are you going after Saint Germain’s people? I mean it’s obvious that it is him you are trying to get to, but I would like to know the reason for that. Weren’t you friends or something?”

“Something.” From his deadpan tone, I can tell Vlad does not want to talk about their relationship. However, he did promise me answers, and I intend to get them or die trying. Again. “That door of his, the one he brought you through? He is selfish with it. Collecting some of the greatest men in history for... what, exactly? It is such a waste...”

“What would you do with it, then?”

“Put that talent and influence to good use, of course,” he laughs, as if it were obvious. “As you must have figured out by now, I have a door of my own at my disposal. However, it is... tainted. Unstable. I have tried to convince your sire to let me use his on multiple occasions, to no avail. Alas, even our centuries long friendship is not enough to sway him. I believe we could see eye to eye if I could show him the truth. Maybe then he would not look down on my ways as he does now.”

“And by ‘your ways’, I guess you mean sending your henchmen to kidnap me so you can use me as bait?” I can’t help but retort. “You say you want to put these men to good use, but what does that even mean? For what?”

“You shall find out soon.”

I open my mouth, but my stomach grumbles loudly before I manage to voice my protest. Worst timing ever.

“Would you like some rouge? I am feeling rather peckish myself,” he cheerily offers. There goes the conversation, along with my chance to discover what he’s up to. I am forced to nod, however, as I have not eaten since early this morning. As much as I hate to cut the interrogation short, I am starving.

I follow Vlad back into the church, resigned, and we make our way to a hallway on the second floor. I smell the scent of human blood before I notice that the voices I can hear behind a closed door are new. There is a man, whom at first I mistook for Faust, but he sounds too cheery. And too French. I hear a woman too, giddy and nervous due to Shakespeare’s charming approaches.

I want to ask what is going on, but I am not sure I want to know the answer. I have a bad feeling about this. Vlad opens the door, revealing the sitting room on the other side. Along with William, the other two vampires I met are there. Faust stands to the side, merely observing, as Charles chats with the young couple, seated around a coffee table. They are unmistakably human. I can only think of one reason for them to be here, and I do not like it in the slightest.

As the now familiar feeling of bloodlust shoots through my veins, I clench my hands behind my back and smile politely. Vlad ushers me into the room, closer to the group, and soon lets go of me to offer his hand to the woman, motioning for her to stand up.

“This one will do,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek. She looks surprised for a brief moment, but any expression immediately disappears from her face when she locks eyes with the pureblood. “Listen to my voice. Relax.” The woman’s arm goes limp and falls to her side. “Good, good. Take of your necklace.”

She obeys. Is she... hypnotized? Can he do that? When the lady’s choker falls on the floor, the reality of what is about to happen sets in. The man I assume to be her husband does not react. He is looking at the woman, but his eyes are out of focus and his face blank, nothing but an empty shell.

The king of the castle eats first, of course. Vlad pulls the woman close and leans down slowly, almost tenderly, as if he is going to kiss her neck. He stops short of touching her skin before violently sinking his fangs into her. The horrible, wet sound her flesh makes causes me to bite my own lip in an attempt to hold back. I shuffle closer to William and lean over the back of his chair.

“I can’t do this.”

“It would be improper to deny your host’s food, my nightshade,” he says nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I won’t be able to stop, Will. I can’t-”

“You can’t what?” Vlad calls out. “It is your turn, come. Don’t be shy.”

Fuck. I am not in a position to reject that offer for two reasons: the first one being my hunger, and the second being that he might kill me if I offend him. I cough and begin to turn away, but feel William’s reassuring hand over mine. I hope I can trust him to stop me in time. If I end up killing this poor girl, he’s going next.

I exhale a shaky sigh as I hesitantly make my way to the center of the room, where the woman stands frozen, a lifeless doll. She is slightly taller than me, so I hold her body close and stand on my toes.

“Lo siento muchísimo (I am so very sorry),” I whisper in her ear. I don’t know if she can even hear me, but if she could, I doubt she’d understand my foreign words. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, expectant. Vlad clears his throat behind me. He is starting to lose his patience.

But so am I. Just like that, any control I had over my body fades when my eyes catch a glimpse of the two fresh puncture wounds on the woman’s neck, of the twin drops of blood oozing down from them. I make sure to bite over the same spot.

The familiar wave of relief that comes from feeding washes over me, but this time it is much more intense, much sweeter. Everything disappears around me. There is just me and my prey, her blood pulsing into my mouth as I barely have to exert any effort to drink it. But it is not enough. I bite harder. It is dripping down my chin now, and I hold onto the yellow satin blouse, now tinged with red, like my life depends on it. I cease to exist in this moment. There is only blood and my pure, unadulterated thirst for it.

“...Anaïs.” I vaguely recognize my own name being spoken. “That’s enough.”

“Come on, let her have her fun,” another voice says. I can barely tell who’s who.

“Anaïs, stop,” I hear again, this time more sternly. Strong arms pry me off and pull me into a tight hug, restraining me until I come to my senses. “That’s it, my nightshade. Well done.”

“Will?” I manage to pant, leaning back into his chest. “Shit, is she okay? I didn’t drain her, did I?” My voice wavers with dread.

“No, my dearest,” he softly says. “Thou stopped in time.”

“Thank you,” I sigh in relief. Still holding onto William’s arms around me, I glance at Vlad. He does not look pleased.

#ikemen #Ikemen Vampire #ikevam #IkeVamp #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire vlad #ikevamp vlad #ikemen vampire shakespeare #ikevamp shakespeare

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class1akids · 4 years

Text

So here I come with some fluff for @tdbkpositivity and because I can’t read a calendar (and because I love the oblivious idiots trope), I’ve done “Just friends” for Day 8.

The Essence of Us

Shouto blinked under the bright lights of the studio, trying to keep his attention on the interviewer. It was not easy to stay focused when they had been at it for so long. Media appearances were part of being a pro hero, but being in the spotlight was still the least favourite aspect of his job. A good public image was important and if he wanted to put people at ease, he had to let them see the real person under the hero costume, at least a little bit. Still, despite extensive media training, Shouto knew this was not his forte, as he struggled to strike the right balance between appearing too closed off, hopelessly out of tune or embarrassingly over-sharing.

He tried sticking to the responses they rehearsed in advance with his manager as the interviewer went through the usual questions about his motivation (yes, he always wanted to be a hero) , about following in his famous father’s footsteps (yikes! , he always hoped to follow his own path ), the best heroes of his generation (too many to list, but Deku is an inspiration to all, it is always a pleasure to work with Creati and see what surprise she has up her sleeve, they go a way back with Ingenium and Uravity and of course, he works closely with Ground Zero) about the latest upgrade of his costume (his boots had to be changed to accommodate his new propulsion move and yes, it was done by Hatsume Mei, because she’s the best) .

Shouto took a sip of water, relieved that he managed to navigate the treacherous waters adequately so far.

The interviewer gave him a kind of conspiratory smile like they were both in on a shared secret before changing lanes. “Shouto-san, do you have any comments about this exclusive picture that our station obtained?”

The picture appeared on Shouto’s screen. It was taken in the back of a car, Bakugou’s head resting on Shouto’s shoulder, Shouto’s leaning on him, red and ash-blond locks mixing together, both of them asleep, their features peaceful and relaxed. Shouto remembered how tired they were that day.

“It was an exhausting mission,” Shouto noted. The nerve-wrecking hostage situation with a bus full of middle school kids on a trip was widely broadcasted. Everyone heard the details of how Ground Zero broke the stalemate with an unexpected, but highly risky move, while Shouto protected the kids with his signature heaven-piercing wall of ice. What they didn’t know how grateful and relieved Shouto felt on the way back, as he inhaled the slight burnt sugar scent that always surrounded Bakugou that they were both alive and uninjured.

“So you two are just friends?” the woman smiled at him.

Shouto frowned. Just friends sounded weirdly inappropriate for what they were. As if being friends with Bakugou was something frivolous, barely worth a mention. The public didn’t know how hard they worked on that friendship, until their rough edges fit together in a seamless puzzle. Their friendship didn’t grow out of nothing. It took countless quiet conversations slowly and painfully revealing little pieces of themselves, having each other’s back until it was second instinct. It took fighting and hurting, letting go of pride and learning to apologize. It was something they built together. Just friends didn’t even begin to cover it.

“We get along well, I suppose,” Shouto nodded. It was the same response he had been giving every time their relationship was mentioned by the journos, ever since their public debut as heroes, back in their first year of high school, when the media became weirdly captivated by their feral gremlin - stoic ice-prince duo, the roles they had been cast in by outsiders who knew nothing.

“Can you give us some examples of the things you like to do together?” the interviewer continued, her voice strangely hushed by excitement. “As friends,” she added with a wink.

Shouto paused as he considered the question. What were the things they did with Bakugou as friends rather than colleagues?

“Well, we spar.” Friends did that. Shouto sparred with Izuku regularly, and Bakugou still met up with Kirishima to toughen up Unbreakable. What he didn’t say though was how their sparring sessions with Bakugou had a different quality to them. How when they ended up in a mess of limbs on top of each other, Bakugou’s face was so close that Shouto could see the pale freckles on his cheeks. How his red eyes turned to embers that lit a fire inside Shouto’s belly that had very little to do with the thrill of the fight.

“You’ve been spotted together in restaurants,” the interviewer prodded.

Shouto shrugged. It was unavoidable. Because of their quick rise through the ranks, they have both become well-known faces, and Shouto’s distinctive red-and-white mane was easily spotted by fans. It’s not like they tried to hide either. Friends ate together. Shouto often went for crepes and tea with Yaoyorozu after all.

“We both like good food,” Shouto replied. What he didn’t say was how sometimes their knees touched under the table and it felt like a zap of electricity, both surprising and exhilarating or how sometime during the first year of their pro-hero career Bakugou started stealing little bites with his chopstick off of Shouto’s plate in a move that was both incredibly simple yet intimate or how he couldn’t stop staring at Shouto’s mouth with fascination whenever he was slurping his soba (which was all the time). Shouto was also too inept with words to be able to describe how special it felt the first time Bakugou showed up after a mission gone bad with a grocery bag and cooked for Shouto. How it never grew old watching him elevate meal preparation to a performance art.

The interviewer didn’t seem particularly impressed with his response, it wasn’t juicy enough to be used as clickbait on shady pro-hero sites. “So fighting and food. Anything you do in your freetime?”

Hmmm. Both of them were workaholics, so days off were usually spent catching up on chores and running errands, visiting family and maybe lounging around the house watching stupid shows. Nothing too interesting. Unless…

“Well, we went hiking once,” Shouto recalled. The interviewer nodded with a fake-polite smile, no doubt hoping for something spicier, more exciting.

Even if he wanted to, Shouto wouldn’t have been able to describe the euphoria of getting to the top of the ridge after a 3-hour grueling climb in the dark. How he felt his soul expand with the horizon, how he felt elevated as if he was standing on the top of the world, how it was even more special because he shared it with someone he cherished. It was too private. It belonged only to him how serene Bakugou looked in the light of the rising sun, how his pale eyelashes turned a golden hue, how Shouto lost his balance from a strong gust of wind and how safe he felt when Bakugou’s arms wrapped around him. There was no way to describe the joy of such elusive but perfect moments without ruining them. Nor did he talk about the descent, laughing and bickering, skipping over rocks and streams or how heavenly it felt to submerge their tired muscles in the onsen, stealing glances at Bakugou’s perfect torso through the mist of the hot spring.

“I see. Can you perhaps share something about Ground Zero that the public wouldn’t know?”

“Uhmm,” Shouto wrecked his brain trying to find an appropriate detail to expose. Probably not how Bakugou’s spiky mane felt surprisingly soft and silky under Shouto’s fingers, or how there was a ticklish spot right under his left ear, or his preference of being the big spoon when they cuddled, or how he was always hogging all the blankets at night when he slept over. “He sometimes sings the theme of the All Might’s Silver Era show in the shower…”

The interviewer’s eyes glimmered with interest all predator-like and Shouto felt his eyebrows knot into confused frown. Did he say something weird? He didn’t think so. After living together in the UA dorms for three years, one learnt everyone’s shower-singing habits. Aoyama made falsetto rendition of famous opera arias, Kirishima couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, Kaminari liked to sing J-pop, Sero knew the intro to every anime ever, Midoriya aways blushed when he was caught humming, Tokoyami usually whistled tunes of darkness with Dark Shadow harmonizing along. Not wanting to tarnish Bakugou’s reputation, Shouto hurriedly added, “He has a very good voice.”

Because that was the truth. The public wouldn’t know it because Bakugou either yelled or growled in public, but Shouto knew how his voice was just a bit smoky, like a campfire, just a bit gravelly, like a road well-travelled and warm like a summer night. When he hummed close to Shouto’s ears, it sent gentle vibrations all over his body, tingling his nerve-endings in just the right way.

“I see,” the interviewer sounded slightly disappointed, but managed to look bright and perky nonetheless. “Thank you Shouto-san. Well, this concludes our interview with Pro-Hero Shouto, the mysterious and handsome young talent, of ice and fire…”

Shouto zoned out as the interviewer wrapped up the show. The lights gave him a headache and he was itching to get home, away from the prying eyes and uncomfortable questions.

When he entered his apartment, he smiled at the welcome sight of heavy combat boots in the genkan. They had had keys to each other’s apartment for a while now. For emergencies and such. And it was easier to meet up with their hectic schedules this way. These days Bakugou was in his apartment as often as not.

Shouto sniffed the air, the heavenly aroma of a home-cooked meal made his stomach growl.

“In the kitchen, dumbass,” came the gruff greeting.

Shouto went over to the kitchen, standing behind Bakugou until his bodies were almost touching and looked over his shoulders at the vegetables and meat sizzling in the wok in a burst of colours.

“Stop crowding me,” grumbled Bakugou but leaned back until his back was flush against Shouto’s chest. “Set the table instead.”

Shouto pulled out the bowls and chopsticks and started the kettle to make tea. Bakugou heaped rice and the meat-vegetable mixture into the bowls.

“That looks good,” Shouto noted.

“Of course, it looks good, since I made it,” Bakugou grabbed his chopsticks. “After all, we both like food. What a weirdo.” His gaze was teasing, but soft.

“You’ve seen it?” Shouto cringed, because this was the worst part of his public appearances. The others somehow seemed like themselves, but Shouto always came across like a bumbling alien.

“Just friends,” Bakugou said mockingly, imitating the interviewer’s sing-songy voice.

“We are friends,” Shouto insisted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was an old game that started in their first year that they still played with gusto. “I’ll get you to admit it one day.”

“Over my dead body, Icyhot,” Bakugou gave his best impersonation of his high-school self, cocky and arrogant (which to be fair was not very different from his present self).

“So you don’t think we are friends?” Shouto gave a fake-devastated sigh.

“Sometimes you are not the worst, I suppose...” Bakugou gave an inch, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Sometimes. For example when I do this?” Shouto leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on Bakugou’s lips.

Bakugou’s grin grew wider. “Yeah, I guess that’s part of the sometimes. Now stop being a sap and eat your food. Then maybe we can do some of those exciting things friends do.”

“So you admit that we are friends?”

“Hell, no! Never!” grinned Bakugou, stealing a piece of chicken from Shouto’s plate.

They ate in companionable silence, though the question kept poking inside Shouto’s mind. What were they?

Once they cleaned up their plates and moved over to the couch to watch Netflix, Shouto felt like he had to ask it again. It was maybe important to clarify.

“So what are we? If we are not just friends, I mean.”

Bakugou frowned, “What kind of a question is that? What does it change what you call it? We are...us.” He waved at themselves.

Shouto looked at their bodies curled together so naturally, Bakugou’s head resting on Shouto’s shoulder, his bare feet tucked under Shouto’s thighs, their fingers laced together over a soft quilt they got a present from the granny of a little boy they saved. Of course. It was so simple. Partners. Rivals. Friends. Lovers. These were all just labels, inadequate to describe the essence of what they were together.

“Us.” Shouto supposed that fit perfectly.

“Can I pick a show now?”

“I think it’s my turn to pick...”

“No way, dumbass. I’m not watching those stupid cats again”

#bnha #todobaku #todobakumonth2020 #todobakumonth #brusselssprout writes #bnha fanfic #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #day 8: just friends

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ashes-and-ashes · 4 years

Text

Kev @confunded-gryffindor

(Hopefully it’s still your birthday and I haven’t fucked it up somehow? I hate time zones. They suck.)

Kev, you’re one of my closest friends on here. I remember the day you and I first chatted - we talked for a good hour or so, about asshole adults at summer camps and our shared love for Wolfstar and angst. Later on our conversations evolved into throat lozenges, our shared horror over the unfortunate and terrifying Snape x Sirius x Remus x shy!Reader ask and long talks about Voldemort in Drag. You’ve been here for me through so many firsts and I am so proud to be able to call you a friend. ❤️❤️

Happy Birthday you amazing human! Here’s to another year of you breaking our hearts with your devastating angst.

“Okay, okay,” Sirius says, lying on his stomach, arms splayed out beside him. He’s hogging the blanket as always, the pillows shoved underneath his chest. “Okay. That’s it. I have the best one. Ever.”

Remus rolls his eyes, glancing at the clock. It’s almost midnight, only a couple more minutes until Sirius turned 16.

Normally Remus would have been fast asleep by now but Sirius had begged him to stay awake. “James and Peter will prank me!” he whined and Remus caves.

He’s regretting it now. Hours upon hours of ‘Would You Rathers’ and ‘Truth or Dare’ and he was about to smash his head through the wall.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Only because your birthday is tomorrow.”

Sirius beams at him. “Okay. Would you rather; have Snape suck on your toes? Or see you-know-who in drag?”

“Oh fuck,” Remus winces. “You’re disgusting.”

Sirius wriggles his eyebrows. “Think about it! All night, lying in bed, the wet, juicy slide of Snape’s mouth around your big toe, the flick of his tongue against your nail - “

“Shut up!” Remus throws a pillow at Sirius - it hits him hard in the face. “The fact that you can even describe Snape sucking your toe means you’ve put in too much effort for this!”

Sirius rolls over on his back, his feet propped up against the wall. “Or you-know-who. In drag. All fishnet stockings and a sheer black body suit and maybe even a leather belt. And a wig. Something that goes right down to his ass.”

“You are revolting,” Remus seethes. He kicks half-heartedly at Sirius, making him yelp. “Who comes up with this stuff? Snaps sucking toes and Voldy in drag? What next? Dumbledore in Lingerie?”

“Actually - “

“No. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I could wax poetry on the beauty of Dumbles for hours.”

Remus shakes his head. He absently pulls at Sirius’ hair, wrapping the strands around his fingers. Sirius lets out a long sigh at the touch, curling up so his head rested in Remus’ laugh.

“It’s amazing,” he says softly. “That I’ve...I’ve found someone like you.”

Remus stares down at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know. Someone hilarious. Someone who’s willing to put up with all my crap. Someone I know I can always talk to, even when things are tough.”

Remus smiles. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s...” Sirius laughs. “I just can’t imagine life without you. You’re incredible - you’re one of the bravest people I know. I’m just...I’m just so lucky that I know someone like you. You inspire me to be a better person.”

“I love you,” Remus says softly. The clock ticks slowly behind them, Sirius’ eyes so bright even in the darkness of the bedroom. “You know that, right?”

Sirius just smirks, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He gestures vaguely at the clock, mouth curled into a grin. “So, are we going to do a New Years-ish kiss or - “

Remus rolls his eyes and kisses him.

He doesn’t think it ever gets old, kissing Sirius. It’s like they were made for each other, bodies molding into one, the press of Sirius’ jaw under Remus’ hand as he pulled him towards himself. He supposed this is what happened so long ago - stars and galaxies colliding, pulled together by the force of their gravity, a whirling cloud of glitter light until it became something even more beautiful the before.

“Happy Birthday,” Remus murmurs. Behind them, the clock strikes twelve.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfic #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar angst #marauders era #sirius black fanfic #remus lupin fanfic #kash #amazing people #amazing friends

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imaginesmai · 5 years

Text

Tom Holland-Back to you

Inspired by Back to you-Selena Gomez. It’s really sad and it might be unexpected, so I’m not going to put any warnings. Just, ANGST AND SOME SENSITIVE TOPICS THAT MIGHT MAKE YOU CRY

Took you like a shot

Thought that I could chase you with a cold evening

Let a couple years water down how I’m feeling about you

Tom knew that he never should have gotten involved with you in the first place; his best friend’s sister, his friend since forever and the woman he imagined a world with. He should have known something would go wrong. His luck with women wasn’t good, and he took the chance without caring about the consequences. About the feelings afterwards, about the broken friendship and the endless tears.

He was so wrong.

In his mind, he could still picture the video he first recorded you on. Smiling at the camera with your brand new shirt from Spiderman, giggling like a proper fan and trying to cover your face from him. He could still hear your sweet voice calling out for Tessa when she did something wrong, only to finally let her hop into the bed with the two of you, cuddling together. When he closed his eyes, he could still see your teary face the last time you closed the door on him, bags in hand. Leaving a whimpering Tessa and a broken-hearted Tom behind.

Tom’s throat burned once more as the fiery liquid from the glass bottle in his hands darted down his throat. He had several missed calls from his family and friends, some of them from the director of the film he was working on. He had promised you he would be okay, that he would carry on with his life and find someone else that, maybe, could give him half of what you gave. You had laughed, and he smiled, knowing not even that was possible.

But that day was different. Because it would had been your birthday, and Tom still had your gift wrapped in the back of the wardrobe. He couldn’t remember what it was, just that he had been squealing in happiness when he brought it.

Last year, the two celebrated all day together in bed, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. You had said it had been your favourite birthday yet, and that you couldn’t wait to see how you would spend it next year. How ironic that, the next week, you left.

Harry had checked on him earlier, but he decided to keep his distance since he knew that Tom was still too sensitive about it, and that the wrong words could get him into a hole that Harry didn’t want to see his brother in. Jacob had called around noon to discuss something about the scrip, but Tom knew he was really just trying to distract him. It had been a good distraction thought, Tom had spent the better part of two hours on the phone, not thinking about you.

But soon after he had hung up, the memories came back. You and him stealing glances across the room, before dating, and then him telling it to his brothers like a teenager in love. You and him laughing about something you just knew, and holding hands after that. Saying I love you for the first time, between kisses, and for the last time, between tears.

Tom took another sip at the bottle.

I wanna hold you when I’m not supposed to

When I’m lying close to someone else

You’re stuck in my head and I can’t get you out of it

Tom had tried to move on, he did. Truly.

It was just a lot harder than what he thought it would be. He would compare every aspect of a girl to you. Because that girl ate her pasta like that, and you swirled it around your fork before shoving the first bite into his mouth. And the other had that laugh, while you started noiseless before breaking into a fit of loud and airy laughs that made his chest clench.

They weren’t bad people. Carri was loving and kind, Barbara was an advocate for children’s education, Marie spent her weekends volunteering to save the environment, and Helen loved dogs as much as Tom. But they weren’t you, not even close, and Tom stopped trying after he called the second girl your name in bed.

Some mornings, he would wake up early and pull you closer. He always thought about you first, and had a smile since he opened his eyes. Tom still thought it was like that some mornings, and woke up crying. Remembering, that you had left, that he had agreed and that you weren’t coming back.

It was never the same for him when he slept with other people. Barbara was too loud. Carri was too freaky. Marie was too shy. And Helen too dominating. Sometimes, Tom would imagine your face in other’s girls faces. Half-closed eyes, rounded lips in an o shape and flushed cheeks. He tried to imagine it was you moaning his name and touching his skin, and not someone else.

He imagined that it was you holding his hand as he walked through the park, not Tessa’s cold lash, that it was you who held his arms when he went ice-skating, not that awful date of the past month, and that it was you who he spent all day texting back and forth with.

Most important, Tom imagined a day where he wouldn’t imagine he was with you instead of the person he was actually with. He hoped that day would come soon, and each time the doorbell rang he stepped up with the same glint of excitement that died every day.

Tom felt that he had won the jackpot with you, that he had finally done his ace in golf with you. Everyone else felt like a mediocre prize.

Playing and replaying old conversations

Overthinking every word and I hate it

Cause it’s not me

His nightmares were plagued with you; and his dreams too. His sweet dreams turned sour as he brain too him back to your last moments together, over and over again.

Tom had found the letter early in the morning on Monday; and had went to the gym not knowing what it was or what it meant. It had some strange logo on the front and was thicker that the rest of them, but he had been in a hurry; sometimes, he wished he had stayed and read it with you. Because receiving the condolences of your private clinic for not being able to do anything against your cancer was hard, and that was the first mistake Tom made.

The second one, was bursting into tears and sobs, until he fainted for exhaustion and pain, leaving you to deal with it for the night. He had woken up thinking it was just a dream, yet your teary face and sad smile said otherwise.

He had never met someone as selfless as you. While you walked out of the door, two weeks later, he felt his heart clench at that. Tom knew you were doing it for him, to avoid him from watching you at your worst and make him suffer more. Pleas, cries and begging didn’t work; you left after spending a whole night awake just hugging each other and the second letter came. Before the five day of him being alone and drowning on his sorrow, it arrived; a small yet effective goodbye letter you had written to him for when all of it ended. It was signed with your mother’s writing.

Even after months had passed, Tom hadn’t gone more than three nights in a row without wondering if he did the right thing by respecting your wish of dying without him until your last breath. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself it was your decision, and he did well; a shadow of your disappointed face chased him in his dreams.

And what’s the point in hiding?

Everybody knows we got unfinished business

And I’ll regret it if I didn’t say

This isn’t what it could be (isn’t what it could be)

“Tom Holland’s bigger strike, and final set”, the headlines had called it.

Once it had gone public, his temporal retirement and the reason behind it, the fans and the media had been behind him. The press and the public didn’t know many details, like that Tom had three websites written down on his favourite notebook along with some phones of real estate agencies that had economic flats in LA. The press didn’t care about those things, they didn’t care about Tom having his life planned with you or the pain he was in, the only wanted every juicy detail about Tom and Harrison ‘break up’ and when he was going to come back to the industry. They didn’t care neither about Harrison, who couldn’t look at his best friend without thinking about his dead sister.

The world only wanted to know as much as they could on the non-important details about Tom’s girlfriend, not about Y/N Osterfield, young girl who died because the government didn’t invest enough money in cancer treatment.

Tom hated that.

You can break my heart it two

But when it heals it beats for you

The night of your birthday, as Tom was going to bed, he found himself wandering around the house you used to share in London. He walked around until he stopped in front of your studio, where he had put all the things after you had left. The brown wooden door seemed to stare back at him, daring him to open it. After a few moments, he gave in, and slowly began to twist the doorknob.

When Tom got back from the funeral, after being left alone by a overprotective mother and worried brothers, he went to your studio and the realisation of what had happen drawn to him. He hadn’t cried in the funeral, and hadn’t talked to your family; after the official ceremony, he spent the next week holed up in your side of the bed and hugging your clothes.

He had tried to enter your studio that same day, and he had been met with silence

He got angry, really angry. Tom started yelling and screaming as waves of anger washed through his body. He began to grab everything he was and threw them across the room; your computer, books, the television, the lamp, notebooks, clock. He cursed out loud to Got for taking you so soon. Tom threw random little knickknacks he found and chucked them as hard as he could; his hands were bleeding by the end of it. The last thing he picked was a picture frame of the end of your desk, with a photo of you and him he had taken during your best vacation.

I know it’s forward but it’s true

Won’t lie I’d go back to you

Tom picked up the photograph, and the anger in him subsided, feeling drained. The screams turned into sobs and pitiful cries, and he started wheezing. With shaky hands, he turned around and placed the picture frame on your then flipped bed, and walked out of the room. He knew he wouldn’t been coming back any time soon.

The day of your birthday, the room was the same way it was when he first visited. There were shards of broken glass everywhere. Piles and piles of ripped papers were strewn across the floor. Tom couldn’t help but since at the sound of glass under his shoe. He let one last tear roll down his cheek and rolled the sleeve of his shirt, ready to do what he had been trying to for a whole year.

He looked back, and saw Harrison with a small smile and a brush on his hand. His hair was longer, he seemed ten years older and he was wearing an old shirt that did nothing to his already skinny body.

Tom wasn’t looking much better. He had had his hair cut recently, not bearing anymore the absence of your fingers through his hair. Luckily, Jacob had dragged him out of his apartment a couple of times to go to the gym and his mother made sure he ate at least twice a day. So even if he was thinner, he was still healthy.

If I could do it all again

I know I’d go back to you

When he sat down that night on bed, exhausted and with aches in all his body, he took the frame in his hands and looked at it closely. He promised to himself, once more, that it would be the last time he cried over you, as the tears soaked the picture. In the pit of his stomach, he knew that if he had the opportunity to go back in time and tell his past self all that had happened, to tell himself about the pain of falling in love with an expire date, he would still do everything the same exact way. Tom realized, that even though he had lost you, he hadn’t lost the memories of you. And the good ones were much more better than the bad.

I’ll go back to you

I know I’d go back to you

Tom may had had his heart broken by you. He had lost his friendship with Harrison, a lethal wound on their relationship. And he had suffered what he thought it wasn’t possible. But he knew, if he had a choice, he would go back.

Every. Single. Damn. Time.

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ms31x129 · 5 years

Text

@xfpornbattle @muldermakesmehorny @cultureisdarkbeer @season4mulder @peacenik0 @today-in-fic (I’m cheating a bit this is Chapter 1.)

#61 Somehow Mulder has to pretend to go down on Scully. He teases her until neither of them can take it anymore.

AO3 version HERE. Or read below.

Inner Sanctum: Shadow Play

The universe is conspiring against him. Mulder is convinced. Scully thinks the same thing - although neither of them voice the thought aloud.

In 6 years working together they’d only been undercover as a couple once. Once is all it took - it seemed now every time they needed a pair of agents to pose undercover Mulder and Scully were called in to assist.

Which is how they found themselves here on assignment with 2 other pairs of agents trying to catch a suspect in a string of home invasions. All the victims were wealthy and all had confessed to visiting this particular establishment.

An establishment that catered to specific vises. The outer business, the Inner Sanctum, was a high class cocktail bar. The right amount of power and money would get you through the secret door and into the real business.

Fantasies. Sex…. Shadow Play.

All the victims had come from this rented room. In the middle of was a circular stage the props interchanged as needed for each fantasy. It was simple this time a bed, a chaise lounge, dresser, an antique looking vanity, with an oval mirror and stool, nightstand - a typical bedroom.

Some type of glass door system and a curtain on a track would allow for the Shadows of those within to be seen by the voyeur or voyeurs watching without. Chairs, lounges, sofas, tables were spread throughout the rest of the room. All with padded wrist restraints. This room was for instructing the Shadowplayer and then watching, listening to the performance without being able to touch.

Mulder could relate he’d held the object of his affection in his arms many times. Kissed her forehead, her cheek - he tried to kiss her once in his hallway - fate in the form of a Bee. What are the odds of that? Some would call it fate. Even he thought that for a while.

He rescued the girl and himself if he was honest, without her… could he have went on? Attempts to push her away after that were unsuccessful. She’d taken his hand that day and told him ‘if I quit now they win.’

Really not fair to repeat his own words back at him. But that was Scully. Diana had strolled back in and if he was honest - it hurt that Scully even thought he wanted to rekindle anything with her. Especially after kissing her doppelganger and telling her the words he had been so good at keeping locked away in his heart.

I love you and oh brother as a response was not what he expected. Whey were all these thoughts rolling in his head now before this important stakeout? Maybe it’s because they were all just informed they would have to act out whatever the customer wants - no matter what.

Or maybe it’s because Scully and the other 2 female FBI agents just walked out in their ‘costumes.’ Scully locked eyes with him almost daring him to look anywhere else. It was too late he’d been tracking her movements the moment she stepped into the room.

While he and the other male agents were all dressed similarly in t-shirts and jeans the female agents were dressed for their part - the bored housewife who calls for a repair man. Dressed for seduction and Scully was in black lace.

How was he going to survive this assignment? Mulder could feel the moisture rise to the surface of his skin. He barely resisted the urge to wipe his brow. Was the room suddenly too hot? Was his blood boiling? No it was Scully fantasy #5 and it was live in front of his eyes. To be honest black lace wasn’t a requirement Scully in any color lace would be a turn on.

Correction … Is a turn on - there’s an undeniable thickening beneath his denim. Shit.

Mulder glanced at the other agents he noticed he wasn’t the only one fidgeting. Scully finally arrived at his side and he resisted the urge to offer her his coat when he saw her shiver. That fact he wasn’t wearing a coat was beside the point.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She stared straight ahead and responded, “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with. Hopefully one of the other pairs of agents will be chosen.”

No such luck. The universe was dead set on wrecking havoc on Mulder and Scully’s lives.

The client’s came in a couple, they sat down and an attendant locked their restraints. It was like a private production.

“Welcome to Shadow Play. You know the rules choose your couple and once they enter the Shadow Stage they will follow your instructions. They are your puppets and you are the puppet masters.” The attendant paced before the couples and with a flourish of his hand he spoke.

“Choose the lady of play.”

The man was tall with closely cropped blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His voice was a deep bass with a slight English or Australian accent when he spoke, “The little one - the redhead. Darling do you like her?”

His feminine counterpart nodded, “Oh yes she’ll be perfect.” With her husky alto it sounded more like purr-fect.

The attendant nodded to Scully, “Please enter the chamber and the other ladies may exit.”

Mulder saw the deep breath Scully took and his hand automatically went to her back as she walked around him and they started into the chamber. He was brought to a halt with the attendants next words.

“Now who do you chose for lord of the play?”

Wait. What?

Scully paused and then continued on her way - her shoulders had slumped for a moment and then firmed with resignation. This wasn’t the prearranged plan and his eyes narrowed. There was no way anyone, but him was going in there with Scully. Plan or not.

The three men stood still. Mulder felt like chatel - did the other agents feel the same he wondered.

“Darling? Don’t you want the one in the middle? His hair is the same color as mine?”

“He is quite striking, but he doesn’t hold a candle to you. I won’t be able to see their hair color behind the curtain anyway…. I don’t know how can I decide when they are clothed. I need to see their cocks.”

The attendant cleared his throat, “That is not part of the rules, everything happens in shadow.”

“Fuck the rules MAN, my wife wants to see their cocks and I’ve paid for our time. In fact bring Red back out give them some inspiration… I know I’m inspired.” His erection was clearing outlined by the navy trousers he wore and his wife licked her lips feeling her own body responding.

The attendant was clearly ruffled, Mulder noted the fact and filed it away. Scully stepped back out every eye was one her. Creamy skin dusted with the faintest of freckles she stood unafraid and comfortable in her own skin.

“Drop the straps luv, give the gents something to wonder about. I see firm high breasts a perfect handful - are those nips pink like a kitten's tongue, peachy like a succulent apricot? Or dark rose like the juicy flesh of a woman’s cunt?”

Scully reached up and slid first one strap and then the other, until they draped like a piece of black licorice he wanted to gnaw through. And he didn’t even like black licorice, red - cherry flavor yes. That didn’t help his growing problem thinking about Scully in red.

“Okay c’mon gents don’t be shy we all know why we’re here. Whip out your equipment my wife wants to see your packages. We’ve all got ‘em. If my hands were free I’d whip mine out right now. Wouldn't I darling? You'd suck me off right here on your knees. Yes my pet sucks like a Dyson.”

"Do you like bush, men? My pet has a nice little bush just enough that it tickles my lips when I'm eating my fill of pussy."

Both agents Barber and Kinney unzipped their flys and exposed themselves. Scully didn’t react. She was aloof, waiting for the partner the clients would choose. Could she do it - if it wasn’t Mulder? If it was Agent Barber or Kinney?

“Ooo those are some lovely cocks. Are those boxers or tighty whities I see … it's sort of like they’re popping out of a little fabric nest, like a bird. Not very lively though… Are you two cold?” The woman laughed and her husband chuckled along and then her gaze fixated on Mulder. “How about you? Are you cold too? You can’t be shy or you wouldn’t be here. Honey if he won’t show me his cock tell him to leave. I’ll just choose one of the others.”

“You heard my wife. If you don’t show us your cock get the fuck out. Do you have a teeny weenie, perhaps?” He picked up on the quick eye contact between Mulder and Scully and a wide smile formed. “Or do you just need a little help? Hey Red, why don’t you help him out.”

Scully took a step toward Mulder. “No!” then quieter, “No, I’ll do it.”

Mulder closed his eyes. How could he forget today of all days? He’d bought these button fly jeans on a whim and his hands were working the buttons through the tightly stitched holes until …

“Holy Mother of God! Get out! The rest of you get out! He’s the one…. Honey? Tell them to leave!”

“You cretins heard my wife. Get out.” The room cleared of all but the main players. “Good God Man! I consider myself well-endowed, but Holy Shite! How do you keep that monster under control? And commando to boot.”

“I think my wifes glazed over eyes means you two meet with her complete approval. Let’s get this show on the road. Into the chamber you two. My first request is for you to suck those titties… I’ll tell you when to stop… use the chaise please.”

Mulder followed Scully into the chamber the door snicked shut, the curtains closed with a swish and the lights dimmed. Scully reclined on the chaise and Mulder gingerly sat beside her. Could they pull this off?

“C’mon man speed it up suck her tits and describe them… we want to hear about those ripe tips… make her moan … make her wet for you.”

Mulder dropped his head, nose and lips nuzzled her neck. Traveled down. Skimmed across the slope of each breast. God, Scully you smell so good. There was a hitch in her breath. Did he say that out loud?

“Hey, Supercock! This isn’t love’s unfolding flower or some teenage romance. I don’t hear any sucking or slurping and we damn well aren’t hearing any moaning Reds or yours. Get on with it.”

Mulder wished the guy would just shut the hell up. He was trying to make this look real, but not be real. But she was so soft and smelled so delicious… He was only human dammit.

And then Scully let out a throaty moan. Uh-oh. His mouth released the nipple he had been sucking, the lace and silk damp. Her nipples were clearly delineated, hard, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been sucking but his mouth and lips felt the loss.

“More…Mu…” Before she could say his name his hands cupped her breasts and his lips went back to feasting.

End Inner Sanctum: Shadow Play Chapter 1

#xf fanfic #xffanfic #msr smut #msrfanfic #msr fanfic #msrsmut #the xf fanfic #the xfiles fanfic

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Note

Commission Request: AU with V, Vergil, & fem reader for delicious threesome. The 3 are a team of demon hunters that have worked together for a while. Both V & Vergil want reader & reader wants both of them. They think reader is sweet & bubbly (which she is) but when they get her into the bedroom (or wherever); they are extremely surprised that she is, in fact very dominant. More dominant than both of them. There is this competition between these 3 for dominance but reader ends up winning.

Thank you so much for the commission! It’s always a pleasure writing for you

Word count - 5,099

____________________

Sweat dripped from your chin, falling to mix with the blood already splashed across the cobblestone underfoot. Light spilled through the tangled branches overhead and dappled the area in patches of yellow. The scent of copper was thick in the frozen air, but it didn’t bother you; it hadn’t for years.

Only the sound of rapid breathing broke the stillness as the last Caina dissolved into ash. Clouds of steam accompanied every exhalation from you and your two best friends and teammates. Three sets of lips twisted as one, adrenaline fading into the familiar surge of relief that came after every battle, even after all these years.

“Sweet, we survived another one! Once the client pays us, first round’s on me!” you said with a cheerful grin.

Your white-haired companion shook his head as he sheathed his elegant blade. He was the most serious of your trio, always seeking to improve his skills and training with a dedication that bordered on obsession. No doubt he’d refuse, as he always did. You mentally counted back from five and bit the inside of your cheek when he spoke as if on cue.

“I’ll have to decline; my parries need work.”

You shared an amused glance with your second companion, flashing a hand signal behind your back. His lips split open as he flashed it back at you – he’d been counting, too.

His black hair shone as he stepped out of the shade, emerald eyes twinkling with humor. He was always ready with a witty one-liner or strange observation, helping to counter Vergil’s serious nature with laughter. Not to say he didn’t take the job seriously, not even close. V was one of the most focused people you’d ever known. Once he set his sights on something, it was only a matter of time before he reached it.

“No rest for the damned. Or the perfectionist,” he quipped.

Vergil huffed, taking the bait even though he really ought to know better by now. “There’s nothing wrong with having high standards.”

“On that much, we can agree,” V replied, his eyes flashing your way.

“Not on anything else, though,” you chimed in, retracting your wrist blade with a wry grin. The two men shared an indecipherable look as they followed you down the sidewalk, heading back toward home base.

Your mind wandered as your trio traversed the area, lingering on the two men as always. It was impossible to pinpoint the exact moment your feelings changed, but that wasn’t the issue at hand.

No, the issue at hand was how the heck to deal with it.

All the tired clichés and excuses rattled around in your head. You didn’t want to risk losing their friendship, what if they felt the same but things went wrong, what if it was just a passing crush… blah, blah, blah. Still, that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst of it was that you had feelings for both of them.

You’d been in love before, but never with more than one person at the same time. It both thrilled and scared you, forcing you to reevaluate your self-image. For weeks, you struggled with guilt and shame, mind stuck on the classical understanding of a relationship. Two people, no more. Add a third and it became complicated.

Some people did it well, but you didn’t think you were one of them.

And there was no way in hell you could ever choose one of them over the other. They were both equally important to you, though for different reasons.

Vergil kept you from slacking, always encouraging you to keep working on your skills or interests whatever they were. The few times you went to him for advice, he’d helped you construct a step by step plan to resolve the issue and would ask about your progress a few days later. He helped you become the best version of yourself, one day at a time. He was a warrior, a man with unshakable honor and integrity. His stubbornness and insistence on quality could be annoying, but if that was the worst of it you couldn’t really complain. He inspired you.

V kept you from taking everything too seriously. His sarcastic jokes and witty puns always made you laugh, even in the darkest circumstances. He was an old soul, the weight of wisdom in his emerald eyes yet he still acted like a child. He had simple dreams of a peaceful life and a home by the sea, and no matter what was stressing you out he would sit and listen for as long as you needed. He was one of those rare people that didn’t try to fix your problems for you, simply offering his understanding and comfort while you sorted things out for yourself. He believed in your ability to handle things, but would always be there to cheer you on or help you stand up again. He supported you.

To lose either of them was unthinkable.

Your trio turned the last corner toward home, walking the familiar asphalt toward the grey building. It wasn’t much to look at on the outside. Slate panels and unremarkable architecture, two trees and a few shrubs dotting the tiny yard.

“I’ll get dinner started,” V said. You couldn’t help but steal a glance at his backside as he walked to the front door, saving the image for later.

Inside, the home was completely different. Classical European furniture complemented the elaborate wallpaper, dark oak floors with thick plush rugs on the ground floor and soft carpet upstairs in the bedrooms. Bookshelves lined the walls, almost every room had two or more. Various portraits and landscape paintings in heavy frames hung on the walls, lit with special lights V installed. All in all, it felt like a palace or a museum.

Home sweet home.

Vergil turned toward the training room, probably going to work on his parries and leaving you to your own devices.

You sighed in resignation and headed to the heavy desk by the window. There was work to do, invoices to file and clients to charge. Tedious tasks, but crucial to the success of your business. You cracked your knuckles and dug in.

Roughly an hour passed with only the sound of shuffling papers and far off clangs of steel. A mouth-watering aroma spread through the home and your stomach rumbled its approval. The scent strengthened until you couldn’t stand it and set the paperwork aside to join V in the kitchen; the more help he had, the sooner you could eat some of his delicious cooking.

The man in black was humming as he stir-fried a mix of veggies. A metal pan sat at his elbow with a juicy roast at rest, chopped potatoes a thick bed beneath it.

“Wow… what’s the occasion?” you asked.

He gave the veggies another stir and turned his smirking face toward you. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You stepped closer to the roast to take a deep sniff, flooding your mouth at the savory smell. You stole a piece of potato and popped it in your mouth, moaning as the seasoning made your taste buds sing.

“This ib so gub!”

He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching in humor as you swallowed. “Thief. I’m afraid there are consequences to stealing.”

His honeyed voice and suggestive words sent a shiver down your spine. Did he know he was doing that? How could he not?

Well, two can play at that game!

You gave him a salacious grin and stole another potato. “Pfft, like what?”

He tutted and long fingers wrapped around your wrist as you brought the morsel to your mouth. His grip kept your hand from moving, so you angled your head under your fingers and released the snack so it fell right on your tongue.

“Like you get to fetch Vergil. Time to eat,” he replied.

“A fair punishment,” you said, grabbing one last potato as you headed for the training room.

Steel striking steel echoed in the hall, louder with every step. You found Vergil in the midst of his training, his blade slicing through the air to clang against the mechanized dummy’s attack. His form was perfect, fluid and agile, every muscle honed to perfection. Not a single motion was wasted, not a scrap of energy spent unless absolutely necessary.

And he’s shirtless…

Pale skin glistened with just a hint of sweat, shadows playing across the planes of his chest. His icy gaze was locked on his target as he stepped back to prepare another strike. You cleared your throat and tried not to show how much you enjoyed the view as he lowered his sword to face you.

“Dinner’s ready,” you said.

He hummed and sheathed the blade, reaching for a nearby towel to wipe away the evidence of his exertion. There was no stopping your eyes from following the path of the fabric. You’d never been jealous of an inanimate object before.

Vergil smirked. “You’re staring.”

Crap.

No point denying it…

“What, can’t a girl admire a nice view?”

He stepped closer, grabbing his shirt and vest but he didn’t dress. Instead he came closer still, standing less than a yard away from you and giving you an up-close look. You forced your expression to hide the heat pooling between your legs.

“Why look when you can touch?” he murmured.

Your eyes shot to his. First V, now Vergil? Why the hell were they teasing you so much tonight?

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his arm extending to bring your hand to his sternum.

His skin was smooth and still heated from his practice. The air between you and the snowy-haired man crackled with tension as you spread your fingers and dragged your palm across his pecs. Your heart was racing, mind frozen and yet simultaneously spinning with questions you didn’t dare ask.

An exaggerated cough pulled your attention to the doorway to see V leaning on the frame, arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his features. Your hand dropped from Vergil’s chest and you shifted your weight, eyes searching for a safe area to look at.

“I thought we agreed, Vergil…” the tattooed man said.

Agreed? On what?

“Hmph. You know where I stand.”

What the fuck are they talking about?

V lowered his arms and joined you and Vergil, your bodies forming a triangle on the padded floor. His emerald eyes glittered as he looked at you, an unfamiliar darkness peeking through. Your breath hitched and lightning sizzled across your skin as his slim fingers rose to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’ve seen the way you look at us, Y/N. You lack subtlety,” he informed you with a smirk.

Vergil growled, glaring at the poet as you internally smacked yourself. They knew. Was that why they teased you? Were they being serious or making fun of your feelings? Embarrassment rushed through you at the thought, followed quickly by anger.

“What the heck are you two talking about?” you asked. You weren’t admitting to anything until they confirmed it.

“We’ve discussed it between us and come to a conclusion,” Vergil began, dropping his shirt and vest. V circled around to stand behind you, his tattoos twitching.

A hand on your cheek dragged your eyes back to Vergil’s. V’s voice was velvet against your ear, his fingers stroking your waist. It felt delightful, despite the confusion. They were touching you, acting like they wanted you just as much as you wanted them and it was setting you on fire.

“It’s time to stop pretending. He who desires but act not, breeds pestilence.”

You lost the ability to respond as Vergil lunged forward to press his lips to yours.

Holy hell! Is this really happening?

You struggled to believe it; why tonight, after years of friendship, were they being so bold? Why now? Why not months ago and every day since? What took them so long?

Two sets of hands danced across your body as you opened to him with a soft whine. Blood rushed in your ears as your tongues met and you discovered Vergil’s unique taste. You trailed your palms up his chest, mapping his every crevice and curve and eliciting a sinful growl from the man. A shudder ran through you at the sound.

Fuck yes, this is finally happening!

Your hands flew to Vergil’s belt, tugging the strap loose with a swift jerk. Insistent fingers pulled at your shirt, lifting it to expose your stomach. Elegant digits caressed the sensitive area, a light pressure teasing at your core and you arched into V’s touch, aching for deeper contact. He didn’t disappoint you and dipped his fingertips lower, lower…

Come on, lower!

As if the man read your mind, his fingers reached for the fastenings of your pants and deftly forced them to the floor, taking your panties with them. You kicked the fabric away with a grin. He pressed against you, letting you feel his length as hot breath caressed your ear. “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

He went lower.

He teased at your folds, scraping a single finger against your clit. You gasped and pulled away from Vergil, leaning against V and angling your body to gain more friction as he traced circles around your bundle of nerves. The fire between your legs pulsated with every swirl, growing hotter and hotter by the second and sending a series of guttural moans loose from your lips. The white-haired man seized the opportunity and pulled away your shirt; seconds later your bra joined it on the floor.

V’s free hand kneaded your chest, skilled fingers rolling your nipple into a stiff peak. A growl escaped Vergil’s lips and he swatted away the poet’s palm, his mouth taking its place. His tongue laved across the tender flesh, hands wrapping around you on either side to pull you closer and subsequently away from V. The loss of contact was a splash of iced water on your arousal.

Vergil, you jackass!

The poet huffed in annoyance. His stroking fingers paused, leaving you slick and frustrated and whimpering. You tried to shift backward to regain his heat but Vergil’s grip held fast.

Are you fucking kidding me?

V solved the problem by pushing Vergil’s face away from your chest and replacing it with his palm.

Alright, that’s it!

“Both of you, knock it off! If I have to tie you up to enjoy myself, I will,” you said.

Behind you, V snorted. He had the grace to try and cover it with a cough, but you knew him too well. Vergil stared into your eyes with a smirk, daring you to even try restraining him.

“I’m not kidding.”

The smirk grew.

Fine. Two can play that game.

You turned around to face the poet. His eyes were blown wide, the familiar emerald tone almost lost in his pupils. His hand moved to your hip and rubbed circles, his other coming to rest wrapped around your back.

“Are you going to behave?”

His lips twitched, but he nodded. Good enough for now.

Your hands traced the dark lines covering his alabaster skin, his tattoos dancing in a display of his enjoyment under your touch. One palm drifted lower to tug his t-shirt away, the other higher to answer one of your more persistent fantasies. You tangled your fingers in his obsidian locks and tugged, forcing his head to the side.

The look on his face was glorious, lips parted to release a restrained moan, brows drawn together and eyes fluttering closed. Vergil’s sharp intake of breath only heightened your self-satisfaction and you couldn’t resist any longer.

A single step was all it took to close the gap between you and the poet and press your lips to his for a deep kiss. You wrapped yourself around the black-clad man, reveling in the taste of his soft lips, the scent of his skin mixed with leather, the blazing heat of his body. His hips bucked against yours as he pulled you closer and you indulged yourself with a few rough grinds on his length. Waves of pleasure cascaded through your flushed body.

At last you pulled away to breathe and take in the results of your efforts. V’s eyes were dark and hungry as he stared down at you. A light blush stained his normally pristine cheeks, swollen lips open to catch his breath.

“Maybe that’s for the best, I’m not sure you could handle it anyway, Vergil. Look what I did to poor V.”

Vergil tutted, his hands exploring your thighs and trailing lightning down your spine. The poet hummed his agreement, an amused smirk pulling at his lips as he shared a knowing look with you.

“Yes, it would be such a shame if you couldn’t last.”

Vergil scoffed in response and tugged you against his cock, pressing a row of blistering kisses on your neck and shoulders. He rutted against your ass and groaned, dragging one hand to your core and dipping inside to curl against your walls.

“I will last as long as is required,” he said.

“Vergil, behave!” you commanded, using the tone you normally reserved for battle.

His fingers withdrew, recognizing the intensity of your voice. You stepped away and glared at him, holding that icy gaze for a moment before realizing he wasn’t going to surrender. Not yet.

Fucking Sparda blood, I swear…

“V, take off your pants. Vergil, don’t move.”

The poet tore away his trousers, smirking at you as you watched him lower them inch by inch to reveal himself. He lifted an eyebrow as you licked your lips and beckoned him closer, crouching down to meet him.

You stroked V’s length with one hand, spreading precum across his shaft as you moved. He released an obscene moan, his head falling back in the grip of his pleasure. With another few strokes, you leaned forward and licked his tip, humming at the salty morsel. He rested one palm on the crown of your head as you filled your mouth with his cock, hollowing your cheeks and looking up at him. The sounds you made as you bobbed were filthy, using your tongue to map his every inch. Your other hand crept across his back, dipping lower and lower until you found the tight ring you were searching for. A soft swipe across was all it took to elicit a groan.

You grinned and withdrew. “Interesting…”

Vergil was still glaring where you left him, his irritation rolling off him in waves. It was almost cute to see how he sulked, but he’d done as you told him. He deserved a reward.

“Both of you, come here and get on all fours.”

The poet didn’t hesitate, smirking as he got comfortable. Vergil couldn’t hide the gleam in his icy eyes, but he made a show of huffing as he joined V. You almost giggled; you were going to break through every layer of his nonsense and leave him craving more.

You coated your fingers with your own fluids and took a position between them. Goosebumps erupted across V’s squirming tattoos as you dragged your fingernails down their spines simultaneously, murmuring praise and shifting your hips to find what little friction you could. The view was divine, both beautiful men sprawled out before you with their assets lifted and begging for attention. Vergil was still tense, but he’d get there in time.

The fluid on your digits made a perfect first coating and you paused to refresh it, indulging your aching clit with a few perfect strokes. Only the promise of what was to come brought your fingers back.

You probed V first, intent on rewarding his continuous good behavior. His hands spasmed on the training mat as you slid inside to the first knuckle, every line of his tattoos dancing across his pale skin as he moaned. You waited, giving him the chance to tell you to stop if he needed it, but he only shifted his hips, trying to get you further inside. His shoulders heaved in gasps as you twitched your finger, testing his sensitivity.

You’d never heard him curse so violently.

With a gleeful smile, you leaned closer to his ear, your words for him alone. “You look so good like this.”

“Mmm, you’ll look even better when it’s your turn…” he replied.

Your finger crept forward to the next knuckle and he cursed again, arms flexing and tattoos swirling. They moved erratically, a clear indication of his status he couldn’t hide. You turned your attention to Vergil, giving the poet a moment to relax before you destroyed him.

Vergil was watching your every move, clever eyes locked on where your finger was buried in his counterpart. He was much harder to read, but as you traced a fingernail over his opening there was no denying the twitch of his hips. His nostrils flared as you pressed gently, taking your time to let him adjust.

The flames of arousal between your legs were delicious torture and you shifted again, leaning over to whisper in Vergil’s ear. “Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

The cords of sinew running up his neck flexed and he turned his head to meet your eyes. He looked so lovely with a light tinge of blood in his cheeks and a determined glare in his cool depths. “Careful, Y/N. Don’t forget this is only happening because I allow it.”

Wanna bet?

You sank your finger deeper and curled it, scraping against him. V was being so good, you twitched for him as well. Both men cursed into the mat, bodies reacting more honestly than you could’ve imagined. Knowing you could bring them to this sent pulses of heady power rushing through your veins, pride and lust mixing together in a jolting cocktail.

“I want you to watch,” you told Vergil, pulling your finger back a fraction to threaten the consequences if he chose to refuse. He whimpered, a sound unlike anything you’d ever heard from the man as he turned his head to gaze at where you were buried inside V.

Wow. That was weirdly hot.

You sank into the poet, fully cocooning your finger in his body. His tattoos moved more chaotically than ever as he gasped, his dark hair falling forward to hide his face as you began massaging him. His arms trembled, his cries of delight fanning your own desire. You bent over and planted a row of kisses along his ribs, adding a nip here and there for good measure. He bit his lip and a look of pain twisted his regal features; instantly you stopped.

“You can’t hold it back much longer, can you?”

You glanced at Vergil, making sure he was paying attention to the poet’s response and caught your breath. His icy eyes were dilated to the point you could barely see the ring of blue, his cheeks and neck flushed in excitement as V moaned his confirmation against the mat. The white-haired man’s nostrils flared as you sank your finger home, his ability to restrain himself eroding with every touch and you reveled in the sense of power it gave you.

V looked like he was ready for more, his peak a safe distance away once more, yet you barely had to move for him to react. You split your focus between the two men, using up the last traces of your own fluids to bring them both to the brink of bliss and pulling out just before they unraveled.

You slid between them and curled against Vergil, pulling V along behind you. The poet’s full lips peppered your shoulders as you molded your mouth to Vergil’s, brushing strands of white out of his eyes.

He growled and shifted his hips, rutting against your thigh as his hands explored your body. Shivers of delight danced across your skin, lightning scorching your every nerve. You rolled onto Vergil, coating his length in your wetness with a soft moan.

“What’s the magic word?” you asked him with a wicked grin.

His lips moved but no sound came out. Damn. You shrugged as if it didn’t matter to you, then ground into his cock and brought V’s hand to your core. The poet didn’t hesitate, plunging his long fingers into you right over where Vergil’s angry, twitching cock rested and curling against your sensitive walls. You released an exaggerated moan and closed your eyes.

“Please,” Vergil whispered.

That’ll do.

V withdrew as you wrapped your fingers around Vergil’s shaft, giving him a few strokes before angling him at your entrance. His hands stroked your ribs and you shivered, taking his first few inches with a whimper. His lewd growl made you grin and you lowered yourself down until he was fully sheathed, stretching to your limits to fit him. There was the briefest moment of pain before you adjusted.

“Vergil… fuck…”

You leaned down to kiss him as you lifted your hips to drop on him again, gasping against his lips as he impaled you. His hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, helping to lift you as you gained speed. You reached out to V, weaving your fingers together and leaning on him for added support. Grunts and sighs filled the air, mixing with the sound of slapping flesh as he lifted his hips to meet you, forcing himself even deeper. Vergil brought a hand to where you were joined, finding your clit with ease and helping you chase your peak. He tried different movements and pressure until he found one you liked.

“Right there, that’s it! Ver- Vergil!”

Bursts of white flashed in your vision as you keened his name and exploded into bliss. Every muscle clenched as one, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through you until you could barely breathe. Vergil and V held you up together as the snowy-haired man ploughed against your shuddering walls, extending your release into an age.

When you finally came back down, you looked down at him with a wide smile. Pride stained his eyes, his lips turned up in a tiny grin of his own. “Told you I’d last as long as necessary.”

You snorted and looked at V. He had one inked hand wrapped around his cock, stroking just enough to stay hard. His eyes were locked on you and Vergil.

“I think it’s about time you joined us, V. Get behind me,” you said. His eyes gleamed in excitement and he positioned himself on Vergil’s legs.

The ocean-eyed man slowed his pace as V reached between you and gathered as much fluid as he could. Fingers rubbed against your second hole, probing within to help you prepare. You relaxed as much as you could, breathing into it as he brought his cock to bear. You pressed against Vergil’s hips to stop his insistent motion and gave V a smile.

He pressed forward at an achingly slow pace. His drawn-out groan was delightful, a euphoric expression on his face.

“Fuck…” the poet murmured.

“Wait until you feel it from this side,” Vergil replied.

You glared at him as V extended his middle finger with a smirk at the other man’s comment. His hips inched forward until they met yours and you marveled at the sensation of being stuffed to the brim by the two men you cared so much about. It was absolute perfection. You flexed your inner muscles around them, feeling every ridge buried in your depths and three voices moaned together in a blissful harmony.

You moved first, shifting your weight forward and bracing on Vergil’s broad chest. His arms came up to help, V’s on your hips. The poet leaned down to plant kisses on every patch of flesh he could reach, his own body moving to mirror yours. You nodded at Vergil when you were ready, and he lifted to join in.

This is incredible…

Heat pooled in your stomach as your trio gathered speed. It took a few minutes to synchronize but you didn’t care, as long as they kept going. Nothing else existed, maybe it never had. It felt like you were flying, never to touch land again.

Every sense filled with evidence of your enjoyment. The air smelled of sweat and sex, a heady perfume to go with the panting sighs and grunts. Beneath you, Vergil’s cheeks were pinker than you’d ever seen them, his eyes glazed over. His hair stuck out in every direction and you reached out to smooth it back, leaning down to kiss him for good measure. His arms cradled you against him and his cock tightened, his peak close.

“Cum for me,” you whispered, burying your face in the crux of his neck.

Vergil’s deep thrusts stuttered as he growled like a wild animal, pulsing in waves and filling you with his seed. His arms trembled, thick veins bulging. You pressed kisses against his neck, murmuring praise and reassurance as he rode out his pleasure. A satisfied smirk twisted his lips and you wiped away the beads of sweat from his forehead, your breath huffing every time V buried himself inside you.

The poet’s hands pressed into your lower back, forcing you into a different angle as he snapped forward. Having him pounding away at your ass right over Vergil while you were looking into his icy gaze set you on fire, bolts of energy zipping across your skin as he coaxed you closer and closer to a second climax.

Vergil brought his hands to your chest, kneading and pinching as he whispered absolute filth, telling you how much he was enjoying the show and that he looked forward to switching places with V next time. His words sent you hurtling over the edge and you wailed their names, arching back as he took your full weight.

The poet cursed, his tattoos a maelstrom as he followed you into paradise. Clouds of black demonic energy floated a mere inch off his skin, an aura of darkness surrounding his oddly pristine flesh and pale hair. He grunted and pulled out to spew his cum across your ass, pumping his length to get every drop. The inky shards sank back into his skin and hair as he panted and sat back on his knees, pushing his hair from his face.

You collapsed into Vergil’s arms, letting him shift you to the side. V crawled over and lied on your other side, still catching his breath. For several minutes, your trio was silent.

Maybe I can handle loving two people at once after all…

#commisions #v x reader #vergil x you #spicy #i mean jalepeno hot #fanfic #my writing #dmc #dmcv #dmc vergil #reader insert #devil may cry

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littlemessyjessi · 5 years

Text

James Potter : Fluffy ABC Headcanons: Plus Size Reader

Fluffy Alphabet (Shoutout to my lovely friend, Traenon! She literally saved these for me months ago from something she read and sent it to me through messenger. So credit to OP for the prompts!)

James Potter Headcanons James Potter x PS Reader

X Reader: PS Reader, Plus Size Reader

A = Attractive: what do they find attractive about the other?

Well, the mushy answer is your courage. He's in love with that fierce "Mama Bear" thing regardless of gender. The fact that if someone even breathes a little angry at someone you care about...you just fucking lose your shit. He's real into that ish.

Physically? Hmm, probably them thighs! Yasssss, he could stay there all day. In a sweet fashion...or a naughty one, lol.

B = Baby: do they want a family? why/why not?

As an only child- yes he wants a herd of children. I'm not joking. He told you he wanted six. You nearly killed him but he did say that he was ok with adoption too. The whole carrying a baby thing is fine to him but he's also cool with adoption. He just loves you and wants to have kids around. And to spoil them like he spoils you.

C = Cuddle: how do they cuddle?

Ha, good luck. You're not going anywhere. James is not above pushing the bed against the wall, forcing you to the inside and trapping you between him and the wall. He loves you. You're his favorite. He's not about to give up one ounce of cuddle time.

D = Dates: what are dates with them like?

He does love a good ride on the broom on a clear starring night. I mean, that's just a perk. But honestly? Some of the best have been in detention. He's purposefully gotten you both in trouble before just so you could hang out alone together, lol.

E = Everything: “you are my ____” (e.g my life, my world…)

You are James' inspiration. You're his drive. You are the light of his life and the fire to keep him running. For you? He'd do anything.

F = Feelings: when did they know they were falling in love?

When Sirius' mother showed up at the school and started screaming at him. And you? You hexed her six ways from Sunday. It's your protective nature that really drove it home for James that day. Also, sidenote- Sirius sees you as his sister and you're his favorite. He steals you away from James all the time so you can hang out, lol.

G = Gentle: are they gentle? If so, how?

For all his boisterous personality, James really is a sweetheart. he'd do anything for you. You're amazing to him.

H = Hand/Hold: how do they like to hold? how do they like to hold hands?

Listen, if you're near James...You're fucking stuck. That boy, lol. Omg, I hope you're not sensitive about your fingers because he's threading them together and they're in a vise grip...forever. If for some reason, you have to leave to I don't know- void your bladder- prepare to be yanked back into his chest and he'll whine for ten minutes. Only when your bladder is on the brink of explosion and you unlease your rage will he let you go....and maybe not follow you.

I = Impression: first impression/s

Your first impression of him was that he was a git. Second was that he was a pretty awesome quidditch player. You didn't actually give him the time of day until about 5th year and even then you broke his nose when he swatted your bottom playfully. He got the fucking message, lol.

J = Joker: are they into pulling pranks?

Please, he's the king of pranks. He pulled one on you....once. You retaliated to the point of near death. He got the fucking message.

K = Kisses: how do they kiss?

They're so random sometimes but super special and sweet. Never fail to make you smile.

L = Love: who says I love you first?

He did. He's been saying it forever anyway. But the first time for real? He did and it was super cute because he was loaded with firewhiskey. But he remembered the next morning 6 am when the hangover hit him. Poor guy, pajamas barely hanging out and he's screaming up the girl's dormitorities until someone shoved you down to him.

"I just realized I said I loved you last night." "Yeah, I know James." you laughed rubbing sleep from your eye. "I was shit faced." he said. Your laugh was a bit dimmed, "Yeah, I know. You weren't really all there at the moment." "No, that's not what I meant." he said taking your hands into his. "I mean, - what I mean is that I do love. I mean it. I meant it then. I've wanted to tell you for a long time." "James you've been telling me since we were eleven." you laughed. "Yeah, but not for real." he said. "And I mean it- for real. I love you." "I love you too, you crazy boy. Now go back to bed and sleep off your hangover. And for the love of god brush your teeth before you try to talk to me again."

M = Memory: their favourite moment together

He adores the time you nearly beat someone on an opposing team to death because they cheated during a quidditch game. He flew right into the stands to kiss you. Both to quell your rage and because he loved you.

N = Nickel: do they spoil? do they buy the person they love everything?

He does but it's usually vintage finds. Little things you come across together. The both of you have this completely useless matching pocket watches. They don't work and it gets stuck half the time but they match and they're special.

O = Orange: what color reminds them of their other half?

Well, he loves house colors on you of course. But he also favors you in blue. Just something about it on you looks amazing. Doesn't matter the shade. Just blue.

P = Pet names: what pet names do they use?

He's totally a 'babe' person.

Q = Quaint: what is their favourite non-modern thing?

James actually loves going antiquing with you. It's a favorite thing. There's a whole cabinet of useless junk you never do anything with but he likes it. And looking at it makes him smile because he remembers the little dates you went on when you got it and how you got whipped cream on your nose when the two of you stopped for ice cream.

R = Rainy Day: what do they like to do on a rainy day?

Whines. He whines, lol. Truthfully, he doesn't mind the rain. He just doesn't want to be stuck inside. So you drag him up the tower where you can be sheltered but still be outside, technically. You cast a protective, warming, moisture wicking spell and it's all fine. Until his love for you gets the best of him and he tries to get frisky. You threaten to throw him over if he doesn't stop pinching your butt.

S = Sad: how do they cheer themselves/each o ther up.

He cheers himself up by sticking to you like glue. You cheer him up by telling him how much you love him. He cheers you up with the most delicious treat to ever deliciously treat.

T = Talking: what do they love to talk about?

He's a whore of a gossiper, lol. And he knows everyone so he's always got it. As quidditch obsessed as he is, you'd think he'd talk about that. But nope. It's juicy gossip.

U = Unencumbered: What helps them relax?

Baking. Honestly. Baking. A trip to the kitchen and a little experimenting. Somehow baking up a cake or making some cookies puts him at ease.

V = Vaunt: what do they like to show off? What are they proud of?

Everyone knows he's amazing at quidditch but he loves to show you that he's intelligent.

Pranks are fine. Quidditch is fine. Magic is fine. But he knows you're impressed with the mind and so he enjoys acing things and making you swoon.

W = Wedding: when, how, where do they propose?

When: Every day from the moment you started dating him. Been calling you Mrs. James Potter since you were 14. The guys literally call you Mother Prongs or Mrs. Prongs.

But he really asks you one day seemingly out of the blue. Truthfully, he's been thinking about it for ages.

"I call you my wife. Everyone says you're Mrs. James Potter. But honestly, babe. That's something I think about all the time." "Are you asking me to marry you?" "Honestly, woman. I haven't even got the question out of my mouth and you're already questioning?" "James." "Give a lad a chance!" "James." "I mean-" "James Potter, if you don't ask me within the next five seconds I'm marrying Sirius." "How dare you!"

Still didn't ask you for six days out of spite and protest. So you acted like you were marrying Sirius.

He held strong until Sirius asked him to be the best man and he nearly killed him, lol.

X = Xylophone: What’s their song?

"My Girl" - The Temptations. And he sings it to you and whoever else who happens to have the unfortunate experience of being around..... Whenever, wherever. Quidditch? Hospital? Funeral? Grocery store? Just know that if it strikes him...he's singing it and you'll have to bare witness to his one man concert whenever he feels the need.

Y = You’re the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

"You're the snitch to my seeker, babe. Can't keep from trying to catch you." "You're a chaser, James." "And you're a keeper. Get it?" "Be very happy that I love you. No one else would put up with this level of cheese." "You got it, babe."

Z = ZZZZ: How do they sleep? Surprisingly light and usually not for very long. Years of quidditch has made him an early bird so he's usually up first. You hear his ass blundering around. But on the plus side, there's always hot tea for you when you do get up.

Hello darlings! Hope you enjoyed this little piece and have a wonderfully awesome day!

If you wanna see more of my content just check out my blogs! @littlemessyjessi is the main blog full of fandom fictions, imagines, headcanons and sickeningly sweet fluff! Yeah, I know, lol. Barf. But hey, I like it. @witchyweirdness is the magical blog full of witchy content And last but not least ! @monsterbaesbymamakennysaurus is my monster blog full of all kinds of monster related content! So I hope to see you there! Love, Kenny

@frankie2902

@pleasantdreamqueen @becrazy–beyou –beyou

@becrazy-beweird

@littledeadrottinghood @blackirisposts

@therealmrshale @woodworthti666

@jimmys-afterlife-love-deactivat @thegreatirene@fanfictionandjunk

@angelus320

@alanlizzingtonshore@buriednurbckyrd@disneymarina@@tubbypeachwriting

@sullybot @georgiagrl1990 @whenallsaidanddone

@mischiefnevermanaged94 @inumorph

@congurl

@centerhabit

@bubblymusiclover13

@meetcally

@qtmeryr

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@tnupsweetpie

@alisoncdariel

@hannahloveslife

@wormyboi

@blackirisposts

@maggyme13

@amethyst09

@lostdarksoul6

@fanfics1717

@coffeebooksandfandom

@gruffle1

@neeadinghugs

Love, Kenny

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skiesoftwilight · 5 years

Text

Performance Changes (Alexios)

Word Count: 1453

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“By the gods, (Y/N),” Alkibiades had gasped while he sauntered over to your place at the center of the room, “What have you done to yourself?”

His voice derailed your complex train of thoughts, causing a disgruntled sigh to escape your parched throat and look in his direction, “What are you going on about, Alkibiades? It better be important, I have things to do.”

“Oh, it is a very important matter,” He planted his soft fingertips on the edge of your desk and leaned forward slightly to get a better look at you, “It’s regarding your appearance.”

“That is not that important at the moment. I could care less how I look at the moment, my only concern is getting this paperwork done before the night is through, then I can worry about everything else.” You shook your head slowly as you continued to write, trying not to show your disinterest in the conversation your dear friend is trying to strike up.

“Well, it is a concerning matter to me,” His insisted, taking his hands off the desk and walking around your desk; you could feel his piercing gaze on you, but you didn’t let it bother you, “and once the people of Athens see one of it’s most influential aristocrat looking different, they would like to know what inspired the sudden change in your appearance.”

You slammed the feather down on the desk and let out a sigh of defeat; you knew he wasn’t going to drop the trivial subject, so you found it best to just surrender your attention to him and hear what he had to say.

“Okay, tell me what concerns you so.”

“Your hair.”

“Yes?”

“You have cut it. Why?” He whispered as if you two were discussing something topic secret, but it was only a common change that most have done to themselves, “Why would you do such a thing to yourself?”

“I had to for fighting reasons,” You simply stated, not bothering to divulge the juicy details that your dear friend was dying to know. “It helps me have a clearer mind while out on the battlefield and it’s more manageable.”

“But why? Does Alexios know?”

“I just told you,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose to help you calm yourself from getting worked up over your hair choices, “I did not tell Alexios that I got it done, he should be arriving soon so we can talk about some loose ends to tie up, he will see it then.”

As if right on cue, Alexios’ booming laughter came into the room along with Barnabas’. A gentle smile replaced the thin line you held on your lips; it was always a joy to see your partner and lover having a good time with his friends, he rarely had a moment to do so. Their laughter died down and their attention was drawn to you and Alkibiades sitting in the middle of the room. Their mouths fell slightly agape as they landed on you.

“Alexios, it is so good to see you, my friend.” Alikbiades quickly approached him and gave him a hug before backing away to let him still stare at you with astonishment. “I can see that you too have picked up on (Y/N)’s new hair style.”

You rolled your eyes as you came over to Alexios and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before stepping back to give Barnabas a bone-crushing hug. You guided them both to your desk where you took your seat and continued to write while Alkibiades talked with them on your hair.

“It is such a bizzare choice for them, is it not?”

“It is not bizzare at all, in my opinion, it looks good, (Y/N).” Barnabas commented, making you smile at him and thank him for being nice, unlike Alkibdiades who constantly talked about it as if it was one of the worst choices you’ve made in your life.

“Why did you cut?” Alexios questioned you as he came to walk around to run his finger through your Agaean sea-smelling (H/C) waves. A small chuckle fell from your lips the moment his calloused fingertips touched the base of your neck and traveled upwards to entangle them in your silky mane.

“Remember that malakas that grabbed me by my hair a couple days ago? I decided I never wanted to be put in that situation again, so I chopped it off, almost all of it.” You confessed, sending Alkibiades into a frenzy of gossip.

“I knew there was more to the story, a pretty good one actually, I thought you had done it just for the thrill.” He admitted as he went to stand by the entrance of the room.

“Yes, now you know, I did it to protect myself.” You threw your hands up in the air for a brief moment before reaching for the glass of wine that you had just poured moments before his entrance.

“I still have one lingering question that I must know,” He placed a hand across his chest as a sly smile came across his charming face, “What is Alexios going to tug on now during your wild escapades in the Captain’s quarters on the Adrestia?”

You choked on the wine that traveled down your throat and spit out the rest that was in your mouth. Alexios patted your back while he stared wide-eyed at you and his intrusive friend. Barnabas’ mouth dropped open and his face turned red at the question.

“Alkibiades!” You shouted at him while he just gave you a straight face that showed his amusement at your reaction. “That is none of your business.”

“I just thought to ask… unless Alexios, they do the hair-pulling?”

Alexios’ face turned a rosy red and tried to hide it in his shoulder as he turned around to act as if he was coughing. You slammed your fist on the desk to show some of the irritation you had let build up at Alkibiades’ conversation, but the rosy blush that was displayed on your face said otherwise.

“Is that what you two are doing everytime I try to come and talk to you two? You know you keep the crew up at night with all--”

“That is enough! It is time for the both of you to go.” You stood up from your chair and quickly ushered them out the door and shut it closed, locking it for safe measures. You could hear their muffled voices from behind the door talking about how you and Alexios were going to have another escapade right at the moment; you had to yell at them to leave, which they did willingly, all while chuckling.

A heavy sigh fell from your lips the moment you saw Alexios sitting on the edge of your desk, still displaying that rosy blush that he had from the conversation. You approached him slowly all while shaking your head, chuckling lowly under your breath.

“I cannot believe he just openly asked that…” He said, looking at you for your own reaction, “in front of each other too.”

“It was Alkibiades, what did you expect?” You sighed, letting your soft hand rest on his arm while your head lay upon his shoulder.

“You’re right, I should’ve known better.” He chuckled before letting his own head rest upon yours.

“We, need new friends…” You chuckled, “ones that won’t meddle in our private lives.”

“Yeah, but with our popularity all across Greece, they are the best we can get and I won’t have it any other way, you know it as well.” Alexios stated, grabbing your hand to bring it up to his lips and give it a soft kiss.

Silence took over the room for a brief moment, before Alexios coughed and spoke, “That is a good question though, what am I going to pull?”

“Alexios!”

You slapped his chest and chuckled as he flashed his small smile your way, “I just thought to ask you myself and get an answer.”

Your blush returned and grew deeper as your thoughts started going through your mind, “You do not need a thing to pull, you have many places to hold on to.”

You smirked at him and placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips before backing away to go into the other room that held all of the luxurious cushions and bedding. He shook his head as he pushed himself off of your desk and slowly trailed you.

“Let’s see how many ways I can hold you.”

Let’s just say that you weren’t getting that paperwork done by the night and Barnabas wasn’t going to be seeing you until the afternoon the next day.

#Assassins creed #Assassins creed imagine #AC: Odyssey #Alexios #Alexios imagine #Alexios x reader

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halliemoo-blog · 4 years

Text

Jeff.

Once upon a time, in the patriotic state of Ohio, there lived a boy named Jeff. Jeff was sad. He did not have any friends. During lunchtime, he would often wander the halls at Revere High all by himself. Jeff was a very secluded, soft spoken fellow, and found it difficult to relate to others. Although he was a polite boy, and a bright student, the other kids would tease him, and call him cruel things like “creepy” or a “freak.” He was ignored by his family at home and was left feeling very alone. During his teen years, he frequently turned to alcohol in order to numb his pain. Being attracted to other boys didn’t help him to fit in either. Even in the late 70s, after the revolutionary period of “free-love”, many people remained unaccepting of those who liked the same-sex. Throughout his high school years, Jeffrey had felt he was living a lonely, seemingly worthless existence. That is, until one fateful morning.

It was Monday, June 10th, 1978. School was almost over. “Just a few days left until graduation, then I’m outta here,” Jeffrey muttered to himself as he rose from his bed and combed his hair. He dressed in his simple striped sweater and jeans, and put on his clear aviator eye-glasses, and was soon out the door. Mere moments after he stepped into the school’s foyer, Jeff was shoulder checked into a nearby locker by a larger, intimidating looking boy. While expecting to be punched or spat on, Jeff quickly blocked his face and cowered against the locker doors. He was surprised to see the boy just standing there staring at him, smiling. Not the sneers or condescending smirks that he was used to seeing, but a friendly, eyes-twinkling smile. “Watch where you’re going...nerd,” said the boy. He made sure no one was looking and quickly winked at Jeff, and continued on his way. Jeffrey was stunned. He couldn’t do anything but stare at the handsome boy as he walked further and further away. Jeffrey recognized him. He was popular. An athlete too. His eyes focused closer in on the boy’s arms and back, so toned that he could see the boy’s muscles through his varsity jacket. “He’s got such a… fascinating body.” Jeff thought to himself as he felt a small smile stretch across his face.

The bell rang, and Jeff and twenty or so other students filed into their Consumer Ed class, where they sat through another one of Mr.Johnston’s “motivational” lectures. Most of Jeff’s classmates had long since stopped paying any attention, most of them sleeping or passing notes. Jeffrey would usually ignore his teacher’s monotonous voice too after a while, but this time, something he said caught the high schooler’s attention. “...and so everyone, senior year is almost finished. It’ll soon be time to go off into the world and provide for yourselves. If there was any advice I could offer you all, it would be to find something you are passionate about, and do what makes you happy.” Do what makes you happy. Nobody had ever said that to Jeff before. Much of his life decisions had been made for him, from where he lived to how he dressed and what he ate. This newfound feeling of insight inspired Jeff to finally take control of his life. He had been playing by other people’s rules for far too long. It was time to make a change.

School was finally out, and Jeffrey was on his usual way to the bus stop when he stopped suddenly. The boy, the handsome athlete, was on his way home. Now normally, Jeff would just stand, stare, and fantasize about his interaction once he was alone in his bedroom. This time though, the timid boy felt a shock of adrenaline course through his veins. Without so much as a second thought, Jeff bolted after him.

“Uh...hey. Hi.” Jeffrey stammered once he caught up to the boy.

“Hey! How’s it going? The name’s... Balmer, right?” He replied, quizzically.

“Um, Dahmer actually. Jeffrey Dahmer.” Jeffrey corrected, more sure of himself this time.

“Cool, cool. I’m Hicks, Steve Hicks.” said Steve Hicks.

A few awkward back-and-forths later, Jeffrey eventually worked up the courage to invite Steve over for a beer, to which he enthusiastically agreed. There would be no one else home until late that evening, so Jeff had plenty of time to spend with his new friend in private. Up until then, Jeffrey had never even kissed a boy, much less slept with them. Jeff was so nervous, but Steve was so handsome and muscular. So strong, and yet so gentle. Jeffrey quickly gave in to his curiosity, and as he was led by Steve to the bedroom, he locked the door behind them.

Steve was in complete euphoria. He had never felt so incredible in his life. He lay there with a large grin on his face, breathing heavily, but when he looked over at the boy he had just made love to, Jeff looked more as if he had just stubbed his toe than lost his virginity.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Hicks asked, concerned.

“I just… I just want to do what makes me happy.” Jeff murmured.

“Hey, come on now.” Steve reassured, sitting up. “You don’t have to feel bad. One day they’ll understand, and we won’t have to hide who we are from people.”

“No, it’s, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I want to do what makes me happy, but I’m worried that it’ll make me a bad person”

“That what will? Come on, you can be honest with me. I promise I won’t get freaked out.” Steve said as he stroked Jeffrey’s hair.

“I wanna…”

“Yeahh…?” Hick’s leaned closer, eyebrows raised.

“I want to see what you’re like on the inside.”

“Awhahaw, you’re so cute Jiffy, how on earth could you think that makes you a bad person?” he chuckled.

“No. No.” said Jeffrey, growing frustrated. “I want to see your insides. I want to know what they look like. I want to open you, and compare your body with Josef’s. I want to see if white people’s insides are the same as black people’s insides.”

Steve exhaled sharply out of his nose. “Haha, good one Jeffrey. I don’t know if it’s one of your better ones, though, this one sounds...pretty messed.”

“I’ve been practicing with squirrels in the shed.” Jeff continued. “The acid works in dissolving them so I can collect their bones easier but - they’re just so small.”

“Ohhkay Jeff.” Steve said as he rose from the bed, his pace quickening. “I knew that you were an odd ball from the get go but this is just, this isn’t right. You need help man. I-I’ve gotta go.”

“No...please don’t leave.” Jeffrey said calmly, rising and following Hicks to his bedroom door.

The door wouldn’t open. Steve’s breath got caught in his throat. He couldn’t open the door. It was locked, and the key was nowhere in sight. He was trapped. Trapped with someone who wanted to cut him open and feel his insides. Steve tried repeatedly to break down the door, but to no avail. His aggregated yelling and cursing soon turned into quiet sobs and desperate pleas for his life. Jeffrey was getting annoyed. Why couldn’t he just be quiet? This certainly wasn’t making him feel happy. To finally silence his former muse, Jeffrey promptly slammed a dumbbell into his base of his head.

Jeffrey was in complete euphoria. He had never felt so incredible in his life. He lay there with a large grin on his face, breathing heavily. As he looked over at the boy he was about to cut open, he only became more excited. His mind kept tracing back to the satisfying “crunch” that emanated from the dumbbell as it made impact with the young man’s skull. The bloody gurgles and twitches he made as the life slowly drained from his face. Jeff writhed with pleasure just thinking about it. For years, Jeffrey had had to hide who he is from the world. His desire for human contact constantly neglected. His scientific curiosity confined to only exploring squirrels, roadkill and the neighbourhood cats. Not anymore. He has finally decided to put his own happiness first, and what a spectacle it was. Slowly, hands shaking with anticipation, he took a kitchen knife in his hand and plunged it into Steve’s chest.

There was just so much. So much to hold, to explore. His insides were warm and wet, and a few of them were still throbbing. They were so much larger than the squirrels he had dissected previously. Jeffrey gazed in wonder, marvelling at the unique shapes, colours, and sounds of Hicks’ organs. They sounded so different. Steve’s insides uttered a lower, heavier sonority, while the small animals’ bodies produced a softer, higher pitch. Jeffrey was anxious to take him out into the shed and pull him apart. He knew that now he could get a much better view of the flesh dissolving in the jars of acid without all the fur which normally covered it. Steve was oh so handsome, and he tasted even better. Raw, he tasted like sweet, juicy veal. Cooked, like honey ham and smoky game. Jeff just couldn’t get enough of him. He continued to make love to his gorgeous body even after it had been cut open. His eyes were just so striking that Jeff plucked and swallowed them whole. The bones were so strong and shiny that Jeffrey decided to keep and use them as decorations throughout his home.

For the next decade Jeffrey would continue doing what makes him happy, and each time he got to know the insides of a new handsome man, his feelings of delight would only continue to grow. Jeff was lucky enough to meet sixteen other attractive young men after his epiphany of pursuing happiness had occurred. Yes, Dahmer had finally chosen to do what it was that brought him joy. Had it not been for those inspiring words spoken by his Consumer Ed teacher in twelfth grade, he may have never made the decision to do so, and he certainly would not be the household name that he is today.

#horror gore jeffrey

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