#What to do if You Run Head-First Into Napoleon

[klutzyroses]

IkeVamp HCs: Virgin S/O

How do they react when they find out their s/o is a virgin during their first time and was embarrassed to say anything?

Suitors: Napoleon, Arthur, Comte, Charles

Warnings: NSFW, loss of virginity, Minors DNI

He froze when Y/N let it slip that she had never been with a man before. And she decided to tell him this now?

Napoleon

He hovered over her for a second, his eyes watching her nervous orbs twinkling with trepidation and...appeared a little glassy.

He had noticed she seemed hesitant to take off her clothes and he had assumed it was because she was nervous that it was her first time with him as his lover.

Not her first time at all.

He reached down and held her face in his hands, looking into her eyes with a stern look. He wasn't mad, or disappointed, he was just... concerned.

"Nunuche...why didn't you say anything?"

"I...I just...It's embarrassing and I don't know what to do and...I.."

His heart panged a little when he saw the mist in her eyes thicken with shame.

He found it worrisome that she would lie about this, luckily, they had only just gotten through foreplay when she made her accidental confession.

He would've felt terrible if he had only found out after it was all said and done.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Nothing at all."

He pressed his forehead to hers, sighing.

"Geez, don't lie to me about this kind of thing. I could've hurt you, nunuche."

He won't say it, but he feels a bit proud, to be her first and her last, which is why he will be sure to be gentle with her and make it special, so that he can show her just how much she means to him.

Arthur

Um...do we remember what Arthur said in his first chapter? Because Y/N most certainly did.

Which was why when Arthur had her under him, his dexterous fingers sliding under her panties to feel her wetness as he slipped the first in slowly, he paused when he felt something...unusual.

Y/N watched the slight confusion swimming through the sapphire eyes before they widened with the realization that he had just made contact with her fully in tact hymen.

"Y/N...?"

"I...Arthur...um..."

She stuttered and bit her lip, trying to come up with an excuse. She flinched when he levelled her with a slightly hurt look that caused her to tear up.

"You could've told me, you know?"

"B...But you said...you preferred..."

Now it was Arthur's turn to flinch. Yes, he remembered what he had said the first night they met. There were so many things he did wrong that night and it seems one of the things he said stuck with his beloved long after the fact.

"I thought if you knew, you wouldn't want to...I mean."

"Oh Y/N...Darling, no..."

The amount of kisses and cuddling she received contained every ounce of regret for putting those ideas in her pretty head.

"I'm sorry luv. Let me make it up to you. "

He slides his fingers through hers as he wipes away a stray tear.

"It'll hurt at first, but I promise, this will be an experience you won't forget in a long, long time."

And he most definitely made sure of that. Once the pain dissipated, Y/N is almost drowned in more ecstasy than she knew what to do with.

Comte

The master of the mansion had his suspicions but they weren't confirmed until he had asked her directly just as he started unlacing her dress for her.

He knows it's not... uncommon for people to lie about these things, and while it was easier for men to get away with it but women...

Indeed, it'd be quite difficult to lie successfully about her virginity.

Which is why he asked in the first place, running a finger down the line of her back, tickling her smooth skin.

When met with her uneasy silence, he sighed and gently turned her to face him.

"Had I not asked, would you have told me yourself, ma cherie?"

The slow shake of her head caused a flicker of sadness to mar his visage as he caressed her cheek.

"Ma cherie, that isn't very responsible. You should tell me these things."

"I always wanted...to give it up to someone special...like you and now I feel...It's pathetic!"

Having travelled to her time before, he was somewhat aware that there was something of a stigma around women maintaining their virginity past a certain age, so he understood where she was coming from...but still...

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, ma beaute. I'm actually honored that you deem me worthy of being your first. But please be more honest about it. I loathe to think what would have happened had I hurt you out of ignorance."

He tucked her hair behind her ear, cupping her soft red cheek with a tender smile.

He would take care of her and make it the best she would ever experience. After all, he had every intention of not just being the first, but also the last.

Charles

Unfortunately, by the time Charles realized that his belle was as untouched as freshly laid snow, he was already inside her....oops.

He just taken notice of the pain all over Y/N's beautiful face and froze in his place before becoming aware of the ominous slickness down there. One glance at the bit of bleeding sent a chill down his spine as it hit him.

"Y...Y/N, you're a...I'm sorry, I didn't realize!"

He is so apologetic, peppering kisses all over her teary face as she shakily lets out a few whimpers, each one sending a cut into his heart.

"You...didn't realize...because I didn't tell you. It's not...your fault."

Her squeaky, pained reassurance did little to assuage his worries.

Charles remained as still as could be, not wanting to tear or break anything else. His large, cat-like eyes were wide, mournful and his lover feared he would also start crying.

"B...But why didn't you, now you're bleeding! I'm so sooo sorry!"

"I...I just felt...I thought it was embarrassing. I never did this before, because I wanted...to give it to someone who loved me and I know that you're more experienced than me and I..."

She couldn't continue before she had to bite down on her lip to restrain another onslaught of pained noises. She got her point across though, because Charles understood.

"Please don't be embarrassed! It's really sweet and I'm really happy you're letting me be the one to...Just...please don't lie to me anymore..."

Now, he actually did look like he was going to cry, nuzzling her like a love starved kitten, his tongue darting out to flick away a tear on her cheek.

Y/N swallowed thickly as she responded with a jerky nod.

Charles was always going to smother her with love, but now, she might as well have been gold. He will bend over backwards to make sure her first time with him would be earth shattering to make up for the pain.

🌸

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp comte #ikevamp charles #ikevamp headcanons

[ellethespaceunicorn]

I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

Title: I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader

Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: Napoleon wines and dines.

Warnings: barely any 60s references so if you were looking for that I'm sorry, incorrect table manners, a little bit of Daddy kink, unprotected p-in-v because these are fictional characters

A/N: The title is taken from the song “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl” by Nina Simone. Literally the naughtiest and sweetest title at the exact same time. A very sexy song, if you have never heard it, do yourself a favor!!! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @saradika

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

“What is a lovely little rose like you doing all alone in a place like this?” 

The voice startles you as you sip your espresso at the corner cafe. Of course, being alone in a cafe had its downsides. This wasn’t the first time you were approached here. This wasn’t the first time you were approached today, even. You look up to see who the voice belongs to and you almost drop your teeny cup.

The jawline alone had your panties in a cinch. But the eyes, those are what draw you in. The blue of his eyes was like out of a painting, and you could hardly say you’d ever seen anyone with a tiny golden-brown spot in their left eye. Was that his only flaw? From here, it appeared so. The suit he wore was perfectly tailored. His shoes were shiny like a new penny. You were shaken from your ogling by his voice again.

“Have I passed inspection, Miss…?” You give your name and he tests it out on his tongue. “A beautiful name for a beautiful rose,” With a flick of his wrist, a gorgeous and very real rose appears in his hands and he hands it to you.

You sputter out a laugh as you reach for the rose. He tilts his head as he watches you lift the flower to your nose, inhaling its sweet scent. He walks around the table and sits across from you, almost daring you to tell him to get lost. But, of course, you don’t. You are delighted to see where this may lead.

“So, what is a man dressed so well doing talking to a girl like me? Surely, you must be on your way to some type of important, or at least, fancy meeting?” You sit back, eyeing the man whose name you still haven’t caught.

“I’ll let you in a little secret. I’ve seen you here before. I know you go to the local college and after class, you like to stop here for an espresso before boarding a train back to wherever it is that you live. You’ll be happy to know I have not followed you back to your home. But, sometimes you get a sweet treat. A cinnamon roll on Mondays, perhaps a cherry and cheese danish on Wednesdays, but on Fridays? You spring for something devilish.” He ends his sentence just as your slice of devil’s food cake is set in front of you by the waiter.

��You really have been watching me. A girl with a different head on her shoulders may be nervous knowing she’s being watched. But, you don’t scare me,” you smile at him and start to dig into your cake, “If anything, I’d love to know why you find me so interesting. I mean, there are girls here with shorter skirts than mine.”

“The skirt wasn’t exactly what I was after,” his eyes linger on your mouth as your fork slowly glides back out of it, “Company. That’s mostly what I’m after. Your company. Not theirs.”

“I don’t even know your name, Mr…” You eagerly wait to hear the mysterious man’s name.

“I’ll give you my name, but I’ll need a promise that I may cook you dinner. No dinner, no name. And we act like this little conversation never happened,” he licks his lips, watching you watching him, “So, what do you say, my little rose? Will I introduce myself or will I walk off, doomed to enjoy dinner alone?”

You set down your fork, suddenly uninterested in the last bite of your cake. But instead of pushing the plate to the side, you run your pointer finger through a bit of the icing left behind. Raising your hand and pushing your chair back, you saunter over to the man’s chair. Sitting in his lap, much to the chagrin of the other couples on the terrace. You wipe the icing on his bottom lip. Leaning in while keeping eye contact, you lick away the chocolate until you take his bottom lip between your teeth. His eyes close for but a second and the slightest grunt escapes between his lips and into your mouth.

“I believe I’ve made my intentions clear but I’ll make sure they are crystal. I’m not some delicate flower, I can handle myself. And as handsome and mysterious as you are, if you try anything I don’t feel comfortable with, I’ll handle you as well. We have an understanding, I presume?” 

“You presume correctly. And please, I didn’t call you a poppy or a tulip. You’re a rose. A beautiful flower, but the thorns are treacherous. I’ll make sure you keep those at bay.”

“You owe me a name, pretty boy.” You insist, adjusting your seating in his lap and feeling a hefty bulge underneath you.

“Napoleon Solo.”

“Let’s go, then, Napoleon. I’m famished and I could use something a bit more substantial than that tiny slice of cake.”

Napoleon rises, his hands on your hips as he sets you on your feet. He waits for you to pick up your belongings, walks around the table, and grabs your hand to lead you off the terrace. He walks you to his car, opening the door for you to get in. This was your last chance to change your mind, but, you were having way too much fun.

You ride to his apartment building, and a valet takes the keys to his car before he opens the door for you to exit. A swanky place where it looks like the only people who can afford to stay here must have Esquire or some kind of title attached to their name. You decide to toss caution to the wind because it isn’t like you are staying here. It’s Napoleon who is, and you are is his guest.

You take the elevator up, making out with the tall and gorgeous stranger. The elevator rises as well as his hand up your skirt. Just as his hand reaches the top of your thigh, the elevator signals your arrival on the fourth floor. Napoleon takes your hand and leads you to Apartment 412. He unlocks the door and lets you enter first.

“So, my little rose, I was thinking for dinner I will make us Beef Bourguignon. And for dessert, what say we make it up as we go along?”

“As long as you don’t expect me to do all the cooking, I’m happy to sit back and eat and be merry, Napoleon.”

“Perfect, my little rose. Feel free to make yourself a drink, and do turn on some music. I do better with a bit of background noise.” 

You busy yourself with making an Old Fashioned, finding everything at your fingertips and ready to go. You take a sip and groan inwardly as the bourbon warms your insides. You walk from the little makeshift bar into the kitchen and offer Napoleon a sip. He applauds your drink-making skills and ushers you back out to the record player as he dons an apron and begins to cook.  

You busy yourself with looking at records while soon the smells of sauteed beef reach your nostrils. You only refresh your drink once while listening to Nina Simone Sing the Blues. Her dulcet tones woo you as the bourbon in your drink loosens you up. You don’t notice that you are being watched as Napoleon walks over and fixes himself a White Russian.

He watches as you sway and sing along with Nina. It’s only a matter of time before the timer in the kitchen sounds and he leaves you to your enjoyment of the music. He makes your plates, sets the table, and lights the few candles that sit therein. He pours you both a glass of pinot noir. His last step is to come and beckon you to your dinner. He does so by sidling up behind you and placing his hands gently on your shoulders as his lips dip down to your ears.

“Dinner’s ready, my little rose.” He takes your hand and leads you to the table, pulling your chair out for you in a gesture that wasn’t necessary but is quite romantic. If you weren’t already a bit light-headed from the Old Fashioned, that would have done it!

“Napoleon, this smells amazing. Are you sure you didn’t have some minions in the kitchen helping you to prepare this?”

“I promise, it was just me. Try it, tell me if it needs anything.”

You take a bite of the aromatic beef stew and it melts in your mouth. You can’t exactly help the satisfied groan that escapes your lips, much to the enjoyment of Napoleon.

“I take it you like it then?” The smug smile looks good on him, damn that man.

“Oh, I like it, Mr. Solo. You sure know your way to this woman’s heart. And that is through her stomach.”

He raises his glass of wine, and you raise yours as well. “To my little rose, may she only leave here satisfied. In every which way she chooses to be.”

You clink your glass against his and take a sip, knowing full well that you are going to sleep with this man before the night is over. Or at least, you hope to. You’d like to see what his face looks like in the throes of passion. And there is nothing sexier than a man who knows how to engage all of your senses in one meal.

You finish dinner and wipe your mouth, feeling for all the world like a stuffed pig. You were happy and you were tipsy and you wanted Napoleon to know just how grateful you were. But weren’t you promised dessert?

“So, dessert then?” You ask. 

“You stay seated, I’ll get these out of the way before we start on dessert.” Napoleon wipes his own mouth and comes to collect your plates and take them to the kitchen. When he comes back to the table, he easily pulls your chair back and lifts you easily onto the dining room table. At your look of confusion, he smirks yet again. “Did I not tell you that I would be enjoying you as dessert, my little rose?”

“No, I don’t believe you mentioned that. But, I do believe we both will enjoy that. Do your worst,  Mr. Solo.” You position your thighs for Napoleon to remove your panties. He sits in your chair, pulling himself up to the table and setting your legs over his shoulders. 

He kisses your thighs slowly until you are whimpering for him to take you out of your misery. He obliges by pulling your ass to the very edge of the table and using the flat of his tongue to lick a strip up your sex. An inhuman sound exits your mouth and you have absolutely no fucks to give at this point. 

“You taste like Heaven, my little rose,” he kisses your swollen nub and looks up at you, “but how do you feel?” He uses a single finger to circle your button a couple of times before drawing a line to your entrance. He enters your core slowly and his finger is a perfect fit. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to start to open you up. He starts to kiss and suck at your clit until your hand finds purchase in his chestnut locks. He lets you pull him down into your pussy, savoring every little spasm of your canal. 

Before long, a second and a third finger join the first and your moans bounce off of the walls. With one curve of his fingers, he finds your inner bundle of nerves and you reward him with a squeezing of your cunt and the melody of your orgasm. He licks up every drop of your nectar off you, and as he pulls out his fingers, he sucks them dry as well.

He stands, unbuttoning his slacks and fisting his cock while looking at your sweet blissed-out little face. “Can my little rose take some more dessert?”

“Yes, Daddy, please?” You whine, wrapping your legs around Napoleon’s waist and drawing him closer.

“That’s my good little rose,” he praised, lining himself up and entering you swiftly, “Ohhhhh, you take me so well. Best dessert I’ve ever had.”

He leans down to kiss you as he pulls out slightly and slams back in, swallowing your moans. Holding your face in his hands, he begins a steady rhythm inside you and hits your spots as if you had created his dick in a lab in some odd science experiment.

Soon, he drags orgasm after orgasm out of you until all you can say is Daddy and Yes. An endless stream of nonsensical noises comes out as well, but Napoleon is all too happy to commit those to memory while not commenting on them. He just continues to pound into you mercilessly, chasing his own release now that your juices cover the front of his slacks.

“Are you ready for Daddy to fill you?” He asks, a bruising hold on your hips as he plows into you.

“Yes, Daddy, yes!” You gasp, tears falling down your cheeks as you are overstimulated.

“Fuuuuuck, such a good little rose!” He exclaims as his hips settle flush against yours. 

You can feel every twitch of his dick as he empties inside you. You watch as the sweat from his brow drips down his temple as his eyes close. You hear his breathing pick up as he tries to steady himself. The heady scent of sex in the air intoxicates you. You grab him by the tie and pull him down to kiss you. All five senses are ablaze with Napoleon Solo.

Your hand through his hair is what allows him the strength to open his eyes again. He looks at you as though you hung the moon. He remains inside you as he slots his lips against yours before resting in the crook of your neck.

“Gotta love a man that cooks. You can always stuff me twice.” You laugh, not being able to stop yourself from accidentally pushing Napoleon out of you.

“Really? A joke right now?” He laughs, standing to his full height and looking down to see his spend leaking out of you.

“I couldn’t help myself, Mr. Solo. It just…came to me.”

“I bet, my little rose.” He helps you down from the table and ushers you to the bathroom as he cleans the rest of the table up.

You clean yourself up and meet Napoleon back in the living room as he sits on the couch. You enjoy listening to some more music and having a few more drinks with him, forgetting all about your train home. 

You wanted a little sugar in your bowl, after all. And you got it and then some. This man was sweet enough to give you cavities ten times over and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

[@mayloma @littlefreya I tagged you both because of the reblogs earlier lol]

**Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list and for what plz  😁**

#henry cavill #henry cavill characters #napoleon solo #napoleon solo x reader #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #napoleon solo fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #napoleon solo fanfiction #the man from uncle fanfic #the man from uncle fanfiction #napoleon solo fic #the man from uncle #i want a little sugar in my bowl

[cellarspider]

12/?? Things come to a head

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬

We return to that shambling mass of a film, Prometheus.

Content warnings for body horror, contagion-y stuff, something that loosely be described as medical horror, It’s Been 0 Days Since Our Last Incident, and me, going on a ramble about movie gore to distract myself from The Madness.

There's a lady in this scene who's had a number of speaking lines so far–the maybe-chemist. She has a name, but it doesn’t matter.

But I'm going to call her Doctor Frankenstein.

They have just got the helmet off the head, revealing that it’s truly, unmistakably humanoid. They have noted that there are “new cells” on the head. In the business, we call that “decomposition”, but Doctor Frankenstein is not concerned with this. In fact, she immediately proposes a new plan.

Doctor Frankenstein has had the brilliant idea to plug a big cable into the head like it’s a guitar amp, and zap it with electricity to wake it up.

Yes. This is what the movie goes with.

You know, Alien included a similarly shambolic first examination of an alien subject, but it was performed because said alien was attached to a man’s face, and all they had to try and fix that was the contents of a cargo ship’s medbay, with the only qualified personnel being the corporate android who had been ordered to consider the crew expendable. The crew of the Prometheus has no such excuse.

Well, except for David, he has precisely the same excuse, but he’s not trying to poke wires in anybody’s ears.

Doctor Frankenstein calls for enough amperage to run three electric kettles (cite 3), then all the way up to two Titan RTX graphics cards before the head starts to get what appears to be a massive migraine. 

I know this expression well, migraines can feel very much like someone is subjecting me to unnatural horrors.

This is getting a little extreme, though. Yes, when the head starts pulsing, they realize they may have made a mistake. 

I’d say this was inexplicable behavior on their part, unbelievably hasty and foolish–and I will say it, actually, it deserves to be said. But in context, this is the team that did so little prep for entering the alien structure that they didn’t notice the giant fuckoff skull carved into the outside of it.

Knowing how much Shaw and Holloway read into the intentions of the Engineers from the depictions they found on Earth, they probably would’ve interpreted this as a good sign, somehow.

Anyway, they put a sneezeguard down over the head before it explodes.

Good job everyone. This is like what would’ve happened if Napoleon’s savants took one look at the Rosetta Stone and decided “maybe we should try hitting it with hammers. Surely that’ll make the knowledge fall out.”

From a horror perspective, this scene only works in two contexts: First, gross-out. Generally found in schlock, exploitation, and outsider art flicks, the tone of gross-out content can be highly variable, but there are two general trends I'd mention, which are of relevance to this movie.

First, gross-out tends to exist in that weird alternate space where lots of comedy movies do: characters will behave in unreasonable ways for no apparent reason. Within the film, this is treated as the universal norm, besides maybe a straight man character who highlights the absurdity. Gross-out is often like that, but pushes different boundaries of acceptable behavior than a traditional comedy.

This is, bafflingly, what Prometheus increasingly feels like. It feels like it's transitioning into gross-out schlock, and yet it never goes all the way.

Second: the audience for gross-out is largely self-selecting. If you're watching John Waters' Pink Flamingos, you expect things to get messy. You are looking forward to things getting messy. A head exploding is perfectly par for the course in gross-out horror. One might even be disappointed if there wasn't an exploding head.

But again, this movie was not marketed on gross-out. It was marketed as a tense, Alien-esque horror movie. If you followed that premise like I did, you're not in the theater to view a debauched spectacle, you're there for the movie to put a well-paced squeeze on the characters and your nerves, where half the horror comes from having the room to really think about how frightening the core concepts of the series are.

Does Alien involve some shocking gore? Sure does! But in Alien, Kane's fate is not there to make you laugh and exclaim "ewww!" at how far the film's gone, the film tries to make you very aware of how horrifying his demise is.

So, there's an alternate way this scene works, if you're coming in from that perspective. I don't think the movie intended this as much as the gross-out, but it's what I drew from it at the time: the scene works if you decide not to focus your sympathies on the human characters at all, or even David, and think about it from the perspective of the head. 

It’s patently impossible that what they did actually “woke up” the brain inside that skull. But if we sink to the movie’s level and entertain the idea for a moment, what in the hell have they just done to this Engineer? The last thing the head would’ve remembered was running, falling, decapitation, and then this. They just tortured this poor bastard for no adequately explained reason. There’s none! “I think we can trick the nervous system into thinking it's still alive” is the entirety of the explanation. It makes about as much sense and seems as thoughtlessly violent as anything in Mad God (2021, content warning for body horror). 

I already spent all my anger about desecrating bodies in the name of shambolic pseudoscience, I have no more rage to give for now. And similarly in the theater, I hit my limit. I’d already hit a different limit back when they landed the Prometheus on top of some archaeology, but now I’d fully given up on this movie being what I’d hoped it would be. 

The maddening thing that keeps me obsessed with it is that it keeps throwing random scraps of that hypothetical movie into the mix anyway, bouncing me like a yo-yo between scenes. 

But for right now, the yo-yo is still on the descent. Having exploded the first sample of alien biology ever touched by science, they apparently stuck some of it in a generic, science-y DNA machine. What does the DNA machine tell them? 

“DNA match”. 

The movie does not actually explain what this means. It thinks it does, but in a very vague and handwave-y way that ends up being even more hilarious than if they’d just been out-and-out wrong. Because this is what I do for a living, I want to science at this for a bit. 

But I’ve written enough about it for an entire post on its own, so that will wait until next time.

⛬ 

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬ 

Citations for alt-text rambles, as well as some text-text rambles:

1. https://www.behance.net/gallery/78297841/Semiotic-Standard (contains a high-quality download for the symbols, should ye wish them for yourselves)

2. https://www.sculpturedepot.net/clay-wax-tools/product.asp?Steel_Tools 

3. Doctor Frankenstein calls for 30 amps first, then 40, then 50 in the space of several seconds. According to wikipedia, an electric kettle is about 16.6A, and a 288W high-performance graphics card would require 24A. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orders_of_magnitude_(current) That graphics card isn’t mentioned by name, but it matches up with the wattage reported by Tom’s Hardware for a Titan RTX (cite 4). Running with two of these things, you might be able to run 4k Ultra settings on some games without tanking your framerate. They could’ve been playing video games and seen way more exploding heads.

4. https://www.tomshardware.com/features/graphics-card-power-consumption-tested 

5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alien_(film)#Design

6. https://www.reddit.com/r/MovieDetails/comments/f4rf63/for_the_chestburster_scene_in_alien_1979_the/

7. https://i.pinimg.com/736x/8e/2f/9b/8e2f9b0716746aac7ce5b2f369bf4082--aliens--scene.jpg

8. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karyotype#Human_karyogram 

9. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centromere 

10. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centromere#Telocentric 

11. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G_banding 

12. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proteinogenic_amino_acid 

13. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hula_language

#Prometheus 2012 #Prometheus (2012) #This movie is a study in so much tonal dissonance #It was so pretty and yet so broken #insert Benoit Blanc “compels me though” meme here

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Francis Drake Main Story

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game. Expect grammatical errors.

Minor spoilers ahead.

I returned to the mansion alone and quietly closed the door.

(It was here that I first met Drake.)

(To think that this would also be where we part ways.)

As I touched the door that stood between him and me一

Napoleon: “Mitsuki!”

Mitsuki: “Napoleon, everyone.”

Everyone in the mansion rushed to join me.

Comte: “We got worried after reading your letter. Are you okay?”

Mitsuki: “Yes. I’m really sorry for worrying you.”

Vlad: “Mitsuki, did you go through the door?”

Napoleon: “Did you go after Drake?”

Mitsuki: “Yes. I went to settle things.”

Let’s rewind time a bit.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake was leading me through the dark hallway while holding my hand. After confessing our feelings on that cliff, we returned to the hallway that transcends time and space.

Mitsuki: “The mansion’s doors were experiencing some spatial anomalies, yet this place seems fine.”

Drake: “Probably because I’m here now.”

Tilting his head, he tugged at the harness belt wrapped around his shoulder and waist with his thumb.

Drake: “This thing acts as a stabilizer to keep us from getting lost in here. It’s keeping this place stable.”

Drake: “My genius partner created this.”

Mitsuki: “There’s such a thing?”

Drake: "Yeah. Well, his genius led him to bear a responsibility that went beyond simply designing a door."

(Is the person accompanying him the designer of the door?)

I heard Comte and Vlad build the door using a blueprint Vlad happened to come across.

Could it be that Galileo drew the original blueprint?

Drake: "So, what will you do, fawn?"

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Drake: "Right now, you can go wherever you want, whether it's the 19th century or the 21st century where you originally lived."

(----!)

Faced with an unexpected choice, I could only stand there, bewildered.

(The place I want to go...)

The place that came to mind was neither the 19th nor the 21st century.

Mitsuki: "I want to go to a certain place and confirm something."

Mitsuki: "It might be harsh for you, but..."

(I want to check it for his sake.)

The place I wanted to go was...

Drake: "This place..."

The location we visited was the garden of the old mansion一the place where Drake and his mother were captured.

Peering into that cruel hall from the garden, it seemed like the young Drake had already escaped, as there was no one there except for a woman crucified, her chest drenched in blood.

Drake: "You understand, right? We can't interfere with the past."

Mitsuki: "Yeah, I know."

He averted his gaze, seemingly avoiding facing whatever was in front of him.

This place probably still hurts him.

(I'm forcing him to confront painful and difficult memories.)

Even knowing that I was doing something terrible, I still held onto his hand and mustered my courage to step through the window into the room.

And then, amidst the choking smell of blood, we walked quietly toward his mother, her chest stained red.

(I really don't want to intrude at this moment.)

But if my guess was correct...

(I want him to know his mother's true feelings.)

She probably could no longer notice us as she was looking down, her tear-stained lips faintly moving.

Drake's mom: "That's right, run away, Francis."

Drake: "----!"

Drake's mom: "Sorry. I'm so sorry. Since giving birth to you, I've only brought you pain."

Drake's mom: "You can hate me, but please, survive."

Drake: "Mom..."

Drake's mom: "I love you, Francis."

With words of repentance and love, she breathed her last, uttering her son's name.

(Just as I thought.)

After shouting that she shouldn't have given birth to Drake, her lips seemed to move again, saying, "I'm sorry."

Mitsuki: "Maybe your mother tried to let you escape and intentionally pushed you away because she loves you."

This was the truth hidden behind the betrayal.

Drake: "Ha...hahaha..."

Drake: "Is this even possible?"

Drake dropped to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

(Believing in something is very difficult, especially when you're consumed by sorrow and anger.)

However, feeling his pain and learning about the hope he had held deep within his heart, I felt that I could confirm it once more.

(The difficulty of believing and the strength to overcome it.)

(My encounter with him taught me that.)

I leaned my cheek against his trembling back and gently hugged him, wanting to ease the despair he had been carrying since childhood.

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki."

Drake: "Is it okay for me to believe those words?"

Mitsuki: "Of course."

Drake's hoarse voice was both heartbreaking and precious.

Drake: "Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "Yeah?"

Drake: "Thank you. I'm glad I could hear those words."

Drake: "You've managed to overturn things again."

Drake: "Not that I mind, though."

(Drake...)

Gently narrowing his eyes, he held my hand and smiled.

It was a calm smile, different from his usual easygoing and fearless one.

This sight was probably the real him.

(His smile has always made my heart flutter, but right now I'm even more happy.)

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki."

Suddenly, his voice and expression turned serious.

Drake: "Loving you made me realize there's something in this world worth believing in."

Drake: "But, you know, my hatred and despair towards humans and vampires haven't completely disappeared from within me."

Mitsuki: "Yeah."

(Human emotions are not that simple.)

Even if a ray of light shines through, I don't think it can melt his frozen heart instantly.

Mitsuki: "But it's precisely because I've witnessed your despair that I want to be by your side."

Mitsuki: "I want to live together with you."

(Since he's someone who can even throw himself away, I want to be there to lighten his despair a little.)

Drake laughed as I stared at him with such hope.

Drake: "Haha! You really are a kind soul, aren't you?"

Drake: "I'm glad to hear you say that, but I'm sure you'll struggle with our incompatibility."

Mitsuki: "That's not..."

Drake: "You can't say that with absolute certainty."

Drake: "You've probably cried and suffered, knowing my betrayal and desires."

He traced my cheek with his finger, as if there were still traces of tears.

(Could it be...?)

My chest tightened in unease as I anticipated what he was trying to say.

He smiled, covering the sadness in his eyes, and continued.

Drake: "Making the woman I love cry is enough for one night."

Drake: "Besides, it wouldn't be fair if I go back and there's someone I can't just leave behind."

Drake: "It might not be enough to make up for what I've done with the guys, but I'll make sure their precious little treasure gets home safely. Then I will disappear from your life."

(........)

His gentle smile and determination made my chest ache.

(I could finally touch his heart, and yet...)

I decided not to betray this love, but...

Mitsuki: "Is that what you really want?"

Drake: "Haha! That's a sneaky question."

After letting out a smile, he held me tightly.

Drake: "I thought about kidnapping you to the end of the sea where no one could chase after us, but..."

Mitsuki: "Drake..."

Drake: "But you have your own future that you believe in."

Drake: "A future full of hope and positivity, a future I never wanted."

Drake: "That's why I can't stay by your side."

His strong embrace seemed to express that he didn't want to let go, but at the same time, it clearly conveyed that this would be our last encounter.

Drake: "Hey, Fawn, would you like to make one final bet?"

Mitsuki: "What kind of bet?"

He let go of me slightly and lifted my hand.

Drake: "The fate of this world diverges into countless futures."

Drake: "Will everything meet its demise as I wish, or is there at least one future filled with hope, as you believe?"

Drake: "It's a bet on an endless future."

(But that's...)

It's an uncertain and endless gamble that spans across time and countless futures.

(Oh, I see.)

(So, this is his way of saying goodbye.)

Drake: "If I win, I'll come to take you."

Drake: "When the world falls apart, you'll be by my side. I promise."

He confidently laughed and made an impossible promise.

I mustered my courage and also made a bold statement.

Mitsuki: "So if I win, you're mine?"

Drake: "........."

Mitsuki: "Your heart, your trust, and you. I want it all."

Mitsuki: "You'll give up your wish for destruction, live with me, and be mine alone."

(Will I take him or will I be taken by him?)

A bet where we seek each other, a bet that will never lead to a conclusion, and a promise only to engrave each other in parting.

Drake: "Haha! You're even more greedy than me, little fawn."

Drake: "Yes, your majesty, as you wish."

Drake: "When you win, you can have me."

With a tender gesture, he kissed the back of my hand.

In the hallway that spans between the past and the future, we silently gazed at each other and gently exchanged our final kiss.

---------Flashback Ends--------

Mitsuki: "After that, I parted ways with Drake on the other side of the door."

I recounted all the events that had taken place to Comte, Leonardo, and Vlad.

I told Drake's life as a Dhampir, his despair towards humans, vampires, and the world, his desire for destruction, and the existence of his companion named Galileo.

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry for being selfish."

Comte, with his fingers interlocked and listening intently, slowly nodded as though digesting my words.

Comte: "Thank you for telling us. So, you came back to the 19th century to convey all that."

Leonardo: "For Drake, the historical figures who interfere with history are not only targets of his hatred towards vampires but also crucial sources of the destruction he desires."

Comte: "So it seems that the one distorting fate is an everlasting flower, after all."

Mitsuki: "Comte, I don't think that's true. We can't predict how anyone will influence history."

Comte: "You're right. Thank you, Mitsuki."

Vlad: "I'm also wondering what the architect of the door, Galileo, was thinking when he leaped through time."

Vlad, pausing slightly, continued with a somewhat melancholic tone.

Vlad: "I used to think that dhampirs were born from the coexistence of vampires and humans striving for harmony. But even there, persecution arises. Why does the sorrow continue?"

Leonardo: "The divide between races is an eternal dilemma for not just vampires but all beings in this world."

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "The divisions among races are the root of fear and hatred. With that alone, anyone can become as cruel as they want."

Drake: "Whether human or vampire, their essence is the same. Hatred spreads through living beings as part of their nature."

---------Flashback Ends--------

I recalled the words Drake once uttered almost dismissively.

(There are humans who fear and hunt vampires, and there are purebloods who scorn humans.)

(And in between, there are dhampirs who lose their place.)

Through the incident with the hunters and Drake's past, I have witnessed the sad circumstances in which they persecuted each other.

(It's true that differences in race can give rise to fear and hatred, but...)

Mitsuki: "It's up to us to change the future. We can change it as much as we want."

Mitsuki: "I don't believe I have the power to change fate like Drake was talking about."

Mitsuki: "Even so, if the sad fate that originally existed somewhere has changed, I think it's because we, living in the same world, aimed for a better future together."

(Like the pureblood who loves humans, like Drake and I falling in love, we can coexist beyond our races and change towards a hopeful future.)

(We just need to believe.)

Believing made me feel connected to him, even though he was no longer here.

Leonardo: "That seems like something you would say."

Vlad: "True. Even if people call it idealistic, I want to believe that."

Smiling at each other, Comte looked at me with a slightly lonely expression.

Comte: "Should we leave Drake's room as it is?"

Comte: "A pirate needs a place to come home to, yeah?"

Comte's suggestion was probably out of concern for Drake and me.

(If Drake's place remains, even if just a little, I would feel a little comforted.)

Mitsuki: "Thank you, Comte."

(But...)

Despite expressing gratitude, my heart was tightly gripped with pain.

(Drake won't come back anymore.)

Previous Part ╎ Romantic End ╎ Dramatic End

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp drake #francis drake #ikevamp jp #ikevamp francis #ikevamp translations #cybird

[natimiles]

Hellooo it’s the same anon from before :)

I was wondering if you could write (only if you want to! No pressure whatsoever :D) platonic headcanons or scenarios for your favourite IkemenVampire boys with a gn!reader (age is up to you). I feel like our vampire men, however handsome they are, would also be great older brothers (albeit a bit outdated on technology ahaha)

Again, please don’t write this if you don’t want to :) it was just a thought in my head and I really enjoyed your work of the IkemenVampire characters with the reader that has a tattoo, but you take priority :D

-🥀 anon (if you allow it ofc)

Hii, dear 🥀

Sorry, I’m a slow writer haha. I was finishing another fanfic, but here we go!

Sometimes I feel they have a brotherly relationship when we’re not in their routes, so I really liked it! It's my first request, so that adds to the excitement, hahaha.

I wrote them separately, I hope it's how you wanted it (:

A gn!reader with a sibling-like relationship with them | Isaac, Mozart, Jean, Arthur, Theo and Vincent, and Napoleon

Tags: gn!reader; minor spoilers from their routes.

Isaac

He accepted Comte’s offer to have some alone time for peaceful work. With the little school he and Napoleon had set up, he didn't want any more responsibilities in his life. However, as always, things never seemed to go his way.

You’re stubborn and clumsy, and he can’t make sense of half the things you do. However, for some inexplicable reason, he’s intrigued by the challenge of understanding you. Before he knows it, you’ve become a part of his daily life.

You make sure he has all his meals and encourage him to leave his room sometimes, at least to go to the garden and get some sun on his skin. You even took care of him when he was sick, never leaving his side until he was better. You talk about what you remember studying about him in school and how he should consider being a professor here. You pester him until he does what you want and pretend to cry when he runs out of patience, just to make him feel bad for the outburst; but you’re also there when he needs to talk and always defend him from others (you’re the only one allowed to tease him about the apples).

“Hey, Newt, fancy a slice of apple pie?” You managed to get Arthur to stop calling him that. You might’ve even threatened him.

He always looks for you now, whether he needs advice about his new job, has a problem, or wants to grab a meal at that downtown cafeteria. He’s happy when you seek him out for advice or to hang out on a day off. Having you around is comforting; he’s no longer alone. You’re the family he’s always wanted, and he’ll protect you with everything he has, which mainly involves glaring at others while blushing (this man is not a fighter). He still enjoys spending time alone, working. He’s aware that you’ll come looking for him if he spends too much time locked in his room.

He probably won’t say much if you meet someone you like; he’s not overprotective. However, he’ll attempt to meet them to determine if they’re a good person (he might even call Napoleon to help him with this).

Mozart

When you arrived at the mansion, things were lively, and he despised it. You’re a troublemaker; it’s obvious. Comte once warned them about how dangerous it could be to cross the door without him because they could get lost. Yet, you managed to cross it by accident! Looking back, that was a red flag already, but you keep doing stupid things every time, so it’s hard to say which one really is the red flag. He should stay away, but for some reason, he feels an urge to protect you.

As time passes, and he grows accustomed to your presence (and your chocolates, ahem), he realizes that you’re not only his new best friend but also family. In his first life, he was the youngest son and was very close to his sister, so he finds solace in your company and the new sibling-like relationship you share. 

You two are joined at the hip in no time. You’re definitely his favorite person in the world now. Congrats, you got yourself an overprotective brother — but he means well. Arthur touches you? Mozart’s there in a second with a handkerchief in hand, ready to clean you of those scoundrel’s germs. You cut your finger? He helps you bandage it. Are you taking care of the violets in the garden? He’s there beside you, keeping you company while he composes a new piece.

He loves playing for you and always shows you his new pieces first. Your opinion means a lot to him, even though you may not be as versed in music as he is. If you encourage him to play and attend more aristocratic parties, he might even give it a shot. His trips downtown have become easier since you helped him overcome his fear of carriages, so he’s gradually getting used to them.

He might even teach you a thing or two on the piano if you’re interested, so you two can play together for the residents, just as he used to do with his sister. He’s a surprisingly patient and kind teacher. It’s a side he only reveals to you and Jean, and even the soldier never sees his friend smile fondly at anyone else.

God help the person that falls in love with you. He won’t be creepy about it, but he’ll be condescending until he’s certain they deserve you and his trust. The two of you now understand Theo and Vincent a little bit better.

Jean

He’s confused about why you want to be friends with him. He doesn’t think he deserves it, yet you persist, and something inside him just allows it. As you start teaching him how to write and read, he notices how patient and kind you are.

He’s the sweetest brother you could get. He feels like you’re his older sibling (and probably is, considering how young he died). He will protect you whenever you need, after all he’s a trained soldier. He shows you his diary and everything he writes. He asks for advice and always listens intently to what you have to tell him, because you don’t judge him even when he’s having a bad day. He’s interested in your stories about the future, he can’t understand how there’s such technology (the poor guy lived in a century that didn’t even have electricity yet).

You help in his shop when you can and you take care of him. You’re the only person who can actually make him eat/drink something, at least some blanc so he doesn’t starve himself again. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. He doesn’t want you to leave him and lose another family, so he makes an effort to care at least a little bit about himself, and you praise him every time you notice it.

A customer asks for something he doesn’t know how to write yet? “Wait a minute, please, I’ll ask my sibling how to write it.” And the customer is confused, because he didn’t know Jean had a sibling.

If you fall in love, he’ll be so happy for you! Obviously, he’ll be wary of them at first, but he’s such a chill brother. He’ll miss spending more time with you, but he’ll be happy to know you’re happy.

Arthur

Chaos. That’s what happened ever since you two met. Comte might have lots of gray hair now, because of you.

He tries to scare you out of the mansion, but you laugh. He hits on you, you yawns. He threatens to bite you, you bite him first and he yelps so loud, everybody came to see what happened. And when you challenge him to a game, he doesn’t lose but it’s really close.

He is observant and really smart, so he notices fast that he really enjoys your company and wants to hang out with you more, even though he doesn’t see you in a romantic way. You make him feel confident about himself again, like his own writing, and even consider being a doctor once more. He protects you from the idiots and teaches you all he knows about card games, and you actually win twice. That’s his sibling!

You become his partner in crime, but don’t think he lets you do everything you want. He’s actually really responsible when it comes to you. He locks himself in his room sometimes, but when you do it he drags you out and makes you eat something. If you’re sick, he takes care of you and sleeps on the floor beside your bed until you’re good again. Once Isaac tried to bite you when you cut your hand, and he just put his hand in front of Isaac’s mouth to protect you. When you go out to the pub with him and Theo, no one dares coming close to you, they know your brother can be scary when he wants.

You’re going out with someone? He won’t pry much, but he wants to know if you need some advice or if something happens. He knows very well how people can be with their desires, and he just wants you to be ok. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t want you to keep your chastity nor anything like that, he just wants to make sure it’s all consented and protected. Are you in love with them? Oh, that’s nice! He can’t wait to meet them! 

Theo and Vincent

First of all, you can’t become a sibling to just one of them. Theo would be devastated and Vincent would certainly miss his brother. That’d end up with the three of you as a family anyway, so…

Vincent’s been nice to you since the first moment, so it’s not hard to befriend him. But Theo is a different story. He actually just starts to try being nice to you when he sees you defending and helping Vincent with his emotions. You also help him with his work and some problems from his previous life, and he ends up grateful. And the three of you are inseparable now.

Theo likes to hear you talk about the arts from the future, Vincent hears your ideas for painting and likes to use you as a model, and you make sure they’re healthy and eating while working. They have a strong protector feeling towards you, you’re their youngest sibling. 

You're really proud of your new family. The first art exposition you help with is actually a success because you talked so much about your brothers that everybody got curious. You protect them with everything you have. Theo still calls you hondje, but you can’t blame him. You bark and bite anyone who tries to mess with them, and he says he can almost see a wagging tail when they come home, and you greet them.

You start painting, even if you don’t know how to do it. Vincent is patient enough to guide you and teach you the basics. Theo tries to be supportive, but what the hell is that paint supposed to be? If you look upset about his comments, he’ll apologize and give you a stack of pancakes to cheer you up.

May the lord have mercy from the person that falls for you. Vincent is an angel, but he doesn’t want you getting hurt, so he’ll find out if they’re trustworthy before being too nice. Theo is savage from the first moment he meets them. You’re upset with him and he can’t stand it, so he’ll try to be a little nice. Keyword: try.

Napoleon (I already see him as an older brother)

He tried to help you from the first second you passed the door, so you bonded quickly. He has the urge to protect you since you seem pretty reckless on your own. He likes taking care of others; he already has Isaac as a younger sibling, so he certainly doesn't mind having you too.

He helps you get used to this new century, giving you a tour through the city and assisting you with some chores. You help with his and Isaac's school; the kids love you so much that he can't help but find it endearing. You quickly come to rely on him, as it's really easy to trust him. You ask for his help whenever you need it, even if it's as simple as teaching you how to dance so you can go to a ball, and he gladly helps you.

He’s not overprotective; he offers his advice and trusts you’ll make good decisions on your own. However, he makes sure to draw the line for Arthur, he doesn’t want you getting hurt or bitten… Ok, he might want to overprotect you sometimes. He’ll teach you self defense, just in case.

He’ll try not to pry too much if you fall in love with someone, you’re a nunuche but you’re trustworthy. He knows you’ll come to him if you need something or if your heart gets broken — and may the Lord have mercy if it actually happens.

Masterlists

#🥀 anon #request #platonic #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp jean #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp hc #ikevamp request #ask me #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp requests

[cha-melodius]

Fic Pride Weekend

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

@kiwiana-writes tagged me for "Fic Pride Friday" but let's face it, no one is actually doing this on a Friday anymore and Fic Pride should go the whole weekend.

So I decided to try to give some superlatives—my favorite action sequence, my favorite kiss, my favorite love confession, my favorite comedy moment, etc etc. But the problem was I came up with a LOT of superlatives! Oh well. A few up top, and the rest below the cut. Oh, and there are some spoilers below, so be warned!

Favorite Shouted Love Confession: Love is a Losing Game

“Then what, Illya?” Napoleon demands sharply, frustration heating his face. “What exactly was the problem?” “I love you, Napoleon!” Illya nearly shouts, the words ringing loudly in quiet of the club, and the silence that follows is only broken by Illya’s ragged breaths as Napoleon stares at him in shock. Illya closes his eyes, as if trying to steady himself, and when he opens them again the raw vulnerability in them is startling. “I love you,” he says again, with something like resignation in his voice, “and when they told me you quit I thought I would never see you again, and— and that was not something I could bear.”

Favorite Action Sequence (Duo): This Hell of a Season

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the headlamp rapidly approaching. He’s not sure if it will be fast enough. Henry watches as the dark shape of the man, little more than a shadow under the meagre moonlight, shifts slightly out from behind the hedges again. A few more shots, fired near where the shadow lurks, buys Henry some time, but Alex’s approach feels impossibly slow, as if he were travelling through treacle. One heartbeat passes. Two. Three. Four. The motorbike gets close enough to bathe Henry in a wash of yellow-tinted light; he’s now far too tempting a target, and the man shifts out from behind his cover again. Alex nearly puts the bike on its side as he skids into a stop, cutting the lamp at the last minute and plunging them into darkness. “Here!” he yells, and Henry flings himself in his direction, nearly blind after the brightness of the headlamp.

Favorite Action Sequence (Solo): A Good Man is Hard to Find

Pulling a rope off his belt, Mobius ties it securely around the empty window frame then measures out what he guesses is the right length before attaching the other end to his belt again. On the other side of the table, the guards have stopped firing, but he has no doubt they’ll be advancing on him now that they’ve realized that he’s not shooting back. He’ll need to stand up to be able to jump out far enough, which unfortunately means making an easy target of himself for at least a few seconds. He peeks around the table and sends a couple of bullets toward their feet, which succeeds in making them scatter and retreat backwards. Then, holding onto the window frame for support, Mobius takes a deep, steadying breath and rises to his feet. In the second before he jumps, the guards start shooting at him again and a bullet tears through the outside of his upper arm, but he barely feels it past the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He launches himself out as far as he can until he feels the rope snap tight at his belt, punching the breath out of his body. The line starts swinging him in an arc down toward the window, and he twists wildly as he tries desperately to orient himself in the air. Just before he smashes into the huge sheet of plate glass, he manages to fire twice into it and, in a rain of glass, crashes back into the building two floors down. The shouts of the guards are audible from above, as is the sound of running feet; no doubt they’re already heading back down the stairs. Mobius scrambles up and over toward the delivery entrance where he and Sylvie first came in, smearing the blood that’s dripping down his arm along the floor and doorway in a trail. Satisfied at the feint, he takes off toward the utility room and gets through the door, closing it carefully behind him.

Favorite Car Chase: The Hardest Cut (continues from here, hard to put the whole thing in!)

They turn again, away from the courthouse, and Mobius can unmistakably feel the horrible cocktail of adrenaline and dread that floods into his veins. Loki doesn’t answer his question, but his hands tighten on the steering wheel as he stares fixedly out the windshield, knuckles going painfully white. “You’re starting to worry me, you know,” Mobius says with a nervous chuckle, like it’s a joke. “Little heads up on what we’re doing would be great right about now.” Finally, Loki glances sideways at him—once, twice, then a third, lingering look—then he takes a deep, shuddery breath like he’s coming to a decision. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears emphatically, then jerks the wheel hard to the right, sending them fishtailing into a wild skid and down an alley that looks entirely too narrow. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

Favorite Moment of Slapstick Comedy: The Makings of a Perfect Christmastime

Waverly, on the other hand, looks surprisingly unperturbed. “Oh, I know,” he says, incredibly. “Because what it looks like is that my war hero is playing home-wrecker to my star author’s marriage.” He looks pointedly at Illya, who’s mouth opens wordlessly as he flushes a deep scarlet, before his gaze slide back to Napoleon. “But that’s not actually what’s happening here, is it?” Napoleon’s mind is whirring as he tries desperately to figure out what the hell is going on, but before he can think of anything that might offer some kind of reasonable explanation, the door to the kitchen opens again. “I’m hoping that the fact that you didn’t come back to the room means you were getting laid and not in here cooking all night,” Gaby says as she comes in, so focused on the coffee that she doesn’t even see Waverly standing off to the side. For a moment, no one moves, until she turns with a mug of coffee in her hand, spots Waverly, and proceeds to drop it on the floor.

Favorite Wrestling Scene: Double Dutch with a Hand Grenade

Two can play, and all that, and he is not having this conversation on his back. Not when Illya has been seemingly holding all the cards to this point. He cants his hips under Illya—slowly, deliberately—and is gratified when his partner’s eyes go wide. More importantly, the distraction makes his grip on Napoleon’s wrists loosen. Napoleon yanks his hands down, out of Illya’s hold, then slams the heel of his palm hard into his sternum. Illya grunts in pain and surprise, shoulders curling inward, which gives Napoleon enough of an opening to grab the front of his t-shirt and roll them both sideways until Illya’s back thunks hard against the mat. It’s Illya’s turn to glare up at him, still grimacing. Napoleon has effectively reversed their positions, pinning Illya’s wrists to the mat over his head, though he hasn’t managed to secure his lower body. Instead, Illya’s legs are wrapped around his waist, preventing him from maneuvering or getting any better leverage for a subsequent attack. Of course, that also means Illya’s legs are wrapped around his waist, which is something he’d been valiantly trying not to imagine ever since that encounter at the café. So much for that. Neither of them is completely in control of this situation, and it’s rapidly starting to seem like that’s true in more ways than one.

Favorite Emotional "Confession": Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood

“Yeah, I mean, it hurts,” he says with a nonchalant shrug he’s pretty sure doesn’t land. He wants to ask, ‘what makes me different? why are you friends with everyone but me?’, but that would give up the game for sure. Instead, he aims for something close. “Sometimes it feels like you’re more distant with me than with other people at the office.” “You’re right,” Henry replies with shocking matter-of-factness. “Casual friends are easy, Alex. There’s no risk when you don’t want anything more from someone than the ability to hold a five minute conversation over coffee in the break room. It’s different when it’s… someone you might truly care about. You’re different.” Alex doesn’t really know what to do with that. It’s quickly becoming difficult to tell where the lies end and the truth begins. “Oh,” he says, floundering a little. “I guess I can see that.”

Favorite Flirty Email: Class(room) Warfare

To: Alexander Claremont-Diaz <[email protected]> From: Henry Fox-Mountchristen <[email protected]> Subject: Re: your shirts Dr. Acerbic Cocky-Disaster I am quite certain you’ve never given anyone a break in your life. Regretfully, Henry Assistant Professor of What Did I Do To Deserve This

Favorite Seductive Spoon-licking (yes, I have more than one): All the Old Showstoppers

Locating a clean tasting spoon, he scoops a bit of the buttercream out of his mixer and holds it out to Alex across the top of his station. Their fingers brush when Alex reaches out to take it, and an image of Alex holding a very similar spoon up to his lips flashes through Henry’s mind. His mouth goes slightly dry at the memory, and that’s before Alex proceeds to stick the spoon deep into his mouth and draw it slowly out between his lips. Alex’s low hum, which skirts dangerously close to a moan, is somehow audible over the buzz of activity in the tent, and his eyelids flutter slightly as his pink tongue slips out to lick the back of the spoon in a manner that is far too seductive for their current setting. Who could have guessed that giving Alex a spoon would be such a massive mistake? Because Henry can see a camera currently filming them out of the corner of his eye, but he still can’t seem to force his own bloody mouth closed, nor can he hope to control the flush that is no doubt painting his cheeks a rather lurid pink, if he knows himself. The best he can hope for is that he just looks stunned rather than incredibly turned on by the display before him. “Ok, yeah, that’s good,” Alex says, snapping him out of the daze he finds himself in. He grins, and the mischief sparkling in his eyes is enough to make Henry believe he did that on purpose. “Guess you’re gonna make things hard for me, huh Wales?”

Favorite Movie Adaptation Moment: False Dichotomy

“Sometimes I wonder,” Alex says, staring up at the leaves fluttering in the breeze over the sidewalk. “If you hadn’t been Mountchristen, and I hadn’t been Under the Rainbow Books…” “Alex,” Henry breathes, a little unsteadily. Alex keeps going because he is, as previously established, an idiot. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Henry, though. “Maybe I’d have gotten up the courage to ask for your number.” “I’d have asked for yours,” Henry says firmly, surprising him. That does make Alex turn back toward him again. “That first day in the shop. Wouldn’t have been able to wait even twenty-four hours before asking you out to dinner.” “We’d never have been at war,” Alex continues. “The only thing we’d fight about is what to watch on Saturday night.” “Only because you have terrible taste in Star Wars movies,” Henry teases.

Favorite Angsty Kiss: So Close to Something Better Left Unknown

Alex hesitates a moment too long for it not to be an answer. Henry’s eyes are dark and wild with primal desire and something else, something more terrifying than even that, and Alex murmurs, “It doesn’t matter.” “Alex—” Alex turns in his arms and drags him into a kiss that catches like dry tinder, lighting such an inferno under his skin that Alex feels like he’s the one who’s been drugged. This is a fucking mistake, he thinks desperately, then his mind goes blissfully blank as Henry’s tongue slides into his mouth. It’s rough, demanding, as much as sparring match as a kiss, particularly when Henry sinks a hand into his hair and tugs hard, then bites down on Alex’s lower lip when he gasps as stars burst in his vision. Alex gives as good as he gets, though, finally getting his teeth on those sinful fucking lips and swallowing Henry’s answering moans.

Favorite Almost Kiss: White Knuckles

When he comes out of his last spin, Napoleon joins him for the final movements, an expansive trip across the ice that usually ends with Illya hunched over, almost on one knee, as if clutching an apparently dead Juliet. Now, though, there is an actual body in his grasp: Napoleon is underneath him, back bent into a graceful arc, being held off the ice only by Illya’s grip on his hip and his palm splayed between his shoulder blades. As the music comes to its grand conclusion he meets Napoleon’s eyes, and suddenly Napoleon doesn’t seem so unaffected anymore. He’s certainly breathless, all right, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted, and it would be so easy for Illya to flex his arms and draw him upward until their lips meet. Illya considers it a true testament to his self control that he doesn’t do it. “Wow,” Napoleon breathes, after a long moment in which he has made no move to disentangle himself from Illya. Then one corner of his mouth quirks upward into a smirk. “Now that’s more like it.” It is also a testament to Illya’s self control that he doesn’t drop him on the ice.

Favorite Cliffhanger: Nova, Baby

A couple of officers with red crosses on their helmets hurry forward as Raf grabs Alex’s arm and tries to pull him to the side. Somewhere deep inside, Alex knows that he has to let go, that Henry’s only hope is the medical team. The panic choking him has fully taken over now, though, and he only clutches Henry more tightly to his chest. “N-no, Raf, please,” he pleads. “You have to let go of him, kid.” “No, no, I can’t, I can’t—“ “Alex! Look at me!” Raf commands sharply. The order catches Alex full in the chest and he responds instinctively, his gaze snapping up to meet dark, worried eyes. A face much like his own, but lined and careworn after years at the agency. A face that has seen more than its share of hopeless situations. A face that is telling Alex, now, to trust him. “You have to,” Raf says again, his voice gentle but firm. Alex lets go.

Favorite First Meeting: Cold Light

“That doesn’t sound good,” the man replies as he straightens up again. Whatever he was doing he seems to be done with, even though he hasn’t touched a thing. He stares up at the sky for a moment, as if lost in thought; in the silence that follows, Mobius watches ribbons of what’s shaping up to be a rather spectacular display of the aurora borealis begin winding their way across the night’s sky behind him. “So? What do you think?” “Hm?” “About the engine.” “Oh, I don’t actually know anything about engines.” Mobius stares at him for a beat in disbelief. “Then why’d you want to see it?” The man shrugs, a vaguely amused expression playing on his features. “Seemed like a thing one does when your vehicle breaks down.”

Favorite Outsider Perspective: That's What Other People Do

“You know me so well, Peril,” Solo says to him before taking a huge bite. He briefly looks, somewhat bizarrely, like a chipmunk. “I know you are somehow always hungry,” Kuryakin returns. “And you get as excited about greasy diner food as gourmet restaurant.” Solo swallows and grins broadly. “Sometimes there’s nothing better than greasy diner food. If I’m gonna have to go to Jersey for this mission, I might as well indulge. Gimme some of your milkshake, would you?” Kuryakin lets out a put-upon sigh, but his mouth is unmistakably tugging up at the corners as he slides the half empty glass over toward his partner. Robin chews slowly as she watches them continue to banter about the food as if she wasn’t there at all. Kuryakin stretches an arm out along the back of the booth behind Solo’s shoulders, and when Solo finally polishes off the burger he settles back against it, almost but not quite tucked against Kuryakin’s side, looking immensely satisfied.

Favorite Angsty Confrontation: Little by Little

“How many have there been?” Napoleon whispers. Suddenly his proximity is unbearable. Close enough that Illya could lean in and kiss him in an instant, and wouldn’t that just be the perfect cap on all of this misery? He can almost imagine the slide of his lips and the heat of his mouth for a moment before the fantasy threatens to choke him. Illya drops his arm and turns away, striding across the room as he scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms, and it’s nearly inaudible to even him so he knows Napoleon did not hear the answer. “How many, Peril? I mean are we talking a one or two, or a handful, or—” “I don’t know!” Illya bellows, wheeling back toward him. 

Tagging @orchidscript, @historicallysam, @leaves-of-laurelin, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @three-drink-amy

@loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @nicijones, @justabigoldnerd, @magicandarchery, @14carrotghoul

@mirilyawrites, @eusuntgratie, @cactusdragon517, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @magicandarchery

@myheartalivewrites

So that's the number of snippets I posted, but PLEASE if you see this and want to do it, jump in!! Be proud of your fics!

#fic pride friday #fic pride weekend #rwrb #firstprince #napollya #tmfu #lokius

[xxsycamore]

𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇

↬ ❌ You get trapped in the pantry with Napoleon.

Napoleon Bonaparte x gn!Reader • rating: M (MDNI) • tags: Suggestive Themes; Implied Sexual Content; Trapped; Making Out; Cooking; Unresolved Sexual Tension; Blueballing Napo • wordcount: 1,161 • masterlist

a/n: oh my god @princess-pray-a how did you know I needed exactly that to get back in shape after not being around for awhile? 😭❤ Thank you for giving me a word count too, it's soooo helpful actually!! I did end up writing a bit more than that, and it went in a whole another direction, but it was so fun!🥺 I hope it's alright if this became a little bit more suggestive than planned! Hope you enjoy, darlin'!! Missed u too! 🥺

"Oh, it smells soooo good in here!" You exclaim, welcomed by the yummy aroma of Napoleon's cooking upon entering the mansion's kitchen.

"Nunuche, you're finally here." Napoleon greets you with a wink, not missing a beat as he chops carrots and checks up on the stove simultaneously. He's handsome. He's way too handsome for your poor little nunuche heart.

"You're staring."

"Oh! I'm sorry. So, what do I do?" Having finished rolling up your sleeves and washing your hands, you trot up to Napoleon's side, dipping your pinky into the sauce bowl he just settled on the counter. Bringing it to your lips for a taste test he didn't ask for, you immediately nod. "It's good!"

Napoleon chuckles, placing the cutting board in front of you as he wipes himself off in the towel secured on his belt, something he always carries around when he gets serious in the kitchen. "Finish up with those for me, please? I'll go search for something in the pantry for a second."

"Okay!" You readily take the knife from his hand, noticing how Napoleon's warmth lingers on the handle. Holding your breath for a second, you will your heart to calm down so your fingers aren't shaky while performing the task.

Only when Napoleon's out of sight do you release your breath, left to your thoughts that are still revolving around the man. With all that hard work yet to be done, you doubt you'll get a moment for yourselves. True, Sebastian is nowhere to be seen right now, having gone into town to run some last-minute errands, but it's not like you can fool around with your lover. Especially not when you have twenty-five guests to feed...

The Napoleon who is sweet-talking in your head is suddenly muted as the voice of the very real Napoleon comes to your ears. He appears to be asking you to come to the pantry...?

"-But turn off the stove first!"

You set the knife down, doing as Napoleon said before striding up to where he is.

Opening the pantry's door, you spot Napoleon holding off the weight of a heavy box that seemingly has begun to fall from one of the highest shelves. Some smaller containers stacked on top of it start sliding down, likely filled with more of the fragile cutlery that is stored up there, and you have to react fast.

Letting go of the door that swings closed behind you, you barely pay attention to Napoleon's sudden protests as you move fast to join his side and reach up to help him out. Once everything is secured without accidents, you realize that Napoleon is crossing the small room in the direction of the door in desperate hopes of... opening it?

"Nunuche you shouldn't have let go of the door... I asked you to come because the handle fell off from this side!"

"I-What?! Oh no..."

The room is relatively small but well-lit, filled with all things necessary for the needs of a huge mansion's kitchen. With a bit more luck, something of help could be found so you can get out of there.

"This-This wasn't my idea of having a chance to spend some alone time with you...!"

Only when the words leave your mouth do you realize you spoke them, resuming the search in hopes Napoleon didn't hear you.

"Oh? Is that so?"

Napoleon casts a shadow over the shelve you examine as he towers over your crouching form. You rise to your feet, only to be guided by him to take a seat at the nearby ladder's third step.

"You seem a little hot. Why don't you rest here while I give it another go? I hope I won't have to end up busting the door, but..."

"Napoleon."

He lets a low hum as he looks down at you in question. You make a come-hither motion at him, and he places his hand on one of the higher steps, using it as leverage.

His breath tickles you, your chest heaving with a sharp inhale. Yet you still hold his gaze sternly.

"Are you sure you didn't lead me inside so we could end up stuck here alone?"

His clear turquoise eyes are piercing as if they say "so what if I did?"; yet the illusion lasts a mere second before laughter fills the small space between your bodies.

"And leave my work outside undone? You know me better than that, Nunuche, these people depend on us to throw a good party. I wouldn't let my desires get in the way."

His desires?

"So you want this as much as I do!"

"Want what?"

Face on fire, you produce an annoyed sound and quickly curse yourself for it. Napoleon is still a breather away. You give up and pull him by the shirt, catching his lips in a passionate kiss.

The small space fills with heavy breaths and the sounds of you seeking after each other's mouths, demandingly, fiercely, as if it has been ages since you last captured the other's lips. The rest of the world suddenly gets forgotten beyond the frame of the door that refuses to let the moment go away, much like the two of you - and you suddenly feel thankful.

Letting go for a long-needed breath, limbs spread on the ladder's steps, you hold Napoleon's cheek as if to prevent him from diving in for another kiss - just for a moment.

"So what if- the desire is mine- ? Would you let it get in your way of taking care of anyone but me, just for a little bit?"

Napoleon watches you mesmerized, playing with the button of your shirt. The familiar boyish smirk blooms on his lips, but there's something almost soft to it, for reasons unknown to you.

"Since when did my Nunuche get so selfish?"

Like an uncorked champagne bottle, Napoleon rains needy kisses on your neck, suddenly becoming the more desperate one between you, or at least that's how it seems. You let him feast on you one little bite at a time, your hands moving up and down his back, letting him take his time deciding on a spot to sink his fangs into.

It still feels unfair, seeing as how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger as soon as his bullying broke you and you confessed your shameful thoughts. Too bad that surrender feels good to you.

You can hear steps in the distance, and suddenly the muffled voice of Sebastian calling out 'Monsieur Napoleon' comes from the kitchen.

Napoleon shifts quickly, looming over you as he tries to communicate with you with his gaze alone. He knows what you must do, but the inner fight is written on his face; brows knit in the middle and cheeks still rosy from the heated ordeal.

He looks almost offended, fangs poking past his agape lips, glistening with bloodlust.

You have a devious smile on your face.

"Sebastian, help! We're in here!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @my-day6 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen fanfic #ikemen napoleon #ikemen #otome

[geralts-yenn]

🛁 - A nice, relaxing bath

Leon looks tense...

Napoleon Solo x OFC Amina Ahmadi

warnings: fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-i-v sex (it's the 60s, guys, we're smarter now, right?)

word count: 1,7k

A/N: Nina, thank you for this ask. It made me really nervous at first because Napoleon and me, we haven't been talking before. But damn, that was a pleasure to write. I had so much fun. Hope you like what I made out of it.

Anahita is the Persian goddess of water, fertility and healing

summary: After a hard job in Isfahan, Napoleon tries to lose some tension in the hamam of his client, the Shah

Moodboard

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Napoleon carefully brushed his shirt over his bruised shoulder. The last 24 hours were filled with a little too much action for his taste. He preferred jobs that required his skills of persuasion and trickery. But when it needed to be done, he wasn’t shy of using his muscles like he did last night, even if it meant that he couldn’t enjoy his last day in Isfahan to the extent he had planned. In no way was he capable of taking care of Amina in the way he had intended to.

A deep groan escaped his mouth through gritted teeth as he started to undo his pants. His ribs burnt in his chest with every of his movements.

But as his suit pants dropped to the floor, the most difficult part was done. He slipped on the silk bath robe that was given to him at the reception and made his way to the entrance of the antique bath house. Leon had gladly accepted the invitation of the Shah to his private bath. He knew to appreciate the luxuries that his job brought with it. 

As the minutes passed by in the heat of the steam bath, Napoleon felt how his muscles began to relax, the tension evaporating from his body with every drop of sweat that ran down his chest.

The bright sound of a bell signaled him to move to the heated marble table. Napoleon carefully dropped on the warm stone and lay on his stomach, not fighting the moan, as he felt the pain running through his chest.

A pair of warm hands settled on his shoulders. “Mr. Solo, I am delighted to hear such sounds coming from your lips, but I didn’t expect to hear them before I even lay my hands on you.” The voice was soft and seductive. 

Napoleon jerked in surprise, only realizing by then that he shouldn’t move so briskly. His head turned, but he couldn’t see more than some caramel toned hips leaning against his side.

“Amina?” he asked, although he already knew it was her sweet voice. The hands on his back slowly ran up and down his spine with just the right amount of pressure.

“Sh, Leon, we better not be talking too much. This is not exactly a situation we both want to be found in. Just lay down and let me take care of you.” 

Napoleon wasn’t used to being in the position of accepting care instead of giving. He was used to being in charge. But after all what happened in the last few days, it felt incredibly good to give up on taking responsibilities for once. And so, he just lay there and savored the touch of his Persian rose.

Soon, he felt not only her soft hands on him, there were her plush lips pressing against his neck, and the mounds of her breasts ever so slowly brushed over his back as she reached for his arms, her pebbled buds teasing him. Now, this was enough for Leon to take. He was happy to risk being found in this very inappropriate situation when it meant being able to feel this gorgeous woman.

Carefully resting his weight on his elbow, he turned and wrapped his other arm in a smooth motion around Amina’s waist, pulling her close to his chest. The scent of jasmine filled his nose.

He pressed his lips on hers, and she opened them for him, letting him explore her mouth and taste her. After a teasing bite on her lower lip, he pulled away, only far enough to be able to speak. 

“Tell me, ātashé del-am*, do you want me to take you here on this stone or where do you want me to take you?” His hot breath grazed over her humid jaw as he mouthed his words. Amina broke away from his embrace with a smile playing around her lips.

“We might enjoy the warmth of the thermal spring, my dear,” she hummed and held out her hand for him to take.

As he wasn’t able to move fast, Leon took advantage of his slow way of moving by admiring her divine body from head to toe. He walked behind her, and watching her derrière swaying from side to side as she guided him to the steaming pool, he felt his cock twitching in anticipation. 

*) Farsi for “fire of my heart”, often used to call a lover 

Amina let Napoleon take the lead as he stepped down into the hot water. He sat down on the tiled bench and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as the warmth settled around his body. Amina followed him and straddled his thick thighs. She devoured his lips once more, feeling how Napoleon got more demanding, more impatient with every second that they spent kissing.

His hands dropped below the surface, one settling on her firm breast, rolling her nipple between his digits, the other one heading deeper, finding its way between her legs. His fingers, skilled to move perfectly, feeling every variance, soon had Amina squirming over him. He alternated between teasing her swollen clit and working her open with two of his fingers, curling inside her to find her sweetest spot. Finally, he felt her tightening around his fingers as she came. Her breath was shaky, and she bit on her lip to suppress the treacherous moans.

When she was coming back from her high, she took him in her small hands and stroked him. Napoleon gasped as he finally felt the friction he craved so much. Amina raised her hips and positioned him. And then she sank down slowly on him until he was sheathed completely between her velvet walls.

She started moving in a slow rhythm, rolling her hips up and down on him. Napoleon reveled in the sight in front of him. Amina’s bosom sank into the water just to rise out of it again, droplets running down her soft, dark skin. He couldn’t keep his mouth any longer from her. His lips were roaming over her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, just every inch of skin that he was able to reach.

Feeling him so deep inside her, Amina lost all her self-control. Her pace got faster, harder. As she felt the tension building in her core, ready to bring her over the edge any moment, she desperately grabbed his shoulder.

The grunt that came deep from Leon’s chest was not one of the lewd sounds he had been voicing until now, it was a sound of discomfort and pain. Amina immediately recoiled, her eyes shooting up to Napoleon’s face. But the pained expression was already gone. Leon smiled at her apologetically.

“Don’t hold back, dear. I can take it.” Without waiting for an answer, his hands were on Amina’s hips, and he pulled her close to him. After taking a deep breath, he stood up, wrapping her legs around his waist and placed the surprised woman on the edge of the pool. This time he bit back the groan that wanted to escape his lips as his ribs burnt in his chest. 

His hands pushed at her knees to make her open her legs for him. Napoleon knelt on the bench and his hands and lips slowly proceeded their ascent along her calves, her knees and her inner thighs. 

Amina quivered in anticipation as his head disappeared between her legs. But Leon didn’t grant her wish to feel his mouth on her just yet. Instead, he just stopped and stared in wonder. 

“Just look how beautiful you are, ātashé del-am. Opening up for me, sharing your most precious part with me. Thank you, my dear.” And then he started to devour her, diving into her core like a starving man. His tongue lapped through her folds and teased her pearl. 

When at first Amina yearned for his fingers to join, she soon lost every ability to think at all, just feeling how Napoleon brought her to her next climax just with his mouth. 

Panting heavily, she felt how Leon left his place between her thighs after a few more lazy licks over her drenched pussy. He stepped out of the pool and knelt down between her still spread legs. 

“I want you on your knees, my love.” Leon sounded pained, but determined. And Amina couldn’t think of anything else she wanted more than to be taken by him right here and now on the stone floor. She went on all fours, raising her buttocks invitingly for him. 

Leon took the invitation and was behind her in an instant. 

His hands guided her to lift her bottom even further while arching her back down onto the floor. He let his fingers run over her bare cheeks, squeezing her flesh tight. Amina bit on her lower lip, aching for him to take her. 

“Mm, this is a glorious sight!” Leon cooed. Amina turned her head to look back at him, to see his eyes were dark and full of desire. Napoleon slowly let his fingers run through her folds, playing with her arousal while he was stroking himself. 

Finally, she felt the tip of his cock between her folds again. Amina cried out as he buried himself deep inside of her. Every bit of caution they both had not to get caught was gone by now. They couldn’t keep quiet any longer. 

Napoleon grabbed Amina’s hip, sinking his blunt nails into her skin. His thrusts were hard and fast, finally searching his own release 

He moaned with every thrust now and Amina reacted to his sounds with pure lust. She moved her hips in the same rhythm as him, trying to feel him as deep as possible. 

Amina felt another orgasm build up and begged Leon to take her harder. He obeyed, giving all he had to give, not even noticing his broken ribs any longer.

When her walls clenched around his cock, Leon lost his rhythm and rutted into her desperately. Finally, his body tensed, he shuddered and then Amina felt him spilling his seed into her. After another few slow thrusts he collapsed next to her. His chest was heaving while he was trying to catch his breath.

Amina pressed a small kiss on his shoulder. “Mr. Solo, I hope you are satisfied with our service?” she whispered with a smile on her lips.

Napoleon chuckled softly. “I am very pleased and would be delighted if I could take advantage of your endeavors at my suite tonight once more, Miss Ahmadi.

taglist:

@raccoon-eyed-rebel @deandoesthingstome @mayloma @fvckinghenrycavill @ylva-syverson @ellethespaceunicorn @kebabgirl67 @dopegardensaladhuman @kingliam2019 @liviss @identity2212 @enchantedbytomandhenry @valacircareads @summersong69 @poledancingdinos @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @mrsevans90 @henryownsme @myaimlessuniverse @itsrubberbisquit @uunotheangel @hannah9921 @sycochick @mary-ann84 @littlefreya

#napoleon solo #yenn answers #my writing #napoleon solo fanfic #anahita #Napoleon solo fanfiction #napoleon solo x ofc #napoleon solo smut #henry cavill #henry cavill characters

[cherryxblossxms]

Y, O, I for the NSFW ABC prompts for ikevamp Comte and Sebastian, please

Sure thing, nonnie! I'm always happy to give these two some love ❤️

Comte de Saint Germain

I for Imagination (What do they fantasize about?)

I answered that one here!

O for Oral (Giving or receiving? Why?)

This man is all about giving. Not that he doesn't go crazy when you decide to pleasure him, but he is a pleasure dom first and foremost. Your satisfaction is like a drug to him, nothing makes him happier than to have you writhing on his tongue, crying out his name as your thighs squeeze his head. He's addicted to the taste and feel of you, getting your sweet nectar on his tongue and feeling the way you twitch and pulse as he swirls his tongue around in torturous patterns. He's relentless, his vampire stamina almost dangerous, because it means he's ready to spend all night pleasing you with his tongue and not having to worry about catching his breath. And his vampire strength helps him hold down any flailing limbs, keeping you captive until he's totally satisfied.

Y for Yummy (How would they involve food/drinks?)

Comte would love to incorporate alcohol, likely champagne. He wouldn't mind just having it poured over your (or his, or both) body as is, uncaring of the wetness or sticky mess that it will leave, as he traces every rivulet with his tongue up and down your body. He knows his tongue is skilled and it let's him tease you and taste you all at once, getting the buzzy heat from the alcohol as he gets drunk in more ways than one. If he learns about jello body shots, good luck.

He's also very into the idea of aphrodisiacs, both foods that are supposedly natural aphrodisiacs such as oysters, figs, and chili peppers, as well as aphrodisiacs put into foods, such as some special chocolates or elixirs that can be mixed. He'll create a truly special plate of varying items to see what works best, what you enjoy the most or gets the most response from your body.

Sebastian

I for Imagination (What do they fantasize about?)

Sebastian admittedly fantasizes about fucking you in public areas. He can be very jealous, so truthfully, he'd never want to actually be caught, both due to the shame he'd feel as the butler but also because he doesn't want anyone else to see you in the throes of pleasure. But it doesn't stop him from picturing you bent over the dining table or the kitchen counter as he pounds into you from behind. Or maybe he'd be trailing his fingers along your sex as you try to wash the dishes, make it a game and see if you break any dishes, or how many dishes you manage to wash before you're begging for relief.

On rare occasion, he's imagined fucking you over Comte's desk, too, making a mess of the papers and making the room steamy. He wondered if the good Count would catch on to what happened later, his desk in disarray. And on even rarer occasion, he's admittedly imagined having a threesome with you and Comte. Moreso Napoleon pops into his thoughts, but he won't get into that.

O for Oral (Giving or receiving? Why?)

Sebastian is honestly for both. He loves giving and receiving in pretty equal measure.

As the butler of the mansion, he's no stranger to waiting on hand and foot for others, taking care of their needs as he saw fit and being the ideal comedic butler of his dreams. He has no difficulty including in sexual needs when it comes to you, especially after a hard day of running around completing errands when he finally has you all to himself. While he's still in uniform, he loves going down on his knees to service you, gloved hands wringing out all your tension and making you putty for him. Nothing gives him better satisfaction than seeing your wobbly smile and knees after he's had you cum at least a couple times.

However, despite wanting to be the ideal butler, Sebastian is still a man with needs of his own. He does love to be on the receiving end of oral a lot, too. After he's been run ragged cleaning up the mansion, cooking and fetching Rouge and Blanc all day, he wouldn't mind being taken care of, for once. It's incredibly satisfying for him to finally get to remove his uniform and just sit back as you pleasure him, to show you how he likes it, the parts of his cock that are most sensitive and how he likes it when you kiss around it, or twist your wrist a certain way as you stroke him.

Y for Yummy (How would they involve food/drinks?)

Sebastian would be similar to Comte. He's less knowledgeable on aphrodisiac foods in comparison, but he knows the big ones such as strawberries and chocolate. He'd love to get melted chocolate on your skin, scoop it up with a fruit and eat it, doing this to each other until you're squirming with need. He can be a tease when he wants to be, he's mastered control very well over the years, and it'd be easy for him to drive you wild with licking and sucking all over you until the chocolate is gone. If you try to do it back to him, though, you will be in for a treat with a very barely-restrained butler beneath you, face bright red and hard as a rock. And since he also manages the baths at the mansion, it'd be easy to wash off the mess in Le Thermae afterwards.

#comte de saint germain #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire #ikevamp smut #akihiko satou #ikevamp hcs #spicy minx 🔥 #the minx can write ✍️ #˗ˏˋ꒰ minx replies ꒱

[imsparky2002]

Arkham AU: Headcanons

Marinette, Nino and Kim were still childhood besties so imagine a little clown girl, clay boy and croc boy running about having some mischievous fun. Marinette and Nino were the only people outside of Kim's family to treat him like a person.

Luka and Anarka always visit Juleka and give her tips on new places to steal from. She got her catburgling skills from her mama.

Alya and Max are ALWAYS having smug intellectual battles.

When Nathaniel was first told he had a Napoleon complex, it pleased him since Napoleon was the leader of France.

Alix and Kim love munching on flesh together. Keep your skin unexposed around them.

Max REALLY loves Jolly Ranchers for some reason. It's the one food he requests the Asylum serves.

Sabrina keeps having to stop Juleka from nabbing her coin.

Marinette isn't abusive to Adrien at all, in fact they're both head over heels for eachother. She loves her puddin' as much as Adrien loves his Miss. J.

Ivan, Kim and Nathaniel lift weights together. The boys actually got along great upon meeting eachother, with the three bonding over being misjudged and harassed by bullies and guards.

Lila loves projecting the thoughts of guards and other inmates for the amusement of the group and herself.

Marc visits Nathaniel every day to make sure he's doing ok.

Juleka and Rose share a cell after persuasion by Caline.

Mylene likes to sneak up on people just to hear their screams.

Chloe is much nicer to Sabrina, partly because she knows how dangerous the girl can be. The two of them are like peas in a pod.

Nino likes imitating the guards for shits and giggles.

Lemme know what you think in the comments and make sure to add your own headcanons. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

#arkham au #dc comics #akuma class #miraculous ladybug #miraculous

[yanderepuck]

Kinktober Day 21

WELCOME BACK SLUTS. It's that time of the year you've been looking forward to. As always, Kinktober is hosted by your local Napoleon simp @xxsycamore

If you would like to read Kinktober 2021 and 2022 they are here

Remember to reblog and tell me what you thought about it

Day 21 -  Not wearing Underwear | Sexy lingerie

Sitting in his lap in a chair in the main room of his house, you have your arms over his shoulders, he has his arms around your waist, and you're both kissing each other roughly.

Galileo squeezes your sides he wants to touch you more but it's worried about making the first move, not sure if you want to. You carefully pull his hair at the nape of his neck. You got your head to deepen the kiss. Your tongues invading the others mouth. It feels like your lips could end up bruised. You let out soft moans as he squeezes you, and you begin to grind your hips against him.

Once you start with that you feel a bulge under you form and you shift your weight to grind on him in just the right spot. He started to moan as you rubbed against him.

Galileo untucked your shirt and began unbuttoning it. You're surprised but thankful he didn't just rip it open. His hands immediately went to your chest, rubbing his hands against the fabric of your bra, but it felt different.

Not wanting to break the kiss he simply feels you up. Running his hands against the lace of your bra. But the more he's feeling the more he realizes there isn't much fabric there, and more straps than just the two that go over your shoulders.

Your hands travel down his body, unbuttoning his shirt as you go down, then grabbing his own chest once its open.

He gasps softly. He wants to see what you are wearing but you won't let him break the kiss.

You begin to whine as your grinding starts to get harder. Leaving his chest, your hands open up his pants, taking his shaft in your hand. Galileo moans and squeezes your breasts firmly as you stroke him.

You wanted your skirt off but that meant getting off of him and stopping your make out session.

After a bit of arguing in your head you did just that. You quickly got off his lap and haphazardly stepped out of your skirt.

Galileo reached out to pull you back into him but then he finally saw what you were wearing. A strapy lingerie set with fabric that barely covered anything. Even your underwear had straps going across your hips, and even down your legs. He couldn't take your eyes off you and couldn't move. It looks so much better than he imagined.

You threw your shirt to the floor since you were up and crawled back into his lap. You combed a hand through his hair and kissed him roughly.

"Do you like it~"

You hovered your ass in the air rather than fully sitting on him. Despite your height differences you sat up as best as you can for your boobs to be in his face.

After kicking his pants off he grabbed your hips and forced you to sit down on his lap.

"I don't want you to ever take it off."

He starts to kiss your neck and you instinctively begin to grind your hips again.

Galileo let's you go to be able to sit up so you can sit on him properly. He held the fabric of the underwear to the side as you sat down.

You almost moaned in unison. Immediately you rocked your hips. You keep your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance.

Galileos fingers weave themselves through the straps of your lingerie. Eventually he leans his head down, kissing the top of your boobs, right before sinking his fangs into you.

You let out a small yell before it turned into a moan. The pleasure running through your body got you to stay bouncing in him. You can down hard on him each time.

He moans and licks up the blood coming from your wound, only to bite you again, not getting enough pleasure from just one. You gasp and try moving faster. But it wasn't enough for him.

Galileo grabs you firmly and moves you to the high windowsill. Immediately once you are set down here thrusts into you with more force than how you were coming down on him.

You yell and lean your body back against the cool glass. You've never seen him lose control like this and you love it. You pull a leg up to your chest, digging your heel into the windowsill and you immediately feel him get deeper.

You start to pant but he didn't let you catch your breath before he starts to kiss you again. You can still feel his fangs sticking out.

You wrap your arms around his neck to keep him in place. He thrusts in faster, starting to pant as he feels himself get closer.

Galileos fingers dig into through thighs to keep you still. Your fingers grab into his hair and tuck as you reach your climax, lubing up your inside just enough for him to slide in and out with ease enough times for him to fill you with his cum.

He rides out his high and slowly lets you go, realizing how tightly he was holding you. You let him go and he leans his forehead against yours as you both pant.

~~

Writers note: as of writing this, we don't know what kind of lover Galileo, but I'm imagining he can get quite feral. But we will probably find that out for real in a few months. Just an FYI for ppl reading this in the future

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp galileo #kinktober

[napollya-inspiration]

@farrybarry requested #35 for the Spotify Wrapped Game

#35 on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped is Please by Daisy Jones and the Six (this is like 950 words I cannot seem to be stopped - but at least this one got a little spicy)

(send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write a drabble about the corresponding song on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped)

15 25 46 69

“You should go,’’ Illya says. The sound of cicadas is loud through the open window.

“Why?” Napoleon asks, easy grin on his lips. He’d lost both his jacket and waistcoat at one point. The first couple buttons of his shirt are open, revealing a tantalizing vision of chest hair.

“You know why.” They had this conversation a few weeks ago. Or rather, they hadn’t had it. Napoleon had poked as he tends to do. Illya had grown increasingly more uncomfortable, his lies stretching thin until he’d just told Napoleon that no matter what he might be thinking or feeling or fantasizing about… it doesn’t make a difference. Whatever is brewing between them would stay there until it fizzles and dies.

“I thought it wasn’t an issue?” Napoleon asks, pouring them both another glass of whiskey. Not leaving then, Illya thinks bitterly but accept the glass all the same.

“Is not good… to tempt fate like that,” Illya mumbles.

“You find me tempting? Why, I’m flattered.”

Illya rolls his eyes. It’s exactly this kind of carelessness that drives him insane. How could Napoleon not see the devastation this would bring down on them if they gave in? “I told you to stop.”

“But I can’t help how tempting I am, Peril,” Napoleon teases and Illya wants to wipe the grin off his face. Whether he wants to use a punch or a kiss, he’s not sure.

“I was not joking. You need to leave,” Illya says sternly, grip tightening on his glass. He can feel the tremor come on. He doesn’t trust himself around Napoleon. This has always been the problem.

Napoleon sighs and puts his glass down. “I wasn’t joking either, you know. All you have to do is ask.” He reaches out and his fingers on Illya’s exposed forearms burn like fire.

Illya looks down at them. Napoleon’s pale skin against the bruise that had been blooming there since his fight with a couple of THRUSH goons a few days ago. Fingertips find the scar from his training with the KGB a lifetime ago and Illya squeezes his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispers.

“Please what, Peril?” Napoleon asks sounding more breathless than Illya has ever heard him before.

“Stop. Please stop.” Fingertips on his arm still, then disappear. Illya opens his eyes, sees the resigned expression on Napoleon’s face. The flirtatious smirk from a few moments ago is all but gone. “I just- I can’t-” He tries to explain.

“I know,” Napoleon says bitterly. “I got that.” He throws his drink back and then makes a face. Illya feels helpless at the display of bitterness. It’s not something that Napoleon shows very often and when he does it is mostly directed at the CIA. Illya doesn’t know what to do now that he’s the cause.

“You are never going to let us have this, are you?” Napoleon asks and his eyes seem to pierce into Illya’s soul. He’s not pleading - that would be easier to handle. This is so much worse. The tilt of his head, the sweat Illya can see on his skin, the bruise he can see on his shoulder from a rough blow of a bat. How many times had he dreamed about giving in? How many times had he dreamed of reaching out and just taking?

He remembers the other day when Napoleon’s eyes had met his across the bar, one hand on a gorgeous woman’s waist. How many conquests would he watch disappear behind Napoleon’s door, knowing all it would take is a word?

“Illya?” Napoleon asks, drawing his attention back into the present moment. “Just say it.” Napoleon reaches out, takes his hand and pulls it closer until Illya can feel his muscles through his thin shirt, until he’s reminded the sight of Napoleon at the beach, ocean water running through the crevices between his muscles.

“Please,” Illya pleads, feeling his fingers start to tremble. “I need you to say no. Napoleon, please.”

“No, Illya, I won’t do that.” His hand on Illya’s wrist guides him, up and up until his fingers meet skin, until he can feel Napoleon’s pulse, strong and quick under his skin.

Illya is not a religious man, far from it. But he thinks of the apple all the same. Only a single bite, he thinks, desperately, forsaken already.

“I want this too much to let it go. If there is even a sliver of a chance…” He leans into the touch, the weight against Illya’s hand startling, “I’m going to take it. Even if it’s just a moment,” he whispers and it doesn’t sound like a ploy. It doesn’t sound like the shameless flirting that Napoleon engages in like it’s a sport.

Illya doesn’t make the conscious decision. The next thing he knows, he’s pushed Napoleon’s shirt open further, the revealed skin making him almost dizzy with want. He doesn’t want things, not for himself. Especially not a man. The firm muscles under his fingers, the deep rasp of Napoleon’s voice, it’s everything that Illya should not want to keep. But he’s here all the same, watching his shaking fingers undo the buttons of Napoleon’s shirt. He hears the hitch in his breathing with every inch of skin he reveals and wonders if he himself is still breathing at all.

“Napoleon,” Illya whimpers.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Soft lips touch Illya’s temple and he can feel the way Napoleon has to stretch under his fingers. There is no going back now and he was foolish to think he would ever be able to resist.

#this was the last one I had so I guess I'll be returning to my WIPs #napollya #spotify tag game #nici writes

[set-phasers-to-whump]

nowhere else but here

prompt: thermometer

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

heya here's one i managed to write ahead of time :) it's pre-ship illya/napoleon and that's about all you need to know. hope you enjoy!

Illya looks like death. He’s standing on Napoleon’s doorstep - standing might be a generous term, actually, more like he’s leaning against the doorframe and it’s clearly the only thing keeping him on his feet - and his face is white as a sheet, except for his cheeks, which are bright with fever. His hair is slick with sweat and it’s dripping down his face, his eyes are barely open, and despite everything, he apologizes as Napoleon all but drags him through the door. 

“Don’t apologize,” Napoleon says, instinctively, hands on Illya, feeling heat radiating from his body even through his jacket. “It’s alright.”

He half-drags Illya towards the couch, very nearly holding his hands, staying just shy of the limit. Illya’s wrists and palms are damp and clammy and all Napoleon can think about is how long it must have taken for things to get this bad, how long Illya must have suffered on his own. 

He doesn’t know whether to be glad or worried that Illya had eventually chosen to come to him. 

He deposits Illya as gently as he can onto the couch and heads for the bathroom. There, he retrieves his first-aid kit, so extensively stocked that his apartment might as well be a small hospital, along with a glass of water and a washcloth, which he dampens in the sink. 

When he returns to the living room, Illya has curled in upon himself, shivering. He looks so small, so miserable, so alone, and all Napoleon wants to do is touch him, run fingers through his sweaty hair and trace patterns onto his back and press the back of a hand to his surely burning cheek. 

He doesn’t. He can’t. 

“Hey,” he says, lightly jostling Illya’s shoulder. “You in there, Peril?”

Illya very slowly uncurls himself with a sniff. He looks at Napoleon and his eyes are unreadable, bright with fever and glassy with tears and Napoleon wills himself to be unaffected, even as he feels something within him threaten to break at how damned vulnerable Illya looks, how utterly unguarded. 

He can’t stop his training from seeping into his mind. How easy it would be to tear down Illya’s defenses, to use his trust against him. He hates himself for it. Ignores the thoughts, Sanders’ voice echoing through his head. 

He crouches in front of his partner - I’m not a threat, I would never do that to him - and opens his kit. 

His first item is a thermometer. He slips its metal tip into a cover, holds it up. 

Illya doesn’t do anything. 

“Do I really need to spell this out for you?” He tries to keep his tone light, tries not to bely the worry churning beneath his skin. 

They get there eventually. Napoleon barely stops himself from placing a hand on Illya’s cheek as the mercury in the tube rises and rises. 

“103,” Napoleon says. “Jesus.”

Illya looks as if he is about to cry.  

Everything in Napoleon is screaming at him to just pull Illya to him and hold on, to whisper soft reassurances against the side of his head. 

“We need to get that number down,” is what he says, in lieu of acting on his impulses. “No need for a hospital for now, but…”

Illya’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. 

“I know. Here.”

He hands Illya a few fever reducing pills, presses the glass of water into his shaky hands. 

He expects resistance. But Illya takes the pills willingly, a pained look flashing across his face as he swallows. 

“Those should help,” Napoleon says. “Now lie back.”

Illya again does as he’s told. His legs remain slightly curled - they haven’t yet made a couch on which he can comfortably stretch out, though he doesn’t seem to mind at this particular moment. 

Once Illya is no longer moving, Napoleon carefully drapes the cool, damp washcloth across his forehead. Illya recoils from it at first, then relaxes. His eyes flutter closed. 

Napoleon wants to kiss him. Even if it’d mean later falling ill with…whatever it is Illya’s got. He just wants to give Illya something physical, a tangible thing that says, I’m here and I care about you and I’m not going anywhere and you never have to apologize for coming to me and about a thousand other things that he’s never been brave enough to actually speak aloud. 

He allows himself to give Illya’s hand a brief squeeze, and intends for that to be that. 

But Illya’s fingers curl around Napoleon’s own, weakly yet definitely, and when Napoleon chances a look at his face there’s a tear running down his cheek. His eyes are still closed. 

“Hey,” he whispers. “You’re going to be alright.”

Illya takes a shuddering breath and screws up his face like he’s trying to stop himself from actually crying, and Napoleon just…loses the battle. 

He raises their still-joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Illya’s hand, light and quick. He waits. 

Nothing happens. Illya does not pull away. 

He takes a step further into the unknown. A hand against Illya’s cheek, horribly hot to the touch. 

He swears Illya leans into it. 

One step further. The last one he’s going to take, here and now. A kiss to the cheek. “It’s okay,” whispered against burning skin. 

He feels Illya relax. Hears him take a deep breath. Feels Illya squeeze his hand, knows, somehow, what he means. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I never want to go anywhere else. 

thanks for reading!!! hope you liked it <3

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #thermometer #the man from uncle #fic #illya kuryakin #sick #fever #cared for #my writing #i say things #think i wrote this one while sick or just getting sick lmao #can u tell the Misery that was put into it #anyways i am shortly off to class...ouuuuu

[klutzyroses]

Hi! This is my first time requesting so I'm a bit nervous, I wanted to as of you could do mc who has mommy issues, like her mom mentally abused her, I'm sorry if this is too much too ask you can ignore it if you want(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

P. S I have been a fan of your work lately and have been stalking your account for any new updates lol but keep up the good work your an amazing writer (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Ah, it's people like you who keep me writing, anon! Thank you!💖💖❤❤

IkeVamp HCs: Abused S/O

How do they handle an s/o who has been abused by her mother?

Suitors: Napoleon, Vincent, Isaac, Dazai

Warnings: Mentions of emotional and mental abuse, parental neglect

Napoleon

The former emperor was never one to pry directly into people's affairs unless they were willing to tell him and that went for his nunuche as well.

However he couldn't help but notice a sudden shift in her behavior one day when she started acting a little different.

Any criticism, teasing or any scolding she received, she took especially hard. Harder than she normally would actually.

When Sebastian had lightly scolded her over a mistake she made while Napoleon was present, one would think he had driven a knife in her heart. He hadn't said anything out of the ordinary or anything particularly cruel, but the darling looked so crushed that both men were taken aback, especially when she hurriedly excused herself and ran out the room, near tears.

Was it even a question that Napoleon went after her almost immediately?

He really didn't take long to find his belle at the gazebo on the bench, her trembling form obvious from miles away. He wasted no time going up to her and pulling her into a warm embrace.

He will wait until she is calm enough to open up.

His grip tightens around her just a little, to keep himself from shaking with anger when he hears all about her cold and abusive mother, how she berated her daughter for every mistake she did and made her feel like nothing she did was good enough.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he let's her cry on his shoulder, running his hand up and down her back.

"It's okay, don't cry, mon ange, I'll protect you, and your heart from now on. So don't cry, okay...?"

He is a man of his word and he had yet to break any of the promises he made to the woman he loves.

Vincent

He had been awoken by whimpering next to him to see his sunflower crying in her sleep. Her beautiful face was wet with droplets of sorrow and distress as her soft lips mumbled apologies to someone, and promises to do better.

Worried, he gently woke her from her nightmare, unable to stand her tears for long.

If there is anyone who can understand the pain of being unloved by a parent, it's Vincent. So when she opens up that her nightmare was about her mother, her very vulgar and ill-tempered matriarch who made her life nothing short of a misery.

Vincent tenses as he listens to his beloved weep her sorrows onto his chest, his heart tightening.

With anger? Sadness? Sympathy? All three?

He couldn't be sure, but it was not a pleasant feeling. He could definitely relate to what she was feeling and it was only because of the sunflower in his arms that he could ever rise above it. And he would do the same for her.

He raises her face, holding the pretty visage in his hands as he kisses each tear away with such heart-rending tenderness, that the woman's sobs died down to quiet whimpers which are briefly cut off by a peck to the lips.

"Shh, it's going to be okay, scatje. I'm right here. I'll always be right here."

He would spend as long as he needs to shower her with the adoration she deserves. Until those woeful tears turn to the brightest of smiles.

Isaac

The physicist can very vaguely relate to having an emotionally distant mother, but to be treated in such a way? That was cruel.

He can't help but feel terrible for his darling when she opens up about how unkind her own mother had been to her and how it impacted her from early childhood.

He suddenly wishes he hadn't asked about her family. It had only been a casual question, that led to the poor dear to tear up.

He couldn't understand how anyone could hurt such a sweetheart?

If her mother was so cruel, how did she bring such an angel into the world?

Questions he could debate later but right now, his love needed to be comforted.

He tenderly takes the tearful maiden in his arms, tentatively as to not alarm or frighten her, tucking her close to his heart that aches at the sight of her tears.

The awkward physicist may not be as silver-tongued as the blasted authors that tease him on a daily basis, but he would be damned of he couldn't pour every ounce of love inside his heart into the fragile beauty in his arms.

"Please don't be upset...I can't stand to see you cry. I...love you too much."

He tries, he really does. He just wants to see that beautiful smile and nothing else.

Dazai

His heart aches, more so than usual when he finds his beloved Y/N in tears one evening. She was cooped up in the library, all by herself in just her nightgown, staring far off into nothingness with just a handkerchief to wipe her never ending tears and the many books to keep her company.

He found himself moving towards her before he could stop himself and seating himself beside her before taking her in his arms, earning a startled gasp from the distraught maiden.

He doesn't push her to tell him what's wrong but he doesn't plan on letting her go until she is better. It's then that he finds out about her experience dealing with her cruel and negligent mother.

How she called her names, how she blamed Y/N for everything wrong in her life, how she always insulted her in every possible way...

As she weeps through her tale, she is pressed to her lover's chest, so she couldn't possibly see the tension in his expression. But if she looked up, she'd see his lips pressed into a flat line and his golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they gleamed with the almost imperceptible flicker of anger.

He doesn't speak until she is finished and he only holds her tighter, cradling her as her body wracks with sobs as he whispers sweet words of comfort into her ear. He wants to let her know that none of those cruel insults were true. That she was a wonderful person and she meant the sun and moon to him.

"You're adorable, even when you cry but please, dry your tears my love, I'd much rather see you smile. If you don't smile, I'll just have to make you, won't I?"

He may not be able to make her happy, but her smile is his peace and she is his joy. He'd tell her he loves her as many times as she needs to hear it. The man is good with words.

🌸

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp headcanons #ikevam headcanons

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #28

This is an AU based on the 2009 film Push. So, The Man From UNCLE but with super powers!

xxx we might not make it to the morning 

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering if you’d come.” One corner of her mouth is upturned, and there’s nothing in Victoria’s tone, in the way she speaks, that’s out of the ordinary. And yet…There’s something there, something that tickles the back of Napoleon’s mind and then disappears the moment he reaches for it, like grasping at smoke.

It unsettles him, even as he puts on a false smile of his own, calm and full of charm. “How could I not? When a stunning woman such as yourself extends an invitation, one would be a fool not to accept it. I brought champagne.” He lifts the bottle slightly, and she steps out of the doorway so Napoleon can enter the suite, closing the door behind him. Napoleon sets the champagne down and turns to Victoria with one eyebrow quirked. “So what is it you wanted to discuss? An art deal, perhaps?”

Victoria grins broadly, showing pearly white teeth that remind Napoleon of a wolf’s, and she lets out a laugh. “Come now, Napoleon. Neither of us is that naive, so let’s not pretend.”

Napoleon’s stomach ties itself in knots at the use of his real name, but he’s careful not to let his shock show. His cover is blown, but he has to keep his head. “Damn,” he says. “I thought I was doing so well.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Agent Solo. You were doing very well!”

“What, so you found a Watcher, then? A Sniff?”

The woman watches him out from under heavy, dark lashes. There’s something predatory in her gaze, and Napoleon feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His strategy shifts immediately from gathering what intelligence he can to finding a way out of here, now.

But then…she speaks. And realization barely has time to hit him before her words crash over him and into him, entangling her lies with his reality.

“You really shouldn’t trust that big Russian ape, you know.”

Napoleon frowns. She’s only barely started to Push, and the contradicting thoughts in his mind confuse him. Surely she can’t mean…“Illya?” 

“Kuryakin, yes. He’s still working with them. It’s dreadful, really, the way he’s using you and dear little Gaby. Playing you for fools.”

Confusion slowly turns to anger, and Napoleon feels his hands curl into fists. “I’ll kill him.”

He doesn’t notice Victoria’s amused smile, or the blackness of her eyes. “Now, there’s an idea. He’ll see you coming, though. The man is tracking you, after all.”

Napoleon’s thoughts are heavy and plodding, like there’s weights around their ankles, and it takes him a long moment before he says, “That’s impossible. I check my clothes, and my shoes.”

Victoria sighs, walking past Napoleon and to the nightstand next to the bed. He turns to watch her. “No, no darling. You misunderstand me. He didn’t place the tracker on you, did he? He planted it in you, in your belly.” 

Napoleon’s heart rate picks up, hands breaking into a sweat. His head hurts. This doesn’t seem right, but she’s said so and--

“The bastard,” he says.

“Indeed.” She opens the nightstand drawer and pulls something out, lifting it to show him. A small paring knife. She places the point against the tip of her finger and looks at it thoughtfully. “If you want to kill him, which you do, you’ll need to get that pesky tracker out first and destroy it.”

A tracker, a Russian tracker inside him all this time, Kuryakin and the fucking KGB aware of his every move, his every secret…All of it lies. His trust given to the enemy, to a man who’s needled his way into his life and used him. 

He needs to get the tracker out and smash it to pieces. And then he needs to find Illya and smash him to pieces, too.

Victoria closes the space between herself and Napoleon and reaches up with one hand, gently running the back of her long fingers down his face, lingering at his jaw. 

“I’d love to stay and watch, I really would, but unfortunately I’ve more important matters to see to. Much less entertaining, though. Pity.” She sighs wistfully and holds out the knife. “You’ll need this. A bit short, but it’s sharp enough.”

Napoleon takes the blade from Victoria and she plants a kiss on his lips, lingering a long moment before she pulls away with a smile. 

“Goodbye now, Napoleon. We shan’t be seeing each other again, I don’t think. And do be quiet, we don’t want anyone coming in here and trying to stop you.”

Napoleon nods idly, staring down at the small weapon he’s been handed as Victoria leaves the suite.

The agent turns the knife in his hand so it’s pointed toward his belly. His body’s instinct to survive is shouting at him, trying to seize control of his limbs. But there’s a tracker inside him, put there by a man who has lied to him, violated him, betrayed him. And he needs to get it out. He has to. Mind overrides body and he drives the knife forward, plunging it into the right side of his torso, halfway between ribs and hip. The pain pulls the breath out of him and the blood is instant, welling up around the blade and soaking his crisp, white shirt. He’s on the floor before he knows he’s falling, sitting on the carpet against the settee, his legs outstretched before him. His heart pounds in his chest, in his ears, as he starts to pull the knife to the left (the woman wasn’t lying, the knife is sharp) and his hands begin to tremble as more blood spills from him. His body shakes as he continues, quaking with the effort of containing the screams that want to erupt from him--screams of agony, of hurt, of rage. He doesn’t let them out though, he can’t. Only the occasional whimper or groan slips through his lips, though the sounds are quickly stifled. Mostly he gasps, rapid, sharp breaths through flared nostrils, his mouth drawn into a thin grimace.

He wants to stop.

But then Victoria’s voice again, and her words push every other conscious thought aside so that he’s focused only on his task. To get the tracker out. 

He’s shaking so badly he can hardly hold the knife, so he wraps his left hand around his right and then he keeps moving. He doesn’t think about the fact that his lap is becoming increasingly wet and warm as blood spills from the lengthening split in his belly. Doesn’t think about the fact that, despite the sweat on his forehead, he’s growing colder. 

He has to get the tracker out.

And then he’s going to kill Illya Kuryakin.

xxx 

They don’t wait for the girl at the front desk to give them a key. They don’t have the time, and Illya can blast the door open anyway, and does so with more strength than Gaby has seen in a while, nearly knocking it from its hinges. He bursts into the room and then freezes so abruptly that Gaby runs into the back of him. 

“Illya!” she gripes, and steps out from around him and then she freezes, too. “Mein Gott.”

Napoleon is on the floor, slumped against a settee, his face shiny with sweat and a sickly shade of gray and there’s blood, there’s so much blood all over his front and his hands and the white carpet beneath him and she’s seen a lot since working with Waverly but this…Bile rises in her throat and she has to turn away, doubling over and clutching her stomach and waiting for the moment to pass. This seems to rouse Illya from his daze and her charges forward. 

“Cowboy!” he cries, and Gaby looks up in time to see the Russian fall to his knees beside the agent. He’s muttering in Russian, words too low and fast for Gaby to understand but she thinks he may be praying as he puts two fingers to Napoleon’s neck, searching for a pulse. 

“Is he--”

“He is alive,” Illya says. “Go find clean towels, we must try and control the bleeding.”

Gaby nods, hurrying off to the bathroom, and she’s grateful to have a moment to herself, to collect herself as she collects the towels. She’s strong and Napoleon Solo is strong and it’s going to be okay. 

That’s when the shouting starts. 

She hears Illya first. “Solo, what are you--You are badly injured you must--”

And then Napoleon, and the tone in his voice sends ice in her veins. 

“Get the fuck off me, I’ll kill you!” There’s a tiredness in his voice, a slurred quality to his words that she knows comes with being badly hurt, but even so the words are laced with fury and hatred and she hurries back to the two agents. 

Napoleon has a knife in his red-with-blood hand, holding it up in front of him, and Gaby can see it shaking. Illya is a step back, hands up in a gesture of retreat, face twisted in hurt and confusion. 

“Napoleon!” 

Gaby’s cry gets his attention and he looks over at her, then down at his belly. “I have to get it out. Gaby, I--I have to get it out!” 

And then he’s aiming the knife at himself, moving quickly but Illya is quicker and grabs both his wrists. The knife clatters to the ground and Napoleon’s face darkens with rage. 

“Cowboy, it’s me!” Illya cries. “You’re badly wounded, we have to get you to help, do you understand?”

“You’re a liar,” Napoleon snarls, jerking slightly as he tries to free himself from the Russian’s grip. The action is quickly followed by a sound of pain and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Illya, let him go,” Gaby says, barely keeping her voice from shaking. “He’ll hurt himself more trying to fight you.”

“He will hurt himself anyway if I let him go.” There’s desperation in Illya’s voice, written on his face and in his body, in the uncertainty that is as plain in his grip as the strength. “It--it is bad, Gaby. The towels--he needs the towels.”

Gaby nods, kneeling beside the two men and it’s only then, with the blood on the carpet soaking through the knees of her trousers, that she fully takes in Napoleon’s injury. It’s nothing short of ghastly--a long, ragged cut running from one side of his belly to the other. It's hard to tell but she notes that there doesn't seem to be anything other than blood spilling from the gash. It offers some comfort, but not much. 

She’s seen what a powerful Pusher can do, and Victoria is obviously not short on power. It’s plain that Napoleon doesn’t have much strength left in him, but whatever she’s planted in his mind is compelling him to use every ounce of it acting on whatever she’s told him to do, even if it kills him. 

She positions herself next to Illya, who’s still holding Napoleon’s wrists, and presses a towel to the long gash, and another, and it’s obvious that he’s in agony but he doesn’t scream, just writhes weakly and lets out small, hair raising whimpers.

“We can’t move him like this,” Gaby says. “Maybe if he were calm, but he is bleeding too much and there’s no way he’ll let you get him out of here. He needs a Stitch. You know one here in Rome, don’t you? Go make the call.”

Illya’s jaw works, eyes growing watery, and he shakes his head once. “I will give you the number. I won’t leave him.”

“You have to!” she snaps, then sighs. “Illya, you have to.”

He reluctantly releases his hold on Napoleon, who immediately reaches for the towels Gaby’s holding against his wound. He’s weak, though, and Gaby easily stops him, taking his bloody hands in hers.

“Go!” she barks, and Illya hurries away. 

“He--he--” Napoleon gasps, looking at Gaby with eyes wide and wild.

“What is it, Solo?” she says gently, hoping that she can coax something out that will help her deal with whatever lies Victoria has forced on him.

“He lied to us. The--the--the bastard! Put a tracker in me…I have to get it out.”

So that’s what Victoria told him. She has to think quickly.

“You did!” she says, and his brow furrows in confusion.

“What?” His hands relax in hers, just slightly. 

“You already got it out,” she says, slowly releasing one of his hands and waiting for a moment to make sure he doesn’t try and hurt himself again. Then she reaches into her pocket and draws out one of the beads from her broken bracelet and holds it up. “See? It was on the floor, you must have missed it. You already got it out.”

He still looks slightly bewildered, but he nods slowly. “I got it out,” he murmurs, and lets out a long sigh, and as he does his eyes drift shut and his head dips down toward his chest. 

“Solo!” Gaby puts her hand on his face, tilting his head upward. Her already hammering heart beats so fast that it aches, with fear, with desperation. A Stitch can’t help a dead man. “Solo, come on. You have to stay awake until help comes. Napoleon!”

She almost weeps with relief when she hears Illya’s voice in the hall, and he appears a moment later, a short, harsh-looking older woman in tow. 

“Christ, that’s a lot of blood,” she says in a thick Dublin as she sets eyes on Napoleon. “Is he still breathing?”

Gaby nods. “He’s alive.”

“Alright, help me get him onto his back.”

Illya and Gaby move quickly and carefully, shifting Napoleon so that he’s lying flat on his back on the blood-soaked floor. The woman places her hand on Napoleon’s belly, one on either side of the wound. She glances up at Illya. 

“Your friend is about to make a lot of noise. Might bring some unwanted attention.”

“I will deal with it, Brigid,” Illya practically growls. “Just help him!”

Brigid nods and slowly starts to move her hands. Gaby watches in fascinated horror as the torn flesh deep within the wound begins to knit. As it does, Napoleon stirs, just a little at first, a pained whimper escaping his lips. Whimper becomes groan, and he writhes under Brigid’s hands, and then his back arches and he screams and the sound makes Gaby’s stomach churn. Brigid doesn’t seem phased, barely even seems to notice, just continues her bloody work. Gaby has to blink back tears and she looks up to see Illya doing the same, the big Russian’s jaw tense as he stares up at the ceiling while Napoleon cries out. 

And then it’s over and Napoleon’s body goes limp, sweat beading his forehead as his head lolls to one side, his breath coming in high, breathy gasps.

“Boy’s just been through hell,” Brigid says, standing. “But he’ll be back on his feet in a few hours.”

“Thank you,” Illya says. “Thank you.”

Brigid just nods. “You owe me one, Kuryakin.” And she leaves the apartment without another word. Illya watches her go, then turns to Gaby. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

Illya sniffs once, looking away, then looks back at her. “The way he spoke to me…He was so angry.”

There’s a noise in the hall and Gaby swears under her breath.

“Illya, we need to get him out of here.”

“He does not trust me.” Illya’s voice is small. Broken.

“We’ll figure it out,” Gaby says softly. 

Illya nods, his expression darkening. “And then we find Victoria.”

“And then we find Victoria,” Gaby agrees.

It doesn’t matter how powerful Victoria Vinciguera is. She’s going to pay for this.

xxx 

#whumptober2023 #no.28 #bloody knife #the man from uncle #fic #blood tw #violence tw #self harm tw #self injury tw #brainwashed #magical healing #painful healing #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #tmfu #tmfu fic #tmfu au #super hero au #push au #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump #whump fic

[violettduchess]

Hi! Your Bi MC fic was so beautiful!!! May I request a fanfic of an AFAB mc coming out as a transgender man? Like the mc gathers all the residents into one room and tries to explain stuff like preferred names and pronouns to everyone, not everyone understands it but they can tell how important this is to MC so they are supportive of him and ask him lots of questions to better understand him

A/N: I wanted to save this fic for the beginning of Trans Awareness Week, which this year is from Nov. 13-19. You can find out more here.

I also wanted to make sure I did this justice, so I sent it to a former student who is a beautiful trans woman. She proofread it for me and gave her stamp of approval.

Ikemen Vamp x trans man mc

Word Count: 1264

You stand in the mirror, drawing in a deep breath. Your fingers run down the front of your vest, the soft navy blue wool, the shiny gold buttons. You reach down, double-checking the gold cufflinks at the end of your smart, stiffly-starched white shirt. From the top of your newly-shorn hair to the tips of your shiny black dress shoes, you look in the mirror and see yourself the way you have always imagined. The you that was hidden, small and afraid in the corners of your heart, until you passed through a doorway across time and proved yourself capable of a bravery you did not know you possessed. A mansion full of genius vampires didn’t phase you and it was then you realized it was time to face the world. Literally show it your face. Your true face. And you would start with the men who welcomed you.

You inhale once more. Exhale. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you wonder if it will burst through the bindings and ruin your new suit. Pressing a hand against it, you tell yourself that no matter what happens, you will be ok. One final check in the mirror and then you turn, long legs taking you out of your bedroom, down the hallway, and through the double doors into the dining room where you had asked the residents to meet you.

Eleven heads turn when those wooden doors open. A lump of nervousness like a spiked ball has lodged itself firmly in your throat. Somehow you managed to take another few steps forward, closing the doors behind you. Your hands are trembling so you shove them into your pants pockets. Their faces seem to blur in the haze of your anxiety, but you do catch Arthur’s brilliant blue eyes alight with curiosity, his head tilted to one side. Theo’s expression is serious, almost dour, as usual. Vincent leans forward, resting his arms on the table as he regards you, brows raised, open interest painted across his face like a ray of sunshine. Jean looks confused, leaning toward Napoleon. You know he is speaking because you see his lips moving and Napoleon shaking his head.

It is Comte, leaning against the cabinet that holds all the fine China, cup of tea in hand, who speaks first. 

“Good evening. You wished to speak with us?” His expression is calm, placid as a lake in summer, but his eyes are bright when they meet yours. It feels like a lifeline in a gathering storm.

“I did. I have something to say and I thank you all for gathering here, ready to listen.” You draw another breath, feeling faintly ill. Isaac’s intelligent gaze is running over you, making you nervous. Is he making a categorized list of all the changes he notices? Your lips part and nothing comes out. 

Leonardo moves from where he is leaning against the wall. Cigarillo in hand, he casually blows out a thin plume of smoke as he heads to one of the empty chairs, lowering himself into it with all the grace of a large feline, his golden eyes meeting your gaze.

“Go on, amico mio.” His words are few and soft-spoken. But they hit your ears as loudly as a clap of thunder. Not cara mia. Amico mio. My friend. My male friend. Your heart feels like it might explode with gratitude at the simple gesture and you know he sees it in your face because he offers you a smile before taking another drag on his cigarette.

Courage floods your veins, tempering the burning pain of anxiety. It isn’t quite gone, but it feels....manageable.  You square your shoulders and begin again.

“Good evening. I’d like to introduce myself.” 

And from there it’s easy. The words pour from your lips like water, clear and bright and unhindered. You explain your name. What you have chosen and why. You explain the concept of deadnaming. You shower them with information about pronouns and their importance. You bathe them in the soft warmth of your truth. You show them the very fabric of your soul with shaking hands. As your voice fills the room, there is quiet. Every single vampire in the room is still, is listening. You tell yourself not to worry about those with furrowed brows or confusion their eyes. You will do what you can to help them understand.

You don’t know how long you speak, but judging by the dryness of your throat it is a while. And when the words finally trickle to an end, you feel the release of the adrenaline that fueled you. Your body has given all that it can. The rest in now in their hands.

“.....Are there…..any questions?”

Dazai has been watching you with eyes golden as the sun’s first rays in summer. He stands, reaching for a glass and pours cold water from the pitcher into it. Then he crosses the room, holding it out to you. Gratitude floods you yet again as you take it, as you see the smile on his lips, the nod of his head. As he addresses you with your name. And the added -kun on the end makes your heart soar.

Vincent speaks first. “So…..you have always felt this way?” The ice cracks. There is a soft murmur as you walk to the dining room table and settle yourself into one of the chairs, glass of water firmly in your grip.

“Yes.” 

What follows are questions. A cavalcade of them. Some of the residents have trouble understanding how gender and biology are two separate concepts. Others are worried they will have trouble with pronouns. Some are worried for other reasons. This is Paris in the 19th century. They fear for your safety if you leave the mansion. Others swear to protect you when you do. Arthur seems more interested in where you got your gorgeous tailored suit and would like you to take him shopping. This makes you laugh. 

As you speak, as you answer the questions they ask, you feel how they are trying, how they want to support you in any way you can. How they want to understand. Some like Dazai and Comte and Leonardo, the golden-eyed trio, are quicker to accept. You wonder if they have met others like you before. Some part of you, deep in the marrow of your bones, knows they have. Some have a harder time. Theo, Isaac. Their expressions are sharper, less relaxed. But not once do they make you feel anything other than acknowledged. They see you. They really see you.

The hours slide by until the residents, one by one, leave to attend their nightly business. Soon only Comte remains. He sets his long-empty teacup onto the table, splaying his elegant hands across the polished wood.

“The hour is late and you have given everyone much to think on.”

You push your chair back, nodding. Now all you feel is a satisfied sort of exhaustion, like one might feel after a long hike through the mountains or a long swim in the ocean. 

“Comte?”

Le Comte de St. Germain looks up, his features bathed in soft candlelight. He looks timeless, ageless, eternity formed in flesh and bone.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Those words don’t feel like enough to convey how you feel but he smiles all the time, slow and beautiful and soft with affection. “Bonne nuit, mon ami. Fais de beaux rêves.” Good night, my friend. Sweet dreams.

“I can’t begin to express how remarkable it feels to finally love who I am enough to pursue my authentic self.” -Elliot Page

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @ariamichel @kpop-and-otome

#ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikemen vamp #trans mc #trans man #ikemen leonardo #ikemen comte #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp comte #leonardo da vinci #comte de st germain #only tagging the vamps that have a bigger role in this fic #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #violettwrites