#My posture right now? Impeccable

[charonean]

Breaking news: doing things that are good for you are, in fact, good for you.

[heavenlybodies333]

The Vest Stays On -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader | secret relationship |

The first time you saw Spencer Reid in the tactical vest, it short-circuited your entire nervous system.

It happened during a joint task force case with SWAT, just outside of Portland. You were half-caffeinated, bloodied from crawling through brambles to get a GPS fix on a suspect’s last drop point, and very much not expecting to be visually assaulted at seven-thirty in the morning. But then he stepped out of the SUV, FBI gear snug around his narrow chest, the black straps cinching in just right, the embroidered letters bright against the navy blue. Hair tousled. Glock holstered.

And you? Useless. Every neuron in your brain screamed: climb him.

You weren’t the only one who noticed. Morgan had laughed when you choked on your water. JJ had side-eyed you when you pretended to stare at the street signs just to avoid looking at Spencer’s chest. “That’s the fifth time you’ve looked,” Emily mutters under her breath beside you, handing over her report.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please,” she snorts. “You’ve been ogling Reid like he’s the last glass of water in the desert.”

And Hotch—of course Hotch—was the only one oblivious, laser-focused on briefing SWAT while the rest of the team collectively ignored how suddenly, unfairly hot Dr. Spencer Reid looked in tactical gear.

Which brings you to now. Because apparently the BAU’s got a knack for hotel fuck-ups. There’s only one room left tonight, and surprise—it's yours and Spencer's. Two twin beds, one broken thermostat, and five days into a case that’s frayed both of your nerves to ribbons.

And Reid? He’s still wearing the damn vest.

It’s past midnight. You’re in a tank top and boyshorts, pacing in front of the single working AC unit like it’s your job. Spencer’s sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees, posture impeccable—like he’s trying not to look at you. Like the thought of you in so little isn’t killing him. It’s mutual.

“I can take the floor if you want,” he offers.

You raise a brow. “Why? Scared I’ll kick in my sleep?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I just—I figured you’d be more comfortable. With space.”

You stop in front of him. Your eyes drift to the vest. It’s still zipped up, snug over his chest, the collar slightly popped against the base of his throat. “You gonna sleep in that thing?” you ask, stepping into his space. “Or is it permanently fused to your body now?”

He swallows. “I was—I didn’t want to—I didn’t think—”

“I don’t think I ever told you,” you interrupt, running your hand through his hair, “how unfairly hot this vest is.”

“I-I got that impression.”

You grin. “You know what I want?”

His breath hitches. “What?”

You lean in close, your mouth brushing his jaw as your fingers trail over the vest’s chest straps. “I want you to fuck me in it.”

With a firm hand, you shove him backward onto the mattress. He goes willingly, vest thudding softly against the cheap polyester sheets. You climb over him, knees straddling his hips, your fingers curling around the edge of the vest to anchor yourself. You roll your hips down, slow and deliberate, grinding against him. He groans.

“Tell me something, Doctor,” you murmur, tugging at one of the black buckles. “Statistically speaking, how many times can someone come in a single night?”

He chokes on a laugh—half arousal, half disbelief. “I—uh—five to six, depending on... variables.”

You smirk. “Let’s test that hypothesis, shall we?” He grips your hips tight. You grind against the hard line of him through his slacks and he groans—a soft, helpless sound that goes straight to your core.

Spencer kisses you again—slower this time, purposeful—then pulls your arms above your head. He grabs his belt from where it hangs on the bedpost and uses it to bind your wrists, leather tight but not painful.

“You move,” he murmurs, “and you don’t come.”

Your thighs squeeze together, aching. “What if I beg?”

“You can beg all you want.” He leans down, lips brushing your collarbone. “I like the sound of it.”

He trails kisses down your chest, nips at the waistband of your shorts. His hands skim your thighs, teasing, torturously slow. He drops his gaze to your boyshorts, now pushed aside, and hums softly under his breath like he’s filing away the image for later. You arch involuntarily when he strokes a thumb across your clit, featherlight. Just enough to make you crave more.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmurs. “Is it the vest?”

You whimper. “Spencer…”

He tilts his head, mock-serious. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes. God. Yes.”

“Noted.” He leans down and kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and indulgent. You twitch in his hold, desperate for friction, but he tuts. “I said don’t move.”

You nearly whine. “You’re torturing me.”

“I’m teasing you,” he corrects, licking another maddening stripe up your center. “Big difference. Trust me—I’ve done the research.”

You buck your hips before you can stop yourself. Spencer freezes. You feel his breath against your skin, just before he pulls away entirely. “No,” you plead, straining against the belt.

He raises a brow, expression cool behind the heat in his eyes. “I warned you.”

“Spencer, please—”

He slides back up your body until he’s straddling your hips and fuck, he’s so hard. The fabric catches on the outline of his cock as he pushes them down just enough to free himself. He doesn’t bother undressing further. The vest stays on, snug against his frame, and you can see his chest rising with each breath.

He fists himself once, twice—lining himself up with you—and then pauses, cock pressed at your entrance. Sliding it up and through your wet slick before slowly pushing in. You moan—loud, wrecked, your head tipping back against the pillow. He’s big and slow about it, pushing in deep and staying there, letting you feel every inch of him.

You whine under him, tugging instinctively at the belt binding your wrists. “Spence baby please—”

He groans deep in his chest and leans down, the hard ridge of his vest pressing tight against your nipples, the friction causing you to whimper.

“Yeah?” He thrusts harder. “You like the vest?”

You nod wildly. “God, yes.”

“I’ll wear it every day if you want.” You laugh—breathy, desperate—then cry out as he hits just the right spot.

The headboard slams into the wall. You both freeze. From the hallway, a door slams. Spencer presses his forehead to yours, panting. “We’re gonna get caught,” you whisper. He thrusts again. Hard. “Not if you stay quiet.”

You bite your lip. He watches, transfixed. “Be good for me,” he whispers. “Stay quiet. Let me fuck you like this.”

Your eyes roll back. You’re going to come, and he knows it—knows by the way your hips stutter, how your fingers curl into the Velcro on his chest.

“God, you feel good,” he groans against your jaw. Spencer doesn't stop—grinds you through it, cock buried deep, watching you like you're unraveling every scientific principle he’s ever believed in.

“Fuck,” he pants, low and harsh. “You’re so—God—”

You feel him start to lose rhythm, hips jerking erratically. “Inside,” you manage to gasp. “Come in me. Please.”

He groans your name, deep and broken, and spills into you, hips stuttering through the aftershocks as his head drops to your shoulder. You feel it—hot and thick and endless.

When he finally lifts his head, you’re still trying to catch your breath. He brushes damp hair from your forehead and presses a kiss there, soft and startlingly tender.

“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You tug weakly at your wrists. “Untie me before I find a way to punish you.”

Spencer grins—actually grins—as he reaches for the belt. “Promise?”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s a dangerous game, Doctor.”

He drops the belt to the floor and pulls you into his chest, arms winding around you, vest rough and warm against your cheek. You settle there, content and fucked-out, and sigh.

“You know,” he says, absently running a thumb over your thigh, “in the Victorian era, women were diagnosed with ‘hysteria’ when they experienced… symptoms like yours.”

You lift your head. “Symptoms like what? Being feral for their boyfriend in tactical gear?”

He nods earnestly. “Exactly. Increased heart rate, flushing, rapid breathing, erratic behavior. The prescription was often—well, manual stimulation. Administered by physicians. It’s where the invention of the vibrator comes from.”

You gape at him. “Spencer.”

He shrugs, still tracing nonsense patterns on your thigh. “Just a historical fun fact.”

“You are the weirdest, hottest person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not mutually exclusive, you know,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Intelligence and arousal activate adjacent neural circuits in the limbic system. That’s why people find brains sexy. It’s science.”

“You’re science,” you mumble, tilting your head. “So. Statistically, how long is the average refractory period for men your age?”

He flushes, then smiles like he’s being challenged. “Well, the median is about fifteen minutes. But there’s a huge variation depending on stimulation, emotional connection, hormone levels—”

“So we could test the upper limits of that, is what I’m hearing.”

He pauses, eyes darkening. “Do you want to?”

You lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, your voice honey-sweet and dangerous. “Only if you keep the vest on.”

He practically groans. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

And it’s only round two.

a/n: raw raw rawwww

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[science-hoes]

When the words leave Jack’s mouth, your breath hitches. Your hands freeze on the keyboard, the cursor blinking at the end of your patient chart update. It feels like your whole world is collapsing in on itself, with your boyfriend’s statement at the center of the destruction.

You try to find the words to say, but they won’t come out, so you swivel in the rolling chair at the desk hub to face the computer he sat in front of, his impeccable posture indicative of every hour he was in the military. He doesn’t turn, but he can feel your desperate eyes burning a hole through his head.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asks, genuinely, but continues to click through his last patient’s chart.

You swallow hard, hoping that he had just been joking. “Why would you do that?” You manage say.

Jack furrows his brow as he leans closer to the computer screen until the text came into focus. He doesn’t everything except wear those damn readers you bought for him. “Do what?” He questions.

“Get a haircut.”

The words sting even as they cross your lips, stabbing up your chest and throat until they hit the cold air of the Pitt. Jack just shrugs.

“Because I basically have an Afro right now. It’s too much hair. Makes my head hot.” He mumbles in response.

You huff a laugh. “Don’t need all that hair for your head to be hot, Lieutenant Colonel.” You deadpanned.

Jack shot you a feigned glare of distaste before looking back to his screen.

“I feel like Bob Ross.” He admits distractedly, index finger tapping on the computer mouse.

You glide across the floor in your rolling chair until you bump into him. You stare at his whimsical salt and pepper curls that had been cultivating for so long. They’re just so pretty.

“But I like your curls.” You nearly whine. “And you always get your hair buzzed so short on the sides when you go.”

Jack chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, clamping a few curls in his fingers and unraveling them, stretching them out to show his real hair length.

“It’s too long. When I’m in the shower, my hair is almost in my eyes.” He explains.

You watch as the curls snap back into place on his head when he lets them go, taking in every moment you have left with them.

“This is my 9/11.” You pout, giving your boyfriend an unhappy glare.

Jack rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair to stretch. “Do you even remember 9/11?” He questions.

You shrug, leaning your head on the back of your own chair, admiring his unruly hair. “Not really. But I imagine it felt just like this.”

He barks a laugh and places a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently, a rare instance of physical affection that you’re both slow to share out of respect for your coworkers.

“I promise I won’t get it buzzed on the sides as short as last time, okay?” He offers.

You think for a moment, wondering if you should accept his terms. You lean in closer to him, enough for your breath to ghost against the shell of his ear. “It needs to be long enough for me to grab. Gotta have something to pull on, ya know?”

Your whisper sends a shiver down the old man’s spine. Jack hums in fake thought, but he can’t suppress his signature side smile that crawls onto his lips. “Well when you put it that way…” He trails off, running a hand through his overgrown mane. “I guess I can tell them to leave the sides just a little long.”

You grin and squeak in victory. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” You tease before pushing off your feet and rolling your chair back to your computer.

Jack just watches you with enamored amusement, shaking his head with a chuckle before returning to his patient’s chart. You would’ve hated when I had to buzz my entire head for deployment, he thinks.

[honeytonedhottie]

wellness for the hotties⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪞🎀

this is honey's updated wellness post for the girlies who love to romanticize their routines, listen to their bodies and take impeccable care of themselves. these r my routines and rituals that keep me glowing…💬🎀

LYMPHATIC DRAINAGE ;

lymphatic drainage massage has been an absolute GAME changer for me like OH MY GOSH?? and it literally takes no more than ten minutes a day and its lowkey like giving myself a massage 💕.

one thing i will say though, the order in which u drain is SO important so make sure to do it in the proper order. this is the lymphatic drainage massage that i do every single day, i rly love this one bcuz the doctor in the video actually explains it and shows u how to do it so i rly love it.

HOT OR NOT ;

so i drink hot drinks while eating and i drink cold drinks when im not. drinking warm drinks while eating/before eating help relax your stomach muscles and improve blood circulation to your digestive organs. and cold drinks cause blood vessels in your stomach to tighten, slowing down digestion. it also helps with other things like...

🫖 reduces bloating

🫖 helps with detoxification

🫖 gentle on ur throat and stomach

HOW TO MAKE A GINGER SHOT ;

so i own a juicer but assembling it and disassembling it is soo tedious and i'd rather just use my blender so im going to be talking about how i make ginger shots using a blender. all ur going to need are the following...

🌟 a few pieces of ginger (i usually just use one or two small pieces)

🌟 some water

🌟 cayenne powder if u want an extra kick (optional)

🌟 some lemon

🌟 strainer

and all u have to do is lightly peel ur pieces of ginger, dont worry about getting all the skin off but just get as much as u can off. put it into ur blender with some water and squeeze half a lemon into it before blending. next ur going to take ur strainer and separate the pulp from the juice and ur all done!

HOTTIES REPS ;

i always start all my workouts briskly walking for 30 minutes on the treadmill at an incline. i watch kimora lee simmon's life in the fab lane show while i do this because each episode is around 30-40 minutes so i keep myself distracted. or if im feeling for something different i'll go on the elliptical instead of the treadmill.

at the moment... the workouts that im doing consistently everyday are 10 minute waist + tummy workout, 10 minute hourglass abs workout, 5 minute stomach vacuum, 5 minute abs and small waist pilates workout routine, 5 minute everyday pilates lower abs for abs. and then for booty i love to do 12 minute booty workout (with resistance bands or weights), and 10 minute bubble butt burnout. now for my arms and back i do 10 minute slim back & better posture, 5 min slim and toned arms workout, and 8 minute victorias secret angel arms. if u guys want more on working out and stuff i can make a post on that too!

MENTALLY MOISTURIZED ;

i've been consistently journaling for about three years now and its been fabulous. i can get all my thoughts out onto paper and not feel like im carrying a million pounds of stress on my head. i feel overwhelmed a lot because i do SO much and journaling has really helped me.

also i have a super fabulous therapist who helps teach me how to ground myself, and just take care of myself better so shes great. if u can't have a therapist right now, journaling is great... and between me and you... chat gpt makes a great therapist.

i love meditating every now and then when i feel like i wanna just immerse myself in my brain, another thing i do to keep a good mental space is digital detoxes. every other week i get off of tiktok and it has been SO great for me. i also don't use my phone in the mornings because i just need time to get ready and have a screen free morning, its rly so pleasant. if im sad, i cheer myself up with shopping.

SIP PRETTY ;

i follow this one girl on youtube, i'll link her right here ❤︎ but she has amazing juicing recipes and healthy lifestyle content in general that rly inspires me. i make the same juices she does and they taste generally good and are good for you. i like to make juice once a week, maybe twice. whenever i feel like i need it essentially.

IN BED BY 9... GLOWING BY 8 ;

SLEEP IS A NON NEGOTIABLE. even if u eat super healthy and workout everyday, if ur not sleeping enough it's like shooting yourself in the foot! you need ur beauty sleep. sleep is when your body heals, resets, and literally glows up from the inside out. it helps balance your hormones, support your metabolism, and keep your skin clear and glowing. not to be dramatic but… no amount of eye cream or green juice can fix chronic exhaustion. and thats the real gag.

FEET UP THE WALL POSE ;

when u elevate ur legs, ur letting gravity do all the work for you. draining lymph, reducing swelling, and boosting circulation. it’s perfect after a long day or when you’re feeling puffy and need a moment of calm.

CYCLE SYNCING ;

so there are four menstrual phases. luteal (before period, when u start to feel sluggish) menstrual (during ur period) follicular (after ur period so improved mood and brain function) and ovulation (ur feeling confident, like the summer of ur body). the way i incorporate cycle syncing is just, during my luteal phase i won't over-stuff my agenda bcuz ik i get super sluggish and cranky.

i also make sure to pour into myself during the menstrual and luteal phases. i plan my bigger projects during follicular and ovulation. i plan my workouts accordingly too, and set aside extra time for rest. i eat a lot of soups during my period -> red meat and fermented foods during follicular -> fibrous foods during ovulation -> and healthy fats and chocolate during luteal.

its super simple! and to make it simpler think of it like seasons. ur menstrual phase is the winter -> follicular is the spring -> ovulation is summer -> and luteal is fall.

to finish off this post, start noticing what drains you, what fills your cup, and having the self-respect to choose what’s good for you…💬🎀

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Smudged Nail Polish (+18)

General Masterlist ceo!harry x fem!reader / assistant!reader

Summary: Late nights at the office often meant brainstorming sessions and a ton of work undone. But one evening, the line between work and pleasure begins to blur. A simple roleplay dynamic all for the sake of the project ends up in something more real.

A/n: Hello pretty people! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did, just a little one shot i did out of small inspo, i have some requests pending that i'll be working on next week, but for now i hope you like this 🥰 as always thanks to my @eileenrry

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT, workplace dynamics, soft dom, roleplay, spitting, breeding kink, small anal play, dirty talk, protected sex, inappropriate workplace relationship. (If i'm missing something pleaseeee tell me)

It was a late night. Late nights in the office always felt strange—quiet and oddly intimate—but you didn’t mind at all. Just a few months ago, you had landed your dream job: Creative Assistant to the CEO of Pleasing. The title alone sounded impressive, but the perks? Even better. Flexible hours, generous benefits, and the freedom to manage your own schedule on certain days. It was everything you’d hoped for.

But the real dream? That was Harry Styles.

Harry was a force of nature—successful, sharp, and effortlessly charismatic. He was always impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that seemed to be his signature. The faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air whenever he passed by, a scent you couldn’t place but would recognize anywhere. And then there was his demeanor: respectful, composed, and so disarmingly kind that it almost felt unfair.

Tonight, though, the air in his office felt different. It was just the two of you. Everyone else had already gone home, but with the project nearing completion and half the marketing team either on vacation or out on maternity leave, the workload had piled up. 

“Alright,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he rummaged through a stack of papers. “We’ve got the main framework done, but we still need to draft some scenarios for the campaign since the focus group couldn’t deliver.”

You glanced up from your laptop, frowning. “But how are we supposed to do that? We need feedback from the potential users for each specific scenario they proposed.”

Harry’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, a small, confident smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, we’ll do it ourselves,” he said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You blinked, trying to make sense of his calm demeanor. “What do you mean we’ll do it?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his smile growing as if he was letting you in on some great secret. “Roleplay,” he said casually, the word hanging in the air between you.

“Roleplay?” you echoed, your brow furrowing as you tried to process his words.

“We’ll act out the scenarios ourselves,” he explained. “It doesn’t need to be Oscar-worthy, just convincing enough to predict how well each idea might sell.”

You stared at him for a moment, unsure whether he was being serious or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. “Okay… I mean, I’m not exactly an actress,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping, “but if it helps finish this project, I’ll give it my best shot.”

His lips curved into a small smile— “That’s the spirit,” he said, glancing at the papers spread across his desk. “Let’s start with the luxury skincare line scenario. Imagine you’re the target customer—fancy, discerning, and effortlessly chic.”

You straighten your posture, pretending to smooth an imaginary designer coat, and adopted your best posh accent. “Oh, darling,” you began, with an exaggerated wave of your hand, “I simply must have that serum. It’s the fountain of youth bottled, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Not bad, but tone it down just a bit,” he said, gesturing toward you. “Think confident, not cartoon-ish”

“Right,” you replied, clearing your throat and trying again. As the exercise continued, his focus on the scenarios was unwavering, but there was something about his presence—calm yet bossy—that made the small office feel more intimate.”Stop laughing!” 

“I’m not, i’m sorry…continue” he said obviously holding back a laughter that tried to disguise as a smile

Each line you spoke, each moment of collaboration, seemed to shift the atmosphere slightly. You weren’t sure if it was the late hour or the proximity, but it felt as though the boundaries between professional and personal had started to blur, ever so slightly.

Harry glanced at the next sheet of paper in the pile, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—anticipation, maybe? “Alright, now let’s switch gears,” he said, holding the paper up. “This one’s targeted at men. The campaign focuses on nail polish as a statement piece for confidence and individuality.” he read.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “And who’s playing the confident, self-expressive man?”

His gaze met yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That would be me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the image of Harry Styles—polished, corporate Harry—role-playing as a nail-polish-loving trendsetter suddenly lighting up your night. “Alright then, Mr. CEO. Show me how it’s done.”

He reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of nail polish. Black, of course. “We’ll use this as a prop,” he said casually.

“Where did you even get that?” you asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

“It’s from one of the older product lines,” he replied, shaking the bottle lightly. “Okay, here’s the scenario. You’re the interviewer, and I’m the guy explaining why nail polish isn’t just for women—it’s about breaking boundaries, blah blah blah”

You leaned forward, picking up a pen as if it were a microphone. “Alright, sir,” you began, adopting a mock-serious tone, “what inspired you to wear nail polish?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He extended his hand, pretending to examine his nails like a pro. “Confidence,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s not about following trends; it’s about creating them. Nail polish isn’t just color—it’s an attitude.”

You raised an eyebrow, fully immersed in the act now. “And what does black say about your attitude?”

“It says I know who I am,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that momentarily made you forget this was all pretend. “Strong. Bold. Unapologetic.”

You faltered, your pen lowering slightly as you tried to keep the playful mood intact. “That’s... a very convincing pitch,” you admitted, your voice softening.

Harry smiled, uncapping the bottle and holding it out toward you. “Want to try?”

You blinked, surprised. “You want to paint my nails?”

He shrugged, still holding the bottle steady. “Why not? Consider it part of the roleplay.” You hesitated, glancing between him and the tiny bottle of polish. “Alright,” you said, holding out your hand with a mix of curiosity and nerves. “But if this ends up a mess, It’s on you.”

Harry chuckled softly, taking your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and unexpectedly gentle as they held yours. “Trust me,” he murmured, dipping the brush into the black polish. “I have a steady hand. You’ll be fine.”

The first stroke of the brush sent a shiver up your spine, the cool polish meeting your nail while his grip remained firm yet careful. “You’re oddly good at this,” you said, watching as he filled in the nail with precision.

He glanced up briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Years of being in this business, love. You pick up a thing or two.”

Your heart stuttered at the casual “love” nickname, though you weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it. You shifted slightly in your chair, trying to play it cool. “So, is this part of your usual day? Painting nails after hours?”

He chuckled again, his eyes focused on the task. “Not exactly. You’re the first.”

Something about the way he said it—low and intentional—made the air between you feel thicker. You swallowed, feeling his thumb brush lightly against your knuckle as he moved to the next nail.

“Done,” he said finally, releasing your hand and holding it up to inspect his work. The glossy black polish caught the light, neat and perfect. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

You looked at your hand, then back at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Styles. You might be working on the wrong department”

“Ready for the next scenario?”

“Ready”

He reached for another paper, scanning it briefly before meeting your gaze. “We’re supposed to act as a married couple discussing which products fit into their daily routine.”

Your stomach flipped, though you weren’t sure why. “A married couple?”

“Yep,” he said, standing and straightening his suit jacket. “We’ll set it up in the kitchen. I’ll be making coffee, and you…” He gestured toward the mock product setup on the counter. “You can decide which items fit into our routine, like something we both can share”

You followed him to the makeshift set, your polished hand still tingling from his touch. As he walked, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly looking far more casual—and far more distracting.

“So,” he said, moving behind the counter and grabbing a prop mug, “how long have we been married?”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “How long do you think we’d last?”

His lips twitched into a sly smile. “Forever, obviously. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Your cheeks flushed despite yourself, and you rolled your eyes to hide it. “Alright then, Mr. Perfect Husband. Let’s see how good you really are at this.”

You stood in the imaginary kitchen, fiddling with a bottle of moisturizer from the array of products set out on the counter. Harry leaned casually against the opposite side, arms crossed, the tie around his neck loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome.

“So, darling,” he began, his tone dripping with mock affection, “are we really going to argue about whose moisturizer is better again?”

You rolled your eyes, holding up one of the bottles. “Well, Mr. Styles, when your so-called favorite leaves your skin looking like it’s been through a desert, I think it’s fair to say mine is better.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, stepping closer and picking up another bottle. “Excuse me, but this—” he pointed at the label, feigning offense—“is luxury. You just don’t appreciate the finer things.”

“Luxury doesn’t mean effective,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips. “And besides, we both know you’ve been stealing mine anyway.”

He smirked, setting the bottle down and closing the distance between you in two easy steps. “Caught me,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “But can you blame me? Yours smells better. And…” His eyes flickered over you, playful but intense. “It works.”

You froze, the playful banter suddenly charged with something else. Harry’s presence was overwhelming, the way his voice dipped and the heat in his gaze as he looked at you made the air in the room feel heavier.

“So,” you said, trying to regain control of the moment, “does that mean you’ll finally admit mine’s the better choice?”

“Never,” he said with a grin, though the teasing edge in his voice had softened. His hand brushed past yours as he reached for the product, and the brief contact sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the moisturizer as if it were your lifeline. “Well, then I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“Guess so,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the moisturizer anymore. He was looking at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. His hand lingered on the counter next to yours, the proximity making your pulse quicken. He took a step closer. Inches away.

“Harry…” you began, but your voice faltered.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability. “If this isn’t okay…”

But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your pulse racing. His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“This doesn’t feel like roleplay anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“Good,” he said simply before his lips met yours.

The kiss started slowly, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his other hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The desk pressed against your back, and all thoughts of work, scenarios, and professionalism melted away.

His lips left yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw and neck as his hands explored, his touch igniting every nerve. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he whispered against your skin, “pretending this wasn’t on my mind.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gasped softly. “We shouldn’t—���

“But we are,” he cut in, his voice firm yet laced with desire. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you want this…”

“I do,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them.

That was all he needed. He lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, his lips finding yours again as the world outside his office ceased to exist. you could feel his growing thickness against your thigh, and a surge of anticipation shot through you.

It was risky. It was unprofessional. But god, did it feel right.

He pushed your skirt up, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties and tugging them down. His breath was warm against your skin, the faint stubble of his jaw rough and enticing.

Your body responded eagerly to his touch, your heart pounding with every brush of his lips against your skin. and the heat and wetness between your legs just growing bigger and bigger by the second

As he kissed his way down your body, his hands exploring every inch, a new, raw sensation overtook you. He was unraveling you—piece by piece, moment by moment—until all that remained was need.

When his mouth finally found the place between your thighs, you had to bite back a moan. His tongue was slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you until he found the perfect spot. Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer as the sensations overwhelmed you.

His grip on your thighs was firm, holding you in place as he worked his magic. When your orgasm began to build, it felt like nothing you had experienced before—hot, heavy, and urgent. It swept over you, making your legs tremble and your breath catch.

Afterwards, he stood up and leaned over you, a smug grin on his face. "My perfect wife" he said in almost a moan before capturing your lips again "Fucking perfect sweet wife"

"Fuck, Harry..."

"I'm not done yet"

Before you could process his words, he pulled off his boxers, and his cock was right there, thick and pulsing and begging for attention.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. You licked your lips.

He reached into the pocket of his suit pants, pulling out a condom and tearing open the foil wrapper with his teeth. The sound of his belt and zipper being undone sent a fresh wave of excitement through you. He slid the condom over his hard length and pressed into you, filling you with one smooth thrust.

"Oh god"

"God has nothing to do with this" his voice thick with lust

"Fuck, Harry, please"

"Please what?" he asked, his tone low and teasing “Use your words”

"Just fuck me"

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips snapped against yours, driving him deeper inside with every thrust. It was primal, urgent, and everything you didn't know you needed. You gripped the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as he pounded into you.

The tension coiled in your belly, hot and electric. He reached down, his thumb finding your clit and drawing tight circles.

"Knew right when i chose you to be my wife" he said as if he was still roleplaying but god both of you were too far from it.

"You're mine" he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All mine"

"Yes"

"Say it"

"I'm yours"

He thrust into you harder, the edge of the desk pressing against your ass. He was relentless, his fingers and cock taking you apart bit by bit. "Gonna knock you up, fill you up with my babies"

Your toes curled at his words, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. It was wrong, so wrong, but the taboo only made it more exciting.

"God, yes"

He drove into you again and again, his rhythm frantic and desperate. "Gonna put a baby in m'wife"

Your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him deeper, you felt one hand on your ass gripping you tightly, him calling you wife made things twist inside you, this was a roleplay that wasn't in the work papers.

"Turn around" he demanded as he pulled back.

"What?"

"Now"

You turned around, tummy on the desk and raising your ass up. He slammed into you again, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you against him.

"That's it, love, take it"

His words were filthy, but they only fueled the fire inside you. He reached around, his fingers finding your tightest hole teasing just a bit to see your reaction.

"Mmm, fuck. I can't wait to ruin this pretty little ass too"

He spit directly into your hole. He pressed against your entrance, pushing the tip of his finger in as his cock pounded into you. It was too much, the sensations overwhelming and intoxicating.

"More"

"Can't do more love i don't have lube in here and i don't want to hurt this pretty hole"

"Next time..." you breathed

"Next time" he echoed, his voice full of promise

You clenched around him, feeling the tension building. His breath was hot against your neck, his thrusts relentless. "Gonna fill you up, m'pretty wife"

"Yes"

"Come around my cock, Gonna put a baby in this tight fucking cunt"

That was it, that was all you needed to hear. Your orgasm tore through you, leaving you shaking and breathless. He followed soon after filling up the condom, his cock pulsing inside you.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, the reality of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air. He pulled out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash. He helped you off the desk, his fingers brushing against your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nodded, your heartbeat still racing.

“My nail polish it’s ruined” you said breathlessly looking at your nails. the nail polish, all smudged.

“Oh love, i’m going to ruin more than nail polish on you”

------

Taglist: @hermionelove

[divadepreshawn]

𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

part two, …

reader is a very famous singer WC: 1 439

You were running, your heart racing, your lungs begging for a little more air – all you could offer now were quick breaths as your brain panicked. The screams echoing behind you made it hard for you to think straight, were they fans or paparazzi? It doesn't matter when you have to decide between running to your death or hiding.

All you wanted for that afternoon was coffee and a chocolate cake, you thought you could do it alone – how naive.

With nowhere to go you crossed the street without looking – getting run over didn't seem like such a bad option now – and entered the first store you saw. Looking around quickly your eyes landed on a man in the children's section – he was tall, wearing an impeccable suit, his expression was serious, but he was in the children's section so it couldn't be that bad. Without thinking twice you ran across the store until you stopped in front of him.

“Please, I need help.” You stood between him and the clothes rack, your eyes slightly wide and your breathing labored.

“What? Who is-?”

“Please, just stay still.” You grab him by the shoulders, positioning him so that his silhouette completely covers yours.

He opens his mouth to protest but quickly closes it as he analyzes you. You are panting, your hair disheveled, your hands shaking slightly and your body is tense. You really needed help. He stays in the position you put him in and doesn’t move a muscle.

The screams start to get quieter, your body relaxes and you release the breath you didn’t even know you had been holding.

“Thank you, you saved my life.”

He doesn’t answer right away, keeping his posture firm over you.

“Does this happen often?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the attention of anyone in the store.

You let out a laugh, looking over his shoulder to see the store window, the street seemed calmer now.

“All the time, but it’s usually more controlled, I’ve never had to turn strangers into human shields” you pulled away, now looking at him properly for the first time, and damn, he’s handsome.

“You should walk around with some security, it doesn’t seem very safe to me to walk around alone.”

“I know, I have one, but I thought I could buy a damn coffee by myself.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not approving of the idea.

“Doesn’t seem like a very smart plan to me”

“Oh, you swear Sherlock?”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“Okay, you helped me and I’m being an idiot.”

You didn’t mean to be rude to him, you were just frustrated that you couldn’t do something as simple as buying an afternoon coffee without the place filling up with people.

Don’t project your frustration onto him, you think.

“Excuse me, what’s your name?”

He seemed to be considering whether it was worth sharing this information with you. You couldn’t judge, if the situation were the other way around you probably would have run away already.

“My name is Aaron.”

He’s crazy enough, apparently.

Aaron just stood there staring at you as if silently asking, what about you?

“Excuse me, don’t you know me?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Should I?” he asked, his brow slightly furrowed.

You opened your mouth in surprise. What was natural for you – people knowing you, knowing your name, sometimes even what you had for breakfast – meant nothing to him. It was almost surreal.

“You really don’t know me?”

“No,” he crossed his arms, “But you don’t seem upset, so I don’t see the problem.”

“Are you kidding?” you laughed, “That’s refreshing.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like being famous, on the contrary, you loved it. It took years of sacrifice to get where you are, training and training until exhaustion. But it’s times like these, when you try to do something simple – like buying a coffee by yourself – and you can’t, that fame shows its price.

“Really?”

He looked as confused as before, and as if it were possible, more handsome than he had been two seconds ago. Your gaze quickly dropped to his hand, he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Would the universe be so kind to that extent?

What did you have to lose? You already had the no, now the only way was to go after the humiliation.

“Although it’s sad when a handsome man doesn’t recognize me.”

He blinked in surprise, his mouth opening and closing as if he didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding.” You reassure him, suppressing a smile. “I interrupted your shopping, I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize, I still don’t know what I came to buy anyway.”

“You..don’t know?” you asked amused, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who just goes out to browse the stores.

He hesitates, his gaze shifting between you and the clothes on the rack.

“It’s okay, you just met me, you don’t need to tell me.”

“How much do you know about children?” The hesitation is still palpable in his voice.

“Um..I’m the older sister and I used to be a babysitter, so I guess that’s enough.” You answer confused, trying to remember “Why?”

“I need a gift for my son to take to a party, but I have no idea what to get him,” he confesses, sounding frustrated.

This man just got a thousand times more handsome. Okay, focus.

“How old is he going to be?” You ask, already scanning the clothes around you.

“Seven.”

“Okay, let’s pick out some neutral clothes. Do you mind if I keep this on?” You point to the hoodie and sunglasses.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t want to attract a horde of zombies.”

“Are you trying to badmouth my beloved fans?” You feign an offended expression. They can be scary when they want to be, but you won’t admit it out loud.

“Me? Never. Although I wasn’t the one running away from them a few minutes ago.”

You cross your arms, feigning indignation, but the amused gleam in your eyes gives you away.

“Are you a career management expert now? Next time I’ll let forty people run after you and we’ll see what your first reaction will be.”

“Touché,” he laughs, raising his hands in surrender.

You grab your phone, remembering to tell your security guard where you are and asking him to come pick you up in twenty minutes.

“What do you work with?” You look away from your phone and look at him.

“What?”

He looks at you with a look that says, seriously?

“You’re famous, right? So what do you do?”

“Oh yeah, I’m a singer,” you reply with a smile.

“Have you ever won a Grammy?” He asks, his tone not arrogant, but curious.

“Honestly, I think the legacy that remains counts more, but yes, i have Grammy' s.”

“Grammy' s? Like, more than one?”

You smile at him.

“You really have no idea who I am, do you?” You let out a dramatic sigh. “I already thought you were handsome, you don’t need to convince me.”

He stops laughing, looking disconcerted.

God can’t blame a woman for trying.

“I think this outfit here is nice.”

You change the subject quickly, not that you didn’t want to blatantly hit on him for the rest of the day – something you could easily do – but he seemed so disconcerted by your advances that you didn’t want to be inconvenient.

“Yeah, this one looks nice.” He picks up the outfit, examining it.

Chris – your security guard – enters the store looking for you. Man, I need to give him a raise, you thought.

Quickly looking over the counter, grabbing your store card and a pen, you write down your personal number and hand it to Aaron.

“You saved me today, if you need someone to pay your bail, I’ll be that guy. Of course, it will depend on the reason you were arrested, I still have my ethics.” You smile “If you want tickets to a show I think it’s easier to get, thanks anyway.”

He takes the card and puts it in the inside pocket of his suit.

“I don’t plan on getting arrested, but I appreciate the offer.”

Halfway there you turn to him again.

“Aaron?”

“Yes?”

“I’m serious, text me, I’d love to meet you again.”

You head back to Chris, leaving a stunned Aaron behind.

No one can say you didn’t try.

And God, for the next few days you and your phone would be one body.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

This will probably become a mini series

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

[blairxbear]

MHA Characters Getting "The Talk"

Warning: awkwardness ahead. This is pure stupid crack.

Inspired by a JJK version of this on tiktok by @ matt_the_curtin

How do the guys react to recieving 'the talk'

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya, Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Katsuki Bakugo, Best Jeanist, Fumikage Tokoyami, Keigo Takami (Hawks), Tamaki Amajiki, Fatgum, Tomura Shigaraki, Toya Todoroki (Dabi), Hitoshi Shinso, Shota Aizawa (Eraserhead), Shoto Todoroki, Enji Todoroki (Endeavor)

Izuku Midoriya – Getting "The Talk" from Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Toshinori Yagi sat across from Izuku Midoriya, looking extremely uncomfortable as he clasped his hands together. Sweat dripped down his face as he tried to find the right words.

"Y-Young Midoriya," he coughed. "I… uh… I feel that, as your mentor, it's my duty to, er, educate you on… certain aspects of life."

Izuku blinked. "Oh! Like hero strategy? The importance of recovery time after a big battle?"

"No." Toshinori's face paled. "I-I mean… relationships. Love. And… physical intimacy."

Izuku turned bright red. "OH GOD."

"YES, EXACTLY!" Toshinori shouted, dramatically pointing at him. "GOD HELP US BOTH!"

There was an awkward silence.

Toshinori cleared his throat. "Ahem. So. When two people care for each other very much—"

"PLEASE STOP."

Toshinori held up a shaky finger. "No, no, listen, Young Midoriya. I must do this! It is my responsibility!" He inhaled deeply. "It is much like a United States of Smash—except instead of destroying an enemy, you are—"

"OH MY GOD, PLEASE NO!" Izuku covered his ears, mortified. "DON’T RUIN SMASH ATTACKS FOR ME, SENSEI!"

Toshinori’s gaunt cheeks turned red. "S-sorry."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"...Do you have any questions?" Toshinori finally asked.

Izuku stood up. "I HAVE TO GO STUDY FOR A TEST!"

"But there’s no test!"

"THERE IS NOW!"

And with that, Midoriya ran.

Outcome: All Might is traumatized. Izuku never looks at him the same way again.

Katsuki Bakugo – Getting "The Talk" from Best Jeanist

Best Jeanist sat elegantly in his chair, hands clasped, posture impeccable. Across from him, Katsuki Bakugo slumped aggressively, arms crossed, looking seconds away from combusting.

"Katsuki," Best Jeanist said, his voice smooth. "It is my duty as your mentor to educate you on a matter most delicate."

Bakugo scowled. "If this is about ‘being a proper gentleman,’ I’m out."

Jeanist exhaled through his nose. "No, my unruly pupil. This is about intimacy."

Bakugo's eye twitched.

Jeanist continued. "Love is a fabric that must be woven carefully. Each strand—trust, respect, communication—is vital. And much like a fine pair of denim—"

"NO." Bakugo stood up. "NO DENIM ANALOGIES, YOU WEIRD STRING BEAN!"

Jeanist ignored him. "A strong foundation is crucial, lest one suffer a wardrobe malfunction, if you understand my meaning."

Bakugo’s hands literally sparked.

Jeanist smiled, unfazed. "And of course, protection is important. Just as one would not step into battle without proper armor, one must also ensure—"

"STOP TALKING!" Bakugo turned completely red. "I’M OUT! I’M DONE! I’M NOT LISTENING TO A GUY IN A DENIM TURTLENECK TALK ABOUT CONDOMS!"

And with that, he exploded through the nearest window.

Outcome: Best Jeanist remains unbothered. Bakugo needs therapy.

Fumikage Tokoyami – Getting "The Talk" from Hawks

Hawks leaned back in his chair, casually tossing popcorn into his mouth. "Alright, kid. So. Birds and bees talk. Let’s go."

Fumikage Tokoyami stared at him. "...I already know about birds."

Hawks grinned. "Not like this, you don’t."

Tokoyami sighed. "This is unnecessary. My path is one of solitude and darkness. I have no need for such knowledge."

Hawks waggled his eyebrows. "Yeah? Well, when your Dark Shadow isn’t the only thing rising at night, you might wanna reconsider."

Tokoyami froze.

Dark Shadow: "BRO, WHAT THE HELL?!"

"HAWKS." Tokoyami gripped the edge of the table, visibly trembling. "DO NOT SPEAK OF SUCH MATTERS!"

Hawks chuckled. "Relax, Bird Boy. I got your back." He tossed a condom at him. "Use that if you ever wanna fly south for the winter, yeah?"

Tokoyami practically flew out of the room.

Outcome: Tokoyami becomes celibate. Dark Shadow is scarred for life.

Tamaki Amajiki – Getting "The Talk" from Fatgum

Fatgum grinned as he placed a giant plate of takoyaki in front of Tamaki.

"Alright, bud! Let’s talk about the big stuff!"

Tamaki, already nervous, started sweating. "B-big… s-stuff?"

"Yup!" Fatgum nodded. "The ol' horizontal tango! The whoopee cushion shuffle! The bibbity boppity boink!"

Tamaki looked like he wanted to disintegrate.

Fatgum laughed. "Aww, c’mon, kiddo! Ain’t nothing to be scared of! Everybody’s gotta learn how to get down to business eventually!"

Tamaki: "I don’t."

Fatgum patted his shoulder. "Ah, it ain’t so bad! You just gotta be confident, communicate with your partner, and—"

Tamaki teleported out of his chair.

Outcome: Fatgum laughs it off. Tamaki moves to another city.

Tomura Shigaraki – Getting "The Talk" from Dabi

Dabi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.

"So, you and relationships. That’s a funny thought."

Shigaraki scowled. "Tch. Whatever. I don’t care."

Dabi chuckled. "Alright, well, let’s say you do care. You meet someone, they actually like you—miracle, by the way—so what then?"

Shigaraki crossed his arms. "Then I’d… tell them they’re mine?"

Dabi sighed. "Alright, well, if you don’t wanna accidentally dust your date mid-kiss, you should probably learn some control, champ."

Shigaraki looked away. "...Tch. Whatever. I have control."

"Yeah? What about when your emotions get wild?" Dabi grinned. "Or if they kiss your neck?"

Shigaraki turned bright red. "SHUT UP."

Outcome: Shigaraki refuses to speak to Dabi for a week.

Hitoshi Shinso – Getting "The Talk" from Aizawa

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples. "Okay, Shinso. We need to talk."

Shinso sipped his coffee. "About what?"

Aizawa: "...Sex."

Shinso immediately choked.

Aizawa sighed again. "Look, it’s nothing complicated. Just be respectful, communicate, use protection, and for the love of god, don’t use your Quirk in bed."

Shinso: "WHY WOULD I—WHAT—NO! WHY WOULD YOU EVEN THINK THAT?!"

Aizawa shrugged. "I don’t know. Gotta cover all the bases."

Shinso buried his face in his hands. "I hate it here."

Outcome: Aizawa doesn’t care. Shinso wants to disappear.

Shoto Todoroki – Getting "The Talk" from Endeavor

Endeavor sat across from Shoto, arms crossed, his face burning slightly brighter than usual.

"Shoto. We need to talk."

Shoto blinked. "About?"

"...Procreation."

Shoto immediately stood up. "I’m leaving."

Endeavor grabbed his wrist. "SIT."

Outcome: Shoto literally escapes through a window.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

blairxbear © 2024. do not copy, modify, or translate my work. you do not have permission to share my work outside of tumblr!

[kiwriteswords]

Our Secret Moments in Crowded Rooms [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader] *

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 2.5k|| AN: Combined a little thirsty thursday smut with 5+1 weekend prompt for one of my last Ki2k fics! ||Requests are still open for Ki2k!!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, sexting, nudes, 5+1, mdni, smutty themes, sexual themes, bau!reader, lingerie, implied age gap

Summary: Five times you send Aaron Hotchner a dirty text message, and the one time he sends you one.

The first time you did it was in the bustling conference room, everyone’s attention had been squarely focused on Erin Strauss, who was remotely detailing the future financial directions for the BAU.

Hotch sat with his usual impeccable posture at the head of the table, a fortress of professionalism. 

The entire team--Rossi, Derek, Emily, JJ, Penelope, and Spencer--were present, occasionally exchanging weary glances or stifled yawns. The atmosphere was stifling with budget talk and strategic projections.

You, well aware of how mundane these meetings could be, decided to add a spark of excitement. 

From across the table, you could see Hotch’s phone next to his notepad, the screen innocently dark. Remembering the daring photo you had snapped the night before--just a little something in very revealing lingerie--you couldn’t resist.

Quietly, with a mischievous smile, you selected the photo and sent it to him, your heart thumping with a mix of nervousness and thrill.

The moment the phone buzzed, Hotch’s hand moved reflexively to check it, a motion masked by the table. His expression, typically unreadable, faltered for a split second as he viewed the message. His eyes widened imperceptibly, a flush creeping up his neck--an uncommon sight. He locked the phone quickly, placing it face down with more force than necessary, his fingers tensing around the edges.

Rossi, sitting beside him, noticed the subtle change. Leaning closer under the guise of discussing the budget, he whispered with a hint of amusement, "Rough numbers, Aaron?"

Hotch, catching himself, gave Rossi a small nod and a wry, controlled smile, "Something like that," before turning his attention back to Strauss.

From the corner, Derek watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as he murmured to Emily, "Seems like the budget's more interesting than we thought." Emily covered a chuckle with her hand, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Penelope, ever the sleuth for gossip, shot you a knowing look from across the table, her interest clearly piqued. Spencer, on the other hand, looked from one person to another, confused by the sudden shift in dynamics but deciding it was just another quirk of team interactions he'd yet to understand.

As the meeting wrapped up, Hotch stood, adjusting his suit jacket with a nervous energy. Passing by you, he murmured low enough for only you to hear, "Nice photo," a stern look on his face but his tone warm with appreciation.

The second time, with a sly smile, you observed Hotch through the glass window of his office, his face etched with stress as he furiously penned down reports. The deep lines on his forehead spoke volumes of the pressure he was under. Inspired to ease his burden and inject a spark of youthfulness into his day, you knew just the trick to divert his attention and perhaps elicit a more relaxed expression.

Pulling out your phone, you crafted a risqué text, teasing and bold: 

"If I were there right now, those reports wouldn't be the only thing spread out on your desk..." 

Your fingers hesitated only a moment before sending it, your heart fluttering with a mix of anticipation and mischief. You then fixed your gaze on him, watching as his intense focus on the reports was interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

Hotch paused, his hand reaching automatically for the device. He read your message, and for a moment, he seemed frozen; the pen halted mid-air. Then, slowly, a smile creased his usually stern face, and he shook his head in disbelief at your audacity. The stress lines seemed to smooth as his eyes lit up with a mix of amusement and something more intense, more fiery.

After a brief moment, his fingers began to move rapidly over the screen. You waited, curious and a bit nervous about what his reply might entail. The phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced down to read his response. The words on the screen were shockingly bold and flirtatious: 

“Promise to handle me with more care than those reports? Because that’s an offer I’d hate to file away for later.” 

Hotch was playing along, stepping up to your challenge with a surprising flair.

Looking up, you caught his gaze through the window. He was watching you, a smug smirk replacing the usual stoic expression. His eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly pleased with the exchange. The atmosphere between you, charged with a playful yet palpable tension, promised more daring banter and perhaps some interesting developments once the workday ended.

The third time, the BAU team was scattered across hotel rooms, weary from a long day on a challenging case. With the set protocol firmly in place, you and Hotch had separate rooms to maintain professionalism while on duty. But knowing the kind of pressure Hotch was under, especially after the particularly tough day he'd had, you felt a compassionate urge to offer him a bit of a reprieve--even if it was a bold move given your agreement.

As you settled into the solitude of your room, you remembered Hotch’s tense expression earlier that evening; his jaw set firm, his eyes shadowed with the weight of the day. The image spurred a mischievous yet caring idea. 

With a quiet resolve, you decided to take a daring step to ease his stress. You took a moment to set the scene in your dimly lit room, ensuring the ambiance was just right, subtle yet inviting. Then, with a deep breath, you snapped a tasteful yet undeniably sexy nude photo of yourself, one that accentuated your curves and held an artistic flair.

You hesitated for a moment, considering the implications, but your desire to lighten his mood won out. You sent the photo to Hotch with a simple, flirty message attached: 

“Wish you were here...”

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as you awaited his response. Finally, your phone buzzed. Hotch’s reply was succinct, yet it carried a depth of emotion that was rare for him to express in words: 

“Thank you, that means a lot right now. We *definitely* need to discuss vacation plans soon.”

Though brief, his message conveyed a warmth and appreciation that reassured you. It was clear your gesture had touched him, perhaps more because of the sentiment behind it than the photo itself. It was a small, intimate exchange, but it reinforced the deep connection between you, straddling the line between professional boundaries and personal support.

The fourth time, was after a fight. 

If you were asked what even started the fight, you’re not sure you could remember. It was that silly. 

As the tension from the silly argument lingered in the air of your shared apartment, you could feel the heaviness of Hotch's aggravation from the other room. Despite the trivial nature of the disagreement, his mood had soured, a rare occurrence that left the atmosphere charged with a silent stiffness. 

Knowing you had already moved past the disagreement and sensing that the prolonged silence was doing neither of you any favors, you decided it was time to lighten the mood and mend fences in a way that would catch him off-guard yet remind him of the deeper bond you shared.

With a playful resolution, you typed out a message from the comfort of the living room while he remained secluded in the study. Your fingers danced over the phone’s keyboard with a flirty intention: 

“Truce? I’m wearing the smile you gave me...and not much else. Come and make sure it stays on?”

You hit send, a small smile playing on your lips as you anticipated his reaction, hoping to dissolve the remnants of his frustration. 

It didn’t take long for the sound of shifting furniture to reach your ears, followed by the soft but rapid footsteps approaching. The door creaked open, and Hotch stood there, a slight smile breaking through his earlier demeanor. His eyes softened, humor mixed with affection warming his gaze as he took in your playful stance.

“I suppose that’s an offer too good to ignore,” he responded, the tension melting away as he stepped into the room, extending his hand in a peace offering and a promise of a heartfelt reconciliation.

The fifth time was a present of sorts--a prelude to the actual gift. 

For Hotch’s birthday, you had planned something extra special to end the day on a memorable note. Knowing he would be in the office later than usual due to a crucial meeting, you seized the opportunity to prepare a surprise that was sure to delight him. 

After slipping out of work a bit early, you ventured to a boutique and selected a stunning piece of lingerie, intricately designed and bold, perfect for the occasion.

Once home, you carefully arranged the lingerie, adorning yourself as if you were a gift needing unwrapping. The silky fabric felt luxurious against your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of nerves and excitement at the thought of his reaction. 

However, as time ticked by and Hotch’s meeting dragged on longer than you expected, the initial thrill began to wane, replaced by impatient anticipation.

To regain the spark and signal to Hotch the evening awaiting him, you positioned yourself in front of the bedroom mirror. The reflection that stared back at you was enticing--a playful yet irresistible invitation. 

You snapped a suggestive photo, the angle and lighting accentuating the curves and contours hugged by the lace and silk. Attaching a flirty message, you sent it to him: 

“Hurry home...your birthday present is waiting to be unwrapped.”

 Moments later, your phone buzzed with his response, his words fueling your anticipation further: 

“That’s the best motivation to end this meeting early. Save me some wrapping to tear into when I get there.” 

His message, a perfect blend of tease and affection, reassured you that the evening would be as thrilling as you had envisioned. 

Now, all that was left was the waiting, each minute stretching out with the promise of the celebration to come.

Your fingers raced over the phone’s keyboard, your tone playful and a bit teasing. Deciding to cross the line even further, you hoped this would be good motivation to hurry up and get here: 

"I might start without you...Can’t promise I’ll be patient much longer."

You were surprised when you saw the next message come in just as soon as you sent yours, meaning he was watching and waiting for your next move. 

"Now, that would be a crime. Give me 20 minutes. I'm leaving now."

Now, this could be fun. You chuckled softly, the excitement tingling through you as you typed another message, hinting at the evening's impending delights.

"20 minutes? I guess I’ll just have to find some way to occupy myself...Maybe I’ll start with the ribbon."

Twenty minutes? You knew very well the apartment was more-like thirty minutes away and Mister-I-Don’t-Go-That-Much-Above-The-Speed-Limit wouldn’t test that tonight. 

"Hold off on that ribbon. I want the full experience of unwrapping my gift. Consider it an order from your unit chief."

The reply was quick, infused with affection and a hint of mischief. You toyed with the edge of the lingerie, truly wishing time travel was a thing right now. You took a deep, shuttering breath and decided to be patient. It was his birthday, after all. 

“Yes, sir! I’ll be here...waiting and ready for inspection."

Poking the buttons had seemed to become your specialty. You knew if you wanted him here quicker, you might as well stop texting, but this game was far too fun. 

"Stay just like that. I’m rushing home. And, just so you know, you’ve already made this the best birthday yet."

Although you had already made the unknowing promise to fulfill his birthday dreams tonight, you knew now to amp it up a little--following through with that best birthday ever.

And then there was the one time that Aaron Hotchner truly---yes, truly, surprised you. 

He always surprised you, to be fair. His intelligence, his thoughtfulness, his quick-wit...all of it. 

But his ability to adapt to sexting? At work?! Now, this was a surprise.

It was a slow afternoon at the office, and the BAU team had just wrapped up a case. You were busily organizing files at your desk when your phone vibrated subtly beside your keyboard. 

Expecting a mundane work-related message or perhaps a reminder, you were surprised to see Hotch's name lighting up the screen. Curiosity piqued, you swiped open the message, your eyebrows rising in surprise at the content.

"Thinking about last night...can't get it out of my mind. How do you manage to do that?"

Flashbacks of last night passed by in your brain. It was a great night, you can’t deny that. A day of tension that turned into some perfect stress relief--stress relief that went on for quite a long time, mind you. 

You glanced around to ensure no one was peering over your shoulder before replying:

"I could ask you the same. But I’m glad it's stuck with you. Keeps the day interesting, doesn't it?"

There was a short pause during which you continued your work, albeit with a slightly distracted air. Soon, your phone vibrated again. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes; he was truly sexting you. 

In the middle of the workday. 

In the middle of the BAU. 

"Very interesting...and speaking of interesting, what if I told you I’m looking forward to more? Might even have a surprise for you tonight."

The vague hint at something more made your heart skip a beat. The tension between your legs began to grow too, suddenly wanting--needing some friction. 

You tapped out a response, your fingers moving swiftly over the phone’s keypad:

“Now you’ve made me curious...and a little impatient. Should I be preparing anything?"

And horny. You wanted to reply. 

"Just yourself. Maybe wear that necklace I like--and nothing else."

Holy shit. You looked around and life was funny this way. The rest of the world continuing on as if you weren’t sitting here ready to run up and fuck Aaron Hotchner in the middle of the work day. You knew you couldn’t, but the idea...the idea kept crossing your mind. Just like you crossed your legs in hopes it would help with the sudden ache that sat there. 

"Consider it done. I’m counting the minutes until I can see what you’ve planned."

You could almost hear his deep, even tone through the text, serious yet playful. The conversation was uncharacteristically bold for Hotch, especially during work hours, showing a side of him that rarely came out in the open. This unexpected twist in your routine day made the hours seem to drag as anticipation built.

"Count faster. I’ll be home by seven."

You were sure that sexting with Hotch was by far your new favorite thing. 

[lamaery]

This time it is Rlain's turn to gaze. :D There's a reason mateform makes you unfocused. Here is Renarin looking back

ID: The first image features Renarin through Rlain's loving eyes. In all, Renarin glimmers with handsomespren. In none of them is Renarin looking back at us. They paint a beautiful vision of being in love with a man who prefers not to make a lot of eye contact. In the first drawing, Renarin looks out from a slightly ducked posture, his attention focused elsewhere and his expression privately delighted, as if he'd just thought of something wickedly clever that he hasn't yet shared. The light catches his features in an alluring way, and the viewer knows exactly what Rlain loves about his boyfriend's brilliant mind. In the second drawing, Renarin looks out into the middle distance, his expression serious and emotionally neutral, but somehow weighted with responsibility. His wide Blackthorn jaw seems slightly clenched, but unconsciously. His collar is tantalizingly open, allowing Rlain to enjoy the elegant length of his neck and that secret hollow of his throat. In the third sketch, Renarin is seen from above. He's leaning back in a chair, his head resting comfortably and uninhibitedly, supported by the chair's curved back. He's looking in the opposite direction from the viewer, but he smiles with teeth. His collar is wide open, and he looks so comfortable in his own skin. Like, he's so completely relaxed, so uninhibited, like sharing his personal space bubble and his body with Rlain is effortless. In the fourth sketch, Renarin stands across the room, about twenty feet away. His weight is subtly on his back foot to compensate as he holds up at an arm's length an impeccably pressed, regal knee-length Kholin jacket. In his other hand, he holds his shorter Bridge Four jacket, in a way that will keep the collar from being creased. He's wearing an undershirt that my heart knows was custom made for his measurements with a pair of pants with a line of coy, delicate little buttons down the split in his lower pants leg, from knee to lower calf. The split shows a tantalizing sliver of calf, and he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. His pants make his butt a little flat, but we all must cope with devastating trials in this mortal realm. He has elegantly boned feet and there's a slim musculature behind his leanness now, and isn't that all that really matters in this universe? Rlain thinks so. In the fifth drawing, Renarin leans over a few scribbled pages, one hand pointed outward as it presses flat against the table.  He seems deep in conversation with Glys, attention focused inward as he focused on the complexities of a mystery.  He's wearing a buttoned-down version of a fancier outfit: a tailored cross-body vest that emphasizes the slimness and sleekness of his build. and matching trousers.  Beneath that is a button-up shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves, because Marie loves us and she wants us to be happy. The second image, at the top right, is a very cartoonishly minimalistic and humorously stylized illustration of mateform Rlain standing with absolutely zero chill, his arms crossed in a way he wants you to think is relaxed, but clearly isn't relaxed at all.  He's staring forward and sweating, the words "Trying very hard to concentrate." snaking around his head.  He's also wearing a very wide open collar in harmony with his stouter overall physique.  He also has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because everyone deserves to see their favorite forearm circumference represented in media. 3 and 4 are a trio of very quick and sketchy but also ADORABLE illustrations, Rlain grabs a surprised Renarin's vest front, which draws a deep blush and a very enthusiastic and eager little grin.  Surprises are not always great, but he's 100% down with this one!  They meet in a kiss, craning over the table between them, Rlain's hand still clutching a fistful of Renarin's vest and Renarin reciprocating with passion, cradling the back of Rlain's neck with one hand, one finger running up the bare skin where neck meets skull.  Passionspren fall thickly around them.

[cece693]

My Vampire

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader is a vampire, takes place after they fall off the cliff, nursing back to health, hannigram feel jealous, but everything is resolved, just something silly I came up with

You’d never planned on crossing paths with Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. In truth, you avoided humans whenever possible, preferring the deep shadows of the forest and the quiet hours of the night to any bustling crowds. But that unspoken, secret life you lead—sustained by blood and centuries of solitude—proved itself impossible to hide when you found the two men collapsed at the rocky bottom of a steep cliff.

In the silvery glow of the moon, you saw them: Hannibal, impeccably dressed even in disarray, and Will, painfully crumpled, a halo of curly hair matted with blood. They had fallen—or been driven—off the edge. Your acute hearing picked up the faint beating of two frantic hearts. Against your better judgment, you acted swiftly.

The moonlight guided you as you carried both unconscious men to the safety of your home, deep in the forest. Turning on the lights revealed modest furniture, shelves of ancient texts, and the paraphernalia you’d collected over centuries: strange artifacts, historical relics, a few odd trinkets you found comforting in your long life.

You prepared beds for them in separate rooms. First, you stabilized Hannibal—a fractured rib, sprained wrist, cuts along his temple. More concerning was Will: several bruises, probable concussion, shock. With careful touches, you cleaned and dressed their wounds. Under the same roof with two delicate, thrumming pulses—it took everything in you to keep a tight leash on your most primal instinct. But you did. You always did.

Their condition demanded something more than standard human medication. You whispered ancient incantations under your breath, letting the faint threads of supernatural energy flow from your fingertips to their broken bones. Even as your thirst roared, you continued your strange, secretive healing, pressing over bruises and fractures with hands that never seemed to warm.

Days passed. You listened to the soft stutter of Will’s pulse and the steady cadence of Hannibal’s. At first, they roused only in fleeting moments, eyes glassy, speech slurred. You offered them water and soups thick with herbs that carried subtle restorative properties. They ate without protest, too weak to question anything. Eventually, Hannibal’s eyes found yours in the dimness of his room.

“You saved us,” he murmured, voice quiet yet controlled. There was a ripple of curiosity beneath the gratitude. You simply gave a small bow of your head, your lips curving in a gentle, almost secretive smile. He studied you: your unnaturally still posture, the unearthly pallor of your skin that seemed to glow faintly in the low light. You turned away from his searching gaze, easing a blanket higher over his chest with a careful gesture. There were questions you expected, but for now, Hannibal simply closed his eyes, content to rest in your presence.

Will took longer to regain consciousness, drifting in and out of feverish dreams. When he finally startled awake, he looked around with wide blue eyes, instantly on edge. You carefully stepped forward so he could see you—a kind face, arms raised in a gesture of peace.

“It’s all right,” you soothed, voice soft and resonant. “You’re safe here.”

His gaze flickered around, searching. “Hannibal?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

“He’s here as well,” you reassured him, stepping aside so he could see the figure through the open doorway. “He’s recovering.”

Will’s tension ebbed, replaced by relief. He slumped back onto the bed, nodding to himself. Then, quietly: “You saved our lives.”

You nodded, pressing a cloth damp with cool water against his forehead. “I did what needed to be done.”

Over the next several days, you stayed close, quietly tending to their needs. You brought them more comforting meals, teas laced with your own subtle magic, and changed their bandages as their injuries healed at a pace slightly faster than normal humans—your clandestine influence, though you never openly acknowledged it. As Hannibal and Will grew stronger, the two men observed you in unspoken unison. They’d share glances from across a room, as though exchanging telepathic notes about you. Eventually, curiosity overcame them.

One afternoon, while preparing more of your herb-laced soup in the cabin’s small kitchen, you found yourself under Hannibal’s direct stare. The man approached with a measured step, Will close behind. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Hannibal started, voice like velvet, “but I must admit, your hospitality is extraordinary.”

You allowed a smile to cross your lips. “I live alone. I have the space to share, and you needed help.”

Will glanced around at the eclectic collections on the walls and shelves—maps older than any living memory, candelabras that looked straight out of an antique store from centuries past, and your library of old texts. “You’ve traveled a lot?” he guessed.

“I’ve wandered,” you answered enigmatically. The silence that followed was taut.

“We’re grateful,” Will said softly. “We want you to know that.” In return, you simply nodded. You didn’t expect anything from them beyond eventual departure. Yet something stirred in your chest—an unaccustomed warmth of companionship you hadn’t felt in decades.

The days slipped by like dusk over water. You found yourself engaging in quiet conversations with Will in the evenings, while Hannibal read through your old tomes. Sometimes, you’d glance up to catch both men looking at you with an intensity that made your long-dead heart flutter in a dangerously human way. One night, you were startled when you heard Hannibal and Will murmuring to each other by the fireplace:

“He’s different,” Will said. “I can feel it.”

Hannibal’s voice was thoughtful. “Yes, there’s a presence to him. A calm and hunger, perhaps. Subtle, but there.”

Hunger. You swallowed. The faint thirst you spent centuries controlling was, indeed, always present. They were so perceptive.

Soon, little signs around the cabin began to raise suspicions: the heavy, iron-bound chest in a dark corner that you never let them open, the wine bottles you kept in a locked cupboard (though the contents were not wine at all). Once, Hannibal caught sight of you striding silently across the moonlit porch late at night, eyes glinting, your form almost inhumanly poised. Then there was the evening Will found a solitary pale figure in the forest, sipping from a small deer’s wound. You vanished before he fully comprehended the sight.

But what truly fueled their jealousy—though it blossomed in them before they knew the truth—were the small hints of a partner. A second set of clothing in a trunk, a pair of shoes that didn’t quite match yours, an engraving on a ring hidden in a wooden box. They caught glimpses of these things and exchanged wary looks, uncertain if you belonged to someone else. And why did you keep such personal belongings locked away?

Neither man dared to confront you outright. Yet their longing to be near you, to share these stolen pockets of tenderness, was obvious in every word, every gesture. When you approached either of them—asking about their injuries, smoothing the hair from their faces, offering small, tender assurances—you could feel their hearts quicken.

It happened one late evening, on the porch overlooking the forest. The sky was clear, starlight bright. You stood beside Hannibal and Will, who were both healed enough to walk carefully outside. They sipped from porcelain cups of your herbal tea, scanning the tree line where the moon gilded every branch.

Hannibal spoke first, voice low and calm, “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Will added gently. “We owe you so much. But we can’t keep burdening you.”

A pang flitted through you at the idea of them leaving. In them, you felt the pull of companionship, even desire. You’d seen the way their gazes lingered on you, felt the gentle brush of their hands when you passed something between them. They were drawn to you in ways neither had dared say.

“You don’t have to leave,” you murmured. “At least not until you’re fully recovered.” You paused, eyes searching the forest. “My home is safe if you need it.”

Hannibal watched you closely, seeing something in your eyes. “There’s more to you than kind hospitality, isn’t there?”

A fleeting grin tugged at your lips, an age-old secret behind your eyes. “I’m not like you,” you admitted softly. “I’m something else.”

Will shifted, the memory of seeing you in the woods late at night still burning in his mind. “I’ve seen glimpses,” he ventured. “But I—I don’t understand.” You inhaled, feeling your chest tighten with apprehension. Never, in all your years, had you willingly revealed your nature to humans. Yet these men—there was something about them that felt like an inevitability.

“I was born human once,” you started quietly, “but that was a long time ago.” You steeled yourself. “I’ve lived many lifetimes since. Surviving on blood, fighting the thirst, wandering from place to place.”

Hannibal’s expression was one of fascination rather than fear. “A vampire?” His tone lacked the disbelief you’d grown used to. Instead, it was curious, tinged with admiration.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yes.”

Will set aside his cup, stepping closer, his eyes flicking over your face. The moonlight made him look almost otherworldly himself. “You saved us from that cliff. You healed us. And you never...took our blood?”

“I’m not a monster,” you whispered. “And I found your lives worth preserving.” You paused, swallowing the remnants of your fear. “The items you found—those things that made you think I had a partner—are old memories of someone I lost centuries ago. Not a current lover.”

Hannibal and Will exchanged glances, a faint bloom of relief apparent in both their eyes. Will exhaled a soft laugh, pushing a nervous hand through his curls. “We thought…We weren’t sure.”

Hannibal’s refined voice cut in, “We may have been jealous.” There was a wry, knowing smile curving his lips. “A foolish notion, given your generosity.”

Heat—or the memory of it—rose to your cheeks. “There’s no one else now,” you said quietly.

As the truth came to light, the shift in your relationship was palpable. Neither man showed fear or disgust. Instead, an unexpected acceptance lingered, twining you closer. Will still found you in the kitchen late at night, but now he’d quietly slide in beside you, leaning against the counter, eyes full of curiosity. He’d ask about your life in hushed tones: your travels, the centuries of knowledge you’d collected. You answered in half-truths or occasional full confessions, depending on what you felt ready to share.

Hannibal, too, found ways to join you in your quiet moments. He appreciated your old texts, marveled at the archaic languages you could read. Something in his own brilliant mind was stimulated by the very notion of a creature who had lived through so many eras. He’d ask you sophisticated questions with an almost reverent tone, and you’d see the faint glint of desire flicker across his features—desire, not just for your body, but your timelessness.

And between them, there was a synergy you’d never witnessed among humans. You caught it in how Will would pass Hannibal a knowing look or in how Hannibal’s fingers would gently skim the small of Will’s back. They were bound to each other, yet somehow, they extended that bond to include you.

After dinner one evening, the three of you lingered around the fireplace, sharing a bottle of fine wine Hannibal had found in your cellar (the real wine, not the blood you kept hidden). The conversation drifted, warmth glowed across your faces. Will was the first to break the comfortable silence. “We’ve been talking—Hannibal and I.”

“Oh?” you prompted, resting your forearms on your knees.

“We feel drawn to you,” Hannibal continued, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “When you saved us, nursed us, you offered an unspoken intimacy. We have begun to care for you in ways that aren’t entirely platonic.”

You set the wine glass aside, heart beating in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. “I care for you both as well,” you admitted, voice quiet. “I was prepared to let you go, if that was what you wanted.”

Hannibal’s hand slid across the small couch to cover yours. Even after all your time in the darkness, the tender heat of a human touch could still set your veins aflame. You felt the weight of both men’s gazes, their presence so near, so achingly real.

Hannibal’s voice was a low murmur, “We have no intention of running away from this…from you.”

Will’s shoulder brushed yours, and you turned to see him looking at you as if you were some delicate miracle. “Stay with us,” he whispered. “Let us stay with you.”

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 10 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 10k oof

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE!!! ANOTHER 10K BOMB HITTING YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOWWW 💥💥💥 Many shifting POVs this chapter bc there's too many things happening at the same time!!! Just know I'm rubbing my hands like an evil fly as I post this chapter hehehheheheheh ENJOY!!! <3

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

Alucard would not fail.

The sky above him was painted in red. The sun, a symbol of hope and life, was hidden behind an eerie shadow that had nothing to do with the natural movement of celestial bodies. The air smelled of salt, iron, apprehension and fear. He was used to this smell – he knew it intimately. He was used to war. How many times had Alucard put his life on the front line before? Uncountable. Every time he faced an enemy, whether weak or strong, he knew there was the possibility of dying. Perhaps that kept him on edge. Perhaps that’s why he kept fighting, aside from his love for humanity.

The men behind him weren’t used to this feeling. The heaviness in the atmosphere, the strange weigh that preceded battle; some of them might’ve fought against humans, not against vampires or demons or deities. They had no idea what waited for them.

And that is why Alucard would not fail.

He stood in front of the defensive lines, his grip on the sword unwavering as he held it close to his chest as a sign to halt. The wind played with his hair and cape. His senses, sharpened beyond human capabilities; he could hear every breath, every step, every whisper, every heartbeat. His own emotions, controlled with the precision of a true master. Serenity. Severity. Confidence. These men needed it. They needed a strong image to look at; they needed an unyielding force to trust.

The moment Alucard entered the Revolutionary Commune holding the severed head of one of Erzsebet’s servants, he understood that he had taken the responsibility over that fight. He also felt that weight over his shoulders – the weight of hundreds of lives of courageous men offering to fight, and hundreds of thousands of other civilians. Elders, children, women… they had been evacuated to the outskirts of the city, but if everything went down, the Vampire Messiah’s army would not spare anyone.

And that is why Alucard would not fail.

That is why his impeccable posture and severe expression did not change when he saw a battalion of vampires approaching from the other side of the bridge. That is why he was firm when he lifted his sword, signaling the men behind him to get ready to shoot. That is why he did not flinch when she finally appeared from within the fog, being carried by two horses in a golden chariot.

Some men gasped at her horrendous figure. Taller than any human being or vampire, her giant red hair looked like a wild lion’s mane; her face was distorted into animalistic traits. While Annette, possessed by Sekhmet’s Akh, looked beautiful and dignified – the goddess of healing –, Erzsebet looked like a ferocious monster – the goddess of war.

She was extremely powerful now. Alucard could feel her pungent power from miles away; the horrid stench of profane magic. She brought fear with herself, as if gravity became heavier around her, luring weaker creatures into submission.

Erzsebet locked eyes with Alucard. Anyone else would’ve passed out with that simple feral gaze. She grinned, exposing her sharp teeth – a smile filled with vanity and anger.

“Alucard!” She yelled at the top of her lungs. “Where is my Ruby?!”

Alucard wanted to kill her.

Right then and right there.

But that was not part of the strategy. He had to keep his own emotions in place. Annette and Richter would take responsibility over fighting her; Alucard had to care for the men behind him.

He held himself back from attacking her. That would dismantle the plan. That would be irrational and Alucard had to be rational regardless of how he felt for her.

From afar, he heard a beautiful unknown male voice singing in a foreign language; Creole, he understood with a bit of surprise. Soldiers, attack. Those who die, so what?

A war cry.

Very appropriate.

Alucard pointed his sword towards her.

“Now!”

Cannons ignited. Multiple explosions. A hailstorm of shots; the front lines of her battalion were immediately obliterated, rows of vampires being reduced to pieces without having a chance to react. The smell of iron became stronger. Smoke clouded the bridge.

“Again!” He ordered. More shots. More explosions.

That wouldn’t be enough to stop Erzsebet and he knew it. Alucard got out of the way the moment she attacked – too fast for a creature so big. She was strong, but hasty, disorganized, too angry for her own good. She was no warrior and that would be their upper hand.

Fuck, Alucard wanted to fight her. He wanted to impale his sword through her chest, he wanted to cut her horrendous head off. He looked at her strength and her size and her ferocity and remembered Ruby’s size compared to her, Ruby’s fragility, Ruby’s inherent fear which was hammered into her – and that made him hate hate hate hate Erzsebet. But the battlefield was no place for hate; hate clouds your perception, your senses, your intelligence. He had to trust his plan and his allies.

So Alucard turned around and ran.

He lead his men to the backstreets, abandoning the bridge. Erzsebet’s followers saw it as weakness. Vampires were predators; if you act like prey, they would naturally be attracted… and their instinct was their doom.

The streets were barricaded with meters and meters of rubble.

Before the vampires realized they were cornered, another hailstorm of shots fell over them – coming from above.

Soldiers hidden inside the street’s buildings shot again, and again, and again. Alucard’s vision sharpened as he attacked before they could regroup. These vampires knew who he was. These vampires trembled, knowing they had no chance against him – and their expression of fear would remain forever when Alucard sliced their heads off; in their vision, he was but a red blur of death, moving too fast to be stopped.

He moved on to the next street, and the next, and the next in a frantic pace, not stopping for a second to breathe. He needed to eliminate as many opponents as possible to minimize the chances of melee battle between humans and vampires while keeping the battalions focused on that part of the city – away from the refugee citizens and away from the tailor shop where Ruby was hidden. Alucard was like the grim reaper himself: no one could stand on his way. It seemed no one was enough of an opponent for him. No one made him lose his balance, no one was enough of a threat for him to wield his sword with both hands, no one broke his sprint. To witness that was like the fire of courage the soldiers needed to keep fighting. They had a strong ally; they could win.

Alucard already knew she was coming before she even appeared in his field of view.

He felt her presence, the flap of her gigantic wings behind him. When she halted her flight on the building in front of him, holding a maniacal grin and with the gaze of a killer, Alucard was ready to face her.

He already knew at that point that Drolta was the real danger. Drolta was the mastermind, the strategist behind everything. In this great chess game, Erzsebet might’ve been the King – the most important piece in the board, but Drolta was the Queen – the most powerful piece, the one that could move freely.

The ruby necklace sat on Drolta’s collarbones.

He’d been planning to defeat her for the past five years. He had killed her once and lost to her resurrected form once, too. Now, it didn’t only feel like it was his duty; it felt like justice.

Ruby’s frightened expression upon seeing Drolta again resurfaced in his mind.

I promise I won’t fail you again. Erzsebet and Drolta won’t get anywhere near you.

It was time to end this.

Drolta launched herself at full speed towards him. He gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands.

Alucard would not fail.

Mizrak had never felt so small as in the moment he landed in Paris.

With the help of Maria’s and Juste’s magic, they managed to fly to the capital in just a few hours. Mizrak ignored the dizziness and nausea, immediately focusing on the situation at hand.

Paris was in chaos. He could hear the screams and shots even from the sky – the sounds of battle. Blood painted the streets, made the air smell of iron. Spots of smoke peppered around the city, flashes of light illuminated the red sky. He’d never witnessed a battle so big, so heated, so violent before.

And at the center of the square where Richter and Annette waited stood the most gruesome creature he’d ever seen.

Mizrak took a second to understand that that was Erzsebet. She had transfigured herself into an even uglier, unholier thing; she was worse than any night creature he’d seen. Mizrak hated her. He hated that Emmanuel had placed all his bets on her and died for it. He hated himself for helping her to some degree; he was well aware that he had his share of fault in this.

He almost didn’t notice that Annette looked different – there were too many things to take in at the same time – and Richter explained that she was also possessed by this… entity, and that somehow granted them an advantage. Maria, Juste and Richter immediately took fighting positions. Mizrak unsheathed his curved sword.

He knew there was no way for him to face that demon. Maria, young and short the way she was, already proved herself to be a powerful magician; he saw Erzsebet’s servants gasp when she opened a huge golden portal and summoned a gigantic blue dragon from it. A part of him felt proud of her for being able to control her powers after so much effort.

Juste was an old man, but just as powerful as the blonde girl. He evoked lightning and ice and fire as easily as he breathed. And Richter united his magic prowess to his brutal fighting style and muscular physique – all the while Annette (or Sekhmet, whatever) worked on weakening Erzsebet.

As soon as they started fighting, the square became literal hell.

Their attacks seemed to shake the world itself. The three of them fought like a single body, in pure synchronicity, not letting Erzsebet stop for a second to recover. Their magic made Mizrak feel goosebumps, made his stomach drop.

Mizrak was just a man with a sword. He did not compare to them in any way.

But King David was a small boy and even so, he killed Goliath, a giant; because he had faith within him. Because he had God with him, guiding his movements, clearing his path to victory. Light always beats darkness – and Mizrak believed that God, the only true God, was on their side in this battlefield.

For the Lord is righteous and loves justice; the upright will see His face.

Mizrak might be just a man in the middle of beasts, but no man is ordinary when God stands by them.

He attacked.

His sanctified sword was the harbinger of justice against his enemies. Vampire after vampire, he slashed heads and stomachs, severed members; at every fallen enemy, he felt that he was little by little avenging all these poor soldiers killed in Machecoul by Drolta. He still remembered the smell of blood and fear that filled the air that afternoon; he still remembered the tears he shed, the despair he felt, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop that carnage.

Every cloaked vampire in the square was killed either by him, his allies, or even indirectly by Erzsebet in their violent fight. There was nothing he could contribute there anymore. He ran towards a nearby street.

His heartbeat throbbed in his ears. The ground beneath his feet shook – the result of the magical fight behind him or cannon explosions. The cobblestones were painted in blood; fallen soldiers were everywhere. Some already dead, some on the verge of it. Screams and shots came from all directions. Mizrak kept running, looking for more enemies; a tall wall of rubble that barricaded the street forced him to turn left.

More cloaked servants. With a scream of effort, Mizrak slashed the nearest one and jumped to the next. Vampires might’ve been stronger and faster than human beings, but most of these vampires weren’t fighters; they were just overconfident aristocrats that lived most of their lives inside palaces, hunting clueless humans in the night to feed. Mizrak doubted many of them ever faced anyone in battle before.

Of course, even a regular vampire was much more dangerous than a regular human. The multiple bodies on the floor he saw on his way was proof of it. Mizrak knew he had to be careful; a vampire is never too weak.

He moved on to the next street. Screams attracted him; three human soldiers tried to keep the barricade of rubble standing while an unknown force on the other side tried to destroy it. His heart dropped a little when he realized the soldiers were boys – probably even younger than Richter.

Mizrak rushed, leaning his back against the ruble with the strength of his whole body, replacing the skinnier looking soldier; the three of them were surprised.

“One of you, climb the wall and shoot!” He ordered through gritted teeth. Whatever was on the other side was too strong even for him; he wouldn’t take it for much longer than a minute.

Luckily, they weren’t too shocked to move. Two of the boys, a ginger one and a black haired one, immediately climbed over the tall wall with their muskets. Each could only shoot once, so they had to hope it would be enough to stop whatever waited for them. They silently counted to three before emerging, pointing their weapons down to the other side and shooting.

The pressure stopped.

Mizrak sighed in relief and leaned away, already feeling his arms and shoulders heavy with fatigue. But he couldn’t stop, not when his allies and these young boys were giving their all. Before the two soldiers could even climb down the wall again, Mizrak already had sprinted to the next alley, looking for opponents.

Mizrak kept running and running and running. A puddle of blood on the floor almost made him trip and fall. God, there were so many corpses; the remains of humans, vampires and night creatures… Mizrak already knew these images would stay with him for a long time. His throat felt dry, it almost burned. Sweat covered his entire body. He ignored all of that. The pain, the fatigue, his feelings, all of that brushed aside to the farthest corner of his mind–

And his mind went actually blank when the glimpse of a moss green skirt passed by him.

Mizrak widened his eyes. A woman? A human woman?! What was she doing in the middle of the chaos?! Maybe she didn’t evacuate for some reason? That wasn’t a vampire – she wasn’t wearing a black and red cloak. Cold fear immediately crawled his skin for that woman. She wouldn’t stay alive for much longer there.

He turned on the same corner she did – hell, that woman was fast. She had already almost reached the end of the street. “Mademoiselle, wait!” he yelled. The woman stopped for a second and looked back–

Wait.

He knew that face.

Worry immediately turned to suspicion; his widened eyes narrowed, his expression hardened. The woman stopped running, but he didn’t. She held some sort of golden staff in her hands.

She widened her eyes in shock when Mizrak grabbed her by both arms and slammed her against the nearest wall.

“What are you doing here?!” He demanded.

The young woman looked up at him with round scared eyes that almost made him feel bad. She gripped the scepter close to her chest, sweat dripped down her forehead, her hair was disheveled. What was her name again? It had something to do with a jewel stone… was it Jade? Pearl?– It didn’t matter. What mattered is that Mizrak never trusted her for a second.

He even questioned if Alucard was right by bringing her along to Paris, but decided to not argue since he knew the vampire was strong and could deal with the situation if she offered any danger. Now, though? Her running around the streets, alone, unsupervised?

That could mean no good.

She blinked a few times. “M-Mizrak, isn’t it?!” She asked in a breathless voice. “Please, I need your help. I need to–“

“Why should I listen to a word you say?” Mizrak pressed on. She visibly shrunk. Once again, he felt a bit bad, but decided to brush it aside. “You said you were helping Erzsebet summon eclipses, and yet look up. They did it without you. Liar!”

“I wasn’t lying!” She gripped the scepter with even more strength; for the first time, a glimpse of anger crossed her features. “Erzsebet reunited with the second half of Sekhmet’s soul, that is why she didn’t need me this time!”

“And you said you weren’t a witch, yet what is it that you’re holding?!” Mizrak ignored what she said and his eyes dropped to the golden scepter she held. It had a strange symbol of the sun on its tip and multiple scriptures in a language he didn’t know. Clearly paganism. “You were just waiting for an opportunity to act, isn’t it? Erzsebet’s witch!”

She looked actually angry for a second; but her eyes suddenly locked with something behind him and they widened.

“Watch out!”

She moved faster than him.

The jewel stone girl used her scepter to push Mizrak out of the way, pressing it on the side of his body; it wasn’t enough to send him flying away – Mizrak was way too heavy for that – but he lost his balance regardless. This saved his life. If he had stayed on that same spot a second longer, he would’ve had his head ripped off by a cloaked vampire.

Mizrak turned around and unsheathed his sword again in a quick motion, slicing the head of the vampire off with a scream of effort.

They watched the body on the ground, both breathless and in silence, for some seconds.

Mizrak turned back to her slowly.

She… had saved his life. But that wasn’t enough to convince him.

The young woman gulped and hardened her expression.

“Sir, I need you to trust me. Please, I just want to help them. Y-You’ve seen how many losses they’ve had. Erzsebet’s army is stronger and you know it.” She stepped closer to him.

Mizrak gripped the hilt of his sword harder. “All the odds are against you.”

She groaned.

Jewel stone girl looked fragile and scared the entire time he’d been around her at the ruins of Machecoul – and it didn’t quite convince him. At that moment, however, the heat of the battle seemed to get the best of her.

She was also on her limit.

“Fine!” And then her voice wasn’t quiet and controlled anymore. Finally, she’s letting her mask fall, a part of Mizrak thought–

But then she grabbed the blade of Mizrak’s sword and brought it close to her own neck.

Her hand immediately bled. The tip of the blade made a tiny cut on the base of her neck, yet she didn’t flinch; she stared at Mizrak with pure anger and determination. More than that – she was challenging him.

“Cut my head off, then!” She growled in a way that took Mizrak by surprise. He… he didn’t expect her to talk like that at all, not with the way he saw her behave before. “Go on, do it if you’re so suspicious of me! I won’t die anyway, I don’t care. But many more people will die and they can’t heal the way I do, unless we do something about it! Or will you keep wasting time questioning me?!”

Mizrak didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Blood dripped from her palm to her forearm, staining the white sleeve of her blouse. The way she didn’t flinch away from pain was impressive, he had to admit. The way her gaze didn’t waver was also a bit impressive… Mizrak was as muscular as a bull. He was the one holding the sword… and she didn’t look that scared of him – at least, not anymore.

And yet… Mizrak didn’t want to trust her.

Because trusting her meant trusting Olrox and he didn’t want to trust Olrox.

Hell, he didn’t want to think about Olrox – but he was the reason she was there anyway. It was Olrox who told Mizrak about jewel stone girl’s existence in the first place. Yes, he delivered the news to Alucard, but back then, he thought she would be a hostage; he never expected that Alucard and the others would simply let her walk freely.

Mizrak didn’t want to admit that his problem wasn’t with her directly; his anger was towards the damned green eyed vampire. The coward green eyed vampire that could be fighting with them at that moment but that chose to run away to the New World instead. The coward that had the audacity to invite him; as if Mizrak would ever run away from his duties and his beliefs.

Mizrak didn’t want to think about Olrox because if he did, he’d have to admit that a tiny hidden part of him was also relieved that he was away from this chaos, away from the maniacal vampire that would hunt him down eventually.

So he focused on the girl in front of him instead, the anger and determination in her eyes, the way she told him to cut her head off as if it was nothing, the way her palm bled and she didn’t move away regardless – and Mizrak decided that she wasn’t Olrox after all, which meant he could give her a chance.

Mizrak pulled his sword away from her grip and let his arm fall to the side of his body. He looked down at her with a high chin and a tightened jaw. She seemed uneasy for a moment.

“...I will cut your head off if I notice you’re acting suspicious for a second,” he declared with severity. “What is your plan?”

She was visibly relieved.

The young woman held the scepter with both hands again. “This scepter can storage sunlight somehow. I… I can awaken it. But I’ll need a high place to make it more effective.”

Mizrak frowned. “You can enter any of these empty buildings and go upstairs–“

“A higher place. The highest point in the area.”

The black haired monk thought for some seconds. The highest point in the city…

He heard steps behind him, which immediately made him turn around and lift his sword defensively – but it was not necessary.

The three young soldiers from earlier came running around the corner. They were all visibly tired, holding swords now that their muskets were probably out of gunpowder. Were they running after Mizrak since that moment?

But they didn’t seem to care for Mizrak, actually.

“Mademoiselle!” The ginger one widened his eyes. The three of them were shocked to see her here.

“What are you doing here, Miss Ruby?!” The black haired one said. The third blond boy frowned.

“Who said you could address her by her name?!”

Oh. So Ruby is her name.

The three boys reached them, immediately offering to get Ruby to safety at the same time. She tried to calm them down – Henri, Charles and Jules were their names – while Mizrak looked around the street.

The highest point in the city…

Then, it hit him.

It was obvious. It was in the eye of the hurricane. Most vampires and night creatures were focused there. Erzsebet was also close by. Mizrak wasn’t sure if bringing Ruby there, so close to that crazy vampire, would be a good idea… but there was no better place.

He turned around.

“Soldiers,” he called with authority; the three boys immediately turned to him. Mizrak wasn’t wearing a Revolutionary uniform like them, but you’d have to be a fool to argue with him. “We will escort this lady to the Notre Dame. No questions asked, we don’t have time.”

They wanted to ask questions, but they turned to Ruby – and the look she gave them made them became puddles over her feet.

“Please. I need your help,” she asked with impatient sweetness.

They immediately straightened their backs and nodded.

“Yes, Mademoiselle!”

“Anything for you!”

Mizrak refrained from rolling his eyes and gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands again. His body was aching, his throat was burning, his heart was confused – but he still had a fight ahead of him, so he brushed all that aside.

“Let’s go.”

They ran.

Mizrak took the lead; Ruby was right behind him, while the three boys protected her from her sides and rear. Just around the corner, they faced the first group of enemies; the monk, once again, took the lead and attacked first. He managed to take down two vampires while the third one tried to approach from the sides. The blond boy, Jules, blocked his attack with the sword, while the black haired one, Charles, sliced his head off.

Although they were successful, both looked extremely distressed with what they had just done; their faces went pale, eyes widened. They probably had been facing their enemies from afar, not on melee combat. Mizrak was about to yell at them – not because he didn’t feel empathy for them, but because the battlefield was no place to freeze.

But Ruby surprised him once again.

“We have to keep going!” She rushed them in an impatient tone, breaking them out of their trance. She wasn’t shocked at all. She didn’t seem to have a lot of empathy for them, actually, as if death was too casual for her to care...

But regardless of her methods, it worked. Mizrak went back to running, not waiting for them to recover, and they followed shortly.

Another corner turned, another explosion; they met a group of soldiers running on the opposite direction. They gesticulated vehemently for them to go back.

“Retreat! There are monsters fighting back there! You’ll be trampled like ants!” They yelled.

Mizrak knew they were right and knew to ignore them. No man is ordinary with God, he repeated it in his head over and over again to convince himself, to push him forward. The group kept running tirelessly. Another cloaked vampire. They attacked.

No man is ordinary with God. His knees were heavy. His wrists ached. The muscles of his arms burned. Mizrak brushed all that aside.A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand; but no evil will come near you. The next enemy came. He raised his sword and attacked. The next enemy came, and the next. They turned on another corner. The boys behind him protected and attacked from the sides. Mizrak didn’t stop to look back, putting blind faith in them.

No man is ordinary with God.

Mizrak knew this entire battle was already burned into his soul. He would never forget the horrendous faces, the bloodshed, the pain in his body. They would haunt him forever. Yet, he didn’t stop to think about anything; how these vampires were stronger than him, that if he let his guard down for a second, he’d be killed. But he reminded himself: The Lord is my light and my salvation; of whom shall I be afraid?

So he just moved forward.

Finally, they reached the square in front of the gigantic cathedral. Without the protection of buildings on both sides, they would have no way to hide – and the square was infested of night creatures and vampires. For the first time, Mizrak stopped running and signaled for the ones behind him to halt, crossing his eyes through the open area.

The cathedral’s front doors were closed. Mizrak realized with confusion that the night creatures were fighting among themselves, but he decided there was no time to question that; if the beasts were too focused in killing each other, they hopefully wouldn’t notice them passing by, which could be an advantage. Mizrak gulped, his burning throat begged for water. His entire body ached. But no, there was no time to focus on any of that. The task ahead of them was difficult; they had to try anyway. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God–

A lightning slashed the sky.

The thunder that followed was stronger than any cannon; it made everything shake. Even the vampires and night creatures at the square looked up in confusion. There were no storm clouds in the sky, what could’ve caused that? One of Juste’s powers, maybe? But it felt different for some reason–

Another lightning. Mizrak was looking up this time.

It had a purplish color.

His heartbeat immediately increased, his eyes widened. He thought he saw a strange big shadow in between the tall buildings, it looked to be flying over the ceilings… was he going insane? He– He knew the color of that magic. His chest filled with unstoppable expectation and hope; was it… Was it who he thought it was–?!

Mizrak tightened his eyes and shook his head violently. No. No, you don’t have time for that. It’s not him. Don’t think of him. You have to cross that square.

The black haired monk looked back. Ruby also had a focused expression, analyzing what was in front of them, holding the scepter strongly. Although she was sweating, she didn’t look nearly as tired as the three boys or Mizrak himself. Did her healing ability also heal tiredness?

“Let’s take advantage of the distraction,” Mizrak said. She nodded. He looked ahead again and gripped the sword with both hands once more; his wrists and fingers hurt so much that Mizrak didn’t think he’d be able to stretch them for a while.

Mizrak took a deep breath.

No man is ordinary with God.

“Come on!”

They leaped into the square.

His heart throbbed faster than ever. His vision was focused on their destination. Growls, screams, flesh being pierced, shots, rumbles from the magical battle happening not far from there, more purple lightnings; chaos was what echoed from all directions, making his head ache. They avoided the spots of night creature fights without slowing their pace, moving as a single body. They were halfway there. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God…

“It’s her!”

Mizrak whipped his head to the side.

A cloaked vampire pointed towards them – towards Ruby – with a ferocious expression.

“It’s the woman the Vampire Messiah talked about!” He continued, drawing the attention of the vampires around him. “Whoever takes her will be rewarded!”

Fuck!

“Keep running!” Mizrak yelled looking over his shoulder. As if it was needed. For the first time, he saw fear plastered over Ruby’s face again.

The vampires chased them now.

We’re almost there we’re almost there we’re almost there keep running keep running keep running–

Finally finally finally– the group reached the central doors of the cathedral.

And they were locked.

Henri and Jules tried to push them open with the strength of their bodies, yet they didn’t move. Meanwhile, the vampires gathered around them. They were cornered.

Rage filled Mizrak’s heart.

These vampires – they would not enter the house of God. His wrists hurt his fingers hurt his arms hurt his breathing was difficult. It didn’t matter. As if he felt empowered by colossal building behind him, the earthly materialization of the Lord’s fearing size, Mizrak stood tall, taking a defensive position. They would not stain the cathedral with their presence or their filthy blood. Mizrak would be its defender despite his aching body.

For no man is ordinary with God.

Jules and Charles took their places by his sides while Ruby and Henri kept trying to push the doors open. Nine vampires against three tired humans.

Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then I will be confident.

The vampires attacked.

The three defended.

Everything became a blur of blood and pain and screams and grunts and growls. Mizrak slashed, blocked, crouched down, jumped; one enemy fell. He pushed Charles out of the way before he could be stabbed. The second enemy fell. Mizrak pierced a chest with his sword. The third fell. Jules and Charles worked together to kill one of them; Mizrak slashed one more neck. The fifth and the sixth. The seventh was taken down from behind – someone shot him from across the square, though he could not see who exactly was helping them.

A loud scratching noise behind them.

“It’s opened!” Ruby screamed; he turned briefly to see that they had burst the locks. Henri and her pushed the heavy doors open with their backs. “Quick, let’s get in!”

The three retreated with their backs still facing the cathedral, blades still held up; a slight breeze of relief hit Mizrak. The vampires wouldn’t follow them inside. They couldn’t step in, he was confident of that. No man is ordinary with God. The Lord had helped him achieve this, had held his hands, guided his blade towards victory.

An eighth enemy still stood. Mizrak stepped forward to face it.

“Come in, Mizrak!” Charles rushed him; Henri had entered, Jules too, and they were trying to pull Ruby in, but she seemed to refuse to until Mizrak joined them.

He looked ahead again. Blocked an attack, slashed another neck. There were vampires approaching from afar. He had to walk in to safety. Another purple lightning crossed the sky; Mizrak looked up for a moment, once more under the impression that he saw a strange huge shadow–

“MIZRAK!”

It was too late.

Mizrak didn’t have time to look back at Ruby.

Lacerating pain.

His body shook. His vision blurred. Strength left his legs.

Slowly, Mizrak looked down.

A dagger pierced through his stomach. A stain of blood grew larger over the cross on his uniform.

The ninth vampire.

Rage painted Mizrak’s vision in red; a scream erupted from within him while he raised his sword one last time, still carried by adrenaline, slashing the vampire’s torso and neck.

His enemy fell.

Mizrak couldn’t breathe properly anymore; a single tear slid down his cheek. He pressed his tightened fist over the wound, feeling his own warm blood drip down his clothes; the world twirled. The pain was nauseating. It was maddening.

It’s like he could hear Notre Dame’s bells ringing in his ears.

Mizrak… Mizrak was a step away from entering the cathedral.

Yet, he couldn’t walk anymore.

Freezing cold crept over his body. He fought and fought and fought in the name of the Lord; he prayed and prayed and prayed, tried to repent, tried to convince Emmanuel to repent before his death. He had cut ties with Olrox. He… he did everything.

No.

“Mizrak!” He heard Ruby’s voice again, but she sounded distant; he felt the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder, but he pushed her away with the little strength he still had.

“Get in, woman,” he groaned, feeling the taste of iron in his tongue. “You… you said you had a plan. I will… protect the entrance.”

He knew he couldn’t. She knew it, too, and still hesitated.

Mizrak refused to look at her.

“Get in, now!” He screamed.

After a few seconds, he heard steps behind him retreating – then, the sound of the heavy doors being closed again.

Another tear fell down Mizrak’s cheek.

His legs had no strength anymore. He fell to his knees.

He felt so, so cold. Not only the wound hurt, his entire body ached. He panted, the grip around the sword finally loosened.

A quiet sob escaped past his lips. Mizrak looked up. The statues of Kings of Judah seemed to be looking directly at him. Another purple lightning illuminated the sky, casting eerie shadows over their faces.

Angry faces. Judging faces.

Mizrak stood in front of the Portal of the Last Judgment – and he had just been judged.

Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God?

The tears were now unstoppable. Mizrak gripped the fabric of his uniform, his entire body trembled. How foolish, how presumptuous of him to think he’d keep these vampires away from the house of God when he was not allowed to get in; not anymore. That was the clear confirmation of all his worst suspicions, his most horrendous nightmares. What awaited him on the other side wasn’t Saint Peter’s welcoming words, wasn’t Virgin Mary’s motherly hug; what waited for him were the fires that would burn him eternally. What waited for him was the Devil that came to reap Emmanuel’s soul.

No immoral, impure or greedy person has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.

Finally, his body gave up. Mizrak laid on the cold floor, feeling all of his strength vanish and every centimeter of him shake in cold fear. It was so, so cold. It was so, so painful. It was so lonely and frightening.

God was not beside him anymore – and so, Mizrak became an ordinary man.

Another purple lightning. A shrilling bestial growl crossed the air. Mizrak was ordinary. Mizrak was impure. Mizrak was a sinner.

Mizrak wished, as death approached him like the freezing winds of North, that he could see Olrox again one last time.

And then – he didn’t wish for anything anymore.

Darkness.

The sound of the doors closing echoed within the gigantic cathedral like thunders.

Your fingers were shaking, the grip around the scepter wasn’t as determined as before. Mizrak… that wound would kill him, and there was nothing you could do. You begged for his help and you wouldn’t be able to help him in the end…

This has to work. It has to, no matter what, so his sacrifice won’t be in vain.

“Mademoiselle, we’re here. W-What do we do now?” Jules asked while he and Charles kept their backs leaning against the doors. The three of them were panting and sweating, you didn’t know how long it’d take for them to be completely exhausted.

“I need to climb the tower!” You said, looking around the great entrance hall of the cathedral, pushing your worry and guilt for Mizrak to the back of your mind. The noises of the outside battle were muffled, every small sound you produced echoed. The cathedral was, in a way, even more magnificent than the Louvre; it wasn’t as opulent, and that perhaps was what brought this chilling sense of greatness. The high vaulted ceiling made you feel small; the reflex of the stained glass on the floor being illuminated by the strange purple lightnings out there was somehow eerie. The place was dimly lit by candles.

You were surprised to notice that, at the very back of the cathedral, after rows and rows of wooden benches, there were people; knelt down in front of the great altar where hundreds of candles burned slowly. They were too far for you to even recognize any face, but they seemed surprised by your presence. They wore monk tunics. Oh… you understood. They refused to leave their temple even in the middle of a war. You could respect their courage and nobility.

One more group of people that would be dead soon if you didn’t succeed.

“I’ll stay here and hold the doors,” Jules spoke up. “You two, help her get up there!”

Charles and Henri nodded. “This way, Mademoiselle!” The redhead exclaimed, pointing toward the stairs that led to the north bell tower. You nodded.

The monks were fast approaching. Before turning around and following the two boys, you looked at them; “Please, help him barricade the doors!”

Luckily, no one wanted to argue – they understood the gravity of the situation. Before finally disappearing inside a corridor, you had time to see the group of monks dragging wooden benches toward the doors in order to lock it again.

And then, you were faced with hundreds of hundreds of steps to climb.

The spiral staircase was made of stone, just like the walls around you; it was a small passage, almost claustrophobic. You held some of your skirt and started your way up; Charles took the lead while Henri covered you from behind. The tower was humid and dark; there were small windows in regular gaps, but as the sun was hidden behind that maleficent shadow, it didn’t provide much light.

“We- We should’ve taken some candles…” You heard Henri complain through ragged breath behind you.

That’s when a new source of light appeared.

They hadn’t noticed it before because you weren’t in such a dark environment, but the inscriptions of the scepter had been glowing faintly for a while now, probably fueled by your fear and apprehension; its glow got a bit stronger after you saw Mizrak being stabbed. The object was slowly becoming warmer, too.

Charles looked behind his shoulder with a shocked expression.

“How–?”

“I don’t know. Let’s keep moving,” you rushed them.

They didn’t argue.

The three of you were panting, and the sound echoed within the tower. You didn’t dare to look out the small windows, trying to not get more desperate. There were so many corpses out there… how many of the men you helped yesterday, distributing uniforms or water or food, had already been killed? How many wives wouldn’t have their husbands back, or how many children would never see their fathers again?

Of course, all the volunteers were well aware of the possibility of dying. You can’t weave into war and expect no casualties. But that didn’t change the fact that there was a great imbalance in the scales; Erzsebet’s side had much more men, and a single vampire is worth ten regular humans, not to mention the night creatures – although, surprisingly, most of them seemed to be too busy trying to kill each other down there.

Finally, the stairs opened to another great hall. The large stained glass windows indicated that you had only arrived at the second level of the cathedral.

“That way!” Charles indicated another set of stairs that led to a mezzanine; from there, there was a door that seemed to lead up the tower.

Inside that door – more spiral stairs.

Your knees were starting to feel heavier and heavier; you felt sweat dripping down your entire body, gluing your blouse to your back. Your muscles seemed to burn and a sharp irritating pain tugged on the right side of your stomach. Yet, you didn’t stop for a moment, leaping two steps at time. Your discomfort was nothing compared to what Mizrak endured down there, these boys that had cuts and bruises on their bodies, or all the other soldiers that got hurt in battle.

May Annette and Richter be safe, you wished for the hundredth time. May that goddess leave Annette’s body soon.

You looked down briefly to the red string tied around your right wrist.

If anything happens, anything at all, untie this string. It’s what Alucard asked of you.

He’d probably be so angry and disappointed that you disobeyed him. But you refused to untie that; Alucard had his duty to comply, the same way Annette and Richter had theirs. It wouldn’t be fair to simply call him at that moment. Not only did you not want to interrupt them, there was a part of you – a proud part, perhaps? Since when were you proud of anything? – that wanted to accomplish this without them. You didn’t want to feel useless anymore.

If you didn’t succeed, it’d all be for nothing. You’d have put these three young men in danger, gotten Mizrak hurt – probably killed – and would bring even more trouble over Alucard’s shoulders.

It’s going to work. I know it will. Something inside me is sure of it.

Five minutes of unstoppable climbing and you saw the outside light again.

The balcony extended around the entire structure of the cathedral, crossing it over the main hall and going around the south tower as well; the north bell tower stood tall behind you. However, it was so narrow that more than two people wouldn’t be able to walk side by side comfortably. A refreshing gust of wind hit your body; you felt hot and drenched of sweat after so much running and climbing. You leaned on the stone guard rail, giving yourself a second to recover your breathing.

Maybe you shouldn’t have.

It was tall. Unnervingly tall. You had a good view of most of the city from there – and it only made you feel more desperate.

Fire outbreaks peppered here and there; it was a complete and terrible chaos. From this distance, everyone looked like ants. The strange purple lightnings had stopped. You wondered what was causing these things; Richter’s magic was blue, and as far as you knew, he didn’t know how to fly to be the source of it. So what was that? And why did it make your stomach drop?

Was it part of Sekhmet’s power? She had told you to keep away; maybe, for some reason, her powers would make you feel ill like that?

Charles was also leaning over the guard rail, catching his breath, while Henri leaned his hands over his knees. They were probably already exhausted, much more than you after all that running and fighting. Your throat burned, desperately begging for water. You adjusted your grip on the scepter.

“Is… Is this… enough?” Henri asked, panting.

You looked around.

This height was decent – but not enough.

How you knew that? You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t have time to question it. You decided to just follow your instincts.

You looked up to the top of the bell tower. It was imposing, scary. The stone gargoyles up there seemed to be gazing at you; it was like they didn’t like your presence. Well, they’d have to bear it.

You pointed up. “I need to get to the top.”

The two eyed each other. You couldn’t even be mad at them. Henri was ready to point the direction–

A hiss slashed the air.

You turned back to see that a vampire had climbed the tower, too, from outside; he jumped over the railing onto the balcony, right behind Henri.

You moved before your mouth could speak.

Repeating the movement you made with Mizrak, you pushed him out of the way with the scepter – but this time, you weren’t fast enough; the cloaked vampire’s sharp claws gnawed his right shoulder. Henri yelled in pain; blood splashed on your skirt.

The thought process behind your next action was fast.

You remembered how that vampire burned just by touching the scepter at the alley; you looked at how it was glowing – not as bright as it was at that time, and not as hot as well, but it was awakened anyway. Anger crossed your vision. You couldn’t do anything to help Mizrak; this time, you wouldn’t just stand and watch Henri get hurt.

You held the scepter with both hands. Putting all of your strength, you swung it towards the vampire.

The rays of the sun symbol were actually very sharp.

They slashed the vampire’s eyes; he screamed in agony, the spot where the scepter touched burned. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but he was certainly blind. His blood on the sun symbol boiled and evaporated in seconds.

While the man was completely disoriented, screaming in pain, Charles run towards him and pushed him over the stone railing.

You didn’t wait to see him hitting the ground.

“Henri!” You rushed towards him; the redhead boy gripped his shoulder, blood spilled from the wound.

Henri groaned. Charles put his good arm over his own shoulders. “Let’s get inside! There are more coming!”

You ran ahead this time and entered through a door that led to – sigh – more spiral stairs. They were even narrower this time, more claustrophobic. The two boys walked in and slammed the door shut; Charles took Henri’s sword and used it to lock it between the hinges. Someone tried to push it open and the two leaned their backs against it.

“Go, Mademoiselle!” Charles said. “We’ll hold them back!”

You hesitated for a second. Henri was hurt, both of them were tired. But would you have another chance if you stayed to help them?

So you turned and ran up.

You ignored how heavy your legs felt, how breathless you were, how your knees already wanted to fail you. The scepter was slowly but surely getting hotter as your desperation increased. You jumped two, three steps at once, trying to get there faster faster faster. You tripped and hit both knees on the edge of a step, immediately scratching both of them, but ignored it and kept climbing. Would they be able to fight down there? Would they survive? What if you left them behind to get killed? Would you be able to live with this guilt?

I have to make it. I have to make it. I have to make it.

Finally – a door appeared. You ran past it.

The very top of the bell tower.

The balcony was wider than on the level below you. The view was nauseating – you were so, so high up; you could see the Seine surrounding the cathedral on both ways, hundreds of ceilings as far as the eye could see. There were no taller buildings. Nothing that could hinder the power of the scepter.

You were shaking. You were panting. Your legs hurt. Strong wind played with your skirt and hair, it even felt that if you stood too close to the stone railing, it’d push you over the edge. Strange colorful explosions popped down there, but you couldn’t see what or who was causing it.

None of that mattered, not at that moment.

You walked to the middle point of the balcony and held the scepter with both hands once again. The inscriptions still glowed faintly, it was starting to feel uncomfortably hot.

A deep breath.

This is going to work. It will. It will.

You held it in front of you with the sun symbol pointed up at a close distance from your body. The chaos in the city extended up until where your eye could see. The sky still had that horrible red color, as if it was painted with blood.

Ruby. The same color of your delicious blood.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You didn’t know why you remembered this at that moment. Just the thought of that horrendous vampire made your stomach twirl. She, who treated you worse than an animal for longer than your brain could register; she who fed on your blood constantly as if you were but a meal. She who broke your very spirit to pieces until you became nothing but the compliant shell of a woman; empty, having no more strength to fight anymore. Because you fought her. You tried to push her away, to claw her face, to pull her hair; you tried so many times and failed so many times that you were too tired to keep trying.

She who made you lost who you truly were. Would you ever be able to retrieve it? Would you be able to find within yourself, in your memories, the person you really were before she called you Ruby that night?

Who was I before Ruby?

The inscriptions glowed a little brighter.

Your breath hitched when you realized that you could see her from up there.

Blocks and blocks away at some square – the source of the strange colorful lights you saw earlier; you couldn’t understand exactly what was happening, but recognized that blue fire… Richter’s fire. And then yellow lightning and red fire, too… A blue dragon flying over the buildings. All of that directed at her.

Erzsebet was but a dot in the distance, but you recognized that red hair.

A part of you – the part that was trained to fear – immediately shook, had the instinct to run inside the tower again and hide. What if she saw you there? She’d grab you and never let you go. She’d hurt you again and again and again until you forgot about everything; all the people you’ve met, all the things you discovered and experienced in these few days, and then you’d be just an empty shell again.

The other part of you felt angry.

Erzsebet was fighting against the people that took care of you, the first people that were ever kind to you, the people that treated you like an equal. She was hurting them the same way she hurt you so many times before.

You hated her.

You hated her with every fiber of your being.

It ignited your soul, set it on fire. That woman had to die. She had to die.

You used this hatred when you started to read the inscriptions on the scepter.

Alucard had advised you against it – but you knew at that moment it was the right thing to do. Once again, you could not understand what these words meant; but, while reading the moon book you felt disgusted and weak, now you felt stronger. Exhaustion completely vanished from your body, your scratched knees didn’t hurt anymore.

The scepter glowed brighter; brighter, brighter, brighter. The sun symbol started to shine. Not as bright as it did at the alley – so you kept reading.

It felt like you fell on a trance.

All the times Erzsebet drank your blood. All the times Drolta punished you. All the pain. All the humiliation. Being dragged from place to place, not having the right to even walk out of a room; all the humans you had to watch getting killed. That woman has to die. She has to die.

The golden glow of the scepter enveloped your body. The artifact was hot. It burned your palms. You were hot – that same devastating heat that cloistered around your heart came back. It burned as if you were thrown into the pit of a volcano.

The sun symbol was shining… but not nearly as bright as it did at the alley.

No.

This isn’t supposed to happen. What’s wrong?!

You kept reading, feeling despair mix with your hatred; the shine wasn’t enough to brighten the city, but it was enough to draw attention to you. Weren’t these the feelings that made the scepter awaken at that moment? Why was it acting different now?

The sun wasn’t shining that bright, but the burn in your heart didn’t ease. No, it was increasing. Not just your heart – soon, it felt that someone had thrown boiling oil over your skin. It burned burned burned burned burned; you wanted to drop that thing away, you wanted to scream in pain. Every muscle burned, every vein, every centimeter of your skin; it was unbearable, it was maddening, you couldn’t even hear your own thoughts anymore, you couldn’t keep your eyes open, your face distorted in a scowl of pain. Drop it! Throw it away! It hurts! IT HURTS!

“You will burn from inside out, ???.”

What?

Who said that?

You felt a hand touch your shoulder softly, but couldn’t open your eyes to see who it was.

Who– Who is it?

Who is it?

The sounds of the battle down there– all gone.

It is tranquil. A soft breeze caresses your face. The scepter burns your palms.

She doesn’t back away.

“You’re always too angry, ???.” She continues in a soothing voice. Her touch on your shoulder is featherlight. “This won’t get you anywhere. Breathe slowly.”

You inhale. You exhale.

“This ritual isn’t meant to kill; it does not go well with hatred. This ritual exists to protect the ones you love. If you let anger take the lead, it will consume you; it will burn you. Love does not burn. Love warms up.”

Your frown softened.

Your tense members too.

It exists to protect.

You brushed the memories of Erzsebet and Drolta aside. It was hard – they were mostly all you knew. But you decided to focus on something else.

Annette’s encouraging words. Her strength and her kindness.

The moments Richter fought to protect you, the way you felt some sort of odd affection towards him.

The three boys that gave you the lily that was still safely stored in the pocket of your vest. Henri, Jules and Charles, who bravely helped you get to the cathedral. All the men you helped yesterday, all of them getting ready to fight to protect their families, to help defeat a force much stronger than them.

And…

Him.

His serene smiles. His soft touches. The way he respected and cared for you from the moment you first met; the way he never looked down on you, always talked to you as an equal. The way he was always willing to make you feel better. The way he showed kindness through small gestures. The warmth of his hug.

And there was something else, too. At that moment, other faces flashed in your mind – faces your mind didn’t remember, but your heart did. One of these faces was of the little boy you saw on your dream and many more.

All of these moments, all of these faces – though they weren’t much, though the bad experiences were far more, were enough to overwhelm them. Were enough to comfort you in the midst of so much pain.

And then – you weren’t burning anymore.

You just felt... warm.

This warmth consumed you. It eased your mind, your spirit, your soul. It strengthened you. There was no pain anymore, no hatred; the warmth in your heart extended to every corner of your body, expanded to your entire consciousness.

All that existed was light.

All that existed was sun.

All that existed was… love.

No one saw it coming.

Erzsebet’s servants didn’t see it coming. The night creatures didn’t see it coming. The soldiers didn’t see it coming. Alucard didn’t see it coming.

Out of nowhere, the sky started to get clear.

The white-haired vampire looked up; the eclipse was still very much intact. So what the hell was happening?

Then – it hit him.

His eyes widened. Alucard flew to the top of the nearest ceiling and looked around–

He had time to see a small dot shining atop of Notre Dame, probably two kilometers away from where he was.

The small dot grew larger. Larger. That light got brighter – so bright that he had to protect his eyes; so bright that for a moment, the sky wasn’t crimson red anymore. Goosebumps roamed his skin. That… that was pure power.

And then, he heard the screams.

Yells of agony all around the city. The vampires tried to run, tried to hide – but most of them didn’t have time to react; as soon as light hit their bodies, they burned. They fell to their knees, hollering in excruciating pain, until there was nothing left of them but a pile of ashes. The human soldiers looked around, confused at why that light didn’t harm them, only their enemies.

A strange feeling tugged at Alucard’s heart.

But he heard another scream – a scream of pure hatred this time that slashed the air of Paris.

It was Drolta.

She was flying like a cannonball towards the cathedral.

Alucard wouldn’t let her.

He gripped his sword with both hands; red glow enveloped his body. He sprinted over the ceilings of Paris on a beeline, so fast that glass windows shattered after his passage.

He got to the top of Notre Dame faster than her, standing on top of the stone railing – putting himself between Ruby and Drolta.

The night creature had a completely insane expression, maddened by rage; Alucard, on the other hand, stared at her with controlled anger.

When she was just meters away, Alucard slashed the air with his sword in a wide swing.

It produced a red energy shockwave that hit Drolta in the stomach with the force of a thousand tons.

She was sent flying back all the way she came from; she hit one, two, three, four buildings, destroying everything on her way.

That would keep her quiet for a while.

Alucard released his sword for a second, keeping it floating near his body, and turned around.

His eyes widened in shock and… admiration.

Ruby was levitating in the air, holding the scepter in front of her body with both hands; she had her eyes closed in a serene expression, almost as if she was asleep. Her hair was loose, it swayed behind her figure. A golden aura enveloped her body, but it still looked different than what happened to Annette in a way.

She looked beautiful.

The shine of the scepter was diminishing. So was the aura around her. Slowly, she started to get closer to the ground again. Alucard jumped from the railing onto the balcony; he extended his arms and took her before she could hit the floor.

Alucard knelt down with her cradled in his arms.

He put the scepter aside; it slid from her grip easily. Her eyes were still closed. The white-haired vampire pressed his hand on her forehead and neck; she felt warm, but not nearly as hot as she was that moment at the alley. In fact… there was a strange healthy aspect to her face. Her right sleeve was stained with blood, though he couldn’t see any injury.

She ran all the way from the tailor shop to the cathedral? Did she remember something? How did she know she’d be able to do this?

Alucard had so many questions – but all of that was brushed aside when Ruby frowned slightly and groaned; immediate relief washed over his body. She is awake.

She opened her eyes.

At first, Ruby looked at the sky with half lidded eyes. Then, she looked at him – and didn’t have much of a reaction. It was as if a part of her wasn’t really there. It made Alucard wonder if she was still under some sort of trance…

For a moment, Alucard thought that she wasn’t recognizing him.

And it surprisingly made him feel scared.

But she left a soft groan again.

“Did it… work…?” Ruby asked groggily.

Alucard almost sighed in relief.

“Yes.”

She looked down for a moment and saw the red string tied around his right wrist. That seemed to bring back more memories; Ruby immediately got more agitated.

“I’m sor–“

“Don’t you dare.” He interrupted her softly, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare…”

Alucard wasn’t planning on it, the same way he didn’t plan to hug her back then. But he couldn’t help it. Sometimes, he had to let his annoying mortal heart speak louder than reason. And at that moment, when adrenaline still pumped through his system, he let himself be carried again; he brought her closer to him again, he rested his chin on the top of her head. He let himself feel relief and content that she was safe, she was warm, she was in his arms. She had somehow managed to overcome her fear. She had somehow managed to destroy more than half of Erzsebet’s army on her own.

And Alucard felt proud of this human he barely even knew that well.

The heart works in mysterious ways, after all.

He leaned away again and looked down at her. Perhaps… perhaps if she wasn’t clearly dazed, affected by whatever powerful magic she just had unleashed… if she was in her right mind… perhaps Alucard would’ve let himself be carried by his stupid mortal heart again. Perhaps he wouldn’t have fought against his will to press his lips on hers.

But the battlefield was no place for it.

That would be irrational and Alucard had to be rational regardless of how he felt for her.

Alucard heard steps fast approaching. From the door beside him, two young soldiers emerged. They were clearly exhausted, one of them bled from the shoulder. Their eyes widened.

“Sir!” The black-haired one – the one that wasn’t bleeding – saluted him. “We’ll take care of her!”

“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to her!” The ginger one said, even though a frown of pain was plastered over his face.

Alucard narrowed his eyes… oh. He recognized these two from yesterday. They were some of the soldiers that flocked around her like pigeons after bread crumbs. They didn’t seem ill-intended, at least, so Alucard would have to trust them.

The vampire helped Ruby to sit, keeping his arm behind her back while the soldiers also approached. Yes, she was definitely groggy; she almost looked a bit drunk. He’d worry about that later.

A terrible feeling settled in his gut.

Alucard got up and looked ahead. There was a massive beam of red energy concentrated in the opposite part of the city; it made shivers run down his spine. It was Sekhmet’s power, and it immediately made him worry for Annette and Richter.

He stepped over the railing again and took the sword in his hand. He’d sort everything else out later. Right now, there was still a battle to be won.

And Alucard would not fail.

[bambieyedoll]

I’LL BE WATCHING YOU .・。.・゜✫・゜・。.

summary: edward cullen has seen centuries of beauty, but nothing compares to the moment he watches the girl he loves step onto the ice.

pairing: edward cullen x figure skater!reader

word count: 1,7k

warning/notes: short writing, figure skater!reader, pure fluff, sweet supportive edward, just a small one-shot.

masterlist | check out my other work !

edward cullen has never liked crowds.

too many sounds. too many minds—overlapping thoughts, buzzing conversations, pulsing heartbeats. the scent of sweat and stress and too much emotion all crammed into one building. all of it crashes against his senses like a tide, relentless and overwhelming.

but tonight, he welcomes it.

because somewhere beyond the curtain, just past the edge of the rink, you’re waiting. and for you, edward would endure every sound, every heartbeat, every overstimulating second a thousand times over.

he sits quietly in the stands, perfectly still except for the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders. his posture is as impeccable as ever, the very picture of elegance and restraint—but tension coils tight in every inch of him. his hands are folded too precisely on his lap, his jaw taut, his golden eyes locked on the curtain with unwavering intensity.

he can hear your heart from here.

to anyone else, it would sound like an ordinary rhythm. but to edward, it’s a sacred pattern. it beats with a familiar, beloved rhythm. steady, sure, but fluttering slightly faster now like a melody just on the edge of crescendo—anticipation dancing beneath your ribs like electricity. you’re adjusting your laces again, he can tell. he knows your little rituals before you perform. the quiet way you run through choreography in your head. the silent mantras. the flicker of nerves that always fade the moment you step onto the ice.

he’s memorized every beat of you.

he closes his eyes, listens. your breathing is even. your thoughts are a little nervous. wondering if you look graceful enough. if you’ll land the jump. if he’s watching.

always, he thinks, his hands tightening in his lap. i’m always watching you, love.

“you’re making the seat look nervous,” alice teases beside him, her voice low and amused.

he doesn’t look away. doesn’t even blink. “she’s nervous,” he says quietly.

“you’re nervous,” alice counters. her tone softens. “she’s going to be incredible, edward. you can relax, you know?”

edward doesn’t answer right away. he’s too focused on you. listening. waiting.

“i just…” he swallows, something unspoken thick in his throat. “i want her to feel it. just how brilliant she is. even if she doesn’t win. even if she falls. i want her to know i’m proud of her.”

alice��s teasing expression fades, replaced by something gentler, more understanding. “she knows.” she says softly.

but edward isn’t so sure.

he’s never been skilled at words. not in the human way, anyway. he doesn’t know how to express this thing inside him—the way his chest aches when you speak of your passion, when your eyes light up talking about your choreography or the way the cold morning air bites your lungs before a session. how watching you on the ice feels like watching the divine. like witnessing something human and holy all at once. the way you become something else entirely on the ice—lighter, freer, untouchable.

and then the announcer speaks.

“next on the ice… please, welcome y/n y/l/n.”

everything stops.

the crowd quiets. the lights dim. and when you step out into the spotlight, edward feels like the breath is knocked from his lungs.

you glide onto the rink with a poise that’s so effortless it almost looks unreal. your costume shimmers under the lights like it’s been dusted in starlight—soft hues catching on every turn of your body, every movement precise but weightless. but it’s not the outfit that makes his lungs seize—it’s you.

you look untouchable. ethereal. a portrait of grace made flesh.

you don’t look like someone about to compete. you look like you belong to the ice. like it’s not a surface beneath your feet, but a part of your soul.

edward leans forward unconsciously, unable to stop himself, as if pulled by some ancient force. every sense he has sharpens, all of them tethered to you. he doesn’t hear the chatter around him. doesn’t feel the seat beneath him. you’ve eclipsed it all.

you take your position. the music begins.

and then—you move.

what you do can’t be described as skating. it’s poetry. it’s flight. edward has seen art in all its forms. he’s heard symphonies conducted under candlelight, read love sonnets written in dead languages, watched painters bring emotion to life with pigment and stroke. he’s lived through revolutions, seen stars burst and fade, watched snow fall on the roofs of renaissance cities.

but he’s never seen anything like you.

your body flows with the music as if the notes were born from your limbs. every motion is fluid, a whisper made physical. each spin sends your costume flashing like a comet in orbit. your arms paint poetry in the air, your eyes full of emotion that bleeds from the ice and wraps itself around his ribs.

you sweep across the ice with such elegance it’s as if the notes were born from your limbs. every motion is fluid, a whisper made physical. each spin sends your costume flashing like a comet in orbit. your arms paint poetry in the air, your eyes full of emotion that bleeds from the ice and wraps itself around his ribs.

your feet carve the ice like you’re leaving behind something holy.

edward can’t move. he doesn’t even blink. the only thing that exists is the shape of you, suspended in motion, light pouring off your skin like you’ve been kissed by the divine.

his hands tremble in his lap.

you leap—a triple jump—and land so cleanly it draws a gasp from the crowd. he hears it vaguely, distantly. it means nothing to him. what matters is the triumphant skip in your heartbeat, the shimmer of pride that flares in your mind like sunlight.

he watches you land a triple jump so cleanly it draws a collective gasp from the audience. but edward hears it vaguely, distantly. it means nothing to him. what matters is the triumphant skip in your heartbeat, the shimmer of pride that flares in your mind like sunlight.

you’re shining.

he wants to freeze time. wants to burn this into his memory and never let go of it.

this is where you belong, he thinks, eyes wide, unblinking. not tethered to the ground, not dimmed by the world. this is what you were born to do.

the routine builds, your expression shifting as you tell a story only you could tell. the music swells. you move faster now, spinning, gliding, a flash of brilliance and will. your final spin begins, sharp and fast, and the arena becomes a blur around you. you slow into your last position—arms extended, spine poised, breath visible in the chilled air.

for one fragile second, the arena is silent.

then the applause crashes over you like a wave.

the audience rising to their feet in a standing ovation. the building shakes with their cheers—but edward doesn’t move. he still can’t. he watches you, stunned, something inside him undone. his heart—whatever remnant of it still beats in metaphor—tightens painfully. he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything or anyone so utterly beautiful.

and then you’re gone, skating off the rink and disappearing behind the curtain again.

he’s on his feet before his mind catches up with his body, cutting through the crowd at inhuman speed until he’s backstage. the cold air in the hallway feels like nothing against the heat in his chest. his eyes scan until—you appear.

your costume still sparkles under the harsh lights. your cheeks are flushed with adrenaline, your eyes wide and bright. your chest rises and falls with breathless excitement, still glowing with the echo of what you just created out there.

yoy stop when you see him. “edward.”

and he’s already there, crossing the space between you, gathering you into his arms like something precious. he holds you carefully but tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your spine, grounding him in the present.

“i didn’t know if you’d make it,” you whisper into his chest, voice breathless and small, like you’re still half-floating.

his arms tighten. “i’ll never miss this again,” he says, words raw with honesty. “not for anything.”

you blink up at him, eyes shining. “it wasn’t perfect. i felt—my edge caught on that one step before the spin—”

“don’t,” he interrupts gently, but firmly, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. his gaze is molten gold and full of quiet wonder. “don’t diminish what you just did out there.”

you go quiet, stunned by the conviction in his voice.

he takes a breath, like it’ll steady him, like it’ll keep his voice from trembling.

“i’ve never seen anything like you out there,” he says, softer now, as if he’s sharing a secret. “i didn’t know it was possible to love you more than i already do. but then i watched you perform and—” he swallows, unable to finish.

his thumb brushes your cheekbone as he searches for words big enough to hold the feeling.

“you were light. you were grace.” he says finally, softly. “you were magnificent.”

your cheeks heat. a quiet breath leaves you, shaky and full of emotion. “you’re exaggerating—”

“i’m not,” he insists softly. “you were the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.” his golden eyes burned into yours in the most intimate way. “i couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he continues, brushing a strand of hair back from your face with aching tenderness.

you lean into him, body still humming from the performance, and he pulls you close, pressing his forehead to yours. his hands are gentle even through the cold. “i don’t care what the scores say. i don’t care what the judges think. i’m so proud of you. so incredibly proud.”

you melt against him, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. the cold of the arena forgotten, the sound of the crowd fading behind the walls.

and for edward, in that moment—there is no eternity. no past, no future. just the echo of your heartbeat against his chest, and the afterglow of seeing the woman he loves become something transcendent.

edward stands there with you in his arms, and thinks—this is what immortality is for.

not the years. not the silence.

but this moment.

you.

not even the stars could compare.

[jyoongim]

Okay, so

This idea has been (lol hazbin) rotting in the back of my mind for, forever now

Basically, reader and alastor are besties, but also damn dense. They both like, like each other, BUT reader is too nervous, and fearful of rejection to confess, and al is just in denial, and partly scared of rejection too.

And Charlie noticed this (of course), thinking they would get together any day now, but of course she was wrong, because the two are tip toeing around anything related to romance with each other, not realizing they both feel the same.

So Charlie basically ships them, and the rest eventually notice it too, some frustrated because they won't just get together already, while others are more patient,

Until, one day reader or Y/N, and alastor are just chatting in the lobby on a couch, when Charlie decides she had enough of this, yelling something along the lines of "you two kiss right now, or I'll make you!" Of course with the best intentions, because she's just a sweet little donut.

Unfortunately my mind goes blank here, somehow they do end up kissing, and like admittedly I'm a huge ass simp, could it end up with them making out? Of course not in front of everyone, because um... Al is affectionate behind closed doors, like no doubt, of course subtle things in public, but that doesn't matter right now.

If you could do this it would make my absolutely day <3

Love your writing :3

Title: Awkwardly In Love

The Happy Hotel was buzzing with its usual chaotic energy. The lobby, with its eclectic mix of neon signs, mismatched furniture, and the distant hum of otherworldly voices, felt like a home away from home for Y/N. They were lounging on one of the couches, a half-drunk cup of coffee in hand, chatting with their best friend, Alastor.

Alastor, with his impeccable posture and the eerie air of someone who always had control over the situation, looked particularly… well, Alastor today. His pinstripe suit shimmered in the soft glow of the hotel’s lights, his eyes dancing with the usual manic gleam.

“I’m telling you, Y/N, the culinary world is truly one of the most thrilling frontiers for artistic expression,” he said, his voice thick with enthusiasm. He leaned forward just a bit, hands gesturing as he spoke with the kind of passion that could make even the most mundane topic sound exciting.

Y/N snorted, the familiar sound of Al’s voice breaking through their nervous haze. They shifted a little, trying not to stare too much. God, when was it going to stop feeling like their heart was in their throat every time he looked at them?

“That’s a really dramatic way of putting it,” Y/N teased, their lips twitching into a smile. “It’s food, Al. It’s not a battle royale. No need to get that worked up about it.”

Alastor’s smile widened, a touch of something mischievous flickering in his eyes. “Ah, but you see, my dear friend, where others see food, I see magic. True magic.”

Y/N was about to respond when they were interrupted by an overly enthusiastic voice calling their name.

“Y/N! Al!” Charlie burst into the lobby, practically bouncing on her heels. Her eyes immediately locked onto the two of them sitting so close together. She had that gleam in her eyes—like she was about to make a suggestion that was probably going to be the worst idea ever.

"Hey, Charlie," Y/N greeted with a wave, momentarily relieved to have something other than Alastor to focus on.

“Oh my god, you two are so cute together,” Charlie said, plopping down beside Y/N without so much as a glance at the couch's actual armrest. “I mean, it’s so obvious!”

Y/N felt their stomach drop. “C-Charlie, what are you—?”

Alastor, as ever, maintained his dignified smile, but there was a slight twitch in his eye. “Charlie, what are you implying, exactly?”

“You two, come on! You’ve been practically inseparable for weeks now, and it’s honestly adorable how much you’re both trying to pretend that you don’t like each other,” Charlie said, clearly not holding back her excitement.

Y/N froze, feeling their face go beet red. “N-No, we’re just friends!” they stammered, shifting uncomfortably in their seat.

Alastor made a sound of mild amusement, but there was something unreadable in his expression. “Yes, yes. Friends,” he echoed, his voice a little too smooth, like he was trying to convince himself of something.

Charlie gave them a pointed look, crossing her arms. “You two are so obvious,” she said dramatically. “It’s like watching two people try to avoid a train wreck. It’s painful.”

Before anyone could respond, Charlie’s face lit up like she’d just found the solution to a very obvious problem.

“That’s it!” she declared, practically standing up in her excitement. “You two need to kiss. Right now.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “W-what?!”

Alastor’s expression stiffened, but a flicker of something—maybe confusion or surprise—showed through. “Charlie, I believe you’re misunderstanding—”

“Nope!” Charlie cut him off with a dramatic flourish, hands on her hips. “I’m done watching this nonsense. The sexual tension between you two is palpable! If you won’t do it yourselves, I’ll make you!” She threw her hands in the air like a showman unveiling the grand finale.

Y/N almost choked on air. “I—No—Charlie, you’re crazy—”

“I’m serious!” she pressed. “Kiss right now, or I’ll make you both do it!” She grinned, clearly pleased with herself.

Y/N was on the verge of sinking into the couch in pure embarrassment, but before they could even process what was happening, Alastor—Alastor—took a breath. He stood up suddenly, straightening his jacket with an almost mechanical precision.

“Very well, then,” he said, his voice still smooth but with a slight edge to it. His crimson eyes locked onto Y/N’s, and for the first time, they could swear they saw something like nervousness behind that cool, collected exterior. “I believe, if this is truly your wish, we should get this over with.”

Y/N's heart slammed in their chest. "A-Alastor, no, we—"

Alastor wasn’t listening. With a swift movement that left Y/N breathless, he stepped forward, cupping their face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing across their cheek with surprising tenderness. The touch, so warm and close, sent a jolt of electricity through Y/N's entire body.

There was a heartbeat of silence—just the two of them, standing so close, the entire world falling away. Y/N’s breath caught in their throat. Was this really happening?

And then, without further hesitation, Alastor leaned in.

Y/N’s world tilted as their lips met. It was… soft at first. Hesitant. A bit unsure, like neither of them had quite figured out how to be more than what they were—friends, best friends, who'd danced around this moment for far too long.

But it didn’t stay tentative for long. The kiss deepened, and suddenly, it was like they were both starved for this closeness, this connection they hadn’t dared name before. Y/N’s heart pounded in their ears, their hands moving on their own to rest on Alastor’s chest.

Alastor was warm—so warm, the heat of his touch spreading through them in a way they didn’t know they craved until now.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, eyes wide, unsure how to even process what had just happened. Y/N blinked rapidly, their face burning.

“I—I don’t—” Y/N began, but the words stuck in their throat.

Alastor cleared his throat, but the faint flush on his face betrayed him. “That was…” He paused, then smiled—a small, knowing smile that held a little more than just their usual banter. “Interesting.”

Y/N laughed nervously, not entirely sure whether to laugh or cry. “I—yeah. That was… something.”

Charlie, still seated on the armrest, beamed from ear to ear, clearly pleased with herself. “I knew it! Took you two long enough.”

Y/N glanced at Alastor, and for the first time, saw a small, playful glint in his eye. “I suppose… it’s a start?” he said, his voice a little warmer than usual.

Y/N nodded, still reeling. “Yeah. A start.”

As Charlie clapped happily in the background, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something much more than they had ever expected.

And for once, they didn’t mind that it took a little push from their overly optimistic princess to get them there.

The End

[ellsbigshoes]

My Most Faithful Lover - Hands that never forgot

pairing: Knight!ellie & Princess!reader

synopse: A harpist begins to dream of a life not her own — a white dress stained in red, a knight who watches her like someone who’s already lost her once. In waking life, a fencer’s touch feels too familiar. In dreams, silence speaks louder than memory. Between two timelines, something ancient stirs… and it remembers her.

content: MDNI 18+, eventual smut, fluff, angst, violence, war, use of “y/n”, reader is referred to as princess (sometimes), Ellie referred to as Elouise (sometimes), use of swords, daggers etc. gore(ish), blood, homophobia.

8.775 characters.

"loving me is going to haunt you for a lifetime." - ?

The pain came like a spear between the ribs, cold, sharp, and then warm like blood dripping in silence. You felt broken, like porcelain dropped from an ancient altar - piece by piece, without haste, without mercy. Your long white dress wrapped in pearls, glitter and lace was now stained with blood, as much as your hands, perhaps that was your blood, perhaps that explained your great pain. Faster than a clap of thunder, you wake up shaking as your alarm clock calls you to yet another rehearsal in preparation for the end-of-year performance. It was strange, after meeting Ellie, the fencer who admired you in silence, your dreams were more real, more lived. So real that you could feel their caressing touch as if they were satin threads.

It was the start of a new week, and everything seemed to be running out of sync - hurried footsteps, overlapping voices, duties running over each other. Inside the room, time flowed differently: there, every note was a wait, every silence a judgment. At first, it was hard to keep up. Their colleagues played like someone repeating a forgotten prayer - their fingers were precise, yes, even impeccable, but their souls were blind. They lacked love, or perhaps remembrance.

You, on the other hand, were born with the sound of the harp inside you. It wasn't an instrument, it was an extension - strings that vibrate like part of your own breath. From an early age, you felt that your fingers knew the way before you even thought. But now, surrounded by cold eyes and rigid postures, their connection seemed... out of place. While they strummed away like automatons, you felt each note as if your soul were being called by name. And that, paradoxically, made you seem strange.

Sometimes looking at yourself was like seeing the twenty-second major arcana - The Madman. - The madman, the fool, the joker. A card that calls you to take risks and follow your own path. This card teaches us to embrace uncertainty and have faith in our abilities. And you? oh dear... despite being so disturbed by those who play like robots, you play like The Fool; with confidence in your abilities, you become someone else, it's as if something inside you calls to you in the shuddering of the strings, with each resounding chord it's like sinking quietly, letting the water consume your lungs.

One of your greatest prides is that you can play the Moonlight Sonata 3rd movement. No one imagines that you keep such cunning at your fingertips, and that's not even the best part about you. okay, I admit, it's not that easy to be that confident every day, but you know how hard you work, and you know that you're a natural.

As you rehearsed again, this time with the room full, you found yourself remembering the girl you met that afternoon with the heartwarming rays of sunshine. Could she really be the girl you've been dreaming of since childhood? nothing seems to make sense anymore... does she know? why did she ask if you already knew each other? so little time to talk and so many questions at the same time.

Even so, you answered at that moment: oh... I don't think so. – You said it and smiled a little, awkwardly.

Ellie then giggled a little. – I'm sorry, it must have sounded strange, right? you just have something familiar about you, but I don't think I've met you anywhere. I'd remember you.

You didn't know how to describe this feeling, nothing but confusion, and at this moment it would be best to just forget, even if it hurts, because something in your heart is calling out, wanting to push you towards her.

The sun was barely touching the stones of the inner courtyard when the iron gates opened. The morning was cold and still, as if time were breathing more slowly within the walls. A faint scent of dried lavender came from the gardens still wet with dew - and in the center of the silent dawn, she arrived.

She was riding a horse as black as burnt wine, the reins tight, the posture too straight for someone so unaccustomed to resting from overexertion. You wore the mantle of the queen's guards, but something about your presence seemed out of place - like a page sewn out of order in an old book. You were sitting among the blooming castle roses. Large buds of a striking blood-red color, although you had always loved white, the tragic and intense red had always attracted you. The queen's voice broke the silence, clear, firm as ever:

– This is Elouise. Your new guardian.

You, the princess, slowly raised your gaze, meeting that of the knight. Ellie dismounted with almost ritual precision, bowing her head in greeting.

– Your Highness.

Her voice was low, husky like a forgotten ember - and it hid something. Something the princess couldn't immediately decipher, but which remained there, in the air between them, like golden dust suspended in light.

The queen continued, already walking away:

– She was trained in the Cern Hills, under the order of the White Shields. She's discreet, efficient. And she will be shadow and blade by your side, until you need one.

Elouise didn't raise her eyes until the queen had disappeared behind the columns. Only then did she look at the princess fully. It wasn't the look of a servant. Nor that of an equal. It was the look of someone who knows the end of a story even before the first chapter.

You, still sitting among the roses, noticed that the dew had embroidered your dress with tiny sparkles. You tried to ignore the weight of Elouise's gaze on you - it wasn't the kind of gaze you offered. It was the kind you kept. And that, somehow, was even more dangerous.

– “The Cern Hills,” you repeated, without emotion. I imagine that silence is part of the training.

Elouise didn't respond immediately. Instead, she watched a red petal fall to the ground, as if the flower itself had surrendered to the weight of what hung in the air.

– Silence is sometimes more useful than a sword.

The answer came calmly, but there was a thread of... something. Old resentment? Tiredness? Guilt? You couldn't tell.

– What do you prefer? – you asked, looking straight at her. – The sword, or silence?

Ellie hesitated. And in that brief instant, you noticed a crack. Almost nothing. But real.

– I prefer what doesn't require me to choose.

You arched an eyebrow.

– A convenient answer.

– An honest answer.

The wind blew again, and the red roses fluttered. One fell near Elouise's foot. Without thinking, she crouched down and picked it up. She held it out to you with a short gesture, as if returning a piece of scenery was her obligation.

– It looks more like your kingdom than mine.

You took the flower slowly, your fingers brushing against hers for a second - just a second, but enough to feel something strange. Like a shiver coming from inside.

– Red has always been an ungrateful color," you said, staring at the rose. – Blood or passion. You never know for sure.

Ellie didn't answer. But she didn't look away from you.

You thought about asking her what she saw there - in your skin, your face, your eyes - that made her look so... cautious. But you didn't. Not yet.

The sun was already falling behind the mountains when you took refuge in the old hall, the one no one had used since your aunt's bereavement. Inside, the walls still smelled of wax and aged wood. The harp stood quietly in the corner. Like a secret waiting to be awakened.

You sat in front of it as you had done since you were a child, your fingers already knowing the ways, even if your mind was elsewhere. You played without thinking. And perhaps that's why you played better. The notes floated through the air like a veil, light, sad, almost transparent.

Then, without you noticing, someone stopped at the door.

Elouise.

She stood there, leaning against the dark wood, arms crossed, no armor. Just shadows wearing shadows.

You didn't stop ringing. But you spoke, without looking:

– Are you going to escort me even when there's no danger?

The answer took a while, but it came.

– That sounds more dangerous than most battles.

You laughed, softly. Still without turning.

– Harps don't kill.

– No. But they remind you.

Now you've turned. Her eyes were fixed on your fingers, as if each note that came out of the harp opened a door that she herself had locked from the inside. A distant glow inhabited her gaze. Of someone who recognizes something - but doesn't know why.

– Do you know this song? – you asked suddenly.

Elouise hesitated. For a moment, she seemed to swallow her memory.

– Yes, Your Highness. I used to listen to it when I was little, I remember my mother dancing and celebrating happily... – She said looking down with a small smile and sighed. - Anyway, it doesn't matter.

She said and resumed her serious face. – I think it's about time to go to sleep, isn't it?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔫𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔭𝔞𝔤𝔢..

man i'm really sad that today i couldn't add color to the fonts, for some reason the site started crashing and i don't know how to solve it sorry guys

tags;; @sewithinsouls @valeisaslut @zzelysian @liztreez @oneinameliann @idioticconfusedteen @smaugayra @500daysofpoppy @elliescoquettegirl

(comment if you want to be in the taglist <3)

[alewritesfics]

Bridging realities

ℑ𝔛. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤....𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count:2.6k

Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst or none at all but happy ending, playful banter

A/n: jajsjksksjsjsksks, y'all probably know what happens next after this.....

⏮️                ⏸️                  ⏭️

The morning air of London was crisp, the kind of coolness that lingered after a storm, as though the world had not yet decided whether to embrace the warmth of spring or remain in the chill of winter. The streets, bathed in soft morning light, looked different today.

Perhaps it was because you felt different.

You had not meant to wander so far from the drawing room, but after arriving with Penelope, you found yourself hesitating before following her inside. She had come to visit Eloise, and while you were more than welcome in the Bridgerton home, something inside you made you stop at the threshold.

It was strange being in the Bridgerton home as you were partly– most of the reason, about why they weren’t making arrangements for a wedding right now.

You ran a hand along the carved wooden railing of the terrace, inhaling deeply, willing yourself to steel your nerves. It was foolish, really. You had nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. And yet, the weight of unspoken words lingered in the air, suffocating you.

“You ran.”

You exhaled sharply, already rolling your eyes before you even turned around. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I did not—” But the words died on your lips the moment you saw him.

Anthony Bridgerton stood a few steps away, his presence just as commanding as ever. His dark eyes were unreadable, his posture stiff—guarded. He was dressed impeccably as always, but there was something weary about him, something frayed at the edges. You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest.Neither of you spoke at first.

Then, finally, he broke the silence. “You left before I could say anything,” he said carefully, as though measuring each word before it left his lips.

Your fingers curled at your sides. “There was nothing left to say, my lord.”

His jaw tensed. “Do not call me that.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Would you prefer Viscount Bridgerton, then?”

Anthony sighed, running a hand down his face. “Must we do this?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend as though none of it happened?”

You hesitated.

“That is not what I am doing,” you said, softer this time.

“Then tell me,” Anthony took a step forward, searching your face, “why are you here?”

You swallowed. “Penelope—”

“Penelope?” he echoed, incredulous.

“She came to see Eloise,” you explained, standing your ground, “and I… I had no choice but to accompany her.”

Anthony scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want,” you bit out. “It makes no difference to me.”

Silence stretched between you once more, heavy and suffocating. Then—

“You know I cannot pursue this,” Anthony said, his voice clipped.

Your breath caught. He did not have to clarify what this was. You looked away, schooling your features. “Of course you cannot.”

“It would cause a scandal.”

“Naturally.”

“The ton—”

“Would revel in it,” you finished, a bitter smile playing on your lips. Anthony stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“You were the reason I did not propose to Edwina,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “It was your fault.” The accusation sliced through the air like a knife.

You felt your stomach drop. A sharp laugh escaped you—short and disbelieving. “My fault?”

Anthony did not waver. “You—” he exhaled harshly, shaking his head. “You distracted me. You made me question everything I had spent my entire life working towards.” You clenched your jaw, feeling something deep inside you crack.

“Do you think I wanted this?” you snapped, voice shaking. “Do you think I asked for any of this, Anthony?”

“You—”

“I was fine before you,” you cut him off, stepping forward. “I had a life, a future – well maybe not a well planned future but still!. And then you came along, and suddenly, I was drowning in feelings I never wanted in the first place.”

His nostrils flared. "And yet, you still let it happen.”

“You cannot blame me for your choices,” you hissed. “If you did not want me, you would have proposed to her regardless. But you didn’t.”

Anthony’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“You think this is easy for me?” he demanded.

“I think you have always been a coward,” you shot back.

His entire body tensed. “And you,” he said, voice dangerously quiet, “have always been reckless.”

“You do things without thinking,” Anthony continued, each word like a dagger. “You do not consider the consequences. You never have.”

Something inside you snapped. “And you,” you spat, “are incapable of feeling anything at all.” The words were out before you could stop them. For a moment, Anthony just stared at you. Then, his expression turned to one of pure anger.

He took a step forward, towering over you. “You truly believe that?”

You did not back down. “I know it.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Then you are a fool.”

“Then we both are.”

Silence. Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.

You could feel the weight of his stare, the heat of his fury. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. And then, without another word, you turned on your heel—

"You're running again!"

Anthony’s voice rang out across the terrace, sharp and desperate, freezing you in place just as you reached the steps leading back to the house.Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you willed yourself to keep walking. To not turn around.But you did.

You turned, eyes burning with fury, with frustration—with something else that you refused to name. "And what if I am?" you challenged.

Anthony strode towards you, his entire frame tense, the fire in his eyes matching the one inside you. "I’m starting to see a pattern," he said, voice tight with restraint. "Every single time things become difficult, you run."

Your eyes flashed. "And what of you, my lord? You push people away before they even have the chance to hurt you. That is not strength, Anthony. That is cowardice."

Anthony flinched as though you had struck him.For a moment, you thought he would lash out, that he would throw more cruel words your way just to wound you in return.But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face before taking another step closer, reducing the already small distance between you.

"You think I do not feel?" he asked, voice low but charged with emotion. "That I do not feel everything when it comes to you?"

Your breath hitched.

"Do you know what it is like?" he continued, his tone almost accusatory, as though you had done something to him. "To see you in a crowded ballroom and only see you? To dance with another woman and only wish that it was you I was dancing with instead?"

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

"Do you know what it is like to wake up every morning and wish—pray—that I had the strength to be selfish? That I could throw away everything I have worked for, everything I have ever been, just to be with you?" Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Anthony took another step forward."Do you think I do not want to touch you?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That every time I look at you, I do not ache to pull you close? That I do not dream of threading my fingers through this damn hair of yours and kissing you until you cannot breathe?"

Your breath came fast and uneven, your body burning under his words. He was too close now. Too close, too much. Anthony’s hand twitched at his side, as if resisting the urge to reach for you, to grab you, to claim you.

But he didn’t.Because if he touched you, if he gave in—he knew there would be no going back.

"You were never a mistake," he said, voice shaking. "You were never something I regretted."

"But I am afraid," he admitted. "I am afraid of what I become when I am with you. Afraid that you are the one thing I cannot control, the one thing that could ruin me."

You swallowed thickly, staring at him. "And yet," he continued, his voice softer now, gentler, "I am more afraid of what I am without you."

Silence.

The world felt unbearably still.

Anthony stood before you, stripped of all pretense, all composure. There was no Viscount Bridgerton here—no noble duty, no careful restraint.

Just a man. A man who had never wanted anything as much as he wanted you.

Your chest ached.Because this—this—was the Anthony Bridgerton no one else got to see.

And God help you, but you loved him.

"Say something," he pleaded, his voice raw.Your lips parted, but the words refused to come.

How could they, when every part of you—every fiber of your being—was caught in the tempest of Anthony Bridgerton?

He was too close, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim morning light. He was a storm waiting to break, and yet, for once, he was not running from it. He stood there, open, exposed, the weight of his confession hanging between you like something sacred.

You should walk away. You should. It would be the proper thing, the safe thing. It would be the logical choice, the rational choice—

But when had anything between you and Anthony Bridgerton ever been rational?

His gaze flickered down to your lips. And that was when you knew. It was inevitable.

Anthony had been fighting it for so long, had been clawing his way through the rules and expectations and all the things that told him no, no, no—but the moment he saw your lips part, the moment he saw the way you swayed ever so slightly toward him, he snapped.

His hand shot out, grasping the side of your face, fingers threading into your hair. A low, tortured sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, as if he had been holding his breath for months, years—his entire life.

And then he kissed you.

It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was desperate.

His lips crashed against yours, hot and insistent, stealing the very air from your lungs. He kissed you like a man starved, like someone who had been denied this moment too many times, who had spent too long pretending he did not want it.

You gasped against his mouth, but he did not relent.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, closer, as if he could not bear a single inch of space between you. Your fingers clutched at the lapels of his coat, anchoring yourself, your knees threatening to give out beneath you. The kiss deepened, and it was ruinous.

It was not the kiss of a man who intended to let go. It was the kiss of a man who knew he was already damned. And, you let yourself fall with him.

You melted against him, into him, as though you had been made to fit there all along. His hands roamed your back, pressing, grasping, like he needed to memorize you, like he feared you would disappear the moment he let go.

And for the first time in weeks—no, months—you let yourself forget. You forgot the whispers, the scrutiny, the unspoken thoughts that declared you unworthy of a man like him. But you were a hypocrite, saying you’re unworthy but wanted to snatch him away either way. You admit it. You’re selfish

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. His hands remained on you, unwilling to let go.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice raw.

You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest. You should. You should tell him to stop, should tell him this was a mistake, should remind him of the consequences. But you didn’t, instead, you lifted a hand to his cheek, fingers trembling as they traced the sharp edge of his jaw.

“You do not want me to say that,” you whispered.

A pained sound left him, and then he was kissing you again, softer this time, but just as hungry.

His voice was hoarse, desperate. His fingers dug into your waist, gripping you as though you were the only thing tethering him to this world. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath ragged and uneven, his entire body taut with restraint.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured again, though this time it was not a plea, but a warning. His lips hovered just above yours, his nose brushing against your cheek, his fingers curling ever so slightly into the fabric of your dress. “Because if you don’t… I will have you. And I won’t stop.”

You should have been afraid. Not of him, never of him—but of what this meant. Of what you were about to do. But you weren’t. Because this was inevitable.

The tension that had simmered for days, months even, was finally at its breaking point, and you wanted it to break. You wanted to shatter alongside him.

Your fingers curled around the lapels of his coat, tugging him closer, your breaths mingling in the space between you.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered.

Anthony’s restraint snapped.

He growled, low and deep in his throat, before his lips crashed against yours, harder than before, more urgent, more needy. His hands slid down your waist, gripping your hips, pulling you against him in a way that made heat coil low in your belly.

You gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting you, claiming you. It was dizzying, the way he kissed you—like he had been starving for you, like he had been deprived of this for far too long.

One of his hands tangled into your hair, tilting your head just the way he wanted, deepening the kiss until you were completely at his mercy. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers twisting in his coat, your body pressing against his, desperate for more.

“You have no idea,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing down the column of your throat, his voice rough and unsteady. “How long I have wanted this. How long I have ached for you.”

You whimpered as his teeth grazed your pulse point, your head falling back as his mouth continued its descent, lips and tongue and teeth mapping out every inch of exposed skin.

“Anthony—”

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands tightening on your waist before he lifted you, backing you up against the terrace railing. His hips slotted between your legs, the movement making you gasp, making you feel the unmistakable proof of his desire pressing against your thigh.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured again, but this time, his voice was almost taunting, as if he already knew the answer.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned, his hips pressing even closer, making you keen.

“Don’t you dare,” you whispered, breathless.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “My reckless girl,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice thick with want. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

His hands slid lower, gathering the fabric of your dress, fingertips grazing bare skin. Every inch of you burned where he touched, where he kissed, where he pressed against you.

You were losing yourself, unraveling beneath him, and you didn’t care.

Because for the first time in a long, long time—

You weren’t running.

And neither was he.

A/n: with that being said, there'll be like one or two chapters left since I don't know what else to write anymore to make it more interesting 😭😭

@talkativecarnation

@imafangirlofeverything

@stopeatread

@smartiepants217

@magical-spit

@ifilwtmfc

@kitkat27

@electronicexpertshark

@annareidprofiler

@zestygingergirl

@noirrose21-blog

@ericityyy

@neenieweenie

@syraxnyra

[big-eye-sunfish]

✩₊˚.⋆Beautiful as the setting sun⋆⁺₊✧

── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

This is an answer to a request by @melda0m3! I was able to finish it today as I had some free time, I hope you enjoy it<33 (It's not proofread, so forgive any mistakes)

This is the request, btw: "Hello! Can I ask for Alucard domestic fluff?"

Gn! reader

── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

     This was ____’s favourite time of the day. The delicious scent of dinner spread through the kitchen as the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Alucard stirred the pot dilligently as they sat atop the counter admiring him.

     _____ didn’t think it was possible for Adrian to look even more ethereal, but now, in the golden glow of the late afternoon, it seemed he had been touched by Midas. His pale hair fell around him like a halo, and the look of concentration on his face was just something else entirely. The soft curve of his brow and the way his lips pressed together only slightly never failed to warm their heart. He always looked so regal, even when performing the most mundane of tasks. Perhaps it was because of his impeccable posture, or maybe even the composed and serene aura he semed to carry with him at all times. Oh, and the way he-

     They were brought back to reality when his amber-like eyes met theirs. They hadn’t realized they had been staring.

     - Did you want to say something, dear? – he asked playfully.

     - Oh, stop it! – _____ laughed, rolling their eyes at him.

     - I’m just saying, you looked like you were in deep thought… - Alucard continued, grinning cheekily.

     He could really be insufferable when he wanted to, never missing a chance to fluster them.

     - Is it wrong of me to relish the sight of my beloved? You do look lovely when you’re focused on something.

     - Do I, now? I’ll have you know you appear striking yourself, bathed in the light of the sunset. – His own cheeks were dusted with a soft pink colour now, _____’s smile widening at his words.

     - Feeling poetic today, are you?

     - I guess you could say that. - he chuckled, gaze returning to the pot of soup.

     Adrian stirred it once more, scooping a spoonfull. He gently blew it before presenting it to _____:

     -Would you taste this, please?

     They swallowed the soup, pondering the taste:

     - It’s delicious, though I would add a little more salt.

     He nodded, taking a pinch of salt from the container and throwing it in the pot, mixing again. Taking another spoon of soup, he tasted it himself this time:

    - You were right. - he remarked, opening a soft smile – Whatever would I do without you?

── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──