#i'm even afraid to say i'm back it all feels so fragile | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allgoodnamesrgoneee · 10 months ago

Note

Taking care of Jude after his shoulder surgery and trying to comfort him from the idea of not playing for 2 - 3 months, he is out of mood but you know how to cheer him up (maybe a bj)😉

Remedy

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Jude is sulking because of his injury and you have the perfect remedy to cheer him up.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 3.1k

Warnings! NSFW! FLUFF, slight domestic fluff, pouty Jude, he's hurting🥺 SMUT (18+), oral sex (m receiving),

He's quiet.

Has been since you came back from the hospital. The silence that now wraps around him is different from the comfortable, familiar quiet you used to share. It's thick, heavy, and it feels like a dark cloud is following you around.

He doesn't talk much. You're not sure if he even wants to. Every time you try to bring up something about the surgery or football, he just shakes his head and change the subject. You're starting to get worried; this isn't like him. You've seen him upset before, but he was never like this.

The doctor had said he'd be fine after some rest. That it was normal to feel this way after the surgery, especially given the length of his recovery time. Two to three months out of the game was going to be tough for anyone, let alone someone as dedicated as Jude.

You knew that this was going to be hard for him, but you were ready to support him. If that meant taking care of him and doing all the things he hated, then you were happy to do it.

You knew it wasn't just about the surgery, or the recovery time. It was everything else. Being away from his teammates, away from the game, it was hard for him. He felt useless. Inactive.

The only thing that brought him a little joy was you. He always smiled when you were around, and you were always happy to see him. Even if he was still in pain, even if he wasn't talking much. You could see it in his eyes. He was happy to see you.

And right now, he needed you more than ever.

The room is dimly lit when you walk in, casting a soft, amber glow over the furniture. The faint hum of the air conditioning mingles with whatever show he's watching on the TV.

Jude lies in bed, his left shoulder heavily bandaged and propped up with pillows. His face is still pained, but he's not using the morphine anymore. He's trying to tough it out, and it makes your heart ache to see him like that.

You sit down on the edge of the bed near him, smoothing the blankets with your hand. The sheets are crinkled, the bed is a mess, and you think about making it for him, but you know he doesn't want you to fuss. So, instead, you just smooth the blankets down, running your fingertips lightly over the fabric.

His eyes flicker over to you, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Hey,” he says, his voice raspy from lack of use.

You smile back, leaning over him. “Hey,” you say, pressing your lips softly against his forehead. He closes his eyes at the touch, a sigh escaping from between his lips.

“Do you want anything?” you ask, running your palm down his arm. “Painkillers? A glass of water?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I'm fine.” He smiles weakly at you and you nod.

“Are you watching anything interesting?” you ask, gesturing to the TV. The show is some sports documentary, something you're sure he's seen a thousand times before. But it brings him comfort so you hold back from making any comments.

He shakes his head again, reaching up to run his fingers over your cheek. “Just background noise,” he says. “I missed you,” he murmurs, pulling you close.

You settle next to him, the warmth of his body a welcome contrast to the coolness of the room. His touch is gentle, almost fragile, as though he's afraid to press too hard. Afraid of being hurt. You wrap your arm around him carefully, mindful of the bandaged shoulder.

You smile, running your hand down his side. “I missed you too,” you say.

He hums, turning his head to press a soft peck to your lips. The first kiss he's given you all day. “I'm sorry,” he whispers as he pulls away, his hand sliding up under your shirt.

You look up at him, confused. “What for?”

He sighs, his brow furrowing slightly. “For being a dick.”

You frown, shaking your head. “You weren't a dick,” you say.

He rolls his eyes, giving you a look. “Don't lie to me.”

You shake your head again. “I'm not lying,” you say, cupping his jaw in your palm. “I know you're upset, and you're not handling it well, but you weren't a dick.” He looks away, his shoulders hunching forward slightly.

He lets out a deep breath, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “It’s just,” he starts, but the words seem to get stuck somewhere between his heart and his mouth. He lets out a heavy sigh, his good hand clenching into a fist. "I just… I hate feeling useless. Watching the team from the sidelines, not being able to play… it's killing me."

You nod, understanding more than he realizes. “I know,” you say softly. “And you're not useless. You're healing. But you’re going to get through this. You’re the strongest person I know.”

He looks at you, his eyes tired but appreciative. “I don’t feel strong,” he admits. “I'm scared” his eyes look distant. “I feel like I’m losing everything that made me who I am.”

The honesty in his voice hits you like a wave, and you take his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone,” you tell him, your voice steady. “You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get through this together.”

He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. You can see the worry in his gaze, the fear and the uncertainty. It breaks your heart to see him like that.

You give him a soft smile and press your lips to his once more. This time, he meets you halfway, his mouth opening to let you in. He sighs into your mouth, his arm wrapping tight around your waist as he deepens the kiss.

His kisses are slow and tender, careful not to touch your lips too hard. You let him lead, letting him control the pace as you kiss.

You press closer to him, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. His hands roam freely down your back, squeezing your ass and pulling you into him.

He breaks away from you, his breath hot against your face. “I missed kissing you,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. You laugh, and he smiles. It’s the first real smile he’s given you today.

“I missed kissing you too,” you say.

The room is quiet once more, but this time it feels different. The air is lighter, the atmosphere changed. The cloud that had been following you around has vanished, and in its place, there’s a sense of relief. Of calm.

Jude’s fingers trace light patterns on your back, a touch that is both tender and tentative. His breath, warm and uneven, mingles with yours as you stay close. You can feel the faint tremor in his hold, a reminder of the pain he's so desperately trying to mask.

He’s trying to be strong, to fight through this.

You wish you could take all his pain away. You think for a moment, searching for a way to lift his spirits. An idea forms in your mind, and you smirk. You know just what he needs to cheer him up.

The doctor strictly forbade sex for the sake of Jude's quick recovery. But he never said anything about Oral sex. You internally cackle at your own deviousness.

You break away from him, leaning back to give him a sly smile. He doesn't see you, eyes still trained on the TV in front of him.

You smirk, letting your gaze wander down his body, letting your eyes linger on his crotch. You can just barely see the outline of his cock in his grey sweatpants. He's soft, not aroused, but that's okay. You can change that.

You lean up on your elbow, propping yourself up so you can get a better view. He shifts next to you, his eyes flicking to you. His mouth opens to say something, but he catches sight of the hungry look in your eyes and closes it again.

He smiles, raising his eyebrows. “You’re staring,” he says, his tone amused.

You nod, not ashamed. “I am.”

His smile grows, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You smirk, letting your gaze travel further down his body. “About sucking your cock,” you say, watching as his expression changes from amused to surprised, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

He swallows hard, his eyes dropping back to your mouth. “I didn’t…” he starts, trailing off when he catches the look in your eyes. You smirk, biting your lip, and he trails off once more.

He looks up at you, his face still surprised, but there’s something else there now too. Desire.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Do you want me to?” you ask, watching as he shifts next to you, adjusting his position in the bed.

He licks his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, trying to act nonchalant. “I mean,” he starts, “if you want to.”

You grin, leaning over to press your lips to his once more. This time, you kiss him harder, more urgently. He groans into your mouth, his good arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. You're careful of his shoulder, mindful of the bandage.

He lets you lead, following where you take him. Your hands slide up under his shirt, your fingers tracing over his abs. He's lean, his muscles defined from hours spent working out. He shivers beneath your touch, his cock hardening in his pants.

You pull away from him, giving him a heated look as you straddle him. You lean up, running your tongue over his bottom lip before biting it gently. He groans, his hips jerking up into yours.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to watch the trajectory of your hand.

You chuckle, leaning back to run your palm over his cock. He lets out another low groan at the touch, his eyes closing as he throws his head back. “That feels so good,” he says.

You hum, your fingers brushing over the waistband of his pants. He shifts beneath you, his cock twitching in response. You lean over him, running your lips down his neck. “Do you want my mouth around your cock?” you ask.

He gasps at the question, his eyes flying open. “Jesus,” he says, his voice hoarse. He nods, his head bobbing up and down. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

You grin, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck. “Good,” you say.

His hands slide up under your shirt, running over your back. “Take your clothes off,” he says, his voice still hoarse. “I want to see you.” You smirk, leaning up to pull your shirt over your head.

He groans, running his hand up over your breast. “Fuck,” he says, squeezing your nipple between his fingers. “You’re beautiful.”

You smile, leaning back to take off your pants. “I’m going to take my clothes off,” you say, sliding the fabric down your thighs. “But then, you have to take your pants off.” He nods, his hand slipping down your stomach as you slide off the bed.

He shifts next to you, his eyes following your body as you move. You kick your pants off and stand up, your fingers hooking into his waistband as you lean over him. “Your turn,” you say, pulling his sweats down.

He lifts his hips for you, wincing slightly as you tug the fabric over his cock. The skin sensitive from the lack of use in the past few weeks. “Sorry,” you say, trying not to hurt him.

He shakes his head, smiling. “I’m fine,” he says.

You hum, leaning over to press your lips to his thigh. He shudders beneath you, his hand sliding up to rest on your head. “Please, baby! Don't tease.” he says, his voice a low whine.

His cock is hard, standing straight up from his body. The head is a deep, angry red, his veins visible under the skin. A drop of precum glistens on the tip, and you can't help but lean closer, your tongue darting out to lick it away.

He moans at the touch, his hips jerking upwards. You smirk, running your tongue around the head before licking down his shaft. He groans again, his head falling back onto the pillows.

You lean down further, licking the sensitive spot underneath the head. His hips jerk up again, his thighs clenching around you. He groans, his hand tightening in your hair. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum, licking him once more. You want him to feel good, to take his mind off the pain and the surgery. You want him to focus on the pleasure.

Your fingers trail down his shaft, curling around him to hold him in place. Your tongue moves faster, flicking against the tip of him before licking down to his balls. They’re heavy and swollen, hanging loose under him. He groans when you touch them, his hips twitching with each brush of your lips.

You tease him for a minute, licking and sucking at his balls before moving back to the head. You swirl your tongue around it, sucking the head into your mouth. He groans again, his hips rocking into your mouth.

You take him deeper, sucking harder as you bob your head on him. His hips jerking upwards as he groans. His hand tightens in your hair, holding your head in place. “Fuck sweetheart. Take me deeper, be a good girl,” he gasps, his cock twitching in your mouth.

You hum around him, sucking harder as you move your head faster. He groans again, his thighs shaking under you. “You're so good at this baby. Don’t stop, please,” he says.

You don't plan to, sucking him deeper into your mouth. Your lips slide down his shaft until they meet his trimmed pubes at his base. The dark hairs dust your nose, tickling it. Your mouth is stretched around him, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of your throat.

You swallow, your throat closing around him. He gasps, good hand coming to cover his face, the pleasure too much for him. His shoulder starts to ache behind his jerky movements but he doesn't care. He wants more. “Fuck, that feels good,” he says, his hips rocking up into you.

You pull back, your mouth popping free of him. His cock is shiny, slick with your spit. “Gonna make you cum down my throat,” you say, looking up at him. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you.

"Yeah?" he whispers, his voice a low growl. "Go ahead then. Take me all the way in that pretty little mouth. Gag on it." His words send shivers down your spine, your own body growing hot in response to his. You're soaked, your pussy dripping wet and aching to be filled.

You lean down, sucking him back into your mouth. His head falls back, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

You gag on him, the tip hitting the back of your throat. Tears fill your eyes as he fucks into you, using your mouth as he likes. He’s rough, his hips slamming upwards to meet you as you bob your head on him.

You gag again, drool soaking his cock as you choke on him dripping down his thighs. It's messy, wet. Just the way he likes it He groans, his cock twitching in your mouth. “Oh shit, baby, I’m close,” he says.

You suck him deeper, your tongue working overtime as he fucks into your mouth. He’s getting closer, his movements growing more erratic as he teases the edge. You can feel the pleasure building in him, the muscles in his thighs tensing under you.

He’s so close now, his cock twitching in your mouth as he gasps. “Baby,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m about to come.” He moans again, his hips jerking up to meet you.

You swallow around him, taking him deep. He cums down your throat, his cock jerking in your mouth. His hips slam upwards, filling your mouth with his seed. You swallow it down, taking it all as he comes.

When he's done, you pull back, gasping for breath. He relaxes back on the bed, his head falling back on the pillows. His chest is heaving, and a light sheen of sweat is covering his skin.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice breathless. “That was so good.” His cock is softening now, tip red, pulsing and glistening with spit.

He sighs again, his eyes opening to look down at you. “Thanks baby,” he says, his voice low and soft. “That was amazing.”

You smile, crawling up his body to rest your head on his chest. “Welcome,” you say, kissing his skin. “I’m sorry again, about your shoulder. It's going to suck not being able to play.”

He hums, his good arm coming to wrap around you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your head is a soothing. His breath, steady and deep, caresses your cheek, and you can feel the faint pulse of his heartbeat as you nestle in closer.

“I’ll be alright,” he says. “I just need some time.” His fingers run through your hair, his touch comforting. You lean into him, your body relaxing. You’re comfortable here, wrapped in his arms.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him. His eyes are closed, his chest still rising and falling in a slow rhythm. “Jude?”

He opens his eyes, looking down at you. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I could eat.”

You smile, crawling off the bed. “I��ll go make some lunch,” you say, bending down to pick your pants up off the floor. His hand slides up the back of your thigh as you stand. You shiver, your body responding to the touch.

You straighten, pulling your pants on, still shirtless. “Don't even think about it,” you say, laughing watching his eyes glued to your chest. “Your shoulder needs to heal.”

He sighs, flopping back onto the bed. “Fine,” he says, grumbling.

You laugh again, pulling your shirt on. “Be good,” you say, walking over to kiss him. “I’ll bring your food up.”

He nods sulking, but smiles. “Love you,” he says, his voice soft and low.

You smile, leaning down to kiss him again. “Love you too,” you say. You walk out of the room, him watching your ass sway with each step. He’s smiling when you leave, the pain and frustration forgotten.

For now, at least, he’s happy. And that's all that matters.

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #football #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude x you #jb5 #bellingham

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zorostitties · 3 months ago

Text

Aurora; 5 (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: 7k

A/N: Hello people!!! I present you the longest chapter up until now. I don't even know how it got to this word count but I had a lot of fun writing it anyway!! OH MY GOD THAT'S A LOT OF NOTES Y'ALL 😭😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! This fic is receiving so much love both here and on AO3. I'm getting emotional 🥹🥹 Anyways!! Enjoy <3

⤕ Masterlist ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

Richter’s incessant talking was starting to piss Annette off.

She wasn’t going to tell him, obviously – not because she didn’t have the courage to do it. It was because she knew the reason for her annoyance wasn’t exactly Richter’s voice, nor the voices of the people around her.

It was the spirits’ voices.

They’d been… popping up incessantly ever since that moment at the clearing. Annette was used to seeing spirits to a certain degree; her connection to the other side was part of her powers, part of who she was, after all. She learned to not be afraid of them. She learned to accept her ancestors, to pay attention to their whispers and the messages they carried.

And yet… they’ve never been so restless like that.

Nor so noisy.

And certainly not so clear.

Back in Saint-Domingue, when Annette started to explore her powers, she’d often feel… presences. They caused goosebumps, whispered words in her mind. Sometimes, she’d have strange dreams that carried hidden meanings. When those occurrences became too frequent to be brushed off anymore, Annette opened up to Cécile. Her mentor then explained that it was not only normal, but a privilege; as her abilities blossomed, her ancestors would get closer to her – offering advice, warnings, and even reprimands when necessary.

With time, she started to see figures with the corner of her eyes. Silhouettes in the dark. They never scared her. She knew they were part of her family – just a glimpse of her large family tree, generations of spirits that went all the way to the other side of the ocean, staying beside her even after death… supporting her in her fight for freedom.

Well.

They were starting to scare her now.

Why did they look so angry? Why did they become so clear out of sudden? These weren’t just silhouettes anymore, she could see them as easily as Richter beside her. In fact, some looked so real that they could pass as any other living person; the only indicative that they didn’t belong to this world were the faint transparency of their bodies and the soft glow around them.

And worst of it all – she could not understand a word of what they were saying. Their whispers were unintelligible.

If these really were her ancestors trying to bring a message, why couldn’t they be clear about it?

...Were they even her ancestors? Were they even real? What if she got trapped in an enemy spell, causing her to see illusions?

Annette wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to they them to shut up and leave her alone. Hell – she was all worried about Ruby earlier that day, as the girl seemed so distressed to be in a crowded city, and yet Annette herself wasn’t feeling much better than her at all.

The sensory overload was so bad that she didn’t see a prominent rock on the pavement and tripped on it, almost falling face down in the middle of the street.

Richter caught her in time.

His hand was quick to take her arm in a gentle, yet firm grip. His blue eyes were even rounder than usual. “Oh! Are you okay?”

The action brought Annette back to reality – and also brought back that feeling she was trying hard to ignore.

The girl straightened her position, stepping away from him rapidly. It was stupid how she already felt her cheeks heat up with such a simple touch of his… but it was becoming a frequent occurrence ever since she accidentally held his hand at the clearing, creating a bit of an… awkward situation for them both.

One more embarrassing thing these spirits made her do.

“Yes, thank you,” she brushed it off the best she could before she continued to walk.

If Richter noticed her reaction, he didn’t let it show. The Belmont boy let a tired sight. “I didn’t expect Paris would be this big,” he muttered tiredly. “I thought when he got here, we were practically at our destination. But… we’ve been walking for hours already.”

Annette had to agree. They’d been walking all morning and this Louvre palace was yet to reveal itself. She even wondered if Alucard was sure of where they were going; after all, she was aware that other palaces existed in Paris. What if Louvre wasn’t the correct one?

“You’re not familiar with Paris? I thought you’d been here before,” she asked.

“I’ve only been here once, and I didn’t stay for long,” Richter explained. “I was just taking care of Maria, to be honest. Not exactly safe to let a teenage girl roam a big city alone, you know, and especially not when she’s reaching out for revolutionaries. Maria gets in trouble pretty easily.”

He let a light chuckle, yet his eyes were saddened at the mention of Maria – and it tightened Annette’s heart just a bit. She knew he was carrying a lot of baggage with him this entire mission. The fight with Maria, Tera’s “death”, how he felt he didn’t help her and had to flee… and now the fact that he handed their destination to that damn vampire. The worst part – Alucard got mad at him.

As if she was reading his mind, Richter lifted his eyes and looked at the white-haired vampire’s back, walking many steps ahead of them with Ruby by his side. To be fair, after that moment at the forest, Alucard wasn’t being mean or cold to Richter (well, not colder than he already was, at least). It was very clear in Annette’s eyes how his anger wore off as hours went by. But Annette also knew that this didn’t ease Richter’s regret.

Annette lowered her voice, hoping Alucard wouldn’t hear her.

“You know,” she started quietly. Her tone caught Richter’s attention. “I don’t think he was that angry at you. I think he was angrier at himself for letting Ruby get hurt.”

Richter blinked. He also thought she was reading his mind. He pressed his lips together, lowering his head again.

“And he decided to lash out on me.”

“Well… it’s not like you didn’t give him a reason to.”

Richter pouted. “Aw, come on. I thought you were trying to cheer me up.”

Annette couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry. But what I mean is… don’t dwell on it. Yes, what you did was silly, but to keep thinking about won’t help you.”

The Belmont boy went silent for a few moments. “Ruby told me the same thing.” He lifted his gaze, now looking at the young woman. “Hey, Annette… what do you think of her?”

Instinctively, she looked at Ruby’s back as well.

From the moment she laid eyes on Ruby, she felt immediate empathy. Her constant hesitant, frightened state… it was painfully familiar. Annette still remembered very well the weeks that followed her escape from the plantation. The nightmares, the shivers, the fear of going out, the paranoia. It took a lot for her to realize that she was safe, that no one would ever hurt her anymore. It took even longer for her to learn how to voice her opinions, to understand that she mattered to the people around her, and they mattered for her, too.

And that’s precisely what helped Annette overcome her struggles. She had something to fight for. A cause she would never give up on. Genuine friends around her. Warriors in arms, family in hearts.

She had Edouard.

The mere mention of his name in her mind was enough to make her want to cry again.

Edouard was who helped her during her darkest times. He was still the reason why she was fighting, why she crossed the ocean, why she would do anything in her power to defeat Sekhmet.

And that was precisely what made Ruby’s situation difficult. She… didn’t have a family – not one she remembered, at least. She didn’t have a past, something to hold onto. Someone that would give her motivation to keep fighting until the end of her forces, until the last drop of sweat. With such an amount of trauma (although Annette didn’t know exactly what she went through in Erzsebet’s hands, it certainly wasn’t easy), it is important to have a reason to stay alive.

Or someone.

Annette’s deceased mother was her primary reason. Then Edouard, Cécile, the Maroons… until she realized that by fighting for them, she was fighting for herself, too.

And… perhaps… perhaps she had a new reason to keep fighting now. A reason she met recently, but that made her feel things that she never felt before. A… sweet, funny, a little silly reason – but strong and determined nevertheless.

“I think she’s being honest,” Annette finally answered Richter’s question. “And… I don’t like to feel sorry for people, but I feel sorry for her. I hope she finds her reason soon.”

Richter frowned, clearly not understanding what she meant by “her reason”, but Annette didn’t feel like elaborating on that.

“The only thing I’m suspicious of is this… healing thing of hers,” Richter said in a quiet tone. “I don’t think anyone can acquire this in a good way.”

Annette had to agree with that. Alucard might be right in his words – maybe the Ruby from the past, the real Ruby, was not the innocent person she seemed to be…

A harsh whisper in her right ear made Annette gasp.

Oh no. Not again. They had stopped for some moments, but then started whispering again. That was more of a hiss, in fact – rushed, anxious, trying to catch her attention.

The spirits trembled. Annette noticed that the crowd around her – the crowd of real people – seemed to be walking in the same direction; they wore apprehensive, even angry expressions on their faces. They were almost as hectic as the spirits.

“Is Paris always like this? I can feel the tension,” Annette muttered more to herself than to Richter. She looked around; there were spirits behind them, to the sides, in front–

Wait, in front–

Her eyes passed rapidly by Alucard and Ruby. They had stopped walking for some reason, but that’s not what caught her attention.

She… she saw a strange glow in Ruby.

It didn’t surround her body like it did with the spirits. It was a… point. Faint, eerie; the tiny point glowed on the left side of her back, almost transparent… like the flame of a candle.

It glowed in the same place as her heart.

Annette tightened her eyes. What was that? Did anyone put a spell on her? Was an enemy nearby? No one else had a glow like that – no one alive, at least. She was about to reach for Ruby’s arm, scared for her safety–

But then, the sound of drums echoed through the streets.

The spirits vanished – just as the strange flame in Ruby’s heart.

Annette blinked repeatedly. Did she… see things?

Alucard looked behind his back to the two of them, now that they had reached their position.

“Something’s about to happen,” he said eerily.

The crowd kept walking. Now, Annette could see that there was a great square ahead of them. It couldn’t be a good thing; she felt a strange sensation in her gut, an apprehension that she could not understand.

She wanted to ask if Ruby was alright – if she felt anything – but decided that was not the time. The group followed the rest of the crowd.

That left a question mark in the back of Annette’s mind. What was that thing she saw in Ruby’s heart?

But then, the King of France was executed, Annette saw the three headed spirit that almost made her have a heart attack – and nothing else mattered after that.

You felt sorry for him.

Of course – you heard the conversation between Richter, Annette and Alucard. They understood the situation much better than you and even had divergent opinions. He wasn’t a particularly bad King, Richter said, while Annette stated that no one can reign innocently. On your understandings, both of them were right to some degree.

And yet, when “Louis The Last” stepped on the platform and knelt in front of the guillotine, you didn’t see the King. You saw a frightened man in the face of death.

Watching normal humans die wasn’t easy; you never got used to it. It was always horrible whenever you’d see one of Erzsebet’s preys let their dying breath, their last gag. It was almost as if you could see their lives slipping away, their bodies becoming empty. And yet, when you realized that they’d finally stopped moving, you felt… relief for them. Because at least, they weren’t in pain anymore. Whenever you saw a human victim be dragged into the hall, you’d silently hope for a quick death upon them. Things didn’t always go that way. You hated when they didn’t.

The square was uncomfortably crowded, but Alucard was right – you were getting used to it, although you were still hoping to leave that place as soon as possible. Angry whispers, shouts, loud discussions... they were energetic.

The conversation of a particular couple close to you caught your attention.

“I don’t think I can look at it,” the woman said with a visible scowl of disgust. The man, still facing the platform, made her hide her face on the curve of his neck.

“It’s okay, darling. You don’t have to.”

You frowned.

She was wrong. He was wrong.

You shouldn’t look away when a man is about to die. It’s dishonorable.

You watched in solemn silence when the sharp blade of the guillotine went down on the man’s neck, beheading him. Blood splashed on the platform. The head rolled one, two, three, four times. A perpetually horrified expression. The crowd cheered in satisfied anger. They felt avenged.

Only then did you close your eyes for a moment. A quick death is a luxury not many have, you thought.

“Annette? Are you alright?”

You opened your eyes and turned around to see Richter calling the girl in yellow. Annette had her back facing you, yet you could see her heavy breathing, which immediately sparked some worry. Was she feeling unwell?

“...Yes,” Annette’s voice almost disappeared within the crowd’s roar. She sounded hesitant and scared. It was the first time she looked even remotely scared.

Alucard was quietly watching her, too, from over his shoulder. Then, he sent you a meaningful glance, pointing with his head a way out of the crowd. He didn’t wait for any of you to follow him.

“Let’s go,” you said, calling Richter and Annette’s attention. She looked more than happy to leave the place, while Richter kept sending her worried glances.

There was no time to ask if she was okay or not. The crowd seemed to be getting even more heated. They shouted, raised their fists in the air, clapped their hands – and it only got worse when one of the guards took the deceased King’s head and put it on a spike, lifting it up for the audience. The crowd started to push each other to try to get a closer look.

That was when the confusion started.

You saw people falling. Children crying. Guards shouting, trying to get control of the situation with no avail. You were pushed, almost smashed in the middle of hundreds of bodies, to a point were your feet were merely following the flow of the crowd, having no control of where you were going.

“There are ladies here, you savage animals!” One woman groaned.

“Stop pushing!” Someone else said.

“Rot in hell, Louis!”

“I want to see the head!”

“Ouch- my foot!”

“Vive la Révolution!”

You desperately tried to make your way out – and there was no way out without pushing people, which only made the situation worse. You looked around, trying to see Richter or Annette; the Belmont boy was quite tall, so it was easy to spot him many rows of people away from you, also being smashed. He sent you a worried gaze and tried to yell something, but you couldn’t hear anything over the incessant shouting. You tried to approach him, but that was like trying to swim against the flow of a river.

Richter tried to shout something again. He managed to lift his hand and point at something to your right side. You supposed he was trying to show you a way out of the crowd.

You turned your head in that direction in time to see Alucard approaching with a deeply annoyed frown.

He caught you by the arm and pressed your body on his, keeping a firm arm around you while the other quite unceremoniously pushed people out of the way. He didn’t let himself be carried by the flow, keeping a solid and consistent pace. Alucard was like a rock in the middle of these people, literally. No one could push him even if they tried (and they tried). He didn’t lose balance.

He was visibly pissed.

And even so, the thing your brain most noticed was that he… had a good smell.

It wasn’t exactly your fault; Alucard was pressing you against his chest after all. And… you tried to remember that method – if you could call it that – that Alucard himself taught you a few hours ago. When your mind was distressed, about to spiral, too overwhelmed… focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to try and muffle everything else.

So you focused on his smell.

It was… sweet. Like spices. It even reminded you a bit of cocoa. And refreshing, maybe a bit citric, like orange.

It… reminded you a bit of the natural smell a baby has after taking a bath.

Vampires have a very specific smell you learned to hate over time. It’s nauseously sweet, like burnt sugar. Add this to unnecessary puffs of perfume – Erzsebet loved floral fragrances – and their absolutely horrible breath that no amount of chewing peppermint could mask.

You shouldn’t be surprised that even though Alucard was half-vampire, he was still starkly different than all the others you’d met, even in the tiniest details. But it surprised you anyway.

Finally, he managed to push his way out of the crowd into a nearby, emptier street, releasing his grip around you. You stepped aside, cleaning the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand.

“That was… intense,” you managed to speak breathlessly, looking back at the still growing mess. “Thank you.”

Alucard sighed heavily. “We should’ve left sooner,” he muttered dryly, more to himself than to you. “I should’ve figured a commotion like this would happen.” He looked at the crowd for a few more moments before his eyes fell on your figure, the frown on his forehead untying. “How are you feeling?”

You widened your eyes slightly. Sure, he was just being thoughtful, but you figured he was asking that after your… history of panics involving crowds (or even smaller things).

“Oh! I’m totally fine. Thank you,” you tried to sound cheerful. Alucard nodded.

It seemed that all you could tell him was thank you over and over again – and it was starting to annoy you. Not only because a tiny (maybe not so tiny) part of you wanted to have more meaningful conversations with him like the one earlier that day, but because you didn’t want to worry anyone anymore. You wanted to be more useful to the group. But how could you be useful if the group consisted of excellent fighters, experts in magic, and you were just an “ordinary” human? Your healing was only useful to yourself, not to them.

Alucard looked back at the crowd and raised his arm. Following his gaze, you saw Richter and Annette pop out of the mass of people, similarly breathless as you. This at least brought you some comfort. Alucard was the only one to show no sign of tiredness.

The Belmont boy rested his hands over his knees, breathing heavily, when they reached your position. “...I hope that was the only beheading scheduled for today,” he joked tiredly.

Annette didn’t chuckle this time. Worry still clouded her eyes. “Are we close now, Alucard?”

The man nodded. “Only a few blocks away from here. Let’s go.”

He kept marching ahead, not giving any of you a chance to recover.

The Louvre was scarily big.

Bigger than the chateau, bigger than Erzsebet’s palace, bigger than… well, any building you’d ever seen.

The gigantic front garden of the palace was eerily empty, with only a few people walking here and there; most of the population was concentrated on the central square to watch the execution of the King, which would grant you some advantage (and tranquility) to look for Sekhmet’s mummy. You approached the palace a little after the midday sun, its light reflecting on the decorative pools of the garden, the wind softly swaying the trees.

“The monarchies of Europe will be horrified. Already, some of them are waging war on France. They’ll be joined by the rest. The Vampire Messiah plans to lead them, commander and chief of the counterrevolution,” Alucard explained while you walked.

Oh. And just like that, everything made sense. Erzsebet’s reason to be on France, their talks about “crushing a revolution”… Indeed, if she succeeded, she’d be considered the Queen she always aimed to be. One that could unite an entire continent regardless of public opinion, as she sided with the oligarchies which possessed the most power. Vampire oligarchies.

“And just this street rabble to resist her,” Richter said somberly. “Who won’t stand a chance, will they?”

“No.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You didn’t have enough information to understand if the current kings and queens were bad to their people. Judging by the execution witnessed earlier and the reaction it caused… you could assume they weren’t doing a great job. To have a sadistic vampire sitting on a throne, ruling over millions of innocent lives… it would be even worse. Erszebet saw humans as less than insects, barely livestock, and her court thought the same. Soon, she’d be ruling over an empire of corpses.

You looked over your shoulder to Richter and Annette, who had suddenly stopped walking and were a few steps away. They were being too quiet for you to hear them. Richter still looked worried, while Annette seemed distressed.

You looked ahead again. “There’s something wrong with Annette,” you said quietly. Alucard hummed.

“I noticed.” He also kept the quiet tone. “However, we can’t help her if she doesn’t say what’s the problem.”

Alucard was already preventing you from getting stressed. You nodded. “...I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Finally, you reached the doors of the palace. Two guards protected the entrance. After a quick chat, they let you in. Apparently, the palace was public domain now, so it didn’t take a lot of convincing.

Opposing to its empty exterior, the large halls of the Louvre were filled with people – men and women, working on organization and cleaning. All of them wore some sort of hat in the colors of the French flag; members of the Revolution.

“A single family lived here?” you muttered to yourself, letting your gaze wander through the place. The high vaulted ceilings, the tall windows, red columns, golden arabesques, the glass skylights; it was bathed in natural lighting. Not to mention the many pieces of art – statues, paintings, some of the frames towering three times bigger than a person; the intricate carpets, the chandeliers… with each corner you turned (the palace seemed to be an endless labyrinth) you grew more and more speechless.

“No, the royal family lived somewhere else. It was still their property, though,” Richter explained. “And to think the people were dying of hunger and plague while the royal family had all this,” he said bitterly. “It really makes you agree with the revolutionaries.”

You had to admit that it was hard to focus on the task at hand being surrounded by so much art. Erzsebet’s palace was beautiful, of course, but devoid of any personality. It was… beauty for the sake of beauty, mostly. But at the Louvre, you saw sculptures and paintings that looked genuinely ancient; hundreds of years of history, the works of multiple hands, stories being told. It definitely should not be at the hands of a few people only.

A certain half opened door caught your eye. There seemed to be a big statue there that glowed faintly under the sunlight. You narrowed your eyes, trying to see better…

“Oh! Leonardo!”

Alucard’s voice completely caught your attention.

You snapped your head at him. The nonchalance in his expression was completely gone, being replaced by… longing?

He turned to you three with a bit of excitement he hadn’t shown up until that moment. “It’s a painting by Leonardo da Vinci, of a woman he actually couldn’t abide. Or so he told me,” he explained, pointing with his head towards a particular frame. A woman of straight brown hair and dark clothing posed in the painting with a vague expression, her arms crossed over her lap. Alucard closed his eyes for a moment, chuckling, and opened a tender smile. Then, he side eyed you as if telling a secret: “I never really thought it was one of his best.”

Then, he kept on walking as if nothing happened.

...You were pretty sure that you, Richter and Annette were all blushing at that moment.

Alucard never sounded so excited before. Never so lighthearted. And he looked… cute? Adorable, in fact. It made him look very young.

...You’d like to know this side of him a little bit better.

“Is there any order to this? Or do you just… put things anywhere?” Alucard asked one of the men in uniform.

“We’re looking for Ancient Egyptian,” Richter added.

The man pointed ahead. “Go straight, then turn to your left at the end of the corridor. First door.”

You followed his directions after Richter muttered a thank you. Alucard picked up his pace and all of you followed. Now that you had some guidance, it seemed that apprehension weighed over the atmosphere. The room mentioned by the man was empty – if you could call that a room, that is, as it was bigger than some houses. A gallery, in fact.

Wooden crates of different sizes were scattered here and there. Some sculptures were protected by boxes made of glass. Sunlight embraced the entire room through the tall windows. At the far end of the gallery, there were four columns that seemed to imitate palm trees; they had colorful paintings and ancient writings around them.

A shiver ran down your spine. A memory from not long ago – or was it long ago? – was brought forward in your mind. An obelisk with writings similar to those in the columns… the same art styles, the same periods. It would be brought whenever Erzsebet summoned an eclipse… or when Erzsebet summoned Sekhmet. The vampire’s very appearance would change, taking an animalistic look similar to a lioness. Whenever Erzsebet did that, you’d be genuinely frightened, even more than usual. That wasn’t simply the strength of a vampire anymore. It was much more ancient, much stronger, a much denser type of magic… the type that shouldn’t be messed with thoughtlessly, the type that demanded respect upon its use. Erzsebet had no respect for it. Maybe that’s why it was always so horrendous to witness.

“Hm… so we’re looking for a corpse…” Richter muttered, looking around.

“It’s here. I’m sure of it,” Alucard said as he inspected one of the wooden crates.

You thought of searching for it too, but you didn’t want to touch anything. You couldn’t tell exactly why. Was it because of your bad memories associated with anything Egyptian? Or was it something else?

“Show me.”

The three of you turned to Annette at the same time.

“What?” Richter asked.

The girl had an apprehensive expression as she stared at… nothing in particular. She visibly hesitated before speaking.

“There are spirits here. Many spirits,” she confessed quietly. You widened your eyes. Richter instinctively looked around. “They’ve been following us. Following me.” She inhaled, as if building up courage. “Show me.”

You looked around as well and saw, well… nothing. But Annette was following something with her gaze with much attention. Richter approached her.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I don’t know what they want,” for the first time, Annette showed a glimpse of her real distress over the situation. That’s what had been bothering her since the execution… she was sweating. “Or if they’re real.”

“Do they speak to you?” Alucard asked in a serious tone.

“Yes, but I… can’t understand what they’re whispering,” she narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes they seem angry. There are spirits here now who just seem lost.” She looked at Richter. Annette seemed even more fragile than when you talked to her at the forest, which took you by surprise. “...Or is it me that’s lost?”

Richter pressed his lips together, not taking his eyes off her for a second. He rested a reassuring hand on her back, not saying a word – and it seemed enough to calm her down, even if just a bit.

It even felt that you were interrupting something for a second. And yet, you couldn’t look away. They… seemed to share something very intimate. Very beautiful.

Your chest tightened.

“What’s happening with them now?” Alucard asked quietly, looking around. “Could they be trying to tell you something?”

Annette looked ahead and went silent for some seconds. Then, she pointed in the direction she was looking.

“There.”

The group approached a particular wooden crate sitting at the very end of the gallery, near the columns. Alucard knelt down in front of it and lifted its lid.

And there it was.

A mummy, with its arms crossed over their chest, completely bandaged in red linen, laying over a bed of straw. It had the silhouette of a woman.

“It stinks,” Richter complained, pinching his nose.

Annette narrowed her eyes. “It’s her. It’s Sekhmet,” she confirmed with certainty.

Alucard got up again. All of you watched the mummy for some seconds; it seemed you shared the weight of responsibility that thing represented.

“So, what do we do now?” Richter spoke up first, scratching the back of his head. “I could burn it, or we could just… hack it to pieces and scatter it to the winds.”

“What you do now is give her to me.”

In that moment – time was frozen.

Air left your lungs. Your eyes widened. Every nerve tensed up. Violent goosebumps roamed your entire body.

You turned around. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to face the owner of that voice. You wanted to believe it was just your mind playing tricks, that there was nothing actually happening. Because there was no way it was her.

Drolta is dead, Alucard said. He confirmed it. He said he was sure.

But you turned around anyway – and what you saw made your heart drop.

That thing couldn’t be Drolta. There was no way. It had a female body, its leathery skin a mix of black and greyish pink. Instead of feet, it had hooves that made it tower over any human. Its wings were leathery as well, similar to a bat’s; its claws seemed to be made of iron, just like the tip of its long tail. Twisted horns sat at the top of its head.

The thing focused its eyes on you and opened a cruel smile.

No.

No no no no no no no.

That thing couldn’t be Drolta. No, there was no way. But you stared back at her, you scanned her facial features, and these were the same eyes. Most of her original form was gone – it had little resemblance to the attractive woman she once was – but the eyes. The cruelty in those eyes. They remained the same.

It was Drolta.

“Yes, Alucard. You killed me,” she said in the same sultry voice you were so disgustingly used to. “And you stole something very precious from me, too.” Her gaze locked on you again. Her smirk turned to an evil grin. “You little runaway rat… it’s time to return home.”

She was twirling something around her pointer finger. The thing she twirled… it gleamed under the sunlight.

You gasped.

It was the ruby necklace.

You had time to see her extend her great wings, ready to launch. A part of your brain registered that she was accompanied by three other winged creatures, but they seemed blurred. All you could do was stare at her. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do anything.

She attacked.

Alucard jumped at the same time, his body enveloped by the familiar red glow. They clashed mid-air.

And then, Richter’s back blocked your vision.

“Stay behind me!” He yelled, snapping his whip in the air, as the three other creatures launched together.

Annette threw one of her newly created blades in the air as if it was a boomerang to no avail, as it didn’t hit any of the creatures. One of them – it was red, its head was what looked like the skull of a wolf – spat a ball of pure fire in your direction. Seeing there would be no time to grab you, Richter pushed you out of the way roughly, sending you a few meters back; your back hit the wall, causing air to leave your lungs.

The Belmont boy knelt down; his palm touched the ground in your direction. With a grunt of effort, he lifted his hand – and at the same pace, a wall of ice rose around you, enclosing you like an igloo.

The outside noises were muffled for some seconds.

You stayed there, sitting on the floor, unable to move; your entire body trembled, and it had nothing to do with the ice around you. Sweat dripped down your temples. Your breath came difficult, it seemed that the air was burning your throat and your lungs; your vision was blurred.

Drolta is alive Drolta is alive Drolta is alive was all that your mind repeated, yelled at you; Drolta is alive and she came after me, Drolta is worse than she was before, Drolta is going to kill Richter and Annette and Alucard–

Richter and Annette and Alucard–

They were all fighting.

Richter snapped his whip around violently, embedding it in blue flames. When one of his attacks hit, the creature – a black one, with a more humanoid figure – screamed in pain; he jumped, twirled in the air, protected his arm with a layer of ice when one of its attacks was about to hit. He tumbled back to avoid being hit by another gush of fire by the skull-headed night creature.

Annette fought a three-headed beast similar to a dragon; she controlled many pieces of iron around the gallery, aiming them at it. Some hits were successful. She jumped from crate to crate, avoiding the bites as all the three heads tried to catch her in different directions at the same moment.

And Alucard kept Drolta completely focused on him, maintaining the fight in the air, near the ceiling. It seemed that the sword barely made any damage against her leathery skin, and yet he kept attacking and tanking her attacks. You watched with horror as her hair (well, what was supposed to be hair; that thing wasn’t hair anymore) extended themselves like snakes, pursuing him around the gallery, causing great destruction were it hit.

The three of them were fighting. And you understood with great remorse that their objective was to keep the creatures so occupied that they wouldn’t be able to reach you or the mummy.

You were not only completely useless – you were getting in the way.

They couldn’t fight freely with you around.

You gulped, trying to stop panting, but you couldn’t. No no no, not this now. You don’t have time for this. You don’t have time! Why was your body playing tricks on you again? Why couldn’t it function when you needed the most? You needed to get out of there. Fuck, you needed to do something, anything! And still — your body wouldn’t obey.

Focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to try and muffle everything else.

Alucard’s method.

A single thing.

You looked around the small area inside the “igloo”.

Spotted a nail – probably used to lock the lid of the crates.

A simple thing.

With all your might, you forced your shaking arm to move; forced it to stretch, to reach for the nail, to hold it tightly.

Focus on a single thing, a simple thing.

With a grunt of effort, you pierced your own palm with the nail. The sharp pain awakened you from your numb state.

Right on time.

The black creature found an opening in Richter’s incessant attacks and launched itself towards you. The igloo melted. You rolled away from it and got up in a jump.

Annette immediately glued to your side. She was panting, holding blades in both hands; Richter threw a gush of blue flames, trying to keep the beasts away. You couldn’t see Alucard or Drolta behind the wall of fire. However, it wasn’t enough; the three night creatures were about to surround you. You’d have no escape.

Annette seemed to be reading your mind.

She let go of the blades for a second. She gesticulated with her hands as if grabbing something in the air; the wall beside you cracked. Annette “pulled” the air and let a scream of effort. Obeying her command, the wall teared apart, creating a hole towards the corridor – big enough for someone to pass through.

“Run, Ruby! Run!” Annette yelled.

And you obeyed.

You jumped through the hole and sprinted down the corridor, the pain in your palm completely forgotten. The ground was shaking, chandeliers tinkling, dust fell over your head. The sounds of the fight were slowly replaced by screams of fear and many steps. Of course, the palace was packed with workers. Some of them were running towards the Egyptian gallery, being attracted by the loud noises, but stopped running when they saw you.

“Get out of here! Your weapons won’t work!” You shouted without slowing your pace, gesticulating vehemently. “Get out, all of you! Right now!”

Luckily, you didn’t need to repeat yourself; the people in the hall started to run towards the exit.

You turned the corner, desperately trying to find an escape plan. You thought of running outside into the sunlight, but these things weren’t vampires; the sun wouldn’t protect you. You could try to mix with the crowd of people running out of the palace, but it would definitely put them all in danger. You could hide – but was there any safe place? These night creatures weren’t the same as the weak vampires you’ve encountered on your way to Paris. They were actually dangerous, even to your powerful allies.

Your thoughts were cut off when you heard a shrilling growl out there.

A gasp escaped past your lips. It was the three-headed beast – it was flying out there, soaring near the windows… scoping the area after you.

You entered the first room you saw.

You banged the double doors of the gallery. It was much smaller than the Egyptian one, yet the windows were equally large. You rushed to untie the heavy curtains and cover them, immersing the room in darkness; only a peek of light was visible through one of the windows. Shit shit shit shit you needed to barricade the door. You pushed a heavy crate with your back, positioning it against the door, yet you knew it wasn’t nearly enough; you needed to put something between the handles to truly lock it.

It was too dark now. You searched through the wooden boxes with shaking fingers, trying to find any artifact that could do the job; a steel bar, a vase thin enough, anything. The floor was still shaking incessantly. Please, let them be safe, you prayed silently to whoever was hearing; please, let them be safe.

You knelt in front of the final crate and lifted its lid. There were a couple of artifacts there, all so rusty and old that you could barely recognize what they were. A sword, a helmet, what looked like the remains of a broken shield, and… oh! A spear!

Or at least, it resembled a spear. It was completely covered in rust; thin, shorter than an actual spear, and it didn’t have a blade on the tip, but some sort of… rusty circle. Again, it was too dark to understand what that thing was, but it would do the job.

And yet – you hesitated to hold it.

Your fingers hovered over the object with hesitancy.

Suddenly… you weren’t hearing the outside noises anymore. They were distant. All you heard was your thundering heartbeat, your panting.

Your hand tingled. It had nothing to do with the injury you inflicted in yourself. The “spear” seemed to radiate some sort of warmth; you could feel it even some centimeters away. It made your stomach drop in a funny way. It wasn’t the fear or the adrenaline; it felt different.

Finally, you gulped and grabbed the object.

It was, indeed, hot. But that’s not what made your eyes widen.

As soon as you held it, the “spear” started to glow. No, it started to shine.

You watched as the rust around the object dissipated like dust. It shone so brightly that you had to close your eyes; it was so hot that you felt that your palm was about to burn. But then, after a few seconds, it stopped.

You opened your eyes again gasped.

You weren’t holding a rusty “spear” anymore. That wasn’t a spear; it was a scepter.

You got up from the ground slowly. The scepter was almost as tall as you were, made of solid gold. At its tip, the rusty “circle” was gone, being replaced by a small “plate” with twelve curvy “spikes” circling it in regular intervals; an unmistakable representation of the sun. Tiny inscriptions were engraved across its entirety. You brought it closer to your eyes, trying to understand what they meant since it was still dark inside the room – and when you recognized them, you almost dropped the object on the floor.

The writings were on the same strange language from the moon book Erzsebet made you read. You recognized the characters.

What the hell was that?!

The sound of an explosion so loud out there that made the floor shake yanked you out of your own head.

Fuck. I still need to lock the door, you remembered, rushing towards it with the scepter in hand. You were still shaking, clumsily trying to barricade the hangs with the long object–

A window crashed.

You screamed in horror. Glass flew everywhere, part of the wall was destroyed, the curtain was ripped off. You turned around to see the three-headed beast enter the gallery, groaning and hissing, as Annette gripped one of its necks for dear life.

She finally released the night creature before one of the heads could chop her, landing on her feet and putting herself between you and the thing. She was visibly tired, yet her eyes were ferocious. You noticed that the creature had lost its middle head, probably the reason for it to be so aggressive.

Annette growled. She controlled iron objects around her, launching them all at the creature; it flapped its wings violently to avoid being hit, destroying crates and artifacts around it. The creature ran towards Annette. She pushed you out of the way.

“Ruby, you need to–“ she jumped, avoiding a hit. “You need–“ she managed to cut the thing’s leg, skipping out of danger’s line before it could strike. “You need to go!”

There was no way to run through the broken window – to reach it, you’d have to come across the night creature. The doors were the only escape – and they were fucking barricaded by the crate you put there previously. You groaned, putting all of your strength into pushing it away, the scepter completely forgotten on the floor. You needed to run, you needed to run, you needed to–

Your eyes were glued in Annette.

Like what happened at the forest, it seemed that the world was moving in slow motion again.

You saw as Annette twirled mid-air above the beast; with one hand, she controlled one of her blades to pierce the creature’s left skull, but it was unsuccessful; the thing caught the blade with its teeth. Her landing trajectory was at the right side of the same head. She already held another blade firmly with both hands.

Annette landed graciously. With a groan of effort, she sliced its left head, beheading it.

But the right head was still there. The right head already had its jaws open wide. Annette was stuck between the remaining head and the neck of the one she had just beheaded. There was no escape route. She would not have time to react.

You saw all that unfold in front of your eyes and got to the obvious conclusion: Annette was going to die.

So you moved.

You sprinted from the place you were on the floor. You didn’t wait until the world would start moving fast again. You didn’t wait for Annette to realize what you were about to do.

You put yourself between her and the monster.

Its jaws tightened around the entire right side of your body – and when the world started moving at its normal speed again, all that existed was pain.

#alucard x reader #castlevania alucard #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #alucard x you #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard tepes #castlevania x reader

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revelboo · 2 months ago

Note

Can we please have more Sunstorm and Drift? I'm concerned about the health of the readers as you slowly kill us between updates

Sure!

Samurai Code Pt 8

Drift x Reader

• “I know you don’t like this. Trust me, I know,” Ratchet murmurs staring at you sleeping in Drift’s hand. And hating that he’d been relieved when you’d denied Drift. That he’s afraid you’re so far gone that spark bonding you will only drag Drift with you when you go and that thought bothers him. Hurts him. “We’ve all lost so much.” Patients, friends, family. Homes. Doesn’t want to lose anymore. Has so few friends left.

• Servos flexing against you to make you curl into a tighter ball, Drift vents softly. And he can’t make himself meet Ratchet’s optics, all the things he hasn’t said weighing him down. Things he hasn’t admitted, but wants to. “Deadlock,” he says slowly still unable to look at Ratchet. “Before. I went by Deadlock.” Staring at you in his hands, feeling the beat of your heart and painfully aware of how fragile you are. How much you need him. You don’t want him, but you definitely need him.

• Hearing Drift’s deep rumbling voice, you’re drifting between the shores of wakefulness and exhaustion. ‘You don’t have to-’ Ratchet begins and Drift laughs softly, the sound so bitter it hurts you as a servo slides against your hip. “I did things I’m not proud of when I wore the Decepticon badge. Was cruel just because I was stronger, faster. Took what I wanted, hurt who I wanted,” he says and his voice roughens with frustration. Admitting to something that from the sounds of it, haunts him. Hurts him. “Killed for the pleasure of watching someone’s optics grow dim.”

• “I can’t undo what I’ve done, Ratchet. I know that, but I keep trying to do better. To be better, but I’m not good.” Staring at you, it seems like he should be able to see how dirty his hands are. That he shouldn’t touch you with those hands. And sometimes he wonders if he’s only doing good to try and escape the guilt, more than wanting to actually do good. Knows that darkness is still there, probably always will be, whispering in the back of his processor. “I’m not a good person.” Has nightmares of going back, of becoming Deadlock again.

• “We’re at war, things get complicated fast. We all do things we’re not proud of,” Ratchet growls, attention drifting to the still form of you in Drift’s hands. Won’t admit it out loud, but he likes the bot. His determination, his constant smiling optimism, but this? This twists through his spark because it’s real. It’s what Drift hides under that smile and he understands it. Suspects that’s why Drift wants to save you, because he thinks it might redeem him. Can’t see that he’s already redeemed himself, changing his ways, protecting those weaker and in need of protecting. But throwing himself away for an organic he barely knows? One he probably can’t even save?

• Pretending to sleep, listening to them, there’s a sense of something missing. Like something right there but unspoken that you can’t pin down. “I’ve done so many things I’m not proud of. So many things I regret. But this won’t be one of them,” Drift says and he’s lifting you. Startling at Ratchet growling Drift’s name, you’re jostled and there’s no pretending to be asleep when Ratchet grabs at his wrist. And Drift shifts his plating, bringing you to his spark and light snares you. Hearing him say he’s sorry then you’re drowning in him.

Slowly expanding the Decepticon house and in a misc kitchen utensil box I found on Mercari, I ended up with an apron. So that’s Soundwave’s now

#transformers x reader #drift x reader #mtmte drift

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cameronsbabydoll · 1 month ago

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SWEET CAROLINA — ₊˚⊹♡

WARNINGS: pregnancy and childbirth, postpartum struggles, mentions of parental trauma (from rafe)

"Don't have to write me a letter, 'cause I'll always be right here Closer to you than your next breath, my dear."

You still remember the exact moment you told Rafe you were pregnant.

It was late—past midnight, the two of you curled up on the couch, the remnants of a long day settling into the quiet between you. You had planned to tell him at dinner, maybe over a home-cooked meal, something sweet and intimate. But your hands shook too much, your heart raced too fast, and now here you were, blurting it out in the dim glow of the living room lamp.

"I'm pregnant."

Rafe froze. He had been absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh, but at your words, his fingers stilled. He blinked once, twice—his lips parted slightly like he was trying to process the weight of it.

"You're serious?" His voice was hoarse, quiet.

You nodded, pressing your lips together. "Yeah."

And then he exhaled, something raw flashing in his expression before he was pulling you into him, arms wrapped so tightly around you it was as if he thought you might disappear.

"I'm right here," he murmured into your hair. "Always."

You felt the words settle in your bones.

But even in the following weeks, you knew he was afraid. You caught it in the way his hands lingered over your stomach at night, his touch reverent but hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be the one to love something so small and innocent. He had grown up under the weight of Ward Cameron’s expectations, under the absence of a mother who never gave him the softness he craved.

But he wanted to be better. And that mattered.

"We love every hair on your head Love you like God loves you And you say that you're scared Might be unprepared for having the baby blues."

The baby was only a few weeks old when you found yourself sitting in the nursery, rocking them in your arms, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You weren’t sad. Not exactly. But you felt like a shell of yourself—like you had poured every last piece of who you were into this tiny, fragile life, and now you weren’t sure how to put yourself back together.

The exhaustion clung to you, thick and suffocating. You had spent months preparing for the birth, but no one ever told you what came after. No one told you how isolating it could feel, how even with Rafe there, you sometimes felt like you were drifting away.

Rafe found you like that.

You didn’t even have to look up to know it was him. His presence was as familiar as your own breath—solid, steady. He crouched in front of you, fingers brushing over your knee, tilting your chin up until your teary gaze met his.

"Talk to me, baby."

You swallowed hard. "I feel like I'm failing. Like I’m not... enough."

His jaw tightened, his thumb swiping a stray tear from your cheek. "You are enough." His voice was firm, unshakable. "You’re everything."

You wanted to believe him. And when he took the baby from your arms, gently cradling them against his chest, you did.

Later that night, when the baby stirred, Rafe was the one who got up first. You lay in bed, listening as he whispered to them, his voice steady and comforting.

"If things ever go wrong, just know this is your song. And we love you."

"Pink slippers all on the floor and woven nets over the door It's as close as we'll get to the dream that they had."

Years passed in fleeting moments—first words, wobbly steps, sleepy mumbles of daddy and mama before drifting off.

One morning, you woke to the soft thud of a stuffed animal hitting the bed, followed by the gentle weight of your daughter climbing between you and Rafe. Her pink slippers were abandoned on the floor, her favorite blanket dragging behind her.

Rafe groaned playfully, pulling her close. "You’re getting too big for this, kid."

She giggled, already half-asleep against his chest.

You watched them, heart aching with a love so deep it almost hurt. You never thought Rafe would become the kind of father who let his daughter crawl into bed with him at sunrise, but here he was, arms wrapped around her like she was his entire world.

And maybe she was.

You met his eyes over her head, and he smiled, slow and lazy, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

This was what you had dreamed of. This love. This family.

"Jason is out in the lawn And he power-washes every time things go wrong."

Rafe’s version of power-washing was fixing things that didn’t need fixing.

The backyard fence? Stained it twice. The kitchen sink? Took it apart just to put it back together. The baby’s crib? Triple-checked every screw.

You knew it was his way of coping—of keeping control when things felt too big, too uncertain.

One evening, you stepped outside to find him sitting on the porch, staring out at the darkened sky.

You sat beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. "You okay?"

He exhaled slowly. "I just... I wanna do right by them. By you."

"You are." You took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You always have."

He turned to you, something unspoken passing between you. And when he kissed your knuckles, slow and deliberate, you knew he believed you.

"If you're stressed out, just know you can dance to your song 'Cause we got you."

It was late when you heard soft giggles echo through the house, the faint sound of music playing in the background.

You found them in the living room—Rafe and your daughter, twirling in the dim glow of the lamp. She was standing on his feet, clinging to his hands as he spun her around, her laughter filling every corner of the home you had built together.

You leaned against the doorway, watching as Rafe dipped her dramatically, making her squeal with delight.

He caught your eye and grinned, reaching for you. "Come here, mama."

You let him pull you in, the three of you swaying together, your daughter nestled between you.

The song playing was one you’d heard a hundred times before—one that had carried you through love, loss, and everything in between.

"We got you," Rafe whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And you knew, in the deepest parts of your heart, that he did.

That he always would.

#cameronsbabydoll ⋆. 𐙚 ˚#1k celebration ── .✦#rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron series

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zweigsangel · 9 months ago

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reassuringbf!matt x overthinkinggf!reader

fluff fluff fluff!!!

i just had to do this after matt said that he likes 500 days of summer in the stream

matt loved you, and he showed it in every little way because he knew how you were. he knew that sometimes you got lost in your own thoughts, tangled in worries that had no real foundation. it was in those moments that his patience shone through. he would gently reassure you, pressing soft kisses on your cheek, then your forehead, and the tip of your nose, as if each kiss could brush away a bit of your anxiety. his voice would drop to a whisper, a tender tone meant only for you, as he spoke comforting words, each one chosen to ease your mind and make you feel safe.

and that was one of those moments. he heard your voice on the phone, so soft and low, “can you come over?” the words carried a quiet vulnerability that he immediately recognized. he arrived and saw you standing on the other side of the door. the sight of you, so small and fragile in that moment, struck something deep within him. the hoodie you were wearing hung loosely around you, a piece of him that you clung to for comfort, and your legs were bare except for a pair shorts, your eyes were puffy, still swollen from tears you hadn’t yet shed or had just finished wiping away. as soon as he saw you, there was no question, no hesitation. he closed the distance between you in an instant, pulling you close, his arms encircling you, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

"i'm sorry. if i called you over for nothing… maybe you had better things to do. maybe you’re tired of me and my problems, i’m sorry," you murmured. the two of you were curled up on the couch, your bodies nestled close together. your hands rested on his chest, legs crossed over his, and your head tucked into the crook of his neck. your eyes were slightly wet, holding back tears you didn’t want to let fall. his arm was wrapped around you, and with his fingers, he was gently tracing circles on your bare back under the hoodie. when he heard your words, he shook his head immediately. “hey, no, no, no, i’m not tired. never, okay? you know i’m always here for you, whenever you need me.” his voice was soft, but firm, as if to banish any doubt from your mind. he tightened his hold on you slightly, pulling you even closer.

"really?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as you sniffled, a single tear slipping down your cheek. as soon as he saw it, his expression softened and he moved his arm from around you, bringing both hands up to cup your face. his touch was tender, careful, as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile. his thumbs gently brushed against your skin, one of them catching the tear as it traced its path down your cheek. "really," he replied. the word hung in the air for a moment, solid and true, before he closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft, almost feather-light. it wasn’t a long kiss, just a brief, tender press of lips, but it carried with it all the reassurance you needed.

you spent the rest of the afternoon and evening there, wrapped in each other’s arms, watching romantic comedies. 10 things i hate about you, 500 days of summer, and so many others played on the screen as the hours slipped by. every so often, you would giggle and say, "that’s us," with a playful smile. and every time, without missing a beat, he would reply, "yeah, that’s us," his voice soft and filled with warmth. your worries, which had seemed so overwhelming just hours before, began to fade into the background, replaced by the lightness of the films and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

every now and then, you would glance up at him, catching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at something on the screen, and in those moments, you were reminded of just how much he meant to you. despite all your anxieties and fears, he was always there, no matter what.

#sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff

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chrepsi · 28 days ago

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ˇ ⋆ ╱ sleeping - c. sturniolo

a/n ; THIS SONG. GIGI I LOVE YOU

wc ; 1k+

i should be sleeping.

the room is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like your own thoughts are screaming. the fan overhead hums a low, lazy rhythm and the streetlight outside chris’s window casts soft shadows against the wall. the glow slips through the blinds and lands in broken lines across the bed. it’s the kind of night that feels suspended, like time’s holding its breath.

chris is lying beside me, close but not touching. always close, but never quite close enough. his back is to me, shoulders rising and falling slowly beneath the worn fabric of his t-shirt. i can’t see his face, but i know he's awake. i can feel it in the way his body tenses every now and then. he’s not sleeping either. he just doesn’t want to admit it.

neither of us do.

this bed is starting to feel like purgatory. a place between being wanted and being forgotten.

i stare at the ceiling. my mind replays the same thoughts, the same questions, looping over and over like a song i don’t know how to turn off.

we shouldn't be here. not like this.

but i don’t move. and neither does he.

“i can’t sleep,” i whisper into the dark. my voice barely audible, like if i say it too loud, it might shatter whatever fragile thing we’re still clinging to.

he doesn’t respond at first. i wonder if he’s pretending again. pretending he’s already drifted off, that he didn’t hear me, that this isn’t happening. that we aren’t happening.

but then his voice comes, low and rough. “i know.”

just that. two words, and somehow they feel heavier than silence.

i shift onto my side, trying to read him. “why do we do this?”

chris turns slightly, just enough that i can catch the side of his face. his profile is outlined by the light, sharp and soft all at once. “do what?”

“this,” i gesture vaguely between us. “be together when we’re not really… together.”

he sighs, the kind of sigh that feels older than it should. “i don’t know. maybe it’s easier than being alone.”

his honesty stings. not because it isn’t true—but because it is. being here with him feels like pretending the loneliness isn’t real. like if we just lie close enough, maybe it’ll fill the space we can’t seem to name.

but I’m tired of pretending.

“do you ever think about what this even is?” i ask.

chris’s jaw tightens for a second. he runs a hand through his hair, fingers pausing near the back of his neck like he’s trying to anchor himself to something. “yeah,” he says finally. “i think about it more than i want to.”

“then why don’t we talk about it?”

he laughs under his breath, and it’s not a happy sound. “because talking makes it real.”

i sit up, folding my legs beneath me. my heart feels heavy in my chest. “and this isn’t real?”

he looks up at me then. his eyes are darker in the dim light, shadows dancing across his face. there’s something haunted in them. something tired.

“i don’t know what this is,” he says. “i just know it’s not simple.”

i press my lips together. i want to scream. i want to cry. i want to shake him and ask why he pulls me in just to keep me at arm’s length. why he makes me feel like maybe i'm the only one who sees the cracks—then acts like he’s already fallen through them.

but i don’t do any of that.

because i get it. he’s scared. so am i.

chris shifts and sits up beside me, our knees almost touching. he glances over, his voice quieter now. “you know i care about you, right?”

i nod. “but that’s not enough.”

“i know.”

we sit in silence, and i can feel the weight of everything we’ve never said pressing down on us. i wish he would just say it—that he loves me. that he’s afraid. that maybe he doesn’t know how to love someone without breaking them in the process.

instead, he says, “you’re gonna leave eventually.”

the words hang there like smoke in the air.

i look at him, stunned. “what?”

“you’ll get tired of this. of me. of… not being enough.”

my chest tightens. “chris, i'm already tired. but not of you. i'm tired of pretending like this doesn’t matter.”

his eyes meet mine, and i see something flicker—regret, maybe. or longing. i can’t tell which hurts more.

“i don’t know how to be what you need,” he says quietly.

“i’m not asking for perfect,” i whisper. “i'm asking for honest. i’m asking for real.”

chris reaches out then, fingers brushing lightly against mine. it’s the smallest touch, but it sends a jolt through me, like maybe we’re still alive in this mess.

“i'm trying,” he says. “even if it doesn’t look like it.”

we stay like that for a while. not kissing. not crying. just… being. two people tangled in a feeling too big to name, too fragile to hold.

eventually, he lies back down and pulls me with him. this time, he doesn’t face away. he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. his hand settles on my back, warm and steady.

“i don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs against my hair.

“you don’t have to,” i say. “you just have to choose me.”

the silence that follows isn’t empty. it’s filled with something that almost feels like hope.

maybe tomorrow, he’ll wake up and stay. maybe next time, we won’t be sleeping next to each other, pretending not to feel anything. maybe one day, we’ll stop living in the maybe.

but tonight— tonight, i close my eyes in his arms and pretend it’s enough. even if we’re only half-awake. even if we’re still floating just shy of falling.

and in the quiet, in the warmth of his skin against mine, i let myself believe—

that love doesn’t always need to be loud to be real. sometimes, it whispers. sometimes, it lingers in the space between sleep and waking. sometimes, it’s just this.

chris. me. and the almosts we keep pretending are enough.

<3 taglist ; @trevorsgodmother @pr3ttylittleslutt @v4lsturn @wildfluer @delilahsturniolo @courta13 @kisses4chris @chrispycremedonut @chrisspussygang @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @baebadoobee4ever @emely9274 @mvkyis @mattsbug @sturniqloo @mattsleftball @tits4matt @mothstvrnz @joanakaulitz @mialovesyouchris @belle-ee @owenstar @sturnsalcohol @joanakaulitz @cherryystemm @angeliolo

( reply here to be added )

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ether972 · 5 months ago

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A Safe Spot

Just Ekko and Jinx taking a nap together. Takes place sometime well after season 2. In my mind Jinx found her way back to Ekko after the whole "dying" thing... the details aren't important lol. Complete timebomb fluff because I literally need to see more of them.

Ekko was stretched out on the old, slightly lumpy couch, his arms folded behind his head as he tried to enjoy a rare moment of peace. The weight of the day hadn't quite settled yet, and he figured he had maybe fifteen minutes before someone—or something—demanded his attention.

But then, as if on cue, Jinx appeared.

Without warning, she flopped down on top of him, her full weight pressing into him as she made herself at home. Her cheek landed right on his chest, her arms loosely draped around his sides, and she let out a contented sigh.

"Jinx," he said with a half-hearted groan. "Seriously?"

"Shh," she muttered, squirming slightly as she tried to find the perfect spot. "I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, though he made no attempt to move her.

"Napping," she replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She tilted her head slightly, her face now nestled against the crook of his neck. The warm puff of her breath sent a small shiver down his spine, and he could feel her body completely relax against his.

Ekko sighed in defeat, his hand instinctively coming up to rest on her back. "You do realize this couch is big enough for two people, right? You don't have to flatten me every time."

"But you're better," she mumbled into his neck, her voice muffled but unmistakably soft. "The couch isn't safe."

"Safe?" Ekko echoed, caught off guard. He tilted his head slightly to glance down at her, but all he could see was her blue hair spilling over his shoulder.

"Mmhm," she hummed, her voice quiet and almost shy. "You're safe. Like… I don't know. My brain won't shut up, and I'm always—" She stopped abruptly, her arms tightening slightly around him. "But when I'm with you, it's… different. Feels like I can actually breathe…"

Ekko's chest tightened, her words hitting him in a way he didn't expect. He didn't say anything at first, afraid of ruining the moment, but his hand began tracing slow, soothing circles on her back.

"You're safe with me, Jinx," he said quietly, his voice steady and warm. "Always."

She didn't respond right away, but the way she nestled even closer to him said enough. Her breath was warm and soft against his skin, her weight grounding in a way that didn't feel heavy at all. If anything, it felt… right.

"I don't remember when I started doing this," Jinx murmured after a while, her voice drowsy. "Laying on you, I mean..."

Ekko's smile softened, his hand continuing its slow, soothing motion along her back as her words echoed in his mind. I don't remember when I started doing this, she'd said.

But Ekko did.

Her words reminded him of that night—the one he'd never forget.

It had been a while ago now, in her old hideout, a chaotic mess of wires, explosives, and half-finished projects that mirrored her restless mind. She'd been standing on the edge of that propellor, a detonator clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles turned white. The sight had stopped him cold, his breath hitching at the sheer exhaustion etched into her face. She looked so small, so fragile—like a ghost of the girl he used to know. Her hair was cut, her eyes sunken, and when she glanced at him, the hollow, desperate look in them broke something inside him.

"Go away, Ekko," she'd rasped, voice cracking as if the words themselves cost her more than she had to give.

But he hadn't left. He couldn't.

After multiple attempts of his Z-Drive he finally managed to get her to listen. He sat cross-legged on the floor a safe distance away, talking—just talking. About anything and everything. His memories of Zaun, stories of their childhood, the ridiculous escapades they used to get into. He carried the conversation like a lifeline, hoping to pull her back from the edge she was teetering on.

Eventually, her grip on the detonator slackened. Her walls crumbled, piece by piece, until she was crying—sobbing—harder than he'd ever seen her cry. Between the broken gasps and hiccups, her words came spilling out in jagged pieces. About Isha. About Vi. About Silco and how "everyone who gets close to me dies, Ekko."

He hadn't known what to say to that. What could he say? He'd just held her as she cried, his arms tight around her as if he could somehow shield her from the ghosts that haunted her.

Eventually, her exhaustion had won. She'd laid her head on his shoulder, her breaths slowing, the tension in her body easing as sleep claimed her. Ekko didn't move, his eyes fixed on her face, taking in every detail—the faint streaks left by her tears, the way her lashes rested softly against her cheeks, the curve of her lips now free from their usual smirk or sneer. She looked different like this—quiet, calm, almost vulnerable. It struck him how rare this was, how long it had been since he'd seen her without the weight of everything pressing down on her. In that moment, she wasn't Jinx the loose cannon, the living storm. She was just her. Peaceful in a way he couldn't remember ever seeing before.

That night, as her soft breaths evened out against his shoulder, he'd made a silent promise to himself. Whatever it took, however hard it got, he'd always be there for her. Always. Even if she never believed it, even if she never asked, he'd stay. Because someone had to. Because he wanted to. Because beneath all the chaos and sharp edges, she was still the girl he'd once known, and he couldn't lose her again.

Jinx's drowsy murmur brought him back to the present. "I just… it's nice."

Ekko's lips curved into a small smile, and his hand stilled briefly before brushing through her hair again. "It is," he admitted, his voice soft. "Even if you're basically smothering me."

"Shut up," she grumbled, but there was no real bite in her tone. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her nose brushing against his cheek so she could look at him. "You like it."

"Maybe," Ekko teased, though the warmth in his voice gave him away. His fingers continued their gentle path through her hair, untangling a few strands absentmindedly.

For a while, they just lay there in silence, the quiet hum of the room wrapping around them like a blanket. Jinx's breathing started to slow, her body growing heavier as she drifted closer to sleep. Ekko tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair smelled faintly of gunpowder and something sweet, and he found himself smiling again.

As Jinx dozed, Ekko stayed still, his arms holding her securely against him. It wasn't often she let her guard down like this, and he wasn't about to ruin it. If being her safe place meant letting her sprawl all over him and nuzzle into his neck whenever she wanted, then he'd gladly be that for her.

After all, nothing in the world felt quite as right as this.

#timebomb #jinx x ekko #arcane #jinx #ekko #powder #timebomb fanfic #arcane fanfic #ekkojinx #timebomb fanfiction

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lucy-literates · 3 days ago

Note

Hello! Sorry to bother you

I just saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask you to (maybe and if you can) write about an idea I had.

I was thinking about Arthur Leclerc with a Plus size!reader. Maybe she's insecure about being so different from his exes, starting on things like her body and ending on the fact she doesn't speak his language yet. Maybe she gets too shy about telling him about her feelings and starts to distance herself and stop being as touchy as she usually is (maybe to fit what we believe to be the "European coldness") and he notices that something's wrong.

If you're okay with that, maybe we could get some smut, please?

Sorry for the bad English and for the terribly long ask 🤡

Not Like Them

A/N: Hello! Please, never apologise for asking, requesting, or any language barrier. This was perfect, and I understood your English; it is terrific. The longer the ask, the easier it is for me to write something you will like! I 've never heard of European Coldness (I'm Australian, fun fact), so I had to give it a google and I thought it was a really funny concept. Thank you so much for the ask, I hope I get to hear from you again! Enjoy and, as always, my inbox is open :)

It started small.

You didn’t even realize you were doing it — the way you’d pull your shirt down a little more when his hands wandered too low. Or how you started sitting at the far end of the couch instead of curling into his side like you used to. You kissed him less often. Smiled more quietly. Touched him like you were afraid of overstaying your welcome.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. You were just tired. Just preoccupied. But the truth settled somewhere in your chest like a stone:

You didn’t feel like you belonged beside him.

Arthur was effortless. Golden. Lithe and lean with those soft eyes and stupidly sharp cheekbones. His exes looked like models — tall, slim, that natural sort of “French-girl cool” that didn’t seem to require effort. They wore crop tops and didn’t apologize for taking up space. They ordered wine without blushing, threw their heads back when they laughed, and could lean in close to his ear to whisper something in rapid French and make it sound like poetry.

You were not that girl.

And lately, it was hard not to notice.

The way fans commented on your photos — even the polite ones, the backhanded compliments. The way they said things like “Arthur seems sweet, love that he’s giving average girls a chance” or “she seems kind.” Kind. Like you were some rescued stray dog, grateful just to be fed.

You didn’t say anything, not at first. What were you supposed to do — tell Arthur that his touch didn’t feel safe anymore because your own mind had turned against your body?

So you smiled. Dressed more modestly. Pulled away when he reached for your hips. Laughed off the moments when he asked if something was wrong.

And that was the worst part — he noticed.

He noticed every time.

One night, it all broke.

You were at his Monaco apartment, legs curled under you on the couch. Arthur had just gotten back from a long sim session, hair still damp from a shower. He came to sit beside you, smelling like soap and warmth, eyes sleepy and soft.

He leaned in to kiss you, a lazy peck on your jaw — but you shifted, subtly, just enough that it landed on your cheek.

He paused.

“…Mon cœur?”

You smiled, small. “Hmm?”

“I kissed your cheek.”

“I know,” you said lightly. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t answer. Just sat there for a moment, studying your profile.

“You don’t let me touch you anymore.”

Your breath hitched.

“I do,” you said too quickly. “I’m just— I don’t know. Tired. That’s all.”

He turned toward you fully now, brows furrowed, voice softer. “No. That’s not it.”

You looked down at your hands. The silence stretched, fragile and loud.

Arthur’s voice broke it. “Is it me?”

You shook your head, suddenly overwhelmed. “No. God, no, Arthur, it’s not you.”

He reached out and touched your wrist, just lightly — like he was afraid you might flinch. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore. The words rushed out, breathless and raw. “I just… I don’t look like the girls you’ve dated. I don’t fit here. Not with you, not in this place, not in these photos. I’m not sleek and French and perfect. I don’t even speak your language.”

Arthur’s expression crumpled, like someone had cracked something inside his chest.

“Mon ange…”

“I’m not saying it because I want you to fix it,” you said quickly. “I just— I’ve been feeling it, and it’s been building, and I don’t know how to be the version of me that fits next to you. So I’ve been pulling back. Because if I become quieter, smaller, maybe I’ll ruin things less.”

He was quiet for a beat.

And then his voice came low, hoarse with emotion.

“You think I want you to be smaller?”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“You think I want less of you?” His hand moved to cup your face, thumb brushing just under your eye. “I fell in love with all of you. The loud laughs. The thighs that knock into mine under the table. The hips I can hold when you’re on top of me. The soft, real parts of you. The strong, wild parts.”

“Arthur—”

“I don’t care what you weigh. Or what you wear. Or what language you speak. You are my home.”

You blinked hard.

“I know it’s hard,” he said gently. “I know how loud those voices get in your head. But let me be louder. Please.”

His forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you. Every inch. Every word. Every silence.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, grounding yourself. And then — finally — you kissed him. Really kissed him.

And he kissed you back like it had been days. Weeks. Like he’d been starving for it.

By the time he carried you to the bedroom, his hands never left your skin. Not once did he rush you. He pulled your shirt off gently, eyes trailing over your stomach, your chest, like he was memorizing every dip and curve.

“Regarde comme tu es belle…” he murmured, voice thick.

You flushed. “I don’t know what that means.”

He kissed your shoulder. “It means you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t strip you fast. He undressed you like unwrapping a gift — slow, reverent, pressing kisses to every spot that made you want to hide.

“You don’t have to hold your stomach in,” he whispered at one point, hands on your waist. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

You nodded, tears stinging — not from pain, but from the unbearable tenderness of it.

When he finally pushed into you, he moved slowly, filling you like he was coming home. No fast, rough pounding. Just rolling hips and soft praise and warm hands splayed over your body, anchoring you to the bed, the room, to him.

“You feel perfect,” he murmured against your neck. “Like you were made for me.”

You cried when you came — not from shame but from release, from the love pouring into you with every thrust, every breathless mon amour he whispered against your skin.

When it was over, he didn’t roll away. He stayed there, holding you, one hand splayed over your stomach like a promise.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever dated,” he said into your hair.

You tensed slightly — but he kissed your temple and added, “You’re so much better.”

Would you like a follow-up scene where he teaches you some French pet names in bed or insists on taking you to a public event just to show you off and shut everyone up?

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc smut #arthur leclerc x reader fluff #arthur leclerc x reader smut

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anjeliquesworld · 5 months ago

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Thaddeus x reader

Note: yes,I love Thaddeus 😭

I tried to highlight Thaddeus abandonment issues and his dark side so here's the final version,I hope you enjoy it 💋

Cw: obsession, stalking, thriller, manipulation, abandonment issues

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Twisted Love

The moon lies high in the sky, full of stars, illuminating the empty streets of Kowloon Hell with its tender light, where darkness reigns and the nights seem endless.

Lying on the edge of the main rooftop:

Thaddeus.

His head full of thoughts.

~HIS POV:

Loneliness isn't just a horrible feeling; it's a companion that doesn't leave. My mind replays my past, each abandonment reminding me of how fragile I truly am. It's the weight of how easily people I cared about left me, as if I were a burden in their lives. It happened many times before—people have come and gone, and each departure left a scar deeper than the last.

"Ah, little bunny," I say, closing my eyes as I visualize your pretty face.

Your existence haunts me. The way you laugh when I make a stupid joke makes my heart skip a beat. That’s strange because I’ve always been good at keeping my distance, but with you, it's different. I can't stay away from you.

When I feel alone, I remember your small hands touching my face—gentle, soft strokes caressing me. You treat me as if I were someone worthy of your love. That’s why sometimes I’m overprotective: you’re too precious, and I don’t want you to suffer.

It’s funny, isn’t it? I pretend to be the good guy around you... I pretend to be the good friend—when in reality, I want to take you away from everyone. I just want to keep you safe from anyone who could hurt you. I’m the only one who can give you what you need.

You said it yourself the other day as we were walking to the park:

"You're the only one who truly understands me."

The affection in your eyes, that smile—no one ever gave me that. And I told you, playfully, "That's because we're meant to be." You blushed, looking so cute. But I wasn’t joking. We are meant to be. Together. Forever.

Sometimes, when the cold breeze of my domain envelops me, I wonder if this is what I deserve—being abandoned, left to face this cruel world alone. But when those thoughts overwhelm me, you come to mind. You’re the light that chases away the monsters.

I want to be the only one to whom you give your attention, your warmth, your smiles.

What I feel is not love.

No, it’s something darker, deeper.

Something I can’t control, something lurking in the back of my head, a sickening feeling—it’s obsession.

You’re not aware of the way I hide in the shadows to capture a glimpse of you. You don’t know how many times I’ve climbed up to your room to watch you sleep... so peaceful and innocent.

Too innocent for this world. Too innocent for me.

You’re too pure to be with someone as dark and twisted as me, but I am a selfish man. I have no intention of letting you go, little bunny.

My heart wouldn’t bear the sight of you in the arms of another man.

Before meeting you, it felt like I was invisible to everyone... a shadow fading into the background. Just one step away from being forgotten. But you, with your kindness, taught me that even I matter.

Sometimes I wonder if you feel it—if you feel my twisted love for you. When you look at me, I see it in those pleading, soft eyes of yours.

You can’t deny it, little one. You’re attracted to me, I know you are. You’re just too afraid to admit it.

But don’t worry. I’ll keep playing the charming prince for now. After all, I’m good at it.

"You're so cute when you blush, little bunny."

I chuckle, teasing you. "I'm sorry for teasing you... but I can't help it. It's just too fun."

We'll keep playing the cat and mouse as long as you want. I don’t mind.

At least I get to stay close to you.

Sooner or later, you will succumb to your desires.

You will come to me.

You have to.

You need me as much as I need you.

And I’ll be more than happy to satisfy you, my little bunny.

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tinytinyblogs · 3 months ago

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Don't worry, darling, I'm staying right here.

Calm yandere!skz down because you're the only one who can handle this.

Hyung line, Maknae line

💬 Just wanted to share an update—I’ve been hit with a really bad flu, but I’m relieved to have finished my story today. Now, I’m struggling to decide on the characters for my next story. This flu has my brain feeling completely frozen!

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

Han is the type of yandere whose emotions are as chaotic and unpredictable as his thoughts. When it comes to his feelings for you, his love is intense, but it’s often overshadowed by a deep-seated anxiety and paranoia. The mere thought of losing you sends him into a spiral of fear, and he becomes consumed by the need to ensure that you’ll never leave him. You might find him pacing back and forth like a restless animal, biting his nails nervously, his mind racing with plans and schemes to keep you by his side forever. His thoughts are a whirlwind of “what ifs” and worst-case scenarios, and it’s in these moments that he needs you the most. When you see him like this, lost in his chaotic thoughts, gently reach out and cup his cheek with your hand. Turn his face toward yours, forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes, usually so bright and lively, are now clouded with worry, but as he looks at you, he begins to calm down. “You’re not going anywhere, right?” he asks, his voice trembling with vulnerability. You nod, your touch and your reassurance enough to ground him, even if just for a moment. “You’re not going anywhere,” he repeats, more to himself than to you, as if saying it out loud will make it true. Then, he leans into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He inhales deeply, taking in your scent as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you close as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. In that moment, the chaos in his mind begins to quiet. The paranoia, the fear, the endless plotting—it all fades away, replaced by the simple, comforting knowledge that you’re here, that you’re his. Han’s love is intense and all-consuming, but it’s also fragile. He needs constant reassurance, not because he doubts your love, but because he doubts himself. He’s afraid that one day, he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone, and all his worst fears will come true. But when you hold him, when you remind him that you’re not going anywhere, he finds a sense of peace. His breathing slows, his grip on you loosens just a little, and he allows himself to believe, even if just for a moment, that everything will be okay. In those quiet moments, as he clings to you and breathes in your scent, you can feel the weight of his anxiety lifting. He’s still Han—chaotic, anxious, and deeply in love—but with you by his side, he’s able to quiet the storm in his mind and find a sense of calm. And as long as you’re there to remind him that you’re not going anywhere, he’ll always find his way back to you, his heart steady and his love unwavering.

Felix

Felix is the type of yandere who tries to mask his possessiveness behind his sweet, cheerful demeanor. He wants to believe he’s gentle and kind, but the truth is, his love for you runs so deep that it often spills over into something darker, something more intense. He tries his best to keep it hidden, to be the sunny, carefree person you know and love, but there are moments when his efforts falter. His words might come out harsher than he intends, his actions more controlling than he means them to be. It’s not that he wants to hurt you—it’s that the thought of losing you terrifies him to his core. The only thing that truly calms him down, the only thing that quiets the storm inside him, is cuddling. When he holds you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his face buried in your neck or chest, he feels the weight of his fears begin to lift. Your warmth, your presence, has a way of shutting down the dark, chaotic world inside him. In those moments, he feels safe, grounded, and whole again. He breathes you in, letting your scent and your touch remind him that you’re real, that you’re here, that you’re his. “Sunshine,” he murmurs, his voice muffled as he nuzzles closer to you. “I can’t live without you.”

The words slip out almost unconsciously, more like a mumble but loud enough for you to hear. They’re raw, unfiltered, and filled with a vulnerability he rarely shows. “I can’t… and it would never happen,” he adds, his grip on you tightening just a little, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince you. In those quiet moments, Felix’s usual brightness returns, but it’s softer now, more subdued. He’s not the cheerful, energetic person everyone else sees—he’s just Felix, the boy who loves you more than anything, the boy who needs you more than he’s willing to admit. His possessiveness, his fears, his dark thoughts—they all fade away when he’s holding you. All that’s left is the two of you, wrapped up in each other, and the quiet reassurance that you’re not going anywhere. Felix’s love is intense, sometimes overwhelming, but it’s also deeply sincere. He may try to hide his darker side, but when he’s with you, when he’s holding you close, he doesn’t need to pretend. He can just be himself, flaws and all, and know that you’ll still be there, his sunshine, his everything. And as long as you’re there to remind him that he’s loved, that he’s needed, he’ll always find his way back to the light.

Seungmin

Seungmin is the type of yandere who approaches love with a strict, logical mindset. To him, everything has a purpose, a reason, and a solution—including you. He sees you as someone he can shape, someone he can fix to meet the standards he’s set in his mind. His love is meticulous, almost clinical, as he tries to mold you into what he believes is the best version of yourself. He’ll go to great lengths to control your actions, your choices, even your thoughts, all in the name of making you better. It’s exhausting, both for him and for you, but in his mind, it’s necessary. He truly believes he’s doing what’s best for you, even if it means pushing you to your limits. But amidst all his calculated efforts and relentless control, there’s one thing that can break through his rigid exterior: your smile. Not just any smile, but a genuine one—one that reaches your eyes and tells him you appreciate everything he’s doing for you, even if it feels overwhelming. When you smile at him, really smile, while looking directly into his eyes, it’s like a key unlocking something deep inside him. It reminds him of why he fell for you in the first place, why he wanted you so desperately from the very beginning. Your smile is the first thing that drew him to you, the thing that made him want you since day one.

It’s not just the way your lips curve or the way your eyes light up—it’s the warmth behind it, the way it makes him feel seen, understood, and valued. When you smile at him like that, it’s as if all his efforts, all his exhausting games and meticulous plans, are worth it. For a moment, he forgets about fixing you, about controlling you, and simply basks in the joy of being the reason for your happiness. In those moments, Seungmin’s strict, logical demeanor softens. He might not say it out loud, but your smile has a way of melting his defenses, of reminding him that love isn’t always about control or perfection. Sometimes, it’s about the simple, unspoken connection between two people. And when you smile at him like that, he feels it—a connection that goes beyond his need to fix or improve. It’s a reminder that you’re not a project to be perfected, but a person to be loved. So, even when his methods feel overwhelming, even when his need to control becomes too much, your smile has the power to bring him back to earth. It’s the one thing he can’t logic his way out of, the one thing that makes him feel truly, deeply human. And as long as you keep smiling at him like that, he’ll always find his way back to you, his strict exterior giving way to the love he’s been trying so hard to protect.

Jeongin

Jeongin’s yandere side is a unique blend of playfulness and manipulation, a dangerous combination that he wields with precision. He knows exactly how to use his charm, his boyish smile, and his seemingly innocent demeanor to draw you into the intricate web he’s created. It’s like a game to him, one where he sets the rules and you’re the prize. But when things don’t go his way, when something disrupts the carefully crafted scenario he’s built in his mind, that playful side can quickly turn dark. He becomes unpredictable, his emotions spiraling out of control as his grip on reality tightens. In those moments, when Jeongin’s playful facade cracks and he starts to lose his composure, the best way to calm him down is to play along with his game. You need to show him that you’re still part of the story he’s created, that you haven’t stepped out of line or broken the rules. A simple kiss on his cheek can work wonders—it’s a gesture that matches his playful energy, a way of telling him that you’re still his, still part of his world. When you kiss his cheek, you’ll see the shift in his demeanor almost immediately. His tense shoulders relax, his sharp gaze softens, and that mischievous smile returns to his face.

It’s almost terrifying how quickly he can switch from being out of control to calm and collected, but it’s a necessary evil. In his mind, you’ve proven that you’re still playing the game, still following the script he’s written for the two of you. Jeongin thrives on control, on the idea that he’s the one directing the narrative. When you match his energy, when you show him that you’re still part of his story, it reassures him that everything is as it should be. That playful, manipulative side of him is still there, but it’s tempered by the knowledge that you’re still his, still willing to play along. It’s unsettling to see him smile again so quickly, to watch the darkness in his eyes fade as if it was never there. But it’s better than the alternative—seeing him completely lose control, his emotions spiraling into something far more dangerous. Jeongin’s love is a game, one that requires you to stay on your toes, to match his energy and keep him grounded. And as long as you’re willing to play along, to give him the reassurance he needs, he’ll remain the playful, charming yandere you’ve come to know—even if that charm hides a much darker side.

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onlyangel4 · 27 days ago

Text

red, white and ruin. part four. cody rhodes.

dark!cody rhodes x make up artist!reader.

synopsis: on the surface, cody is everything clean-cut. honour, legacy, gold. but you saw the mask slip once, and now you can’t unsee it. he wants you because you see him, the ambition, the darkness, the violence under the white light. and when he decides you’re going to be his, he wraps you in red, white, and ruin.

warnings: 18+. cursing. smut. p in v. one mention of breeding kink. fingering.

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you felt him before you saw him.

the dressing room was quiet, stripped of the usual buzz, the only sound the low whir of the overhead fan stirring the heavy air. you were hunched over your kit, sorting lip liners by shade, mind already wandering, when the door clicked shut behind you.

you didn’t need to turn around.

you knew it was him.

the weight of his gaze settled against your spine like a hand, familiar and scorching. you held your ground, fingers tightening around a tube of lipstick you didn’t realize you were still holding.

"you ran out on me this morning.”

his voice was low. even. almost gentle.

you forced a breath through your nose, setting the lipstick down with deliberate care. "i had work."

a pause. a beat of silence heavy enough to shift the atmosphere.

"don’t lie to me."

not a demand. not anger.

a simple, devastating fact.

you turned then, slowly, lifting your chin.

cody stood a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, like he wasn’t already coiled tight enough to snap. his hair was still slightly damp, curls clinging to his forehead. his boots were scuffed from the ring. he looked, unmade. undone.

because of you.

you swallowed hard. "i’m not lying."

he just looked at you.

really looked at you.

the kind of look that peeled you open, layer by layer, until there was nothing left to hide behind.

you tried to find something clever to say, something to stitch up the widening crack between you, but he was already crossing the room. slow. certain.

you backed up without thinking, bumping against the counter behind you.

he didn’t cage you in. he didn’t touch you. he just stood close enough that the heat of him blurred the line between your body and his.

"i don’t want to scare you", he said, so softly it almost didn’t sound like him. "but i’m not gonna pretend."

your breath hitched.

"what are you pretending?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"that i don’t think about you all the time."

"that i'm not planning my life around your schedule."

"that i don’t wake up already reaching for you."

each confession dropped like stones into the space between you, heavy enough to bruise.

you tried to hold yourself together, to draw the line you both kept stepping over, but then his hand came up. slow. reverent.

he brushed his fingers along your jaw, featherlight, like he was afraid you might shatter if he pushed too hard.

you let him.

you leaned into it.

because somewhere deep inside you, you knew the truth

no one had ever wanted you like this before.

no one ever would again.

his thumb dragged over the corner of your mouth, lingering.

"you don’t have to be scared of me", he murmured.

but you were.

not because you thought he’d hurt you.

because you knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn’t.

and somehow, that terrified you more.

he dropped his forehead to yours, breath washing over your lips, heartbeat hammering through the small, fragile distance left between you.

"stay", he whispered.

not an order.

a plea.

you closed your eyes.

you could feel the gravity of him pulling you under, the inevitability of it.

you could still say no.

you could still save yourself.

instead, you nodded.

and when his arms slid around you, pulling you into his chest, you didn’t resist.

you melted.

you let him gather you up like something precious, something breakable, something he would fight the whole world to protect.

you let him hold you there, breathing you in like you were oxygen, like you were necessary.

and when he pressed his mouth to your temple, lingering, silent, worshipful.

you realised there was no turning back.

you didn’t want soft because you were weak.

you wanted it because no one had ever meant it before.

and cody?

cody meant it.

every dangerous, terrifying, beautiful word.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

once cody reluctantly let go of you, you moved to sit on the the edge of the couch in the centre of his dressing room, your hands slack in your lap, feeling the aftershocks of what you’d just agreed to.

the air between you and cody was heavy, weighted, but not fully uncomfortable. just tense.

then he moved.

slowly, like you were something fragile, something half-wild that might bolt if he came too fast.

he knelt down in front of you, his knees brushing the tops of your boots, and placed his hands palm-up on either side of your legs. not sexual. not demanding.

waiting.

your breath hitched. the invitation was obvious. come closer. let me.

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because some small, stubborn piece of you still believed you could keep a distance. that agreeing to stay didn’t mean giving in.

but he didn’t push. he just knelt there, head tilted up, his mouth soft, his gaze unbearably gentle.

it was you who leaned forward first. you who let your hands fall into his.

his fingers curled around yours like closing a door.

cody exhaled, a sound of pure relief and brought your hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into each palm.

not rushed. not desperate.

reverent.

"you’re tired" he said, his voice low, almost coaxing. "let me take care of you."

you should have said no. you should have said something sharp, something to remind him this wasn’t normal, that he was treading too close to a line you barely understood.

instead, you nodded.

he smiled, a small, private thing and shifted closer, settling between your knees.

one by one, he unlaced your boots, easing them off your feet. his touch was so careful it made your chest ache.

then he massaged your feet, slow, methodical, finding every knot of tension and smoothing it away with his thumbs.

you couldn't remember the last time someone touched you like that, not to get something from you, not to lead you somewhere, but just to be there.

it disarmed you more effectively than any threat could have.

when he finished, he didn’t speak.

he just rested his forehead lightly against your knee, breathing you in, anchoring himself to you like you were a lifeline.

your fingers twitched in your lap, unsure of what to do.

cody looked up at you then, his eyes so open it hurt to meet them. "you don’t have to do anything," he murmured. "just stay."

stay.

the word curled around your ribs like smoke, sinking deeper than it should have.

you nodded again.

and just like that, he smiled. not triumphant, not possessive.

grateful.

as if you had just saved his life.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the next friday, smackdown blurred past you in a haze of travel and nerves.

you did your job. you smiled when you had to. Yyu kept your head down.

cody didn’t bother you backstage.

he didn’t even look your way when you passed him in the corridors, belt slung casually over his shoulder, talking business with a road agent like you didn’t exist.

you should have been relieved.

instead, you carried a tight, anxious weight in your chest all night, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

it didn’t fall until hours later, when you were alone in your hotel room, hair damp from the shower, flipping absently through tv channels you weren't really watching.

a knock came at the door.

your stomach dropped.

you didn't have to ask who it was. you knew.

still, you moved toward the door like you had a choice, like you could still pretend to yourself you were making decisions.

when you opened it, cody stood there, dressed down in dark jeans and a soft grey hoodie, casual enough to pass for normal.

except his arms were full.

gifts, you realized, your throat tightening. boxes, bags, a single white envelope tucked between his fingers.

he smiled, small and hesitant, like he was nervous.

"hey", he said. "can i come in?"

you didn't answer right away.

your silence stretched between you like a pulled thread, thin and dangerous.

cody waited, patient.

in the end, you stepped back.

he came inside without hesitation, brushing past you, leaving the scent of clean laundry and faint cologne in the air.

he placed the gifts carefully on the bed, as if arranging some kind of shrine, before turning back to face you.

"i know it’s a little much", he said lightly, "but i saw some things this week, and well. you were on my mind."

you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed in your loose pyjama shorts and old band t-shirt.

"you didn’t have to", you said, voice small.

"i wanted to", he corrected, smiling like you’d said something funny.

like there had never been a world where he wouldn't have.

he picked up the first box, small, heavy and held it out to you.

inside was a bracelet, thin and gold, your initials and his engraved so finely you almost missed it.

you stared at it.

you didn't reach for it.

cody’s smile didn’t falter.

"i thought it would be nice", he said softly. "something to remind you you’re not alone out here."

he set it on the dresser when you didn’t move.

next came a designer coat, thick, soft, absurdly expensive.

he unfolded it carefully, showing it to you like a magician revealing a secret.

"i saw you eyeing it last week when we were at the mall", he said. "i remembered."

you couldn’t even remember him being near you at the mall.

but apparently, he had been watching.

the last gift was the most unsettling.

a new camera, the exact model you’d mentioned once, months ago, in passing, during some offhand conversation about hobbies you barely had time for.

you hadn't even thought he'd been listening.

but he had.

he'd listened.

and he had remembered.

cody set the camera down with the same care he might have used handling something fragile, something alive.

then he straightened up, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans, studying you.

"i’m not trying to scare you", he said. "i just i want you to have nice things. you deserve that."

you swallowed hard.

you wanted to tell him it was too much.

you wanted to tell him to take it all back.

but some part of you, the part that remembered his hands cradling yours, the part that remembered the careful way he knelt, didn't want to hurt him.

didn’t want to provoke him.

so you nodded, mute, and managed a shaky, "thank you."

cody's face lit up like you'd handed him the world.

he closed the space between you in three steps, pulling you into a gentle, loose hug.

you didn’t resist.

"i’ll always take care of you," he murmured into your hair. "always."

you stood frozen in his arms, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it.

and somewhere deep inside, you realised

you were already his.

he hadn’t needed to ask.

his arms stayed around you longer than necessary, tightening just slightly.

not enough to hurt.

enough to remind you he was bigger, stronger, that you were tucked neatly against him with nowhere else to go.

"you’re so sweet", he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"so good for me."

you shivered, not sure if it was fear or something else.

your hands hovered uselessly at his sides, unsure whether to push him away or hold on.

cody pulled back just enough to look at you.

his eyes flicked over your face, searching, serious and then, so softly you barely felt it, he kissed you.

it was almost chaste at first.

just a press of his mouth to yours, reverent, careful.

You froze, startled by the tenderness of it.

he deepened the kiss slow, sure, coaxing you open with soft insistent brushes of his lips, the warm tip of his tongue teasing at the seam of your mouth until you let him in.

you gasped against him, and he swallowed the sound greedily.

the kiss turned hotter, messier.

cody's hands slid down your back, finding the curve of your hips and pulling you against him, grinding slow enough that you couldn’t pretend not to feel how hard he was already.

"god, you’re perfect", he rasped against your mouth.

"i think about you all the fucking time."

one of his hands slipped under your shirt, rough palm dragging up your stomach.

you made a small, helpless noise in your throat, and that seemed to undo him.

he kissed you harder, devouring now, teeth scraping your bottom lip just shy of a bite.

"you don't know what you do to me", he muttered, voice shaking with restraint. "you have no idea."

his fingers found your breast, kneading softly at first, then rougher when you arched into his touch despite yourself.

you found yourself clinging to him, needy, hungry for the attention he poured into you like it was infinite.

he broke the kiss only long enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

his eyes drank you in, the thin cotton of your pyjama shorts, the way your nipples peaked in the cool air.

"so fucking beautiful", he said hoarsely, like it physically hurt him.

before you could say anything, he kissed you again, hands roaming freely now, over your sides, your back, your ass, pulling soft little gasps and whimpers from you that only seemed to feed whatever dark thing was uncoiling in him.

he nudged you backward until the back of your knees hit the bed.

you toppled onto it, and cody followed, covering your body with his, caging you in.

for a long moment, he just looked down at you, his breath heavy, his pupils blown wide with lust and something more dangerous, more desperate.

"you’re mine now", he whispered.

"so fucking mine."

you barely had time to catch your breath before cody was pulling your shorts down, rough and impatient, letting them pool at your ankles.

"you’re not leaving this room", he said under his breath, voice wrecked and low.

"not until you understand you’re mine."

you opened your mouth to argue, maybe, but the words turned into a sharp gasp when he slipped two fingers inside your panties, finding how wet you already were.

"fuck", he groaned.

"look at you. so ready for me. knew you would be."

he shoved the thin fabric aside and slid a thick finger inside you, just one at first, working you open slow, deep, relentless.

your hips bucked against his hand, helpless.

"that’s it", he coaxed. "take it. take what i give you."

you whimpered, grabbing at his hoodie, desperate for something to hold onto.

"need you", you gasped.

he grinned, dark, triumphant.

"i know, sweetheart. i know. gonna give it to you."

he yanked his hoodie off with one hand, muscles flexing in the low, warm light, and then he stripped the rest of his clothes off, no ceremony, no teasing. just pure need.

your mouth went dry at the sight of him.

big, broad, flushed and already so hard it looked painful.

cody crawled back over you, grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand.

"you stay right there", he murmured, voice like velvet dragged over gravel.

"let me take care of you."

with his free hand, he peeled your panties down your thighs slowly, exposing you inch by inch like he was unwrapping something precious.

when he finally looked down at you, fully naked and spread out under him, something almost snarled behind his eyes.

he lined himself up against you, dragging the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, smearing himself in you but not pushing in yet.

"you’re gonna take all of me", he whispered, forehead pressing to yours.

"you’re gonna let me ruin you."

you moaned, high and desperate, trying to rock your hips up.

he didn’t let you.

he held you down, the weight of his body and his strength overwhelming.

"say it", he rasped.

"tell me you’re mine."

you trembled, the need coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"i’m yours", you whispered.

he still didn’t move.

"louder."

"i’m yours", you said again, voice cracking this time.

only then did he push inside, slow, brutal inches that stretched and filled you until you could barely breathe.

your fingers twisted uselessly in the sheets as he bottomed out with a ragged groan.

"fuck, baby", he panted, shaking with the effort not to lose control.

"you feel like heaven."

he gave you a moment to adjust, just long enough for your body to stop fighting the overwhelming fullness and then he pulled out almost all the way and thrust back in, hard enough to make the bed creak.

you cried out, and he swallowed the sound with a brutal kiss.

"you take it so good", he praised against your mouth.

"my good girl."

the rhythm he set was merciless, deep, punishing strokes that left you gasping, clawing at his back.

every thrust was a claim.

every filthy word was a brand.

"who’s fucking you like this?"

"you’re gonna come on my cock, aren’t you?"

"no one else gets to see you like this. no one."

You could barely answer, too far gone, pleasure building to a sharp, unbearable peak.

"that’s it, baby", he growled when he felt you start to tighten around him.

"come for me. come all over my cock."

you shattered with a cry, clenching around him so hard it dragged a broken moan from his throat.

he fucked you through it, chasing his own release now, messy and desperate.

"fuck", he groaned, hips stuttering. "gonna fill you up. gonna fucking breed you."

the words should have terrified you.

instead, they sent another shuddering wave of pleasure crashing through you.

cody buried himself as deep as he could and came with a low, guttural sound, spilling inside of you.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

you just clung to each other, bodies slick with sweat and something darker, something binding.

he finally lifted his head to look at you, hair messy, face flushed, eyes wild and still hungry.

he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth, softer now but no less possessive.

"you’re mine", he whispered again.

"and i’m never letting you go."

you laid there, boneless and wrecked, your body trembling in the aftershocks.

cody didn't move.

he stayed buried inside you, caging you against the mattress, breathing hard against the side of your neck like he was afraid if he pulled out, you'd disappear.

slowly, you felt his hands move, not to leave, but to gather you closer.

his palm slid up your spine, possessive and heavy, pressing you tighter to his chest.

"mine", he whispered again, hoarse and almost reverent.

you shivered.

he shifted his hips just enough to make you gasp, still too sensitive, but he soothed you instantly with a kiss to your temple.

"i mean it", he said, voice low and dangerous now.

"you don’t fucking go anywhere."

you nodded, too wrung out to argue.

he pulled out finally, and you whimpered at the loss.

cody caught it, he caught everything and gave a dark little smile like he liked it.

like he liked knowing you felt empty without him.

he disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, then returned with a warm, damp cloth and cleaned you up, gentle, careful, but the whole time his eyes never left yours.

as if daring you to try and run.

you didn't.

you let him touch you, care for you, mark you without a word.

and when he was done, he crawled back into bed and dragged you into his arms again, tucking your head under his chin like you belonged there.

you stayed like that, hearts pounding against each other, until your eyelids started to slip shut.

cody brushed your hair back and whispered against your hairline.

"you’re gonna be good for me, baby. you’re gonna stay close. let me take care of you."

You nodded sleepily.

somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered that this was too fast, too much.

that you should be scared.

maybe you were.

but you didn’t move.

you belonged to him now.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing violently against the nightstand.

you groaned and tried to roll over, but cody’s arm was an iron bar across your waist, holding you down.

"where you think you're going?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and something darker.

"my phone," you croaked.

he didn’t let go.

instead, he reached out with his free hand, grabbed the phone, and looked at it himself.

you saw his eyes narrow at the screen.

a missed call from lena.

two texts from friends.

nothing crazy, but his grip on you tightened anyway.

"you don't need to talk to them", he said casually, tossing the phone back onto the table without giving it back.

your heart thudded uncomfortably.

"they’re just worried about me", you said carefully.

"worried?" he repeated, a slow smirk pulling at his mouth.

"you're safer with me than anywhere else."

the way he said it made something coil tight in your belly part fear, part something darker you didn’t want to name.

before you could answer, cody rolled you underneath him again, pinning you to the bed effortlessly.

"you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart", he said softly, but there was steel under it.

"you belong to me now. they don’t get to pull you away. no one does."

you stared up at him, your breath coming fast.

he leaned down, kissed you slowly, deeply a claiming more than a kiss until you were gasping against his mouth.

"i’ll give you everything". he whispered.

"i'll give you the world. you just have to be good for me."

you swallowed hard, nodding without thinking.

he smiled.

"good girl."

he kissed you again, longer this time, while his hands started to roam lower.

You knew you should be scared.

you knew you should say something.

but when cody touched you, when he spoke to you like that, the rest of the world melted away.

there was only him.

only his hands, his mouth, his promises.

soft-dangerous.

like sinking into quicksand and not even wanting to fight it.

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