#don't think much about it and take care of him while he's with you at home<3) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chuusmuts · 2 days ago

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imagine submissive!pathetic!nerd!clingy!boobies obsessed!scaramouche

smut. afab reader, nipple play, fingering, (a little) dirty talk(?), creampie(??), top!reader, probably. not proofread.

idk how to title this so just imagine. also helo ig.

you had a childhood best friend, scaramouche, who was also your roommate and classmate. besides his good looking face, there's really nothing good about him. he's a nerd, the typical one that wears glasses and likes to read books. what's more, he's very submissive and clingy especially toward you. it was almost he had an obsession and was even more needy to you, laying his head on your chest, groping and kneading them.

for instance, you were supposed to be in class, yet here you were in the school's bathroom stall, sitting on his lap while he's seated on the closed toilet lid. he was clutching onto your breasts tightly, nuzzling into them as he whined and whimpered, refusing to let you go and mumbling about how soft you were. scaramouche pouted and clung tighter to your body, nuzzling into your breasts with a soft whine. "no.. i don't wanna go to stupid class... I just want to stay here with you forever..."

his fingers kneaded and squeezed at the soft mounds as he buried his face between them, inhaling your scent deeply. the nerdy boy seemed so lost in his own little world, completely ignorant of the importance of attending lessons. "mmmm your boobies are so warm and comfy... this is way better than any boring lecture..." scaramouche mumbled between nuzzles, his glasses slightly fogging up from the close contact as he made no move to let you go.

the bathroom was almost empty. it was the perfect place since no one but the two of you go to that bathroom. to other people, he appeared as an innocent boy trying to act all cute around you, but in reality, it's just his way of being possessive. he was so needy and greedy for your attention that he would ditch classes just to be with you, knowing that you'll let him get away with it.

scaramouche's fingers deftly worked open a few buttons of your uniform blouse, exposing your cleavage to his hungry gaze and touch as he whimpered. his pale cheeks were flushed and his breathing heavy as he pant softly against your skin. "but you promised me to go to class today.." taking off his glasses, you wiped off the fog with your sleeve and placed them back on his nose before stroking his hair, stirring up scaramouche to melt into your touch, and purring softly. he nuzzled into your hand like a needy kitten who crave more affection.

the way you pat him and stroke his hair so gently, the way you're being so nice to him even though he's being unreasonable.. they all turned him on so much as precum started leaking on the tip of his dick, dampening his grey pants. he whined loudly, his fingers still clutching at your cleavage as he pant. his face is flushed deep red, eyes glossy with lust behind his glasses.

"b-but I don't care... i just want to be with you..." he mumbled out between breaths, squirming in his seat. scaramouche's other hand moved down to palm at the growing bulge in his pants, letting out a soft moan. "mmmnh... you feel so good, y/n... i can't help myself around you..." his hips buck up slightly, grinding against your core through layer of clothes as his arousal continued to leak out, soaking through the fabric.

"nghh... y- your hands feels nice, don't ever stop..." he said, more to himself, the words came out in a breathy whisper, his voice low and husky with desire. his fingers pinched and tugged at your nipples through your uniform, sending jolts of pleasure through your sensitive body. in his fucked up mind, scaramouche thinks it's perfectly okay to miss classes as long as he gets to be alone with his you. you sighed defeatedly, half because of his behaviour, half because of you, yourself were starting to get aroused.

"scaramouche, scaramouche." you squeezed your eyes shut before calling him out who's still whimpering and moaning against your soft breasts. gently, you cupped his face and brought it up to look at you. there was a visible pout on his flushed face and his hair was all disheveled from all the nuzzling. "how about this? one round." you suggested. "one round, and we go to class together. and after class finished, we do another round?" you held out a pinky finger, trying to make a deal with him. you didn't want to miss another class and received a warning letter from the stupid professor.

scaramouche bit his lip and looked up at you with big puppy dog eyes. he squirmed in your lap, his arousal straining against his pants desperately. as much as he wanted to refuse you and ditch the class just to spend time with you, the deal sounded too good to be real. "o- one round... and then class... and then another after?" he repeated slowly as if trying to wrap his lust-addled mind around the offer. scaramouche's fingers twitched, his grip on your boobies grew tighter, causing you to whine in pain.

without thinking twice, he nodded eagerly, latching onto your outstretched pinky with his own. "okay, deal.." a wide, excited grin spread across his flushed face. "mmmnh... hurry y/n... i need you..." scaramouche whined impatiently, already wiggling his hips against you. his glasses are nearly fogged over again completely and his eyes were filled with desire. he looked utterly debauched already, and you've barely even started. you shifted off of his lap, and scaramouche's hands moved to fumble with the zipper of his pants, desperate to free his throbbing erection. more precum was leaking steadily now, leaving a noticeable big wet spot on the fabric.

meanwhile, you slid down your panties and pulled your skirt until it reached your thighs, enough to expose your glistening pussy. as his leaking erection sprung free from his pants, you unbuttoned your shirt completely and unclasped your bra before hanging them on the door handle. sitting on his lap, you let him bury himself deep inside your fluttering core while he let out a sharp gasp. his hands immediately flew to grip your hips, clinging to you desperately as he started thrusting upwards in earnest. "mmh come here.." you murmured, stroking his nape.

he began moving his hips upwards in unison with your downward thrusts, driving the entirety of his thick member up inside you, every thrust came along with a pathetic whimper as his thick shaft plunging deep into your welcoming cunny. the tight heat enveloping him triggered sparks along his spine. "mmh... that's a good boy.. i got you, darlin'" you praised him as you hugged his head to your breasts once again and scaramouche nearly lost it on the spot. the sight of your bare breasts and the way your tight pussy gripping him tightly was driving him wild, he almost cum on the spot. it was pitiful, he knew, but he didn't care. "haaahh... y-your boobies, your cunt... so damn perfect..." he buried himself between the pillowy mounds, motorboating and nuzzling into them with desperate enthusiasm.

"ahhhnn... nghh, y- y/n... so hot and wet... mmmnh!" the nerdy boy whimpered, panting heavily as sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine with each movement. he could barely think straight, lost in the incredible sensation of your fluttering walls gripping him tightly. your hips worked frantically, bucking down, enveloping his thick shaft over and over as lewd squelching noises fill the small bathroom stall, echoing obscenely off the tiled walls. his fingers dig into your soft skin resulting red marks to left behind.

your tight heat milked his cock mercilessly as scaramouche's movements grew erratic, you could feel his cock twitched inside you, his balls drawing up tight, ready to explode at any moment. your breasts quivered and bounced delightfully against his eager mouth, providing an erotic symphony of soft slapping sounds that drove him wild. bringing his head closer to your face, your hand slid up to wrap around his throat lightly, squeezing just enough to make his breathing difficult and he couldn't help but let out a deep groan. "come on, don't cum yet. you don't want this to end early, do you?" you breathed, trying to hold back your moams as a wicked smile formed on your face, licking your lips while you tightened your grip around him.

he loved how you're always gentle with him but switched 360° and became dominant when you're fucking him, it makes him hard it hurts, and every time, he would surrender himself to you completely. but the stimulation was just too intense, your slick pussy milking his throbbing shaft for all its worth. your grinding and the feel of your velvety walls squeezing his aching cock had scaramouche mewling. hand still around his throat, you pulled him in for a rough kiss as you shoved your tongue down his throat and scaramouche moaned desperately into the kiss, his tongue immediately and eagerly tangling with yours. the hand around his throat had him lightheaded, adding to the dizzying pleasure coursing through his veins.

he'd never been able to last long with you, your dominance and the sheer ecstasy of being inside you always pushed him to the brink embarrassingly fast. "haaahh... c-can't... nghh! too good...!" scaramouche babbled incoherently between kisses, his hips still moving erratically as his cock jerked inside your tight heat. his hands roamed all over your body, groping and kneading greedily at your soft curves, fingers pinching and tugging at your erected nipples, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to both of your core. the combined sensations had him seeing stars, his impending orgasm building rapidly at the base of his spine.

"p-please... m-mercy... ahhh... g- gonna... nnngghh..." scaramouche warned breathlessly, struggling to breathe and his face screwed up in concentration. you could feel his cock twitched inside you, clearly fighting to hold back his release. his fingers dug into your soft flesh, fondling and stroking as you sucked greedily at his lower lips while he sucked your top one. in mid of making out, you unfastened his uniform, letting it fall to the floor before brushing your thumbs against his nipples teasingly, causing him to mewl and moan into your mouth.

the sight of scaramouche's eyes listing focus, mouth hanging open, and drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as he lost himself in the sensations made your flustered, your heart fluttering as your heart beat faster. it made your fingers pinched his nipples and twisted them so deliciously, he shuddered and arched into your touch, a drawn-out moan spilling from his lips. something felt different— the kisses were frantic, desperate than before, your mind became vague. it's intense and intimate as both you and him were completely clouded with lust.

"ahhnghh... y- y/n..." he whimpered desperately as the last of his self-control slipping away, his cock throbbed and pulsed inside your tight heat, the stimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of no return. scaramouche's eyes fluttered open, glazed over with lust and adoration. he gazed up at you, his breath heavy, completely at your mercy. you crashed your mouths together once again, the kiss desperate and hungry.

"want... need... mmnnh... love you..." scaramouche mumbled between sloppy kisses, completely consumed by his intense feelings and the all-encompassing pleasure. he could feel his orgasm surging forward, his balls drawing up tight. with a final, choked cry, scaramouche surrendered himself to the blissful release. his cock erupted deep inside you, pumping stream after stream of hot, thick seed into your fluttering depths. the aftermath got him trembling and writhing under you as he came, his eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy, almost seeing stars. the sensation of his molten essence flooding your insides pushed you closer to the edge as well, your walls clamping down rhythmically to milk him for every last drop as you moaned loudly.

all he could manage to do at the moment was breathed hardly against your neck, with lust and contentment. his sweaty skin pressed against yours and he peppered your neck gently, hoping that you wouldn't go just yet. but his wish went unfilled as you pulled away, your slick walls slipping off his softening member, a flood of your combined fluids gushing out, dripping down onto his thighs and the bathroom floor and he missed you already. "come on, time's up. get ready to go to class." you said, trying to catch your breath while in the process of wearing your bra. scaramouche whined in protest and immediately grabbed a hold of your arm, trying to pull you back, his voice filled with need. "w-wait... don't go... stay a little longer..." he looked up at you with big, pleading eyes, hoping to convince you to extend your intimate encounter.

you stared at him with the same look before bending down and stroking his head using your free hand. "another round after this class, remember?" a small smile spread across your face. "or do you not want that? you did a good job holding this time, i might give you an extra reward later, you know." grabbing his jaw, you pulled him for a quick kiss before continuing to wear your uniform. scaramouche cheeks flushed deeply at the mention of another potential reward, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. he nodded eagerly, the promise of more intimate time with you was more than enough motivation for him to be a good boy.

"y- yeah... i'll be a good boy... i want it, i want you..." he agreed shyly and reluctantly, nuzzling into your touch and desperately hoping that the lesson will pass quickly so he could have you all to himself again. scaramouche stood on shaky legs, putting his uniform around his slender, pale torso. he took a moment to adjust his glasses and smooth down his messy hair, trying to compose himself before heading to class with you, already craving your touch once more.

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enavstars · 2 days ago

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I wanted to do this in digital but I don't have the time right now.

For context I hc Rin and Obito as 2 years older than Kakashi, so Kakashi was 12 during Kannabi and Rin and Obito 14.

I don't usually draw Rin that much but I absolutely love her and plan to do more with her. It's funny because when I first watched the show I didn’t like her. It wasn't until I began to read fanfics and saw all the headcanons and interpretations of her character here on tumblr that I started to like her. So thank you all for that <3<3

So here are some (bits of how I see her/of my my headcanons about her) on her relationship with Kakashi.

Rin used to idealize Kakashi, so ended up crushing on him. And Kakashi really did carry himself with a lot of self-confidence and strenght, always giving that prodigy vibes. So Rin being a kid didn't realize how young Kakashi actually is.

This changes after the Kannabi bridge mission. Kakashi, whose body is still adapting to his Sharingan, is unable to keep the confident facade due to the inmense pain he's in (I can expand on this in another post if you'd like), so he looks extremely vulnerable and small.

After seeing Kakashi in this state, Rin can't ignore anymore that Kakashi is a kid even younger than herself and inmediately drops her crush.

So now Rin sees Kakashi as more like a little brother, and she decides to look after him. (This comes from what little caracterization we have in canon of her. In the scene where Obito dies, while Kakashi is crying and shaking, Rin inmediately stops crying when Obito asks her to do the transplant, showing her incredible mental strength).

And she takes care of Kakashi not just because she understands how important he was to Obito, but also as a way to cope, in the same selfless (but unhealthy) way she's always known. She needs this, needs to take care of someone vulnerable to help herself. After all, she was really messed up by Konoha and the war, she is still a child soldier who got her obsession with being useful to the village drilled into her head. So she distracts herself from her own grief by helping Kakashi with his, thinking it's what Obito would have wanted, even if it's slowly destroying her.

Because here's the thing, Rin underestimates how important she truly was to Obito and prioritizes Kakashi over her, in the same way Kakashi prioritizes Rin. Neither realizes that both of them were the most important people to Obito.

So in summary, Rin seals her own pain and refuses to cry or show weakness in front of Kakashi (supporting him like she supported Obito) but at the same time she spends most of her time with him with the excuse that she’s helping him with the pain from the Sharingan.

They sometimes sleep in the same hospital bed, hugging and exhausted, and then there can be heard soft sobs and sniffles. But it's impossible to know which one of them is making those noises.

#canon will say Rin was the center of Team Minato but it was actually Obito #Also for clarification I know Obito had a deeper relationship with Rin than Kakashi when they were in the team #but this is about what Rin thinks and it's true that Obito’s precious people have always been Rin and Kakashi #I'd like to explore Rin and Obito’s relationship too but I want to do a deeper analysis on the canon before #art #sketch #naruto #kakashi hatake #rin nohara

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dakusan · 1 day ago

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Under the weather, under their care.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, sick day fluff

🌙 synopsis: you’re sick. your head hurts, your throat’s sore, and your body feels like it’s made of led. lucky for you, the boys don’t take your sick days lightly. from dad-mode chan to chaotic nurse han, here’s how each member would react to you being under the weather.

💌 a/n: I made this upon request, @cybergracie, she's sick, I HOPE U GET WELL BESTIE 🥺. this is a fluff-heavy, comfort-core piece. each member is written with personality accuracy in mind—not just idealized bf fluff, but the actual way they’d show care in their own unique ways. also: please imagine han beatboxing your fever away. thanks. ps. reblogs = love

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Still With You" — Jung Kook

Bang Chan // ��찬

The second he notices something off—your voice a little hoarse, your body a bit sluggish—he’s on it. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’s clocked it. You barely get a chance to brush it off before he’s already adjusting his schedule around you. If he's on tour or at the studio, he’ll be checking in constantly with messages like:

“Did you eat anything yet?” “Are you resting properly?” “Don't make me come home early, I will.”

When he is home, though? You’re not lifting a single finger. He’s all over the place—running to the pharmacy, heating soup, fluffing your pillows, and making sure you’ve got water within reach at all times. He’s quiet about it too, not making a big deal, just subtly doing what needs to be done because taking care of the people he loves is second nature to him.

You try to tell him you’re fine, and he just raises an eyebrow.

“You’re literally shivering. Don’t argue with me.”

He doesn't smother, but he's present. Keeps a calming hand on your back while you nap, plays soft music in the background to soothe your headache, and watches over you without making it feel overbearing. He reads the room well—gives you space when you need it, but never strays too far.

If you get emotional or frustrated about being sick, especially if it messes with your routine or makes you feel helpless, he gets it. His voice goes softer. He cups your cheek with a warm hand and murmurs:

“You don’t have to be strong right now, okay? Just rest. Let me take care of you for once.”

He will pull out the dreaded herbal stuff his mom used to make him drink when he was sick—“it tastes like sadness but it works”—and insists on staying up to monitor your fever, even if you beg him to sleep.

He keeps your hair out of your face, wipes your forehead with a cool cloth, and kisses your temple like it's instinct. Being with Chan when you're sick doesn't feel like being a burden—it feels like you're being wrapped in care, in love, in quiet devotion.

He won’t let you thank him too much either.

“You’d do the same for me. And besides, this just means I get extra cuddles when you’re better.”

Lee Know // 리노

He notices immediately. You don’t even have to say anything—just one look at your slightly pale face, the slower blink, the off rhythm of your breathing, and he’s narrowing his eyes like:

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

When you try to deny it, he just stares you down until you give in with a sigh. You’d think he’d tease you, but no. Lee Know becomes uncharacteristically serious when it comes to your health.

He's not dramatic about it, but he’s efficient.

The moment you admit you’re not feeling well, he’s already on his phone checking what’s in the pantry, planning what you can eat, and quietly adjusting his day to make sure you’re not alone. He doesn’t announce it. He just does it.

He shows care through actions—not babying, but making sure you’re comfortable. Your favourite blanket suddenly appears around your shoulders. The heating pad is already plugged in. He hands you medicine without saying a word and watches to make sure you take it properly.

He cooks for you—but don’t expect anything fancy. You’re getting classic, warm, nourishing meals, exactly the kind of food that won’t upset your stomach. And yes, he’ll roast you a little:

“It tastes bland because you’re sick. What, you want Michelin-star when your nose is running?”

He absolutely will not cuddle you while you’re contagious. He’ll stay close, sure—sitting at the edge of the bed, folding laundry nearby, occasionally brushing his fingers through your hair with a sigh—but full-on snuggles? Nope. Not until your fever’s gone and you're cleared.

But he doesn’t leave the room either.

He stays just far enough to keep from catching whatever you have, but close enough to monitor you. He keeps one earbud in to give you peace but always pulls it out the second you shift or wince.

And when you wake up coughing at 3AM? He’s already by your side, handing you water before you can ask. His voice low and gentle, like:

“Don’t talk. Drink first. Breathe.”

If you start crying or feeling weak, that’s when he gets quiet. He won’t overwhelm you with comfort, but his gaze softens. He tucks you in tighter, hand lingering just a little longer against your forehead.

“You’re allowed to be sick. Stop trying to act like you're okay all the time.”

Later, when you’re getting better and a bit more dramatic than necessary (maybe asking him to fluff your pillow again), he smirks and rolls his eyes.

“You’re milking this. I know you.”

But he still does it. And when you're fully recovered, that's when the affection comes back in full—teasing kisses, long hugs, and a quiet,

“Don’t get sick again. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

(And maybe a whisper when he thinks you’re asleep:

“You scared me a little, you know.”)

Changbin // 창빈

The moment he finds out you’re sick, he goes from 0 to 100. Like, you text him “I think I caught something” and five minutes later he’s blowing up your phone with:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMETHING??” “How bad is it??” “Do you need me?? Should I come over?? I’m coming over.”

When he does show up, he’s carrying way too much. A full bag of random groceries, multiple drinks (some contradictory—like, why ginger ale and sports drinks and vitamin C packets?), tissues with lotion, and something pink and fluffy that you’re not even sure has a purpose.

And he's breathless, out of breath from rushing, still in his hoodie and slippers like he didn’t even stop to fully change.

“Okay—okay, first things first—do you have a fever? No, wait, let me check—no, you don’t check, I check—”

He's definitely the type to Google your symptoms while sitting next to you, holding your hand like you’re dying. You cough once and he’s already deep into “early signs of pneumonia” and quietly panicking.

But here’s the thing—under all that chaotic energy is someone who really, really cares.

He wipes down surfaces, makes you take medicine on time, and paces while you nap because he can’t sit still when you’re unwell. If you so much as shift in your sleep, he’s immediately next to you.

“Do you need something? Water? Blanket? Me? I mean—I’m here—just say the word.”

He tries to cook. Like really tries. Follows a recipe video step by step, but ends up making the kitchen look like a warzone. The food is edible, and honestly, it tastes way better than you expected—but it comes with a sheepish smile and a “Don’t die, okay? I put my soul in that rice.”

He’s the type to encourage you to laugh through the misery, even if he knows you feel like crap. He’ll pull out his silly voice impressions, make faces, or randomly do aegyo just to get a smile out of you.

And when you’re too tired to respond? He quiets down. Holds your hand gently. Tucks the blanket up to your chin and just stays close.

“Rest, jagi. I’ll stay right here. I promise.”

And if you thank him too much, he gets all bashful and dramatic again:

“Stop being cute when you’re sick! I’m trying to focus on taking care of you, not falling in love all over again!”

Hyunjin // 현진

When you tell Hyunjin you’re sick, he gasps like you just confessed a tragic secret.

“You’re what? Sick? You?!”

He's immediately distraught. Not because he doesn’t know what to do—he actually does—but because he hates seeing you like this. His empathy is through the roof. If you're miserable, he's basically miserable by osmosis.

He shows up in a long coat, scarf, and a tote bag full of oddly curated items: a sketchpad, multiple fancy drinks, a candle he claims will help “cleanse your aura,” and a tiny stuffed animal “to guard your bed.”

But once the theatrics die down, he’s incredibly gentle.

He speaks softly around you, like he’s scared to disturb your peace. Brushes your hair back from your face with his knuckles. Gets you tissues and cool compresses and rubs your back when you cough. He doesn’t make a fuss out of helping—you just look up and he’s already kneeling next to the bed, adjusting your blanket with care.

“I don’t like this. You should always be glowing. You’re supposed to be warm and smiley and annoying me with your weird jokes.”

He doesn’t necessarily cook full meals, but he’ll cut fruit for you like a seasoned Korean mom. Brings you sliced apples and pears with toothpicks and arranges them in little patterns. He lights the candle (of course he does) and hums softly while you rest.

And when you fall asleep, he doesn’t leave.

He curls up at the foot of the bed like a quiet cat, sketchbook in his lap, drawing you as you sleep—not in a weird way, just a soft “I want to remember you like this, even if you’re sick” way. His lines are delicate. Thoughtful. Honest.

If you start crying out of frustration or exhaustion, he immediately drops everything to cradle you, whispering into your hair:

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in. Let me carry it for you.”

He’ll cry too, but quietly. Not to take the attention off you—just because it genuinely hurts to see someone he loves in pain.

And when you finally start to feel a bit better, he brightens like the sun peeking out after rain.

“You’re healing,” he says, brushing his knuckle under your eye, “and when you’re fully better, we’re going to go out and celebrate your immune system.”

Because of course he would.

Han // 한

Han freaks out immediately—but it’s not super helpful at first. You text him something simple like “I’m feeling kinda sick today,” and within ten minutes he’s calling you with a full-blown gasp:

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE DYING—okay no you’re not dying BUT LIKE—ARE YOU OKAY???”

He’s definitely pacing back and forth in his room, still in pyjamas, with a headband holding his hair back and zero plan on what to do. He panics first, then pulls himself together. His love language is chaos-then-action.

He shows up at your place with a bag that makes no sense: two different kinds of ramen, a random juice box, cough drops, chocolate, three stress balls (“in case you’re bored”), and a neck pillow. No medicine. No actual meals. Just vibes.

“Okay okay, hear me out—I panicked. But I brought snacks and love.”

Despite the scattered brain, he pulls it together when it really counts. He’s attentive. He’ll sit next to you while you rest and hold your hand loosely, thumb brushing over your knuckles. He won’t say anything for a while—just watches you with those big, warm eyes full of concern.

If you’re curled up and miserable, he’ll adjust the blanket for you and say in a surprisingly soft voice:

“I don’t like seeing you like this. I’d rather be sick instead.”

(He means it. But also, if he got sick, he'd be 10x more dramatic than you. Bedridden. Needy. Demanding forehead kisses every five minutes.)

He makes you laugh without even trying. The moment your fever breaks a little and you can sit up, he’s already putting on dumb videos, doing weird impressions of your doctor, or lip-syncing to ballads with way too much emotion.

He’ll also say stuff like:

“If you die, can I keep your hoodie collection? Not because I want them, just so no one else gets them.”

Followed by:

“Wait, no, don’t die. You’re the only person who laughs at my weird jokes.”

He’ll write you a freestyle rap while you nap. It’s bad. It’s so bad. But it’s from the heart. And you wake up to him beatboxing quietly next to you, working on rhymes like “She’s sick but she’s slick, with tissues so quick—uh, what rhymes with thermometer?”

And even if he makes light of it, he doesn’t leave. Not until you’ve eaten something. Not until you’re tucked in. Not until he’s made you laugh at least once.

“You’re not allowed to feel gross. You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen—with or without the sniffles.”

Felix // 필릭스

Felix immediately switches into guardian angel mode the moment you tell him you're sick. His brows knit together with concern, and he softly goes:

“Oh no, darling… Are you okay? What hurts? What do you need?”

His voice somehow gets even softer than usual, and that’s saying a lot. He doesn’t waste time—he’s already got a mental checklist going. He shows up at your place like a quiet storm, arms full of carefully selected things: your favourite tea, fresh fruit, his cosiest hoodie (the one you steal all the time), and a little handwritten note that just says “rest well, lovebug 🤍” tucked into a book.

He moves around your space like he’s done this a thousand times. Lights a soft-scented candle. Makes you tea—ginger, lemon, honey, everything—and hands it to you with both hands like it’s sacred.

“Sip slowly, yeah? It’ll help your throat.”

He speaks in a hush, like he’s scared to be too loud and disturb you. But even more than that, he listens. He watches your cues. If you don’t feel like talking, he sits quietly and rubs your back in slow, rhythmic circles. If you’re cranky or frustrated with how you feel, he’s patient. He doesn’t dismiss it. Just murmurs,

“It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He won’t let you feel guilty for needing help. He doesn’t even think twice about it—it’s just natural to him to care for you. He’ll spoon-feed you porridge if you’re too weak to eat (with a soft, teasing “open up, baby~”), fluff your pillows, and offer to braid your hair to keep it out of your face if it’s long.

And when you’re really out of it, in that floaty feverish state? He hums lullabies to you. Soft, low, breathy melodies while running his fingers through your hair, grounding you like an anchor.

He’s physically affectionate but gentle—he won’t cling if you’re uncomfortable, but he’ll press a kiss to your forehead with reverence when your fever starts to come down.

“You’re getting better already. That’s my strong baby.”

When you start feeling a bit better and try to apologize for being so out of it, he just shakes his head and smiles that soft, dimpled smile:

“I’d take care of you a hundred more times if it meant I get to love you this much.”

Seungmin // 승민

You text him: “I think I’m getting sick.”

His reply:

“Wow. Weak.” “Do you want me to come over or are you going to survive this incredibly tragic cold on your own?”

He teases you endlessly, even when he’s already halfway out the door with a tote bag full of essentials. He’s not the kind to show up flustered or chaotic—he’s cool, collected, and annoyingly prepared. He stops by the pharmacy like it’s a casual errand, picks the right kind of medicine, and shows up at your place with soup containers labelled with the exact heating instructions.

“Because I know you’re going to ignore me when I leave. So I made it idiot-proof.”

Despite the constant roasting, he’s weirdly good at caretaking. Like, scary good. He’s probably done this for the other members a million times. He doesn’t hover, but he keeps you on schedule—meds on time, hydration checked, food warm. He sets timers on his phone like:

“Every 4 hours, you're drinking something. I don’t care if it’s water or juice. Just not coffee. Don’t test me.”

He definitely sits at the edge of your bed or couch with a mug in hand, watching you like a judgmental hawk while you eat something.

“Chew slower. You sound like a vacuum cleaner.”

He’ll bring over one of his own hoodies and act like it’s no big deal when you snuggle into it—but there’s a flicker of fondness in his eyes when you do.

If you’re really sick and end up crying or feeling gross, Seungmin’s whole vibe shifts. His voice softens. His teasing fades out, and he looks at you like you’re fragile—but never in a pitying way. Just... attentively.

“Hey. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up and pretend you’re okay. You're sick, not invincible.”

He sits beside you, holding your wrist gently and checking your pulse like he knows what he’s doing (and honestly? He kinda does).

When you’re asleep, he doesn’t leave right away. He stays long enough to make sure you’re breathing evenly, your fever’s down, and that your glass of water is full. He’ll tidy your space a little—nothing crazy, just enough so that you’ll wake up feeling a bit more at ease.

And if you ask him why he’s being so sweet the next day?

“Because I don’t want you to die. Who else would I bully?”

And then under his breath, as he's walking away:

“…Plus, I care about you. Obviously.”

I.N // 아이엔

Jeongin freezes when you tell him you’re sick. Like—deer in headlights, soul leaving his body—kind of freeze.

“You’re… sick?? What do I do?? What am I supposed to do?? Do I call Chan-hyung?? Is there a number for this??”

He genuinely panics at first, not because he doesn’t want to help, but because he doesn’t want to mess anything up. He’s never fully confident in these situations, but the second he realizes you need him, he pulls it together real fast.

He shows up at your door with the most random collection of items: yogurt (he read online it helps), a bag of cough drops (he bought 3 kinds just in case), a warm scarf (that he knitted, sob), and a tiny teddy bear he won at a claw machine a week ago.

“He’s here to keep you company when I can’t. Don’t get attached, though. He’s still mine.”

Once inside, he’s constantly checking with you—nervously, but sweetly.

“Do you want porridge? I can try making it… it might be weird though.” “Do you feel hot? Like fever hot, not hot-hot. Not that you’re not hot—okay never mind—”

He’s flustered. So flustered. But he puts 200% effort into everything. He follows tutorials to make you soup and burns his tongue taste-testing it (“worth it”), tries to fluff your pillows in just the right way, and keeps offering you water every ten minutes.

He might pace a bit when you're napping, muttering to himself like:

“Okay, don’t forget the medicine at 2. And check the temperature. And don’t forget to smile when she wakes up. But not creepy. Calm smile. Natural. Chill. I'm chill.”

If you’re too tired to talk, he’ll just sit nearby, playing quietly on his phone, occasionally peeking over to make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t leave until you force him to rest too. And even then, he sets an alarm so he can wake up and check your temperature in a few hours.

And when you’re finally feeling better, all the tension leaves his body in a big sigh of relief—and he gets shy.

“You’re okay now… That’s good. I didn’t really do much but… I’m glad I was here.”

Then adds with a soft, sheepish smile:

“Next time, let me take care of you before you pass out trying to act fine, okay?”

He’s your little protector in disguise—nervous, thoughtful, and quietly proud of himself for stepping up when it counted.

#stray kids x reader #skz ot8 x reader #comfort fic #soft skz #skz imagines #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #ot8 soft hours #han beatboxing ur fever away

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daddyslittlecrow · 11 hours ago

Note

How about period Sex with caleb⁉️⁉️

YES YES I WILL!!

Oh.

You meant…no, no, of course. It's just a prompt! Not a serious possibility 🤧

Anyway….I love these types of prompts. Menstruation happens whether people like it or not and I absolutely love that the game has 5 such gentle, kind period trackers ❤️

And they would all absolutely fuck you during it if you let them

Not proofread, sue me 🤘

Warnings: 18+ MDNI

Painkiller - Caleb

For some reason, the cramps seemed to be much more intense this month. You spent the last few hours curled up around a heating pad, willing the painkillers to keep working. While the pain was still manageable, you peeled yourself from the sheets, hobbling to the bathroom to change your pad.

By the time you were washing your hands, you heard the door to your apartment shut. Caleb. You shamelessly texted him a while ago, begging him to come over after work so he could take care of you.

You collapsed back into your nest of self-pity just as he burst through the door. “I bought 4 different kinds of chocolate to avoid any tears. Learnt my lesson last time.” He said immediately, a plastic grocery bag in one hand and the other hiding behind his back.

He bent down. His kiss told you how much he missed you, caressing your lips with his. The scent of aftershave mingled with steel consumed you. You breathed him in, urging your racing heart to settle. It didn't help that he was still in his sexy uniform.

Caleb straightened up, a boyish grin plastered on his face. “Also got you these for being so brave.”

Red roses. Emotions swelled in your chest as you admired them. His gesture was returned with a weak smile. “They’re beautiful Caleb. Thank you.”

He left the bag of supplies next to you before walking out with roses and the vase that held last week’s bouquet. While you felt somewhat okay now, you knew the cramps were lurking. Patiently waiting until the painkillers left your system so they could seek revenge.

Thank God you asked him for more. The pills you took earlier were the last one in the box. You brought the grocery bag closer to you, sifting through the chocolate and pads. Oh no. Quickly dumping everything onto the bed, pure panic bubbled.

“Where are the painkillers?” Caleb was walking back into your room, eyes growing wide at your words. His cheeks flushed. He had forgot them, distracted by the flower stand.

You tapped your phone screen, checking time. It was too late. By the time Caleb returned to the store it would be closed. You sighed dramatically. “I guess I'll die tonight then.”

Caleb chewed on his bottom lip, feeling terrible that he racked his brain for a solution. He placed the roses on your nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. The warmth of his finger tips felt soothing as he traced patterns along your back. You were wearing the comfiest things you could find. A pair of sweatpants and one his t-shirts.

His amethyst eyes drank you in like you were the most beautiful creature on earth. Even if you thought you looked horrendous with your hair piled on top of your head and a lovely hormonal spot screaming for attention on your chin.

“You know Pips…i think I read somewhere that orgasms can help. Eases the cramps.” You laughed despite feeling your cheeks start to burn. Despite feeling miserable during your period, it also made you extra…sensitive.

“Nice try. Did you suddenly forget there’s literal blood flowing out of me?” You reached for one of the chocolate bars, trying not to focus on the slight tremble of your hands. “Come back when the river’s running clear.”

Caleb shook his head, hand sliding down to the hem of his t-shirt. Last month he had finally realised you got incredibly horny during your period. But you never initiated anything and he gave you space, assuming you weren't into it. But he decided to test the waters today.

He loved taking care of you and if that meant making you cum so you'd be less uncomfortable, well? It was a win-win in his books. “What if I told you I don't care whether you’re on your period or not?”

Avoiding the burning glare of his eyes, you snapped off a piece of chocolate and shoved it in your mouth. Anything to distract you from the pulsing sensation that started between your legs.

It's not that you thought it was gross to have period sex, you just couldn't stop imagining a grimace on your boyfriend’s face if he looked down. You’d rather just avoid the potential for embarrassment.

Caleb leaned over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your breath hitched, a dribble of chocolate at the corner of your mouth. He knew his proposal interested you. Your thighs pressing instinctively together did not go unnoticed.

But he could also see you were too in your head, worrying about the worst case scenario. At war with yourself. He just needed to get you to stop thinking altogether.

The pad of his thumb collected the chocolatey drool before pushing it back into your mouth. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt his thumb go past your lips.

“Suck.”

The command went right to your pussy, feeling it flutter with anticipation. A small groan slipped out of you. Instantly your lips wrapped around him, swirling your wet tongue around the tip. Just like you did with his cock.

Caleb hissed. Restraining his desires was quite the challenge when you hollowed your cheeks slightly to suction him. Your eyes locked on his - eager, waiting. His jaw clenched, forcing himself to ignore how hard he was already - straining painfully against his work trousers.

This wasn't about him.

A soft pop followed as Caleb removed his thumb from your mouth. Then his lips were on yours, claiming them, swallowing the soft moans the came from your throat. He took those sweet sounds as permission to keep going but he wanted to make sure.

He grabbed the material of the t-shirt, peeling it up over your head. Your back hit the mattress as he gently pushed you down. His eyes trailed down to your bare breasts before lowering himself, his body almost on top of you.

He kissed a scorching path down your neck, stopping when he reached one of your nipples. Your back arched, pushing your breast closer to his mouth. He smirked, flicking out his tongue to tease the sensitive bud. You whined. “Caleb…”

“Good girls use their words, pipsqueak.” His hand slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, then your panties. A wave of embarrasment hit you and you tried to move his hand away.

Caleb tutted before grabbing your wrist with his free hand, pinning your arm over your head. His fingers pressed against your clit and you moaned loudly as he worked in agonizingly slow circles. Every bit of hesitation melted away as your pussy clenched around nothing. His eyes never left yours.

“Tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” He murmured against your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth. The tempo of his fingers increased, making your hips buck.

“You - ah - I want…you.” The pleasure started to build, making it difficult to speak. Caleb growled against your breast before removing his hand from your panties.

He practically ripped your bottoms off your legs, leaving you bare before him. His eyes hungrily roamed your body before stopping at your swollen pussy.

He didn't expect how aroused he got seeing your wetness tinged pink with blood. His dick was leaking at the sight. You’d feel so much wetter, hotter, if he sank his length into you right now. And because you were extra sensitive, you'd be able to feel every thick inch as he dragged through your gummy walls.

Before you could start overthinking, he gripped your thighs hard and pushed them apart, opening you wider for him. “Just like back and let me make you feel good, beautiful.”

Your fingers clutched the sheets, trying to anchor yourself as he resumed his touch on your engorged clit. You moaned his name like a prayer. He answered by bringing his middle finger right next to your pulsing hole.

“You want it Pips?” His voice was rough with raw need. He ignored your desperate hips urging him to go further, to fill you with his long finger. “Fucking beg for it.”

You let out a sob as his movements on your clit slowed, refusing to indulge you until you obeyed. “Please let me cum on your…ah…your fingers. I need you.”

The air left your lungs as he slammed his finger into your pussy. He grunted as he fucked it into you hard, making your eyes roll back as your body writhed. In. Out. In. Out.

The sounds of your squelching cunt was sending you close to the edge. He added a second digit, stretching your slick walls. Your hips rocked to match his pace, fucking his fingers as your stomach clenched from the intense pleasure that grew.

“That’s it baby. I know. It feels good doesn't it? So tight. Want you to cum.” Caleb curled his fingers, massaging your g-spot as your moans grew louder. “Good girl. Cum for me. All over my fingers.”

The tension in your body finally snapped. Your jaw went slack as you let out a guttural scream, pussy clenching as you chased each wave of your orgasm. Caleb continued to sciossor his fingers into you, loving how your back arched from what he did to you.

After a few more leisurely pumps, he withdrew his fingers. You melted into the mattress, utterly spent. Your flushed face only burned hotter when Caleb immediately went to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and gently cleaned you up.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, afraid he may have been a bit too rough. He just couldn't help it. He stopped cleaning a few times to leave kisses on your stomach.

Despite cringing at the undeniable mess between your legs, he may have been right. Your orgasm seemed to keep your cramps at bay for a while longer. “That was definitely better than swallowing a few pills.”

You broke out into a fit of laughter and he grinned as he leaned over to kiss you. Your eyes bore into his when he pulled away, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You didn’t miss the michevious spark that burned in his gaze.

“I’ll check in with you we get something to eat. I might be able to give you something…stronger if the pain comes back.”

#lads #love and deepspace #lads mc #lnds caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #l&ds #smut

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enhateez · 1 day ago

Text

BF!ATEEZ & WHEN YOU LEARN ABOUT THEIR HOBBIES | ATEEZ

pairing : : bf!ateez x gn!reader

genre : : pure fluff

warnings : : none but a suggestive line if you squint (or its just me being dirty minded 🤷🏻‍♀️ )

author's note : : these are just my headcanons! they may differ from yours, so don't take them srsly <3 I was giggling and kicking my feet while writing this 💕 thank you for requesting this @atinyyuyu 💖

KIM HONG JOONG !

You walk into Hongjoong’s studio, casually pointing at something on his screen, mentioning a term he’s always ranted about.

He freezes. His eyes go wide like you just uncovered his biggest secret. Hands pause mid-air, hovering over his keyboard.

Blush creeps up his ears as he stares at you. “How… do you know that?” almost comes out as a whisper.

He groans, burying his face in his hands, mumbling about how he must talk too much. You laugh, nudging his shoulder, telling him you just listen because you like hearing him talk.

He peeks at you through his fingers, ears still pink, but there’s a small smile growing. His pride and shyness are battling inside him.

Then, the excitement wins. He starts explaining, hands moving as he talks, eyes sparkling. His voice speeds up, getting more passionate with every word.

You nod along, watching him, admiring how happy he looks when he talks about the things he loves.

At some point, he tugs you closer, absentmindedly pulling you into his lap, too caught up in his explanation to realize.

When he does realize, he pauses, looking at you like he just processed what he did.

Blush deepens. Hands hesitantly settle around your waist. A small, flustered laugh slips out before he just… continues talking, pretending like nothing happened.

His voice stays steady, but his grip on you tightens slightly whenever you shift.

You rest your head against his, listening to him ramble, feeling the warmth of his arms around you.

He notices but doesn’t say anything. Just smiles to himself and keeps talking, a little softer this time.

PARK SEONG HWA !

You casually mention a specific LEGO set while Seonghwa is focused on building, and he immediately stops. Hands frozen mid-air, eyes blinking at you like you just cracked a secret code.

Slowly, he turns to you, suspicion all over his face. “…How do you know about that?”

You grin, admitting you’ve heard him talk about it before. His ears instantly turn pink. He groans, covering his face with his hands. “I knew I talked too much.”

You laugh, sitting beside him, watching as he pretends to be embarrassed but keeps sneaking glances at you, lips twitching like he’s trying so hard not to smile.

“Do you wanna help?” His voice is quiet, almost shy. When you nod, his whole face softens. He gently places a tiny LEGO piece in your hand like it’s the most important job in the world.

As you build together, his usual careful and precise movements get a little clumsy. His fingers brush against yours, and you swear he hesitates before pulling away.

At some point, you get a piece stuck and struggle to pull it apart. He chuckles, shaking his head before scooting closer. “Here, let me.”

Instead of just taking it, he covers your hands with his, guiding your fingers as he helps you. His hands are warm, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You glance up, catching him already looking at you. He clears his throat, quickly focusing back on the LEGO set, ears betraying him by turning even redder.

After a while, you yawn, stretching your arms. Without thinking, he reaches out and gently fixes your hair, tucking a stray piece behind your ear before realizing what he just did.

He stiffens. You raise an eyebrow. His eyes dart to the LEGO set. “...It was in the way,” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

You let it slide, but you don’t miss the small, flustered smile on his face as he keeps building—his hands still slightly shaky.

JEONG YUN HO !

You casually mention a strategy from his favorite game, and Yunho immediately pauses the game. No slow reaction, just an instant freeze. Controller still in his hands, mouth slightly open.

Turns to you, blinking in disbelief. “Wait… you know about that?” His voice is a mix of awe and mild panic.

When you nod, admitting you’ve heard him talk about it before, his face explodes into the biggest grin—but then it hits him. “Wait… have I been ranting that much?”

He groans, flopping back dramatically, covering his face with his hands. You poke his side, laughing. “It’s cute.”

His hands slowly lower, and his eyes narrow playfully. “Oh? Cute?” Next thing you know, he’s pulling you into a loose headlock, ruffling your hair as you squirm and protest.

He finally lets go, but not before pressing his cheek against yours for a second—quick, warm, and intentional. When he pulls back, his ears are red, but he pretends like nothing happened.

Offers you a controller, grinning. “Wanna play with me?” You agree, and the excitement in his eyes triples.

He scoots way too close, knee pressing against yours as he eagerly explains controls. His hand covers yours at one point, guiding your fingers on the buttons.

He’s terrible at hiding how happy he is. Keeps sneaking glances at you instead of the screen, smiling like an idiot every time you get something right.

When you win a round, he throws his hands up in fake defeat. "Okay, maybe you're not that bad,” he teases, eyes twinkling.

Suddenly leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder, voice softer now. “Guess I have competition now, huh?”

His breath is warm against your skin, and you don’t miss the way his fingers lightly drum against your knee.

He pulls back, still smiling, and hands you a snack like it’s a reward. “Okay, rematch. But this time, I won’t go easy on you.”

KANG YEO SANG !

You casually mention a specific skate trick Yeosang has been practicing for weeks, and he immediately freezes mid-motion. Board under his foot, arms slightly raised, completely stunned.

Turns to you slowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know about that?” His voice is calm, but his ears are betraying him, already turning red.

When you admit you’ve been watching him practice, he blinks a few times, then covers his face with his hoodie sleeve like you just exposed his deepest secret.

Tries to act unaffected but keeps stealing glances at you, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

“Wanna try?” He finally asks, casually patting the skateboard—except he’s definitely nervous now.

Holds your hands way too carefully as you step onto the board, like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

“Okay, just balance first,” he says, but he’s already hovering like he’s ready to catch you at any second.

The second you slightly wobble, his hands are immediately on your waist, steadying you. He doesn’t move them.

“See? You’re getting it,” he murmurs, voice softer now. His thumbs absentmindedly rub small circles against your sides before he quickly pulls away, clearing his throat.

After a while, you sit on the board while he pushes you gently, letting you glide across the pavement. He watches you with that soft smile.

When you reach the end, he crouches in front of you, resting his arms on his knees. “You look cute like this.” He says it so casually, like he doesn’t just make your heart race.

You throw a playful kick at him, and he laughs, grabbing your ankle before pulling you closer by the board.

Ends up just sitting beside you, the two of you sharing his hoodie while watching the sky turn orange.

“We should skate together more,” he murmurs after a while. Then, quietly—almost shyly—“Or just spend more time like this.”

CHOI SAN !

You show up at San’s place, casually holding a plushie he’s been wanting for ages. The moment he sees it, he gasps—like full-on, dramatic, hand-over-mouth gasp.

His eyes dart between you and the plushie, processing. Then, suddenly, he’s tackling you in a hug.

“HOW DID YOU—? WHERE DID YOU—?” He’s literally shaking you with excitement before snatching the plushie and hugging it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

Looks at you, eyes shining, voice softer now. “You… remembered?”

When you nod, he just stares at you for a second, like he doesn’t know whether to scream, cry, or kiss you.

Instead, he flops onto the couch, dragging you down with him, the plushie squished between you both. His arms stay around you, warm and secure.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the plushie—then, after a pause, nuzzling into you too.

He doesn’t let go. Just stays there, holding onto both you and the plushie like you’re equally important (which, let’s be real, you are).

At some point, he quietly says, “You always listen to me, huh?” His voice is filled with something soft, something almost shy.

You hum in response, running your fingers through his hair absentmindedly. He melts.

He’s quiet for a while, just enjoying the warmth, then suddenly—“Okay, now you have to name it.”

He shoves the plushie in your face, dead serious. “It’s basically our child now.”

SONG MIN GI !

You show up with a rare vinyl record of an artist Mingi loves but could never find, casually handing it to him like it’s no big deal.

He just… stares at it. Then at you. Then back at the record. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a tiny, breathless, “No way.”

Gently takes it from your hands like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. Turns it over, checking the details, his fingers shaking a little.

“How did you even—? Where did you—?” His voice cracks mid-sentence, and you barely hold back a laugh.

He suddenly pulls you into a hug—tight and warm, like he’s trying to pour all his emotions into it.

Pulls back, eyes shining, then hugs you again because once wasn’t enough.

Five minutes later, he’s already setting up his record player, bouncing slightly on his feet like an excited puppy.

As soon as the music starts playing, he grabs your hands and starts swaying with you, even though it’s not even a dance track.

He’s humming along, looking at you more than the record, and oh no, he’s getting soft.

Midway through, he suddenly spins you around—way too enthusiastically—causing you to almost fall, but he catches you just in time, both of you collapsing into laughter.

You end up on the couch, him lying across it with his head in your lap, still rambling about how much this means to him.

He keeps looking up at you with this ridiculously fond smile, one hand playing with your fingers as the record crackles in the background.

At some point, he just sighs, closing his eyes, murmuring, “You’re actually the best, you know that?”

He falls asleep like that—smiling, music playing, your fingers running through his hair. And yeah, he’s definitely dreaming about you.

JUNG WOO YOUNG !

You casually mention wanting to cook a dish Wooyoung has been talking about forever, and he immediately gasps—dramatic, hands-on-his-chest levels of shock.

“YOU?! Want to cook that? With me?!” He’s already bouncing on his feet, practically vibrating with excitement.

Before you can react, he’s grabbing an apron and spinning you around, insisting on tying it for you. “Stay still,” he hums, pulling the strings snugly around your waist.

He definitely lingers, hands resting on your hips a second too long. “Perfect,” he murmurs, voice a little too smug in your ear.

Immediately back to his usual self, he pulls you to the counter, explaining the steps with way too much enthusiasm. Keeps leaning in way too close, just because he can.

At one point, he dips his finger into a sauce and holds it up to your lips. “Taste.” His grin is teasing, but his eyes are soft.

When you hesitate, he boops your nose with his sauce-covered finger instead. “Fine, I’ll just feed you myself~”

And he does, gently pressing his finger to your lips, watching with a very satisfied smile as you taste it.

He gets playful, stealing tiny bites of ingredients, making a mess on purpose just so he can pout and say, “Guess we have to clean up together~”

Randomly back hugs you while you stir the pot, chin resting on your shoulder. Sways you side to side, murmuring, “We should cook together like this every day.”

When you finally finish, he sits you down, insisting he plates everything. “I have to impress you, obviously.”

He watches so intently as you take your first bite, eyes glowing when you tell him it’s good.

Then, with zero warning, he tackles you into another hug, peppering quick kisses all over your face. “You’re officially my cooking partner for life!”

He keeps holding on, swaying with you in his arms, mumbling something about how he loves this—loves you—but quickly covers it up with a loud, “Okay, now dessert!” before you can tease him.

CHOI JUNG HO !

You casually mention a pool technique Jongho once ranted about, throwing in a term he’s definitely used before.

He stops mid-shot, cue stick still in position, and just stares at you. Like you just told him you’ve secretly been a pool champion this whole time.

“Wait… how do you know that?” His voice is calm, but his eyes are so wide.

When you shrug and say you’ve heard him talk about it, he exhales, shaking his head with the smallest, flustered smile. “I really talk too much, huh?”

Tries to act unaffected, but the way he keeps rubbing the back of his neck definitely gives him away.

Offers to test your knowledge, stepping behind you and adjusting your stance, his hands warm as they rest on your arms.

He’s way too close now, voice soft as he murmurs, “Like this.” His breath tickles your ear, and you swear he’s doing it on purpose.

Guides your shot, his grip firm but gentle. When you actually make it in, he grins so proudly, ruffling your hair. “Not bad.”

But the second he takes a shot, you distract him by casually complimenting his form. His cue stick slips, and he glares at you while you laugh. “You did that on purpose.”

Tries to act mad but fails because he loves seeing you smile. “Alright, if that’s how we’re playing…”

Next thing you know, he’s caging you against the table, one hand flat beside you, smirking. “Maybe I should play like this. You wouldn’t be able to focus either.”

You shove him, and he finally bursts into laughter, pulling you into a quick hug before letting you go.

As the game goes on, he casually feeds you small snacks between turns, making sure you’re comfortable without even thinking about it.

When you win a round, he groans, flopping dramatically onto the table. “This is rigged.”

But then he peeks at you, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I have to play with you more, huh?”

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zorostitties · 23 hours ago

Text

Aurora; 11 (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: 9k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!!! This one came a bit late but here it is!! Honestly this chapter was the trickiest to write bc I didn't know how to still make most of it entertaining. I'm proud of myself for DESTROYING this writer's block with my own hands, though. 😈 With this chapter, we reach the mid point of our story!! Not literally, though, because I don't know how many chapters we still have ahead of us lol BUT we're def in the middle. ANYWAY! Feedback as usual is VERY MUCH appreciated! If you've been reading this fic up until now and never commented, please send me a hi or anything. I'll love to know how you like the story. DON'T BE SHY AROUND ME BABYGIRL 😈 Enjoy <3

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Caution was the rule that dominated Olrox’s life.

He had learned from a young age that in order to survive in this world, you have to be cautious about everything. The people you let into your life, your enemies, the alliances you make; before speaking, you should listen. Before forming an opinion, you should take as much information as you could find. Before taking action, you should think about it – plan it, revise it, think about it again and again and again.

Caution was what kept Olrox alive while his city and his people burned. Caution was the reason why Olrox was still alive to this day despite all odds being against him. And caution was what told him he had to leave the Old World soon.

Olrox knew when a war was lost; he had tried to turn the tables in the past, and it led to nothing but pain. He knew better now. Sometimes, retreating is the best course of action.

Erzsebet had retrieved the second half of Sekhmet’s soul. Olrox tried to intervene by giving Alucard an advantage in the run after the mummy; the son of Dracula had failed to take it. There was nothing he could do anymore, not now that Europe became Sekhmet’s territory.

Olrox had to be cautious for the sake of his inner voice – even more than usual. Erzsebet was still no goddess, but she had managed to summon the soul of one back to the land of the living… and that was a clear commandment for him to stay away.

Which is why Olrox was shocked at himself when he left the docks and flew towards Paris.

Every instinct in him was yelling at him to turn back. Her stench was worse than ever; he could feel her power from miles and miles away. It made the tiny hairs in his arms raise, made him feel genuine repulse. He shouldn’t be anywhere near her. That wasn’t fear or cowardice as he knew Mizrak had assumed. That wasn’t even just his caution.

No… that was something that ran deep within Olrox – in his body, his spirit and his soul.

It was a law he shouldn’t break.

Preys shouldn’t sleep around predators. Earth shouldn’t stop spinning. Rain shouldn’t go upwards. Fish shouldn’t be out of the water.

A god shouldn’t be anywhere near another god.

That is why Olrox had been so cautious ever since the night Tenochtitlan burned. He had to take care for something other than his life – his inner voice.

But Olrox was marching towards Paris anyway, and even though he knew the rules better than anyone else, he couldn’t stop himself.

Perhaps because a part of him never got to terms with what happened to his people, all these centuries ago. Perhaps because, although he promised himself to never join any cause that wouldn’t benefit him only, he never got over the fact that he had failed more than once to fight for justice.

Or perhaps because Mizrak’s saddened brown eyes didn’t leave his mind for a second.

And spend a lifetime running from her? No.

This was Mizrak’s response to Olrox’s invite to come to the New World with him. Not because he didn’t want to go; but because he didn’t want to live a life hiding from Erzsebet.

And perhaps that was enough of a reason for Olrox to want to defeat her.

The closer he got to Paris, the more his heart tightened. He felt his limbs get weaker, a strange ill sensation set in his guts. He’d never felt the presence of another god so strongly like that; before, Erzsebet was just feeding off Sekhmet’s power. Now that she had settled another half of the deity’s soul, things got entirely different. Much more complicated.

The greater force overwhelms the weakest. Erzsebet-Sekhmet had claimed territory over the entirety of Paris, even if she did it unknowingly. It made things even harder to navigate.

But Olrox remembered that Mizrak, a simple human being, was somewhere down there fighting, so he shouldn’t make excuses.

Even so – he had to be careful. Facing Erzsebet directly would be unwise.

Then, he decided to focus on Drolta.

He never liked her. She reminded him of the Spanish Christians too much. Her obsession disgusted him. But he had to admit that she was strong – much more now in this horrendous form.

So Olrox wouldn’t be able to face her in his usual form, too.

The transformation was longer than he expected, took too much energy from him; even in this form, he wouldn’t be able to give his all. Sekhmet’s presence overwhelmed him. But Olrox pushed forward anyway until he no longer resembled a man, but a giant, glorious winged snake in the night sky.

He came in time to save Alucard from a certain strike.

Purple lightnings of pure power slashed the sky.

Drolta knew what she was dealing with immediately.

She groaned, wrapping her arm around her own stomach for a moment – the exact spot where the power jolt hit her – before taking flight once again. She narrowed her eyes and took a defensive position.

“Quetzalcoatl,” She hissed in a mix of surprise, anger and pain. “I should’ve known you were just a snake!”

Olrox attacked again.

The sky got brightened up in eerie purple flashes as their battle unraveled above the ceilings of Paris. Drolta was strong – much stronger than a regular night creature, but her previous fight with Alucard had taken a toll on her. Meanwhile, Olrox was fighting with half of his usual strength; being in Sekhmet’s territory weakened him deeply. In fact, transmuting into the Quetzalcoatl form was something he shouldn’t even be doing, but fighting in his normal form against her would be suicide.

The scales were evenly balanced in this fight.

Drolta slashed his body with her sharp nails – so strong that they could pierce even through his usually impenetrable scale armor, making him snarl in pain. Olrox sent more and more lightnings in her direction. She flew in zigzag, trying to avoid being hit, and every time one missed, it destroyed entire chunks of buildings; any time it hit, Drolta yelled in agony.

Olrox understood Alucard’s strategy: by keeping Erzsebet and Drolta apart, they’d have double chances to defeat them. He knew some magicians – including the Belmont boy – were somewhere down there fighting Sekhmet’s vessel. All he had to do was keep her busy while they worked, even though Olrox didn’t know how much longer he could take…

His inner voice was unsettled; he could feel His discomfort, how it tugged at the corners of his consciousness, making him lose focus for a second. Back away, He ordered Olrox; Go away. Take distance. You must not be near them. You must not.

Yes, Olrox knew that; he knew what he was doing was foolish and Olrox didn’t like to be foolish–

Wait.

Near... them?

But Sekhmet was the only deity there–

His eyes passed rapidly by the city’s cathedral, meters and meters away from where he was. There… there was a figure laid in front of its central doors.

And at that moment, the world stopped.

Nothing else mattered. His inner voice. Drolta or Erzsebet or Sekhmet. His caution.

None of that mattered anymore because it was Mizrak and he was bleeding to death.

A desperate snarl erupted from his throat as Olrox flew in his direction, leaving an injured and tired Drolta behind. He crossed the streets at an unnerving pace, way too fast for a creature so big, making humans down there gasp and run, not knowing if this was another enemy.

Olrox didn’t care about any of them. He got close to the ground, his dragon form dissolving in a black cloud until what resurfaced was a desperate man running towards Notre Dame.

As soon as he got a good look at Mizrak, his heart dropped.

The black haired monk bled from the stomach – he had been pierced. He was laying on the floor, his fist tightened against the wound; his breathing was shallow, his lips already had a nauseating blue color. Olrox knelt down by his side and immediately took him in his arms. Mizrak was getting cold.

This can’t be happening. It can’t be.

Mizrak, who was nothing but fair and virtuous and kind; Mizrak, who weeped at the death of unknown people and put his life on the line for them, even if he was just a fragile human. Mizrak, who made Olrox remember the best mankind had to offer.

And he was dying.

Olrox ripped some of Mizrak’s cape and pressed it against the wound to stanch the bleeding; he gently tapped his face, called his name a few times. To his relief, Mizrak opened his eyes – but there wasn’t much strength to him. His olive skin was sickeningly pale.

Mizrak looked confused, as if his sight was out of focus. Then, Olrox saw the moment his pupils dilated almost imperceptibly.

“Ol...rox?” He managed to speak somehow – his voice was but a ragged, painful breath.

“Shhh. Don’t speak.” The vampire shushed him softly before, with the utmost care, helping him to sit. Mizrak groaned in pain. Cold fear crept up Olrox’s body; he had already lost way too much blood. Medicine wouldn’t save him, and as far as Olrox knew, there weren’t any healers powerful enough to help in France…

It was then that Olrox realized that the cold he felt had nothing to do with fear.

His eyes widened.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

He looked behind his shoulder in time to see the tall shadow approaching.

Olrox brought Mizrak closer to him protectively. The entity grinned at them, trembling in what could be interpreted as excitement. At that moment, Olrox damned that fucking Abbot for the hundredth time for dragging Mizrak into all this.

“Old Man Coyote,” Olrox hissed. “He’s not for you.”

His inner voice got agitated, which surprised Olrox. He has been in the presence of this demon before, and He didn’t show much of a reaction… what had changed?

The shadow laughed mockingly – it was like multiple voices overlapping – before disappearing once again.

He had to take Mizrak out of there as soon as possible.

His original plan was to just teleport both of them out of there, but fuck – Olrox had exhausted himself with Drolta; the little strength he still had was being suppressed by Sekhmet’s presence. Olrox helped the monk get to his feet, putting Mizrak’s arm over his own shoulders. Olrox didn’t know how damaged his organs were, so he had to be delicate. Slowly, Olrox started to walk out of there.

“We’re not far from a safe place,” Olrox explained. “Hold on a little longer.”

Mizrak whimpered in response. His head was hanging low, he panted with difficulty. It just made Olrox feel even more desperate.

Then, out of nowhere, the monk raised his head.

A new emotion clouded his face.

“Olrox…” he called in a weak voice again. The vampire shushed him.

“Save it. Everything will be okay.” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Mizrak or himself. The monk, however, got more and more agitated.

“No… Olrox… y-you have to…”

“Don’t exhaust yourself.”

Mizrak groaned again – but this time, it sounded more like frustration.

He looked over his shoulder; his eyes widened.

Using the little strength he still had, Mizrak put the entire weight of his body on Olrox’s side – making him lose his balance and stumble closer to the sidewalk.

“What–?” Olrox tried to say.

He had no time.

Mizrak got away from Olrox’s grip in a surprisingly swift movement and pushed him into an alley on their left.

The vampire fell on the cobblestones, completely confused; why did he do that? Did he not want to be saved? Was he disgusted of him–?

Light.

It came out of nowhere. It was blinding. It brightened up the whole sky.

Olrox watched with widened eyes as the avenue he was standing in a second ago was completely engulfed in light. He thought it was an explosion at first, but no boom or shockwave came. He felt his stomach drop, his fingertips shake.

Mizrak stood under the light with closed eyes.

Then, Olrox started to hear the screams.

They came from all directions, screams of the purest agony. Screams of death.

Things slowly made sense in his mind.

Olrox approached the corner of the alley. Hesitantly, he stretched his arm towards that light. His fingertips burned. He immediately flinched away.

That was sunlight, even though the sun itself was still hidden behind the eclipse.

He retreated and gazed at Mizrak in pure shock.

Mizrak… somehow, he knew that was going to happen. At the last minute, he pushed Olrox into that alley; it was between two tall buildings, reigned by shadows. Sunlight wouldn’t reach it from the position it was coming from.

That fragile human was on the verge of death himself, and even so, he saved Olrox’s life.

His heart tightened.

After no more than two minutes, the light diminished. Olrox didn’t care to learn where that came from, who caused it, and why it made his stomach drop like that. All he cared about was taking Mizrak in his arms again before he could fall. All he cared about was bringing Mizrak closer to him, cradling him, caressing his face.

Weakly, the monk put his gloved hand over Olrox’s.

He was visibly in so much pain. Even so, Mizrak’s half lidded eyes were full of determination and… care.

He took a deep, difficult breath before speaking.

“F-Fight.” Mizrak whispered. “For m-me.”

Olrox’s heart tightened even more.

The vampire never expected he’d find someone like this in the Old World. He never expected that this painful sweetness would take control of his actions again, of his sanity, overwhelming everything else – his usual caution, his selfishness, even his inner voice.

Mizrak represented everything Olrox loved about humanity.

So, if this fragile human asked him to fight – he would.

Olrox brought their faces closer to each other’s. He pressed his lips over Mizrak’s softly; his hand caressed the monk’s face gently. It was a chaste kiss – much different from all the kisses filled with passion and heat and anger they had shared. And yet, that simple press of lips ignited fire through Olrox’s soul much more than anything they’d done to each other before.

He could feel that something was happening not far from there. An explosion of red power that made him feel even more ill. That didn’t matter. Olrox just wanted keep closer to Mizrak for a second more.

Finally, he delicately laid Mizrak on the floor and got up. If he wanted to save the monk, he’d have to act fast; each wasted minute could cost Mizrak’s life.

Olrox was weakened. Olrox’s inner voice kept telling him to run away. He ignored all that and marched towards battle once more.

That day, Mizrak would lose his mortal life. And yet – he got something far more precious, far more powerful in return.

That day, Mizrak gained the heart of a god.

Drolta was tired.

Tired of the incompetence around her. Tired of these humans. Tired of waiting. She had waited for over a thousand years to awaken her goddess; century after century, she had roamed the Earth after a suitable vessel. Her only goal was to bring Sekhmet back. Everything she did was to comply with her duty as a High Priestess.

And she was tired of Erzsebet.

She took care of this woman for almost two centuries; fed her with her goddess’ holy blood, trained her, pampered her. Drolta killed thousands for Erzsebet’s sake. Drolta made a pact with a demon for Erzsebet’s sake.

And now that she had finally retrieved Sekhmet’s Ba after centuries of searching, how did Erzsebet repay her?

By being humiliated by a bunch of humans.

Drolta was tired.

So when she finally bit Erzsebet’s neck and sucked her blood, she felt nothing. There was a time when maybe, maybe, Drolta felt some sort of affection for her. Not anymore. Not now that she had ashamed and failed her.

This power belonged to her, after all. It had always belonged to her.

Drolta felt a wave of pure power penetrate her skin, her bones, her muscles, every centimeter of her body. It hurt like she was being pierced by a million needles, like she was being chewed by the biggest crocodiles of the Nile. An animalistic growl erupted from her throat; red energy revolved her, cloistered her, pierced her, clacking the air. The air got hotter than the midday sun in the Sahara. Her leathery skin smoked.

Pure agony was what her body felt; her mind, however, was enlightened – as if such excruciating pain broke the boundaries of consciousness.

So much power. It was as if she could see and hear everything at the same time, but all made sense; she could feel the weight of a spirit much, much higher than her permeate her mind. A spirit filled with anger and hate and blood thirst.

It almost felt like an inner voice, commanding her to attack.

Sekhmet, the Goddess of War; She Who Mauls.

Maniacal laughter escaped past her lips. The Belmont boy, knelt on the floor whilst holding the woman that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul, looked at her with widened eyes. Yes; feel scared, be frightened, for I have returned. She was tired of him, too. Drolta had faced Belmonts in the past and she hated all of them throughout history. It was time for that clan to end.

But most of all – that girl he was holding had to die. Who did she think she was to get anywhere near Sekhmet’s Akh? How dare she disturb her goddess’ soul like that? She didn’t know what Sekhmet needed, what she represented. She had no right to be anywhere near her.

After these two, she’d go after that snake. Drolta never trusted Olrox enough, but she didn’t think he’d have the guts to actually face her… and most of all – she didn’t know what lied within him. You must destroy them, her inner voice growled in a wrathful female tone that did not belong to her.

The son of Dracula was next in line. She was also sick of him. He had killed her once, and she’d have her revenge. Drolta would not give him another chance to escape.

And lastly…

Ruby.

She had to die.

It was all Erzsebet’s incompetence, Drolta knew; all she had to do was keep that girl locked and away from the world, but she obviously failed. Drolta spent so long breaking into her, making her submissive – and it all went to waste in less than a week. Now, things were out of control. Ruby had obliterated most of her army. Ruby was remembering, and she shouldn’t remember anything.

But Erzsebet was dead and Drolta had retrieved Sekhmet’s power, so there was no use in keeping her alive anymore. It was time to fulfill her part on the pact and finally get freed of it.

Yes. Everything was within reach. Everything. There was nothing she couldn’t do; there was nothing she couldn’t achieve; there was no one powerful enough to stop her. I am Sekhmet, Goddess of War, her inner voice growled. And I want my revenge against the humans who have wronged me.

Drolta would be the harbinger of this revenge.

She raised her right arm, ready to slash the Belmont boy with her sharp nails–

And it was stopped midway.

It couldn’t be. Not him again.

Alucard stood between the couple and her, halting her attack with his long sword. That… that half-breed bastard was putting himself in the way again. She couldn’t stand looking at his face anymore, she’d took her time to kill him and she’d make it as painful as possible–

Drolta felt a shiver run down her spine.

A shiver?!

No. That couldn’t be possible… she was the Goddess of War and Revenge. She was more powerful than anyone on Earth. Nothing should be able to make her shiver.

Alucard let a raspy, angry scream. It was the first time he let any sort of extreme reaction in all the times they fought. The air around him became different. Drolta… Drolta could see things she couldn’t before. There was a red aura growing around him as rapidly as flames on hay.

His sclera got red.

And at that moment, Drolta knew why she felt a shiver.

His power and his aura and his eyes made her body remember the most powerful creature who had walked this Earth, the only man who ever made her feel real fear, the only man who ever made her obey.

Drolta shouldn’t have forgotten – but that was the son of Dracula.

He didn’t get turned into a vampire, he was born as one. The Vampire King’s masterpiece; the perfect alchemical aberration.

And Drolta realized with anger that during all of their fights until that moment, Alucard wasn’t giving his all.

She growled back at him and tried to attack with her left arm. Alucard deflected it and pushed her back with his sword. No. No one should be able to push her back. She was… she was stronger than anyone else, wasn’t she?!

Drolta launched herself towards him again – this time, he wouldn’t escape. Alucard’s face was distorted in a scowl of anger now. He pulled his cape to cover his body and teleported in a beam of yellow light – only to appear behind her.

She had time to turn back and see as Alucard summoned a giant ball of pure fire and lava in her direction.

Drolta stopped it with her bare hands, but that thing kept pushing and pushing and pushing with the force of thousands of tons; she grunted with the effort, felt the ground beneath her crack, the air get so hot that it boiled the skin of her palms. No, she wouldn’t be defeated. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Drolta yelled when she finally managed to kick that thing away in the Belmont boy’s direction. Unfortunately, he deflected it somehow.

For the first time, she focused her gaze on him again.

The Belmont boy walked towards her, took his whip in his hands; a serious, stone hard expression covered his features. She could see it, too – the blue aura growing around him, invisible to the human eye. He’d never transpired as much power as in that moment. Shouldn’t he be at least tired after fighting against Erzsebet?

The girl behind him, the one that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul…

Mortals work better when they are in their best feelings.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta found all that pathetic.

Another maniacal laughter erupted from her throat as both men got ready to fight her: Alucard’s sword embedded in red fire, the Belmont boy’s whip embedded in blue. Pathetic is what both of them were. All of them were pathetic – these humans soldiers, the weak vampires that died in battle, Erzsebet, this disgusting city. They all would soon be trembling under her feet; it’s where every living creature deserved to be. Fear is what would unite this world. Fear would be her crown.

They attacked.

Drolta used her hair tentacles to deflect them. Each tentacle had an extremely sharp blade on their tips; they were able to cut through concrete and cobblestones with ease as they whipped around violently. Perhaps Alucard would be able to heal from such injuries, but the human boy wouldn’t – so she focused mostly on him.

Both men immediately understood her tactic.

They fought in synchronicity as if they were connected somehow, attacking while protecting each other. The Belmont snapped his whip around him, twirled mid air to create a field of protection around his body while pushing her tentacles away; whenever one got too dangerously close, Alucard cut them. Drolta was able to regenerate the tentacles fast with her new powers, but it still burned whenever one of them were able to slash her.

That wasn’t going how she wanted it.

Drolta used her nails to try to cut them, her legs to try to kick them, her tentacles to try to strangle them; they always somehow got away. The Belmont summoned fire and ice and lightning against her, somehow piercing through her thick skin; the red flames of Alucard’s sword burned her and his sheer swordsmanship confused her, forced her to be on her toes the entire time. The vampire made sure to tank her heaviest blows so the Belmont could attack with his magic freely.

Alucard jiggled from side to side in the blink of an eye – so fast that even her sharp senses failed to follow. Drolta couldn’t expect where his next attack would come from; his sword twirled in the air creating arches of death, trying to reach for her neck before falling in the hands of its owner again. He was even faster now compared to their previous fights, even more brutal, his precision heightened to two hundred percent.

Excruciating pain.

Drota widened her eyes. Blood spilled from her right shoulder and hair tentacles.

She was so focused on Alucard that she didn’t see when the Belmont sent a sharp ice shuriken wrapped in electricity her way.

Alucard didn’t give her time to recover.

He pushed her up towards the sky – up, up, up, each push more and more violent; his attacks came from all sides, his sword slashing and piercing her leathery skin, each cut deeper than the other. Alucard’s strikes were so fast and so intense and so disorienting and so painful that Drolta couldn’t help but stop for a moment to try to protect her body with her arms and tentacles; he didn’t give her any opening.

Enough!

Drolta screamed in both anger and pain. She whipped all of her tentacles towards him at the same time, finally managing to push him; Alucard fell many meters away back to the ground, creating a crater where he hit.

She smiled. There’s no way he didn’t get slashed by her tentacles this time–

The whip tangled around her neck.

Drolta didn’t have time to prepare for the kick on her face the Belmont struck, propelled by his fire magic. He kicked again, punched her head, kicked again; Drolta growled, feeling rage fill her more and more. That human scum had the audacity to hit her with his bare hands?!

She clasped her hands together and hammered him down to the ground. The boy hit the cobblestones on his back, blood spilled from his lips. Drolta grinned at his immobile figure; she made her nails grow until they were as long as a blade before flapping her wings and flying down on a beeline towards him. Oh, she’d pierce through his chest. She’d take pleasure in ripping his heart out with him still alive.

Her nails were centimeters away from his body…

And then, she couldn’t feel her left hand anymore.

Drolta had forgotten about the ice shuriken he made earlier.

It cut her entire hand off.

She yelled in agonizing pain and stumbled away, holding the severed arm close to her chest. He… he cut her hand off. That fucking human boy cut her hand off.

Anger as red as the sky above her rose from her heart.

Her body got once again wrapped in energy. Crimson electricity clacked around her; her tentacles moved around frenetically like angry snakes. No. That couldn’t be happening. She had achieved the power she sought for over a thousand years. These two couldn’t be offering her enough of a challenge… that didn’t make sense.

Her inner voice growled.

Will you continue playing around with my power like this?

Drolta was tired.

She turned to face them at the exact moment they would attack together.

Time stopped.

Drolta gazed at both men. They were frozen in the air centimeters away from her. They had painful expressions. She could see them struggling to break away from her spell.

The woman laughed and straightened her posture. She lifted her severed arm. After focusing a bit more energy there, it regenerated in the blink of an eye; bone, muscle, veins, flesh and skin rebuilding a new hand in seconds, much faster than Ruby’s healing. Her inner voice was right. She’d already given these two insects enough time to play around. She’d been fighting with what she knew; using her body and strength. But… that was only the surface of what a goddess could do.

Drolta focused on this new power, letting her heightened consciousness travel through it. The larger spirit that now inhabited her body had an infinite reservoir of power. So, so much power; so much energy. The possibilities of what she could do were infinite. They went much beyond just making her skin thicker, her muscles bigger or her tentacles sharper.

It didn’t matter that her opponents were the son of Dracula and this Belmont. Alucard wasn’t Dracula himself, he only had a fraction of his father’s power. And the Belmont… he was just a human magician.

Her newly grown hand got wrapped in pure energy.

She grinned and pointed her hand towards Alucard.

He had to go first. Not only because she despised him, but because he was hindering her attacks the most, confusing her, getting in the way and acting as a shield for the human boy.

Drolta unleashed a wave of red energy his way.

It blew on his face. Alucard groaned in pain as he was sent flying back meters and meters away, hitting a building on his way – destroying half of it – before hitting the floor the same way he did to her earlier at the Notre Dame.

And then – it was just her and the Belmont boy, frozen in time in front of her.

Drolta chuckled with cruelty again. He didn’t have his vampire shield anymore. That wave of energy would tear him to pieces.

Slowly, she aimed her hand at him.

For every suffering, a wisdom is gained, she thought. Maybe if this fight hadn’t happened, Drolta wouldn’t have realized the true extension of her new powers. For that, she was grateful. A goddess shouldn’t fight like a mortal. Now, she knew how to obliterate this city with a flick of fingers. After the Belmont boy was done – and after she beheaded Alucard; she knew that wasn’t enough to kill him – she would have no enemies powerful enough to face her anymore…

Her thoughts got interrupted by a punch.

Drolta got dizzy for a moment.

What?!

The Belmont boy – he broke away from her freezing spell and landed his fiery fist on her face.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta growled. She hated him. She hated him. She HATED him! He had to die. He was going to die right now. She raised her hand wrapped in power again to annihilate him – there was no way this human boy would survive her next attack–

The next second – all her power was gone.

That girl the Belmont put his life on the line to protect… she was floating in front of Drolta, holding her wrist with her much smaller hand.

And yet, when she squeezed Drolta’s wrist, she yelled in pain and fell to her knees.

Drolta looked deep within that girl’s eyes. They were golden, her irises were vertical like a feline’s. Her grip was hotter than Alucard’s lava ball; her expression was ferocious like a lioness’.

At that moment, Drolta finally understood.

That girl wasn’t stealing her goddess’ power. That girl… somehow she did what not even Erzsebet was able to do.

She became an avatar.

Drolta wasn’t looking at a human girl. Drolta was looking straight into the eyes of Sekhmet.

She shivered.

A part of Drolta wanted to smile, wanted to bow. Finally… after a thousand years, after uncountable nights of prayers, after sweat and blood and tears dropped, she stood in front of her goddess. The one she always fought for. The one who possessed her utmost loyalty and adoration. The one whom Drolta went to the ends of the world for; the one whom Drolta went as far as making a pact with a demon for her sake.

Drolta had fantasized of this moment many times before… the day she’d finally have Sekhmet walk on Earth again; and, if she died trying, the moment her goddess would meet her with open arms at the duat, after Anubis had weighed her heart as righteous and deserving of eternal rest.

But that was not how Sekhmet was looking at her at that moment.

Her golden eyes were clouded by rage and disapproval.

And, for the first time since her mortal days, Drolta felt shame.

“I am Sekhmet!” Her goddess growled as a golden aura grew around her like flames. “Guardian of the Dawn, Child of the Sun, Mistress of Healing!”

Drolta’s entire body shook in pain.

“I did this for you!” Drolta claimed. “All of this! I did it for you!”

“Made yourself into this unclean thing!” Sekhmet vociferated – and, as she spoke, Drolta realized that her inner voice was repeating the same words in unison; she felt as the soul within her and Sekhmet in front of her connected their consciousnesses into a single one. “Filled my temple with atrocities! Fed my soul to a disgusting walking corpse!”

Tears welled up Drolta’s eyes. Her chin trembled.

“So that you could live again!” She tried again; her goddess had to understand, she had to… “I-I thought it was what you wanted! I thought it was what you wanted!”

“It is time to balance the scales!” Sekhmet declared.

At that moment, reality hit Drolta.

Her beloved goddess. The one she had worshiped and served her entire life, from her mortal days to her vampire days to her reborn form…

Sekhmet was disappointed at her.

No. It was more than that.

Sekhmet despised her.

Tears dripped down Drolta’s cheeks.

“I thought it was what you wanted…” she whispered one last time. Pain much stronger than any physical attack slashed through her soul.

In less than a minute, Drolta’s determination was gone.

Her existence was pointless.

She did not fight as Sekhmet started to pull her power – her souls – back from Drolta’s body. She yelled in pain until her throat ached. She yelled for all the years gone to waste. She yelled as she felt her heart breaking into a million pieces.

Drolta weeped for the only real love she ever had as it turned its back on her, forever.

Alucard hadn’t completely healed the wound in his chest when Annette– Sekhmet intervened in the fight.

He almost sighed in relief when she did. He barely made it out alive of Drolta’s last attack; Richter wouldn’t have stood a chance. He stayed knelt on the floor holding his chest. Surprisingly, her attack made a lot of internal damage, but his skin wasn’t pierced – which didn’t mean he didn’t get hurt or wasn’t in pain.

But that pain could wait for now.

Because Richter was trying to reach Annette’s body as Sekhmet pulled her souls back.

Both of them – Annette and Drolta – were involved in a gigantic golden aura, as bright and as hot as the sun. Her power was jarring, he could feel it with every centimeter of his body. Richter made his way towards Annette with difficulty; he covered his arms with a layer of ice to try to lessen the burns before hugging her from behind.

A part of Alucard – the methodical part – was annoyed that this boy was intervening in the process. That was their only chance of putting Sekhmet’s souls where they belonged: out of anyone’s reach.

But Alucard’s mortal heart spoke much, much louder this time.

Because Richter was just a boy. Much stronger than the average human, carrying the heavy Belmont crest on his back with the responsibilities it possessed, one of the few mortals on Earth who could actually be a threat to a goddess.

But he was still just a boy in the end.

And like all Belmonts, he carried a heart too big, too sincere. It was a burden and a blessing at the same time. His heart made him experience the world in more intense ways than any other human Alucard ever met.

Richter was a Belmont. Like Juste, like his grandfather, his great-grandfather… like Simon. Like Trevor.

And on top of that, Richter was in love – and Annette could die at that moment, be consumed by Sekhmet’s power. This boy with a heart too big wouldn’t know what to do if he lost the one he loved the most.

So Alucard had to step in before he’d do something he would regret.

“Richter. My friend.” He called softly, resting his hand on the boy’s back, right over the Belmont crest.

Richter looked at Alucard with round blue eyes – scared blue eyes. I don’t care if we live in eternal fucking darkness, just leave Annette alone!, are the words that had just left Richter’s mouth. Alucard knew Richter didn’t process the true gravity of these statements, but at the heat of the moment, anything could become true.

He needed someone to be the voice of reason.

Alucard looked at him with empathy and quiet sadness.

“You know that’s not what she’d want.”

Richter gulped.

He tightened his eyes for a moment before finally – hesitantly – letting go of Annette.

Both men stepped back.

The golden aura between Annette and Drolta got stronger, more volatile. Tears of blood dripped down Annette’s eyes; Drolta screamed in pain like a hurt animal. The light got so strong that they had to protect their eyes.

Finally, with a last agonizing yell, that volatile aura exploded.

A shockwave hit them. Annette let go of Drolta’s wrist, each falling in a different direction; Richter rushed to catch her body before she could hit the floor.

Sekhmet’s presence was in this world no more.

Alucard would’ve sighed in relief if Annette weren’t in such a critical condition.

Richter was knelt on the floor while holding the girl in his arms. She was unresponsive. Richter called her over and over again, on the verge of tears; the scene made Alucard feel as if a cold hand gripped his heart.

He stood at some distance to give them space. In moments like this, Alucard wished he’d be fit to summon healing – it was one of the rarest forms of magic in existence. Healing someone else takes an absurd amount of energy… and this form of magic is not part of a vampire’s existence.

So there was nothing he could do at that moment but watch.

Richter was so young... he shouldn’t have to experience this type of loss so soon, especially when he didn’t even have the chance to confess his true (obvious) feelings.

You said you’d be here; make her feel it’s true. That she can always come back to you.

These were the words Alucard told him.

So, with a weak, trembling voice, Richter started his whispered confession.

His blue eyes were drowning in tears, but he still tried to sound firm as he described quietly the moment they first met. It even felt wrong for Alucard to witness this moment of fragility; he’d rather not be there at that moment, but he couldn’t walk away when they weren’t sure if their enemies were really gone. So Alucard chose to stand away from his field of view, but still protectively close. Richter held her gently.

“I can’t imagine the world without you, Annette. Any of it,” his voice was but a hopeful whisper. “Not hearing your voice, not seeing you roll your eyes at me, not waking up to know that whatever happens, somewhere, you are there. Please… don’t leave me. Please.”

Alucard tightened his lips. He felt genuine sadness at the boy’s heartfelt words.

...Something changed.

Annette’s body started to shine. Richter widened his eyes, startled.

But that shine was very brief this time. When it disappeared, Annette was herself again; her usual clothes were back, her hair was short again.

Alucard held his breath in anticipation.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were no longer soulless, her pupils weren’t vertical anymore… just her usual brown and round eyes.

“...You smell of burning,” she said in a weak, raspy voice.

Richter gasped. Fear immediately left his gaze, being replaced by utmost relief and joy. He chuckled and sighed. “Y-Yeah, that would be you… you’re like holding burning coals.”

Alucard watched with a small, serene smile while they hugged each other and cried.

He knew that feeling very well. Being so deeply in love with someone that your heart aches for them. Caring so much about someone that being apart brings genuine suffering. Sharing their sadness, their happiness, wanting to support them at every moment, knowing them intimately – and receiving this same intensity back.

Alucard had fallen in love countless times during his life… but it’s been a long time since he let himself feel it to the fullest. He decided to shroud his heart after so much pain, so much longing. At the slightest sign that he was beginning to develop feelings for someone, he’d immediately distance himself. He couldn’t bear going through anything like that anymore.

But at that moment, he realized something.

He’d been running away from pain and longing for so long that he had forgotten how love can be… sweet.

Was… was Alucard ready to feel it at its full intensity one more time?

Would his heart be strong enough to bear this again?

Did he even have the right to feel it, especially considering who this involved? What if the other end was too fragile to take him? Would Alucard take the pain of allowing himself to feel something like this again, only to have it ripped away from him like so many times in the past?

Would it be fair for him and for her?

Alucard didn’t know.

And his thoughts came to a halt when an anguished scream slashed the air.

Drolta.

She held her head, her breathing was irregular… for a second, she looked absolutely lost – almost like a child throwing a tantrum.

Drolta gazed at a confused Annette with pure hatred.

Then – Alucard saw the exact second she realized something.

Her eyes widened. Her back stiffened.

Alucard saw everything that unraveled in the next few seconds in slow motion.

Drolta turned her head to the northeast. At first, the vampire thought she wanted to flee – she was obviously weakened now; she had no power source, no army and no chances of winning. Of course, he would never let her go; his hand already gripped the hilt of the sword.

But then, Alucard saw her expression. The aggressiveness. The hurry in her gaze.

Those were not the eyes of someone planning to run away; they didn’t reflect defeat. That was not the gaze of a desperate woman wanting to go down fighting.

That was the gaze of a woman who had a plan.

And when she extended her giant wings and took flight, Alucard realized.

Notre Dame was at northeast.

He unsheathed his sword and flew.

Alucard hadn’t healed his wound completely; his brusque movement sent jolts of pain through his body. But at that moment, that didn’t matter – nothing else mattered, his mind went completely blank. Because even though Erzsebet was dead and Drolta was weakened and most certainly defeated, she still wanted to retrieve Ruby.

He would never let that happen.

They clashed mid air.

Drolta’s reflexes were slower now. Though she already sensed Alucard behind her, she couldn’t defend herself when he threw a heavy blow against her – sending her straight to the ground again not far from where they stood initially. A crater opened where her body hit, rising a cloud of smoke and debris.

She didn’t even have time to recover. Alucard was already upon her.

Both of them were slower, their limbs heavier, their powers weakened – but none of them wanted to lose. Alucard noticed that by Drolta’s fighting style, she was more worried in brushing him away than actually killing him. Her movements showed urgency. In fact, she looked almost desperate. Alucard was in a hurry, too; he didn’t know if Richter could still fight, considering the amount of blows he took, and Annette didn’t look like she could fight at that moment.

What was her plan? Why did she still want to get to Ruby? Sekhmet had completely vanished, the eclipse was still up in the sky – so what use would Ruby have? That couldn’t be just revenge. Drolta might’ve been defeated, but she would never lash out uselessly like this.

These answers would stay unanswered because Alucard needed to kill her.

He was tired of that woman, of the destruction she had caused, of the pain she inflicted. He’d been tracking her for five years – he needed to finish her right then and right there, he needed to end this chapter of his life. If Drolta staying alive meant Ruby would still be in danger, then there were no questions to be asked. She had to go – and she had to go now.

But Drolta was as determined as him.

She elbowed his chin in a blow that left him dazed; she gripped the hilt the sword and grabbed it from his hands. Then, she kicked his chest–

Right where the internal wound still hadn’t healed.

Alucard lost his senses for a second and fell on his back. He felt the taste of his own blood, his vision got blurred, extreme pain radiated from that spot in his chest to the rest of his body. As if she knew that was where the wound was, Drolta pressed her hoof right there to keep him on the ground. Alucard groaned in pain, trying to push her away–

His eyes widened when he looked up and realized what she was about to do.

Alucard had time to put his forearm in front of his body for some protection before Drolta impaled him with his own sword.

He screamed. The blade pierced through his forearm directly into his shoulder – if Alucard hadn’t moved a few centimeters up, she would’ve pierced his heart. With an angry growl, Drolta hammered the hilt of the sword with her fist with such strength that the blade sank into him, piercing the ground below.

Alucard spat blood. The pain was so extreme that he couldn’t think for a moment. Shit, I need to get up. I need to keep fighting. Get up!

His vision was still blurred when he saw Drolta being whipped from behind.

The woman let another yell of anger and pain before stumbling away from Alucard and turning around; Richter was, somehow, still standing. He had rushed to retrieve his whip which was already soaked in blue flames. His flames were visibly weakened now, showing the true state of his physical condition. Richter’s eyes, however, didn’t looked weakened; he sent a fast worried glimpse towards Alucard before gazing at Drolta with determination.

Alucard could hear the sounds of the fight happening beside him, but he didn’t look; he was too focused in trying to get his sword off him. He gripped it with his right hand and started to push it up. Every centimeter it moved send jolts of more pain throught his body. The internal wound and the wound Drolta had just inflicted hurt, his body was weak, his senses were slow – none of that mattered. He had to get up. He had to get up. Richter wouldn’t be able to fight for much longer. Get the fuck up!

With a last groan of pain, Alucard finally managed to take out the sword, holding it by the blade; it was completely soaked with his own blood. He looked towards Richter’s direction and his stomach dropped.

The Belmont boy was about to get hit with no defense.

“Richter!” Alucard managed to scream…

But a new sound completely engulfed his voice.

A purple lightning slashed the air.

Both Richter and Alucard looked above with shocked expressions as a giant winged snake floated near them.

Olrox hit Drolta on the chest with his electric attack; she screamed in agonizing pain, her whole body had spasms. Alucard didn’t expect that Olrox would come back, especially not to save Richter. The Belmont boy himself seemed shocked, though his eyes had anger and resentment in them.

Alucard took these small moments of distraction to stand up and hold the hilt of his sword again. He’d let himself feel pain and tiredness later.

With his last breath of strength, he ignited his sword in red fire once more.

Richter got the message.

As soon as Olrox’s attack ceased, Richter snapped his whip; it entangled around Drolta’s neck. She was too disoriented to resist. Richter pulled the whip, forcing her to bend on her back.

Alucard jumped in the air.

The sword was ready to come down on her neck.

Unexpectedly, Olrox sent another of his attacks – but this time, he aimed the lightning at Alucard’s blade, wrapping it in purple electricity which mixed with Alucard’s red fire.

Time slowed down once more.

Alucard could see everything with clarity: the air clacking with purple sparks around him. Richter’s blue fire burning Drolta’s neck. The reflection of his red fire on her face. Her widened eyes in an expression Alucard knew very well: the gaze of someone realizing they have nowhere else to go. The gaze of someone finally understanding they are about to die.

With the way Richter forced Drolta to bend, the ruby necklace came to rest directly over her neck. It was time to fullfill the promise Alucard made to Ruby and to himself.

The blade came down on Drolta’s neck.

A sanctified silver sword. The purple magic of a god. The red fire of a dhampir.

Nothing could withstand that.

The ruby stone was shattered to pieces.

Drolta’s thick skin offered no resistance.

And then – an explosion.

The three of them were sent flying back. The explosion was red; it had a strange cold feeling, it smelled of sulfur. Alucard had time to see an incredible amount of energy being released from the jewel when he broke it apart. The destruction of the ruby caused the explosion, which made Alucard realize in shock that that was never a regular necklace.

The explosion rumbled the entire city of Paris.

Then… silence.

Alucard got up with difficulty again. Richter too, a few meters away from him. Olrox’s dragon form floated above them. Drolta’s lifeless body stayed in the middle.

The air seemed lighter. The city was eerily quiet.

Alucard looked up.

The shadow that covered the sun… it was slowly disappearing.

It… it was over.

Alucard gripped the wound on his left shoulder. It still bled. Now, his whole body was in pain, but he still stood – because something else could unravel in front of him.

Richter and Olrox stood face to face. A giant winged greature and a Belmont. Richter’s whip was still ignited.

Alucard watched them with anxiety. He knew what had happened to Richter’s mother… and he also knew that neither him or Richter were in condition to fight anymore.

But Richter closed his eyes for a moment.

“...I will kill you, Olrox. One day.” Finally, the blue flames of his whip went out. “But not today.”

He opened his eyes.

They gave each other a last meaningful gaze before Olrox retreated in a shadow of pitch black smoke.

Alucard almost sighed in relief.

The red color of the sky was slowly being replaced by its original blue. The vampire closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself feel relief. He could hear the sounds of the city again… citizens realizing the eclipse was over… people walking on the streets…

Five years of searching for Sekhmet’s mummy, of planning a strategy against them, of finding ways to defeat their troops…

It was finally over.

Alucard opened his eyes once more. Richter was limping his way towards Annette. He saw Juste and Maria, many meters away from where they were, waking up. It’s a miracle that all of them ended up alive…

But he caught something with the corner of his eye – and it immediately made him freeze.

Alucard whipped his head towards Drolta’s body.

She was still laying there. Beheaded. No signs of life at all.

But the shadows below her were moving.

They were getting thicker. The shadows of the entire square seemed to be getting pulled towards Drolta’s body; they twirled under her like a whirpool of pitch black. Alucard gripped his sword. Richter took his whip again. Annette stumbled back. The temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

A black figure rose from within the shadows. It grinned down at Drolta; something that sounded like mocking laughter hovered in the air.

They watched in shock as the shadows engulfed Drolta’s body – and then, both of them were gone.

You were… confused.

You could hear and see. You knew there was something violent happening somewhere in the city; colorful explosions, shockwaves and earthquakes, thunders and the sounds of destruction. You could hear Henri’s and Charle’s nervous chatter somewhere beside you. And yet – it’s like you weren’t really there. As if your mind and body were disconnected somehow. As if… you couldn’t react to anything.

You felt strangely at peace.

You knew that the sky started to get clear at some point. You heard the boys celebrating behind you. But… you couldn’t really move from that spot on the balcony of the north bell tower. You didn’t want to stand up.

A familiar touch on your back.

“Ruby?”

You turned your head to the side slowly. That was… that was Alucard. Yes. Alucard. You knew him. He had knelt on the ground beside you.

“...Hello.” You heard a voice say from a distance… your voice. You said that.

Alucard had a worried expression in his face. His hair was gloriously disheveled, the strong winds at the top of Notre Dame played with it. The fair skin of his face was… dirty. He was all dirty, in fact.

You knew they were talking about you. “I… I think she’s not okay, Mr. Alucard,” Henri said in a hesitant and worried voice. “She’s not reacting to anything. It’s like she’s on some sort of trance,” Charles completed. Alucard placed his hand over your forehead – why was he doing that again? – his frown deepened. Heavens, he was so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Even with the disheveled hair and all the dirt. You coudn’t do anything but look at him; you didn’t bother when Alucard instructed the boys – “You should take care of the wound on your shoulder, son,” he told Henri. “There are nurses out there. Get medical aid. I’ll take care of her.”

You knew the two boys were walking out of the tower towards the stairs. A part of you wanted to stop them to properly say thank you, but your body didn’t want to move. So you just gazed at Alucard instead.

He held your arm softly. “Ruby, are you listening to me?” he asked in a worried voice.

His eyes widened in surprise when you touched his cheek.

“You’re hurt,” you heard your voice say from afar again.

If you were fully conscious, you’d never be brave enough to touch him like that. But it’s like you weren’t even there, so nothing felt real. You brushed some strands of hair away from his face and cupped his cheek delicately.

“You’re tired,” your voice said again. Your eyes dropped below – and for the first time, you noticed a gash in his jacket, right over his right shoulder… “You’re bleeding.”

Alucard rested his hand over yours, which made you look up again. He had a tiny smile on his lips, though his brows were still slightly furrowed. He gazed at you with… affection. It made your body feel warm on the inside. His hand was bigger than yours. Even through the leather glove, you could feel his warmth.

“I’ll heal anyway. Don’t worry about me.” You knew he was just light-heartedly repeating what you already told him over and over again. “Are you hurt?”

You frowned and looked down again.

“No. But I feel strange.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I’m… distant. And I’m tired.” You looked at him again. Alucard didn’t move to take your hand away from his face. His own still rested above yours, his thumb caressing your fingers slowly. “You’re hurt.”

“You already said that.” Alucard chuckled lightly before a bit of seriousness covered his expression once more. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours and took it away from his face; he didn’t let go of it, however, resting both of them over your lap. He looked hesitant before speaking.

“Ruby… Drolta and Erzsebet are dead.”

You stared at him in silence for long seconds.

“Are… they?” Alucard nodded slowly. “Are you sure?”

Alucard hesitated for a second. You saw a glimpse of something you couldn’t understand cross his gaze.

But he nodded again in the end. “Yes. No mistakes this time.”

You lowered your head and… smiled.

Where did that smile come from? Why were you smiling in the first place? You had no idea.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead.

The mere mention of their names made you feel… closer to your body, somehow. As if things were starting to get real again.

The sun was shining once more. You should’ve understood what that meant. The eclipse had vanished… and so had the Vampire Messiah.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead. They are dead.

You didn’t know where the tears came from.

They came spontaneously, unannounced. You covered your mouth, trying to swallow a sob; your body was shaking. What were you crying for? Happiness? Relief? Sadness? Grief? Hatred? Pain? You had no idea. But you couldn’t stop, you didn’t know how. When was the last time you let yourself cry freely like that, without trying to be silent, without muffling any sob?

Drolta didn’t like the sound of you crying… so probably never.

But she was dead now.

Maybe if you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t have wrapped your arms around Alucard’s neck, embracing him in a tight hug. Maybe you wouldn’t have hid your face in his shoulder. No, you wouldn’t have the courage. But nothing felt much real at that moment, so you didn’t really care.

Alucard hugged you back immediately, offering no resistance, no hesitance. He kept you close, kept you tight. Tighter than your previous hug. Maybe if you were in your right mind, you would’ve shivered when he hid his face on your neck, too. Maybe your legs would’ve lost all of their strength when you felt his hot breath there, the touch of his soft cheek on your skin. All you could do was cry in a way you never did before.

At some point, you heard your voice stuttering a strangled thank you.

Alucard sighed deeply.

The morning sun kissed you both. The city down there was still in chaos – too many losses, too much damage, too many questions to be answered. You and him were still in he eye of the hurricane. But at that moment, nothing felt too real, so you didn’t care.

Nothing but him felt real. Him, and the fact that those who hurt you were gone from this world definitely. Him, his embrace and the way he warmed you up.

The voice of that unknown woman whispered in your ears once more – and, for some reason, it brought even more tears to your eyes.

...Love doesn’t burn.

Love warms up.

It was over.

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

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demonic0angel · 10 hours ago

Note

okay now i really want to read the mafia boss/rival company anger management fic that we keep talking about XD (from the gods creator AU)

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO MARRY HER?!" Jason shrieked.

Dick and Tim winced from the noise level but Bruce didn't even flinch.

"You are going to marry Jasmine Fenton," Bruce repeated as if he hadn't even started screaming at all. "Truthfully, it was supposed to be Dick, but since you took over the company, you're going to marry her."

Jason practically snarled, glaring at Dick with vicious eyes.

Dick coughed. "Little Wing, what's the big deal? I know you two have a rivalry, but didn't you admire her? I thought you liked her!"

Jason spluttered before he said, "Like her?! I don't— I don't like her! She's prissy and naggy and talks too much and all she does is use her pretty face to get whatever she wants! Like hell I'm going to marry her!"

His face turned hot as he continued, "And it's not like I like her! I don't! A-And I'm pretty sure we won't be a good match anyways!"

Tim, Dick, and Bruce shared a look before Tim said, "We should call the Fentons to discuss wedding plans and asset sharing."

"Agreed. I'm thinking we should get a 20% amount of shares in the company—"

"Are you listening to me?!"

————

"..... so I have to marry him?"

Danny and Dan glowered, while Dani nodded and shrugged at the same time. "It appears so. Apparently, mom and dad arranged it before they died but we only just saw it."

Jazz frowned.

Dani asked, "What is it? You don't like him or something?"

Immediately, Dan stood up and said, "I'll take care of it."

Jazz grabbed him before he could run off and start hiring hitmen to kill Jason Todd-Wayne. "No, no, that's not it. Let's not be hasty here."

"Then what is it? If you don't like the marriage, I'm sure we could do something about it," Danny said.

Dani muttered, "Though we could get really, really rich really, really fast if we married into the Waynes. Not that it matters much if you don't like him."

Jazz sighed before she said, "It's just so unromantic! Where's the dates? The love? The romance? He's cute, but I don't think he likes me very much anyways."

"Then we should kill him," Dan said with a nod to Danny.

"No killing," Dani and Jazz said, which made both Dan and Danny wilt.

Dani then said, "How about a trial period? You've been alone and single for too long, sis. This could be fun!"

Jazz sighed and smiled. "Well... I wouldn't mind much."

"Woohoo! Okay, I'll send them a message right away!"

"I knew I should've killed him the moment he took over the company," Dan bemoaned.

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captain-huggy-bear · 12 hours ago

Note

can you do the tiktok prank i can’t pay the mortgage this month with clayton, i feel like his reaction would be so funny

Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

"Clay..." You're twisting your hands together, shoulders hunched while you bite on your lip. The sort of look that screams nervous, something you very rarely are around Clayton. It stops him dead in his tracks where he's playing with Lucky because you're never nervous like that around him, because you have no reason to be...you look like you think you're going to be in trouble.

"What's wrong, baby?" He's assessing you, eyes scanning you almost urgently from head to toe, like he expects to see something wrong with you. A cut, a bruise, maybe you accidentally broke something and think he'll be mad (which he'd never be).

"I'm really sorry..." He's expecting you to tell him you broke something, maybe knocked a glass off the side or maybe you tried to play some golf (which you're notoriously bad at) on the green outside and broke a window or something.

"Hey, hey, whatever it is, it's okay, baby." Clay's reaching for you easily, simply, hands cupping your cheeks because the last thing he wants is you to worry that he'll get mad at you for something like an accident. You're clumsy, it happens. Lucky is whining at your feet, feeding off Clay's worry, wet nose pressing into your leg.

"I just, I can't pay my share of the mortgage this month, Clay, I bought too many hockey cards." You force a little wobble to your bottom lip as you stare up at him with wide eyes, internally giggling at the way he freezes.

It would be fair to say he short circuits a little, freezes, hands against your cheeks as his expression shifts from soft and soothing to completely and utterly confused. Eyebrow raised, scar shifting with it as he looks down at you like you've hit your head, like maybe you're concussed.

"Sweet girl, you've never paid any of the mortgage." His voice is slow, careful because what are you going on about? You've literally never paid the mortgage, he's always refused to let you because he earns so much more than you.

"I just...I can't pay it..."

"Baby." Long fingers slide down to your throat, resting there in reassuring weight as his other hand brushes your hair behind your ear, "Even if you could, why the fuck would I let you pay a mortgage on a house when I earn $7 million a year?" It's a point of pride really for Clay, always has been. He takes care of you. That's his thing. He earns enough so that your own money can be spent on frivolous things, things you enjoy rather than necessities. The idea of him ever letting you pay for the mortgage is actually offensive to him, do you think he's some bum who can't even take care of his girl?

"But-"

"Uh, no. Who am I, baby?" The grip on your throat tightens, not painful, just firm, a reminder that he's there. More reassuring than anything as his thumb rubs the hollow of your throat.

"Clayton Keller..." You mumble it out, lips pursed which seems to him like you're feeling scolded. In reality you're pursing your lips so you don't laugh out loud.

"Good girl, and who am I to you?"

"My fiancé..."

"Okay, good, I thought you forgot for a minute because last I checked, no fiancé of mine is paying the fucking mortgage. That's my main job, to take care of you so that you don't have to worry and can buy all your hockey cards of me." Because they're almost all of Clay. It's your silly little thing. That you collect any and every card of him you can find, that you sit there and show him each one and he patiently nods his head and oohs and ahhs over them.

"Clay..." You're trying to stop his ranting, the way he's getting redder in the face, nostrils flaring because you've ever contemplated paying for the mortgage of all things. It's cute, in the sort of way that Clay can be when he's adamant about something.

"No, I'm serious, baby, if you think for a second I'd let you pay the mortgage you're insane. My job is to take care of you and if I ever let you pay the mortgage? Get Bainer to come beat the crap out me." He's already contemplating phoning Jack right now to set it in writing 'if I ever let my girl pay for the mortgage please take me out back and break my nose', seems like a quick way to get him back to his senses.

"Clay!"

"And who put this idea into your head because I actually canno-"

"Clay! I'm joking! Baby...I know, I know I've never paid the mortgage and I never will...I know." You're laughing as you interrupt him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers twisting in his chains as you grin from ear to ear.

"...you're joking..." The looks he gives you is blank, eyes blinking slowly as if he's still just about processing the fact that he didn't actually need to get so upset in the first place. Lucky is whining at your feet, pawing at Clay's leg and you feel a little bad because Clay looks so so done.

"It's a stupid tiktok trend, baby..."

He groans, face planting itself on your shoulder, murmuring into your shirt, "Delete that fucking app."

"Nope, if I did that I'd never get to see you all cutely defensive of your ability to look after me." You run your fingers through his hair, it's grown longer, more shoulder length now than anything else. Your nails scratch across his scalp in a way that eases some of his prior frustration.

"I can take care of you."

"I know, you take such good care of me, Clay, the best." You huff out a laugh as you twist strands of his hair between your fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair because you really do feel bad...

"Damn right I do."

#huggy bear writes #clayton keller x reader #clayton keller/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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baronessvonglitter · 21 hours ago

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Just a Ride

dbf!Dave York x f!Reader | wc: 3.6K

Summary: When a date goes bad you call your dad's best friend Dave to come to the rescue.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Dave is your dad's best friend. Mention of his daughter but none of Carol - what happened to her? Is she dead? Did she leave him? Don't know don't care, but she doesn't exist because for once I didn't want to write an adulterous Dave. Age gap (reader is 20s Dave is in his 40s). Bad, handsy date. Reader wears a dress and makeup but is otherwise not described much. Protective!Dave. Mention of drinking alcohol. Mutual pining. Pet names (princess). Fingering. Car sex. Unprotected p in v. (Dave can hit it raw with me anytime). Wistful/sad ending. No use of y/n. Never beta'd because fuck it we ball.

a/n: Hi, my name is Adriana and when I was a kid I had two pet baby turtles named Michaelangelo and Raphael (I was planning on getting two more to be Donatello and Leonardo) but they "ran away" (parent-speak for they died) and I think about them every day.

So this is the fic that won out. It was 97% done and I just needed to fill a couple holes (hehe). I don't think I've ever read a dbf!Dave fic before, though I highly doubt mine's the first. I'd gladly accept recommendations below if you know any! Please enjoy 🖤❤️

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Dave sits at the bar, pretending to find his Scotch very interesting, doing his best to stay unnoticed. He's dressed casually in jeans, a black tee and a leather jacket, blending in. Now and again he checks his watch or his phone, but he's secretly got you in his sights.

In his peripheral vision he sees you at your table with your date. You're talking, laughing, charming each other. Seemingly having a good time. But he's good at reading people. That smile on your face doesn't quite reach your eyes, and when you laugh at one of your date's lame jokes the sound is hollow, not how you usually peal out in laughter.

He knows a lot about you, having known you nearly your whole life as your dad's closest friend. He knows the date isn't going great and that you deserve better than the jackass who's sitting across from you, leaning in a little too close to you, fixing the shoulder strap of your red dress and using that as an excuse to touch you without your permission. Dave's blood starts to boil.

He waits for your signal, ready to pounce though he looks to all the world like he's relaxing with a drink.

Suddenly his phone lights up with a call from you. He briefly glances your way, seeing you trying to be discreet about your call while hiding your phone in your lap as your date is seemingly in the dark. When your gazes meet you give a small, nervous smile and an almost imperceptible nod. Dave immediately jumps into action.

He's jammed up by a couple of wait staff with loaded trays, and he manages to dodge them, but by the time he gets to your table you're struggling with your date, his hand around your arm in a vise grip.

"Hey!" He shouts. "Let her go. Now." He stands protectively at your side, giving this idiot a chance to do the right thing and walk away. His stance is intimidating to the much younger man, and he watches with a calm air of authority as your date slowly releases your arm.

"You need to leave, now. And don't even think about coming near her again," he growls.

Defeated, and not wanting to cause a further scene, your date puts his hands up and leaves, muttering under his breath. Dave makes sure he's gone from the restaurant before turning his attention to you. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm okay," you tell him, wiping a little tear away. "Thank you for that.."

His expression softens, his temper melting and giving way to concern. "Don't mention it. I told you I'd have your back." His hand is on your arm now, gently soothing where your date had grabbed you just moments before.

"Would you.." you softly hiccup through your tears. "Would you take me home? He was my ride."

"Of course," he says, glad to be able to escort you safely back home. "Let's get you home."

You settle into the passenger side of Dave's SUV, the same one that not many years ago he'd driven you to volleyball practice in when your parents were too busy to do so. It still smelled of leather and coffee and Dave's own special scent, the one you'd only ever gotten whiffs of during a rare hug.

You were close with his daughters until the three of you went your separate ways after high school. You're the only one who stayed behind, preferring to be closer to home.

Maybe a part of you stayed because you have a crush on your father's best friend.

Not that he'd ever notice you that way. He'd always maintained a polite, never-overly-friendly persona with you. It had changed when you'd started dating, and he and your father became a pair of ultimate authority figures when it came time for your date to pick you up. When you were younger and yearning for your freedom, you hated how they questioned your dates, asked for photo IDs, wrote down license plate numbers "just in case".

Now, having known what the dating pool was like, you appreciate Dave's overprotectiveness. It was actually you who'd reached out and asked him to be your emergency getaway if you'd needed it. You never had until tonight.

He starts the engine, looking over to you to make sure you're buckled in. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, of course.. but what happened?"

"He was really insistent on going back to his place after dinner.. even after I said no," you mumble,

His fingers grip the steering wheel too tightly as he maneuvers the SUV out into the late Saturday traffic. "I see. I don't like the sound of that. Good thing you called me when you did. You never know what could have happened."

"Yeah," you agree, shivering when you think of the look in your date's eyes when you'd rejected him. "I'm just glad I called you."

"You know you can always count on me to be there for you, no matter what."

"Thank you." You place your hand lightly on his knee, a touch meant, at first, to be of the friendly sort, but in the dark of this vehicle you feel the spark of something more.

"You don't have to thank me," Dave deflects. "I would do anything to keep you safe." True, he'd felt a jolt of electricity at your unexpected touch, and his heart rate speeds up momentarily. His mind races with a mixture of unexpected feelings.

"You always look out for everyone, Dave.. who looks out for you?" You watch him as he drives, see his handsome silhouette in the city lights. He's chuckling now, caught off guard by your question. The truth is, he's so used to being the protector that he often neglects his own needs and feelings. He gives you a sidelong glance, contemplating your question.

"Nobody, I suppose.. not really. I'm usually the one doing the looking out."

"Must be lonely," you say, your hand still resting on his knee.

His thick fingers tap against the steering wheel as he considers your comment. It stings a bit to hear it, to have his own loneliness acknowledged, like a mini-autopsy of his middle age. But he knows you, and that you're asking from a place of pure empathy.

"Maybe a bit, yeah. But it's a role I'm used to. Besides, you're here now, aren't you? That keeps the loneliness at bay, for a little while at least."

A smile grows over your lips, heat filling your cheeks at the compliment. "I like that.."

Dave's usual stoicism melts away under your soft demeanor and youthfulness. You're young and haven't yet had the weight of the world on your shoulders.

The ride passes in quiet comfort, even as with each moment he can't help feeling your hand on his knee, knowing it's not going to be easy to just drop you off and go back home to what is a less exciting life than you might think. He pulls up to your house and into the driveway he's parked in hundreds of times before to visit your dad.. and lately, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you.

"Thanks again.. for everything," you tell him, not making any move to leave.

"Anytime," he says quickly. "It's what I'm here for. And hey.. if you ever need anything or just want someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call, okay?"

A smile graces your lips, forced because everything he's said is exactly what you'd expect him to say. And if the charge between you tells you anything, it's that there's unexplored business between you.

His gaze roams over your face, seeing you for your own person rather than just the product of your parents. Your lips are plump and glossy, and he has a feeling he knows just how they'd taste if he were to kiss you.

He shouldn't be thinking like that.

If he were a real gentleman he'd hop out and open the door for you, walk you up to your parents' house and bid you good night, maybe step in and have a beer with your dad and say hi to your mom. You could go your separate ways and that'd be that.

But you're here, and you're not making any motion to leave, not the feeblest attempt. In fact you're looking at him so expectantly that it pulls at his heart, floods his dick with need so that he's already getting hard.

You shouldn't be looking at him like that.

Without a word he reaches out and touches your cheek lightly, his fingertips running delicately over your jaw. Your breath catches in your throat, which makes his own pulse miss a beat. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, slightly sticky now with your gloss but he doesn't care. He's wound up tight, watching your eyes flit to his own lips and remain there, likely imagining the very thing he's imagining.

Unable to resist any longer, his hand cups your chin and gently tilts your face up, his dark brooding eyes studing yours for a moment before he leans in. The gap between you disappears as he presses his lips against yours, the kiss gentle yet possessive. The electricity between you could light up a small town, and both of you give into the feeling.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, exploring your mouth with an urgency fueled by desire. The heat builds between you, the air filled with the heady mixture of forbidden lust.

Your hand cups the back of his neck while you kiss, fingers combing through the short strands of his hair. It sets a shiver through him, knowing he's in your parents' driveway, kissing their only daughter like he's some twenty-something idiot thinking with his dick.

You don't push him away, you encourage him further, letting him pull you forward by the small of your back as he tries to erase any vestige of space remaining between you two. The kiss grows rougher, hungrier, the pent-up tension between you finally reaching its breaking point as you press together, seeking each other's heat.

Like-minded, you pull him down on top of you in the passenger seat as he presses you down, neither of you thinking of anything except what comes next, the desperate need to get as close as possible. Your hands slip under his jacket before he removes it, growling softly in pleasure that you want this too, as he settles between your thighs.

He kisses down your jaw, nipping at your skin, exploring the soft flesh of your neck. Your whispers of encouragement as you rake your fingers through his hair only goads him on, responding diligently, his kisses growing more fervent and urgent with each passing moment as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses and soft bites.

He watches you as he starts to unbutton your dress. "Is this okay?" he whispers. The straps of your dress are already slipping down your shoulders, revealing their softness.

You whisper "yes," and he gently pulls the top down until your satin bra is revealed. He's transfixed by the sight, your bra doing nothing to hide the rise and fall of your chest. His eyes darken with desire, his gaze heavy-lidded. He's torn between wanting to devour you and wanting to savor this moment, though who knows how much time you have?

"We really shouldn't be doing this," he murmurs, pressing hot kisses to the tops of your breasts and smiling when you arch up into his touch. "We could get caught."

"I don't care," you tell him, and he believes it.

"You want this?" he asks, nuzzling your soft skin, knowing he'll be devastated if you say no.

"Dave," you say in a soft and sweet chuckle. "I've wanted this for a long time.."

He lifts the hem of your dress, pressing wet kisses along your skin as he works his way down your torso, his fingers curling into the edge of your underwear waistband. Red satin to match your bra and your dress. You were expecting to get fucked tonight and he's going to see to it that you are.

You pull him down and he settles on top of you, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his stiff cock trapped in his jeans as he rubs against you.

Lifting your hips to his, you grind on him, making a wet spot on his crotch through the dark denim. Dave groans softly, his mouth millimeters from yours. "That's it, princess. Use me," he says with a gruff edge to his voice. Your hands grip his shoulders as he starts to rub against you, the friction growing hotter by the second. "You like using me, huh?" he whispers, his hips moving in time with yours.

"Yes," you eke out, your panties already soaked through. Dave feels it, your heat radiating through the sheer material. Your intoxicating scent is all around him and he breathes it in.

"You're making a mess of me, you know that?" His voice is rough, thick with need as his hands slide under your panties, his fingers seeking out the wetness that has already begun to pool between your legs. Your back arches at the deliciously forbidden glide of two of his fingers easing in, filling you up and stretching you. "Tell me what you want."

"I want- I want to come," you gasp, unable to concentrate on much else besides the feel of his fingers inside you.

Dave's already hard cock is painfully erect, but he's focused on your pleasure first. His fingers glide in and his mouth waters at how tight, hot, and wet you are for him. He leans down and gives a gentle bite to your bare shoulder. "You want to come for me? I'm giving it to you, you've got to take it."

Your body grows taut under his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. He can see you teetering on the edge, balancing on the precipice of bliss. "Come for me, princess. Let me hear you," he commands. His fingers curl inside you as the pad of his thumb rubs your clit and he smiles when you start to come for him. Your hips lift up and your thighs threaten to close around his wrist. Colors dance behind your eyes as pure exhilaration warms you from head to toe. He keeps rubbing you in soft circles, coaxing you through your orgasm and his other hand gently cradles your cheek as he leans in for a kiss, swallowing up your sweet moans as you melt on his fingers. He doesn't stop until he feels your body relax, and then he removes his hand from between your legs and sucks your sweetness of them. He lets out a soft hum, his dark orbs never leaving yours. "You taste like heaven," he says, and you pull him down for another kiss, tasting yourself in his mouth.

Your hands fly to his belt, undoing it and pulling down his pants with it. He dares a quick glance at the front of the house but all is still. You're so eager there's no way he'd even want to stop. Even if your dad were to come out with a shotgun aimed at him-

All other thought flies out the window as he feels your hand grasp him through his boxer briefs. "Big," you say with a gasp. His hips buck involuntarily against your hand. "Yeah? You like that?"

Nodding, you whisper, "I want it," and reach your hand inside to start stroking him. He's already too turned on for any further teasing. His only thought is to get inside you.

He pulls his boxer briefs down and positions himself between your legs, his body covering yours in the passenger seat, his hips aligned with yours. "Ready, princess?" He nibbles at your ear.

"Yes," you reply breathily, the ache growing inside you. You've been waiting for this for years and now, as the thick tip of his cock presses into you, he starts to open you up, sinking into your channel, slowing to let you adapt to him inch by blessed inch.

God, you've never felt so full, no one has ever made you feel like this. Dave bottoms out, careful not to hurt you, though his hips twitch when you mewl with pleasure. "You feel so good, so wet," he says, holding you in place as he starts shallow thrusts.

"So do you.." Your legs are hooked over his arms as he controls the pacing, leaning in to brush a small kiss to your cheeks, forehead, lips and nose.

"You like the way I'm filling you up? No one's ever been this deep inside you, I can tell. You're so fucking tight."

"You're so big," you sigh, melting around him as he starts slow. "I think I can feel you in my stomach."

"You're taking it so well though." He withdraws slowly, savoring the way you feel around him, before plunging back in with a little more force, watching your breasts and belly jiggle with the movement.

"Fuck!" you gasp as he drives in again, your cunt squeezing around him as if to keep him there. But he starts a slow and sensual pace, his hips rolling against yours smoothly, your body moving with his as if in a dance, as if there's no hurry to finish this. His gaze is locked on you, watching as you writhe beneath him. "You feel amazing," he groans. Every sound you make feeds into his pleasure and so he moves a little faster, checking in with you to see if that's okay, noticing that hitch in your breath when he presses in deep, hitting that hot spot deep inside that makes you see stars. He increases just slightly, just enough to send you right to the edge before he slows down again.

"You're teasing me," you whine as he slows, your heart rate picking up speed as your pleasure ebbs.

"And what if I am?" Dave smirks, his thumb brushing your clit again.

"Dave," your body tenses as he adds the pressure, crying out in delight. He loves the way you lose control and he's desperate to make you moan over and over again, he needs to hear his name flow from your lips that way.

"Come for me," he rumbles, so close to the edge himself. He needs you to come first, needs to feel you quake and clench around him before he even thinks about coming.

Your legs encircle his hips, and he thinks there's nothing better than to be housed between your sweet thighs. He slows his thrusts, moving inside you until you demand more, your nails on his shoulders leaving crescent shaped marks under his shirt.

He watches as you come, memorizing the beauty of how you look, completely undone in this moment, keeping himself moving even as you squeeze and shudder around his cock.

"Good girl," he says. "Tell me where you want it." His breathing is getting heavier and his cock is starting to swell, starting to pulse and there's not much time.

"Inside," you tell him, and he's thankful for that. He's not sure he'd be able to pull out anyway, the way your sweet pussy is gripping him like it owns him.

That's all it takes to send him over the edge. Dave lets out a guttural groan, his body shuddering as his hips stutter then still while he comes, painting your walls with his spend.

The car windows are fogged up, the two of you still trying to catch your breath. The scent of sex and your perfume are in the air. Dave shifts a little, lifting himself enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and hooded. He can't help but push the loose strands away from your face, his touch gentle and almost reverent. His eyes soften and his lips brush your forehead.

"I sure didn't think that would happen," you giggle a little, coming down from your high.

"Life is full of surprises, princess," he responds, his eyes glittering with playfulness.

The lights above the garage come on and you remember that you're parked in your parents' driveway. Both of you scramble to get your clothes on, not wanting to get caught in such a compromising position.

"I guess I should go," you tell Dave once you're both decent. Though the last thing you want to do is leave him. Especially when you can still feel him inside you, his stickiness, the imprint of himself left behind.

"Yeah," he nods, his visage returning to that of the protective family friend.

"Do you want to come in?"

He chuckles darkly at that. Your dad would know. He'd know and Dave would be in a world of shit. "That's not a good idea right now."

Instead he watches as you walk to the door, your key fumbling in the lock until your dad comes and opens it. He's in his night robe, hair mussed, probably just awoken from his sleep. When he spots Dave's car in the driveway he raises his hand in acknowledgement and Dave does the same.

But he doesn't drive off. He waits.

The light comes on in your bedroom, and you appear at the window. You blow him a kiss and he hesitates before deciding not to catch it. He knows you'll understand why. So he nods, giving a smile and wishing you could feel the lurch of his heart as he turns on the engine and drives home.

tagging those interested: @sunshinehaze1 @letsgobarbs

@iamladyp @milla-frenchy @probablyreadinsmut @604to647

@inept-the-magnificent @sexydeadgirlxxx @teddybonkers1960

@dugiioh @everybodylovedcontractors @cuppajoel

@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @myhusband2cool

@joelmillerisapunk @itwasntimethatdidit40

#dave york #dave york x reader #soft dave #dbf!dave #protective dave #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york fic #dave york fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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imagine-you · 2 days ago

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If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 6/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: Wally's reunion brings past regrets and unwelcome visitors. Word Count: 2.7k Author's Note: So, I got sick and I got depressed and it took me a little while to get here, but thank you to everyone for being so patient with me waiting on the next update!

Read On AO3 // Fic Masterlist

The aftermath of visiting your scar still weighed heavily on your mind days later. Wally had done everything in his power to help you, but you knew there was only so much he could do for you. The only person who could help you come to terms with what you suffered was you.

And you just weren’t ready yet.

It didn't help that Mr. Martin had found a way to jump into a body and escape the school. Now, there was no way to know if he would ever be back or if he was going after Janet. Maddie was worried about her friends and if she would ever manage to get her body back. All of you were worried about Janet and Maddie, since Mr. Martin posed the greatest threat to both. Everyone had been trying to theorize what Mr. Martin wanted with the keys and the scars, but no one knew enough to try to fit all the puzzle pieces together yet.

Now, you were sitting at a table that had been set out for Wally's reunion. He was so psyched about it that you hated you were having a hard time pulling yourself out of your misery. Even though Wally had assured you over and over and showed you just how much he cared about you, you still couldn't shake the insecurity you felt every time you saw Wally and Maddie interact. It also didn't help that your mind was consumed with what happened in your scar.

The others had been careful around you. It wouldn't have been so weird if Rhonda hadn't been practically gentle with you. Rhonda was usually the type to not sugarcoat anything. The fact that she was trying to comfort you felt odd, but you didn't know how to tell Rhonda that she was freaking you out. She was a good friend, and you knew she would always have your back, but you didn't know how to handle a different side of her.

You had also managed to catch the end of an argument between Wally and Rhonda not long after you sought out the others once you were ready to leave the tech booth. Charley had pulled you aside, asking if everything was alright. Quinn had surprised you with a hug and Maddie had wondered why you went into your scar. You couldn't tell her it was because of how jealous you got seeing her with Wally, so you only shrugged your shoulders and returned the nod of solidarity Yuri aimed at you.

As you walked back towards Wally and Rhonda, you overheard what Rhonda was telling him.

"--you have any idea how that feels? She went into her scar because you ran after Maddie."

"I know, I know," Wally assured Rhonda. "Don't you think I feel terrible enough about that without you here busting my ass over it?"

Rhonda pulled the ever-present lollipop out of her mouth and pointed it at Wally. "Just think about what you're doing next time. Maybe instead of running off and playing around in the pool with another girl, you bring your girlfriend with you."

"Maddie and I were just blowing off steam," Wally defended himself. "I would never do anything to hurt Y/N."

"And yet you did," Rhonda pointed out with an arched brow. She brushed past Wally, leaving you to finally finish approaching him.

Wally's eyes lit up once he noticed you. "Hey, how about we get out of here, huh? I think we've earned some time just the two of us. They've had enough of us for now. I want you all to myself," he told you before he tugged you forward into a kiss.

It didn't take you long to realize that Rhonda's words must have struck a chord, because he was practically glued to your side after she spoke to him.

You thought maybe Rhonda was being a little too harsh on Wally. But once the adrenaline had faded, you found it hard to stay positive. Quinn said you were in a funk, but you just felt downright depressed. Reliving your death had been hard on you and you were having a difficult time shaking all the negative thoughts and feelings that had risen since confronting it.

Now, you were sitting in the library where the reunion was being held and trying to find the energy to be excited for Wally.

Rhonda and Quinn were off to the side, talking about something you couldn't overhear. Charley was sitting on the stairs leading up to where the DJ booth had been set up while Wally flipped through records that had been left in a crate. You didn't know where Yuri or Maddie were, but you figured they would show up eventually.

You listened to the others talking, not really paying enough attention to discern what they were speaking about and even managed to bring up a reluctant smile hearing Wally sass Rhonda after mentioning something about a girdle.

"Oh, shit!" You heard Wally exclaim, abruptly forcing you out of your thoughts as he pulled a record out of the crate. "No way," he breathed as he brought up the record to show it off. "David Bowie. Y'all! We are so back," he said before he bounded up the stairs towards the turntable.

You met Rhonda's gaze and caught her rolling her eyes, but you noticed the hint of a smile on her lips. Even when she was annoyed with Wally, she couldn't quite resist his infectious enthusiasm.

Wally put the record on, letting Bowie's 'Let's Dance' fill the room. Wally's routine was something you had grown accustomed to over the years. Usually, you joined in, finding joy in Wally's excitement and letting yourself get easily roped in to the dance. But this time, you just weren't feeling it and that only made you feel worse.

Still, Wally tried, pointing at you and pretending to try to reel you in, but you stayed in your seat, refusing to move. You felt a pang of guilt when you noticed his obvious disappointment, but he turned towards Charley, silently respecting your wish to be left alone. It didn't take long before Charley was going through the moves Wally had coached you all through years before, a delighted grin on his face as he danced.

While Wally worked through his routine, you noticed the way his attention kept straying back to you. It was like he was checking in on you and the thought brought a slight smile to your lips. Even when he was having the time of his life, he was still worried about you.

You were content to sit at the table, your chin propped up on your hand while you watched him dance. You weren’t surprised that it was lifting your spirits to see Wally so in his element. You couldn't help but think that if he hadn't been thrown into football, then maybe he would have enjoyed being a theater kid.

You watched Rhonda and then Quinn join the dance. Rhonda never missed a step, but while Quinn was new to the routine, her eagerness to be part of the group more than made up for it.

Any sense of lingering despair was swept away when you watched the way Wally spun away from the group. He was still moving to the music, but he had deviated from his usual routine. He threw in a slide where he usually had a hip thrust and a shoulder shimmy where he would have moonwalked. He threw a smirk and a wink in your direction, and it was then you realized that this year Wally wasn't dancing for himself.

He was dancing for you.

That more than anything had you finally getting out of your seat. You caught the delighted grin on Wally's face before he reached a hand out towards you. You let yourself put your hand in his, letting out a surprised laugh when he immediately reeled you in only to spin you out again. He kept his grip on your hand tight, like he was worried you would try to leave, before he pulled you back towards him.

His lips met yours, the kiss turning desperate and intense within a moment. All you could do was hold on, your fingers digging into his shoulders, as Wally poured everything he had into the kiss.

It was fear and despair and joy and want. It swept you along with everything Wally had been trying to show you for days now.

It was love.

"Fuck," you gasped when you turned your head to the side to break the kiss.

You felt his smirk against the side of your face. "Later," he promised, hiding a kiss against the skin beneath your ear.

"That was awesome!" Quinn exclaimed, drawing your attention. "You do that every year?" She directed at Rhonda, a grin on her face.

"Every year," Rhonda drawled, shooting a look at Wally that was equal parts annoyed and fond.

"We should go again," Quinn decided, already bounding towards the DJ setup to restart the song.

“Quinn,” Rhonda groaned, following her like she was thinking about stopping her.

Later, you dressed up for Wally's big night and met him at the doors of the library.

"Damn," Wally sighed, looking you up and down. "How'd I get so lucky?"

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to tell him that if anyone was lucky, it was you. "Sap," you accused, because you didn't know how else to respond.

Wally grinned at you and held his arm out, letting you hook your hand around his elbow. "Before I forget," he said, reaching out to open the door. "We're playing wingman for Charley."

"Charley?" You asked, surprised that he was finally making his move. "Yuri?" You guessed, thinking of all the times Charley blushed around Yuri and how he couldn't keep his eyes off him.

"Yup," Wally answered, leading you into the library. "Promised not to let him embarrass himself. So, I might need your help running interference later."

"Got it," you agreed, offering him a tentative smile. Wally's dance and the promise of a date night had gone a long way towards lifting your mood, but you were still trying to shake the last vestiges of sadness that still clung to you.

Wally leaned over to press a kiss to your temple before he led you into the library.

You let Wally get you a glass of punch and watched him reunite with some of his former classmates. He looked so happy to be remembered by the class of '84 that you almost didn't realize anything was wrong at first. You had been in the middle of talking Charley up to Yuri, even though you were sure from the way Yuri looked at Charley that it was completely unnecessary.

It took you entirely too long to realize what the two guys were saying about Wally. Wally's crestfallen expression was enough to get you at his side. You also didn't miss the way Charley was carefully not looking at Wally.

"Look, it's alright," Charley told Wally when he tried to apologize. "It was forty years ago. You don't have to be sorry."

"But--" Wally started, before Yuri placed a hand on Charley's shoulder.

"How about a dance?" He asked, nodding towards the couples who had taken over the space in front of the stage. A slow song was playing and the couples were all swaying along to the melody.

"Okay, yeah, I'd love that," Charley answered, handing you his drink before letting Yuri lead him towards the dance floor.

Wally kept glancing at Charley and Yuri, as if he was worried something bad would happen. You knew that Wally had been a different person when he was alive. But the Wally you knew now wasn't anything like him. He had grown and started to accept that he didn't have to only see himself as the guy he was before he died. The fact he was obviously so torn up over his past actions was testament to that.

You were briefly distracted by Mr. Anderson showing up to wreak havoc on a reunion full of people who couldn't even see him. When you glanced back at Charley and Yuri, it was to see Charley putting distance between them.

You weren't sure why Charley looked so distressed, but when he pulled away from Yuri and walked away, you tried to find out what was wrong.

"Hey," you called, turning to look at Charley as he passed you. "What's wrong?"

"It's just...," he sighed before he shook his head and walked away. His jaw was clenched, and you noticed how tensed his shoulders were. Yuri looked just as lost as you felt when you glanced back at him.

Wally watched Charley leave the library. He looked worried, but he stayed rooted to the spot, even though it was obvious he wanted to go after him.

"Wally," you whispered, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

Wally turned to look at you. "Babe, I'm not like that anymore," he promised, gesturing towards the guys who were now commenting on the woman who was announcing something onstage. "I would never hurt Charley. I would never let anyone hurt him. I'd beat the shit out of them for laying a finger on him."

"I know," you assured him, letting your hand find his to hold onto. "Charley knows that too."

"But, I guess," Wally continued, glancing again at the guys who had brought up Wally's past. "I guess I was that guy. And that's how they remember me. I was no better than the people who hurt Charley."

"You've changed," you reminded him. "You're one of the best people I've ever met and that's for a reason, Wally."

Wally nodded his head, but he still looked like he was struggling with himself.

"Go find Charley," you urged him. "I think you two need to talk this out." You knew that Charley would need a friend now more than anything and Wally needed to prove to himself that he could be that friend.

Wally looked unsure and still didn't budge.

"It'll be fine," you promised him. "Trust me," you added, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Wally nodded his head, offering you an unsure smile, before he left in search of Charley.

"You're good for him," Yuri observed.

You startled, glancing at him over your shoulder. "You're good for Charley," you shot back. "He just gets a little nervous. Give him time."

Yuri nodded his head, looking thoughtful. "I've got time," he assured you before taking Charley's drink back from you.

You watched Yuri take a sip of the drink. "You know if you ever hurt him, though, I'll kill you. Forget that, Wally will kill you."

It wasn't much of a threat when you were all already dead. But Charley was your friend and you would do anything for him. He deserved happiness and if Yuri was the one who could provide it for him, then you wanted to make sure it stuck.

"I know," Yuri claimed, "but he won't have to. I only want what's best for Charley."

"Good," you told him. "Keep it that way."

You were going to ask Yuri if he wanted to see how Wally and Charley were doing when your attention was caught by someone across the room. She was leaving the library, slipping out of the room with a quick look over her shoulder.

It took you a moment to recognize her, but when you did, you felt like the whole world had stopped. Suddenly, your hands were shaking and you felt like everything was collapsing around you. It had been years since you saw her, but you knew you would never forget that face.

You felt your mind race in several different directions as you found yourself rushing to follow her. Yuri called your name, but you ignored him. You didn’t know why she was here, but all you could think about was figuring out the reason. You wanted her out, gone, but there wasn’t much you could do about that now that you were dead.

As you left the library in pursuit of her, there were really only three questions you desperately needed answered on your mind.

Why the hell would she come back?

How could she show her face here after what she did?

And lastly, did she feel any remorse for killing you?

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