#this was supposed to be a short scribbly thing

[moonwateraura]

“Press Play”

Adult Van Palmer x college reader

—————————————————————————

The bell over the door gives a soft jingle as you walk into While You Were Streaming. The air smells like old plastic, lavender, and something warm and nostalgic—like time paused somewhere in the late ‘90s and never bothered to catch up.

You take a few steps inside, eyes drifting over the shelves. It’s quiet. Almost too quiet.

“Lemme guess,” a voice calls from behind the counter—dry, amused, a little too knowing. “Film student?”

You turn toward the voice and freeze for a second.

She’s leaning back in a stool like she’s got nowhere else to be, boot propped on the bottom rung of the counter. Short red hair, a worn-in flannel tossed over a white t-shirt, and jeans that look like they’ve been through hell and back—she looks like the exact kind of woman your TA warned you about, and now you kind of get why.

Your eyes flick to the Jaws patch sewn onto her flannel sleeve. Then back to her.

“Uh… yeah. That obvious?”

Van gives a one-shouldered shrug, like she’s being generous by not teasing you more. “You walked in with that specific ‘I’ve-never-used-a-VCR’ face. Plus, it’s Tuesday. That’s when the film kids panic and remember they need a ‘rare analog copy’ of something for class.”

You smile, sheepish. “Okay, yeah. Guilty.”

You walk up to the counter, pulling out the sticky note your professor scribbled down. “I’m supposed to find Paris, Texas on VHS. He said the only way to ‘experience its raw visual language’ was on tape.”

Van raises an eyebrow, that same subtle, dry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, vintage snobbery. Gotta love it.”

“I called it old and he nearly fainted.”

That gets a low chuckle from her. She pushes off the stool and heads toward the back shelves. “Old, huh? You really trying to hurt my feelings today?”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—I didn’t mean you’re—I mean the movie’s from the eighties—”

Van glances over her shoulder, grinning. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

She finds the tape with practiced ease, pulls it down, and walks it back over to you.

“Last copy,” she says, holding it out. Her fingers graze yours—light, quick, probably nothing—but it still sends a little static up your arm.

You clear your throat. “This place is kind of awesome. Like… time travel.”

Van leans a hip against the counter, arms crossed over her flannel. “Yeah, it’s a weird little bubble. Mostly regulars and nostalgic weirdos. You’re kind of a new demographic.”

“Yeah? What’s my category?”

She studies you for a second, then shrugs. “Cute film student who says the eighties are ‘old’ but still came all the way here instead of streaming a bootleg online.”

You blink. The way she says cute is so casual, you can’t tell if she even meant it that way—or if your brain’s just trying to fill in the blanks.

“Your professor’s got decent taste, I’ll give him that,” she adds. “Paris, Texas is worth seeing the right way.”

You nod, holding the tape a little tighter. “Do I pay now, or…?”

Van shakes her head. “Nah. First one’s free.”

You narrow your eyes. “Is that a store policy or a weird first-time-customer hazing thing?”

She grins. “Just incentive. Come back tomorrow, tell me what you thought. Could be fun.”

You hesitate. It sounds casual. Harmless. But there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s watching your reaction too closely.

You start to turn, then pause. “Should I call? Or just… show up?”

Van tilts her head. “You should give me your number. Just in case I find another rare treasure your professor forgot to mention.”

Your heart jumps a little, but you try not to let it show.

You grab a pen from the counter, scribble your number on the back of a crumpled movie rental card, and hand it over.

Van takes it, eyes flicking to the digits. She tucks it into her back pocket like it’s not a big deal, but her smile is a little different now—more real. Still amused, but not just at your expense.

“See you tomorrow, film girl.”

You nod, backing toward the door, still unsure if that was flirting… but kind of hoping it was.

Outside, the sun feels a little too bright. The tape’s warm in your hands. You don’t even realize you’re smiling until you catch your reflection in the window.

And back inside, Van watches you go—muttering under her breath, “Definitely coming back.”

[riant-draws]

tw for panic attack, eyestrain (last page), swears

@tsunochizu's backwards through the snow!! this fic is my lifeblood

this scene's from chapter 15, in which iirc sig is like "ok pebbs is acting weird as hell time to get to the bottom of this" and pebbs wants some modified neuron flies for extra storage (which sig can send him the blueprints for), which ends up in them having a very... exciting video call

also I belatedly realized that the author made designs for sig and pebbs in btts but haha I am not redrawing pages~

this took me over a month I'm not even kidding

*dies*

[dragon-subway]

need someone to whack me with a newspaper every time I start sketching something new despite the wips pile

[caramelmochacrow]

happy birthday fusuke!!!! i wanted this to match my mashiro one a few months back :D

[covenofagatha]

A Helping Hand

You're helping your Professor gather ingredients for a potion she's brewing when you accidentally knock over a jar of sex pollen and need help.

Word count: ~3100

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, fingering, Top Agatha, magic cock, blowjob, magic cum, pure filth, teacher x student, age gap (everyone's legal)

Your brow furrows as you stare at the open spell book in front of you. You have a Potions test tomorrow for Professor Harkness, and evident by your lack of understanding of any of the words on the page, you are not going to do well. 

“What’s wrong?” your roommate, Wanda, asks you. The two of you are the top witches at the Academy of Dark Arts, and yet, neither of you has a strong suit in potions. 

And of course, the Potions teacher, Agatha Harkness, is the hardest teacher you have. 

“This is impossible. How am I supposed to remember that, for the Wolfsbane Potion, you have to stir three times counterclockwise, say this incantation, and then stir four times clockwise, all while making sure I’m continuously pouring in Dragon’s Blood?” Your head hurts just from reading it from the book. 

Wanda snorts. “Agatha doesn’t expect it to be perfect.”

You give her a look. You both know that’s a lie. Agatha is the teacher that makes you redo written homework assignments if you leave too much space between the words. 

The Academy of Dark Arts was a home for witches like you and Wanda: witches that did not have a coven, or even a family. The Academy was supposed to teach girls to harness and understand their powers. 

You have been here the longest, ever since you were twelve. You are almost twenty now. You had always put off taking Potions until you could no longer avoid it, mainly just because of how hard everyone else said it was. You had briefly interacted with Professor Harkness before the class, passing her in the corridors or making eye contact at meals. 

And maybe, just maybe, you had developed a bit of a crush on her once you were in her class. 

Who could blame you, though? She was the definition of perfection, with the way power just exuded from her, and the way her long, dark hair tumbled down to her lower back, and her piercing blue eyes that you suspected could see right into your soul. 

But your little infatuation was not what you needed right now – no, right now, you need to study. 

“I just don’t know anything,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t even read my notes.” Agatha often went so fast in class that you had no other option than to just scribble down everything you thought she said as quickly as you could. 

And now you just had pages of illegible chicken scratch. 

“She’s probably still in the green house, why not just go ask her for help,” Wanda says noncommittally, too engrossed in sketching a picture. How she is so calm with this test hanging over the both of you, you have no idea. 

But you nod. That’s a good idea. You can go see Agatha, ask her to clarify a few things, and then stay up all night cramming ingredients and directions into your brain. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promise, and then scoop up your book and your notes. 

You pass by some younger witches in the hallway and you give them a tight-lipped smile. Wanda was really your only friend at the Academy, the other girls too boy-crazy or too self-absorbed for you to really connect with them. 

Other than those girls, though, the Academy is quiet. No sign of any of your other teachers, and you’re sure they’re either in their private quarters or still grading papers in their classrooms. 

You have to leave the main house of the Academy to get to the greenhouse, where Potions takes place. The cold November air stings your cheeks and makes your eyes water, but luckily, it’s a short walk. 

“Hello, Professor Harkness?” you say timidly, knocking on the door as you push it open. She’s sitting at a stool, cutting plants with a sharp knife. Her hair flowing down her back and she's wearing a tight white button-down shirt on that’s tucked into high-waisted purple pants, and a long, navy coat.

She glances up and smiles when she sees it’s you. “Y/n, what can I do for you?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to come see if you could help me clear some things up for the test tomorrow,” you say, a little flustered by how good she looks. 

“Sure thing, hon. First, I need your help. Hand me those powders from over there?” She points the knife over to the counter by the sink and you oblige, grabbing the four vials and putting them down next to her. She picks each one up and examines the label closely. “Ah, shoot. Sorry, dear, could you find the jar with the powdered root of asphodel? It should be in the pantry somewhere. I thought I took it out, but I guess I forgot.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You repeat the powder name in your head a few times so you don’t forget it and then go search for it. 

You finally spot it on the fourth shelf, sitting in the middle of some other jars, and you reach up on your tip-toes to grab it. As you’re pulling down the correct jar, you accidentally knock it into another and it falls to the floor next to you. 

“Shit!” you mutter, immediately crouching down to assess the damage. The jar of some unknown powder has broken and its contents are spilled everywhere. Without even thinking, you start to sweep the powder into your hands so you can try to put it back in the bottom half of the jar that’s still intact. 

You didn’t even notice Agatha coming over after she heard the noise. “Everything okay – don’t touch any of that!” she exclaims, seeing the bottle that broke on the floor.

You drop the mound of powder in your hands and whirl around, eyes wide open. 

“What is it?” you ask, afraid of the answer, but she doesn’t give you one, instead opting to pull you by the sleeve over to the sink. 

“Wash your hands now,” she demands and stands there watching you scrub your skin until it’s red. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel fine,” you say, but as you say that, you notice something. There’s an unmistakable heat growing in your stomach. And it only gets worse when Agatha places a hand against your forehead. You lean into the touch and have to forcibly bite your tongue so you don’t moan. 

She looks you up and down and you can feel yourself getting hotter. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

“Um, just out of curiosity, what was that powder?” you ask, wetness pooling between your thighs. The ache between your legs is becoming hard to ignore. 

Agatha meets your eyes. “It’s called sex pollen.” Your heart skips a beat. “I honestly forgot it was back there. I came across some a few decades ago and wanted to study it.”

You swallow hard. “So if someone gets some of it in their system, do they just need to touch…” You feel yourself blushing, not quite believing you’re asking Agatha Harkness if masturbation is the key to get this heat inside you to die down. 

She smirks. “You can’t get it out of your system by yourself.”

Well, fuck. “There’s no other way?” 

“Where would the fun in that be?” She winks playfully, and you wonder if she’s ever used it, or used it on someone else. “But you said you feel fine so you shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Right,” you reply shakily. Her fingers brush a strand of hair out of her face and you literally clench at the sight of them. You feel so empty, so needy, so desperate for her. 

“You said you had some questions for the test tomorrow?” She takes the root of asphodel that you had forgotten you were holding and beckons you back over to where she’s working. She pats the stool next to you and you sit, the pressure on your clit making you jump. 

You just have to make it through this, go back to your room, and then drag Wanda out with you to a club or something so you can get fucked. 

The only problem is, you’re not sure you can wait that long. Your hips have started squirming on the stool beneath you and you can’t control it. 

“Um, so,” you start, opening up the textbook to the Wolfsbane Potion you were studying earlier. “The directions for this potion are–”

You’re cut off by her putting her hand on top of yours and you literally whimper at the contact. You stiffen and see her turn her full body towards you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, your darkened eyes, the way your hips are moving on the seat. 

“Oh, you poor baby,” she taunts. 

You give up the pretense of being unaffected by the pollen. “Professor, I’m so…I need…please…I think the pollen...” 

She laughs. “Yes, dear, I think the pollen got into your system. Do you have anyone who can take care of you?” 

You blush at the implication of Agatha asking if you have a fuck buddy and then shake your head pathetically. “I was gonna go out with Wanda and try to find someone,” you mumble. “I’ve never…” You trail off, not wanting your incredibly hot professor to hear you say out loud that you’re a virgin. 

“Honey, you can’t have your first time with a random person from a bar,” she tuts. “Plus, sex pollen amplifies feelings you already have. Getting fucked by a random person won’t help as much as by a person you already want.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” you whine. “Can you…will you…please?” You can tell the pollen is affecting your ability to think straight because there is no way you just asked your centuries-old professor to fuck you. You’re about ready to run out of the room and die of embarrassment when she grins. 

“You want me to help you?” 

Your breath catches. “Professor, please, please, I need it. I need you. I just feel so…hot.” 

“I’ll say,” she says appreciatively, this time letting her eyes wander over you slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you regretting this when the pollen wears off.” 

You shake your head. “I won’t. I’m sure. I want you so bad. I have for a while. And you said it has to be someone you already want.” 

Her eyes darken. “Get on the table.” 

You’ve never moved so fast in your life. She takes your shirt off and throws it somewhere else in the room, and then her hands are cupping your breasts and her mouth is on yours. 

You moan hungrily into her hot mouth, feeling her tongue against yours. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling it gently, and she groans into your mouth. Agatha quickly undoes the clasp of your bra and finds your nipples, tugging at them. She kisses down your neck and your fingers leave her hair to hike up your skirt. 

“So eager for me,” she whispers against your clavicle. You gasp when she bites down. 

“Please, professor, touch me.” 

“I am touching you,” she teases, fingertips lightly skimming down your stomach. You tense at the touch as she gets lower. 

Your moan is downright pornographic when she first slides her hand into your underwear, sliding through your folds. She makes a sound as well. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” she says. 

“All for you,” you say weakly, hips grinding up and down against her fingers. She’s yet to touch your clit, but you fear the second she does, you’ll cum. 

“My dirty girl.” Agatha finally pushes her middle finger into you and you clench down immediately, needing more. She easily finds the spot that makes you squeal, and her thumb brushes against your clit. “Do you think you can take another finger?” 

“Oh my god, yes,” you enthusiastically agree and she slides in her ring finger as well. It’s a bit of a stretch but you’ve never felt better. 

“Your cunt feels so good around me,” Agatha says, grabbing your chin with her other hand so you meet her eyes. “So wet, so warm. I want to stay here forever. You can’t get enough of my fingers, can you?” 

“No, Professor, I love your fingers,” you babble, right on the edge. She knows it too. 

“Be a good girl and come for mommy,” she whispers right into your ear, her hot breath warm, and the name, coupled with the way she twists her fingers and roughly strokes your clit, sends you climaxing. 

“Fuckkkk,” you moan, your nails digging into her shoulders. She fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and then slowly pulls her fingers, which are drenched, out of you. You can’t help but feel empty and the heat inside you isn’t completely gone. 

Before you can say anything, she slides her wet fingers into your mouth and you lazily lap at your juices. She bites her lip at the feeling. 

“How are you feeling now, baby girl?” 

Her fingers leave your mouth with a pop. “Better but I still think I need more.” 

Her eyebrow raises playfully. “My fingers weren’t enough to quell your thirst?” 

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed. 

“I think I know something that might help.” She waves her hand and a poof of purple smoke appears. You’re not quite sure what she did, but she gives you a wicked grin and unzips her pants, pulling out a purple strap-on. 

Your mouth falls open. 

She grabs a hold of the base and starts to stroke herself, groaning. 

“Wait, can you-” 

She looks up at you. “Feel it?” She nods. “I wanna feel you clench around my cock. Wanna fill you up.” 

You let out a small gasp. “Mommy, please, I need your cock.” 

She steps back over to you and runs a hand up your slit, collecting your wetness, which she then rubs on her cock. “You’re plenty wet already, but why don’t you get on your knees and show me how much of a good girl you can be.” 

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You practically fall to the ground in front of her, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees. You look up at her, awaiting instruction, and she bites her lip softly at the sight of you. 

She puts a hand on your head and pushes you closer. “Put a hand around the base and then run your tongue up and down the length.” 

You do as you’re told and you delight in the loud moan that tears from her mouth. Her hand just rests on your head as you then experimentally suck the tip of her cock between your lips. 

“Good girl,” she says gruffly, and her praise drives you to test the waters and go down further. You bob your head on her dick, never breaking eye contact. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so hot.” 

Meanwhile, the need inside you is growing so much you can barely fight the urge to slip a hand up your skirt. But you don’t. You figure Agatha won’t like that, and also, you want to focus all your attention on making her feel good. 

“Such a dirty slut on her knees for mommy. So desperate for this cock,” she says and you groan around the strap-on, making her hands tighten in your hair. She pulls you back and a string of saliva connects your lips to her. “Get up.” 

Once you’re standing in front of her, she flips you around and bends your front over the table so she’s standing behind you. She pushes your skirt up and traces your pussy with her cock, sliding it up your slit to your clit and then back. You’re grinding against her, trying to get some stimulation. 

“Are you ready?” Agatha asks. 

“Yes,” you answer, voice hoarse with anticipation. You feel her line the tip up with your hole and then slowly start to push in. 

Both of you moan. She is so big but the stretch is exactly what you need. Once she bottoms out, she holds still for a second, letting you adjust to her size. 

“You take my cock so well.” And then she’s pulling out and thrusting back in, picking up speed and intensity. You lift a leg up so she’s able to get deeper and you can feel her hips stutter. “You pretend to be so innocent but look at how desperate you are for me. Just a little slut, needing me to fill her up.” 

“Yes, just a slut for you, mommy.” 

Her nails dig into your hip and her other hand comes down to rub your clit. You clench around her. 

“You’re so tight, so hot, you feel so good squeezing my dick,” Agatha murmurs, saying the filthiest things right into your ear. You’re so close and it’s only been a few minutes of her pounding into you. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. Her hand leaves your clit and you gasp. 

“Not yet, baby, wait for mommy. Do you want me to fill you up?” 

“Want you to fill me up, mommy, wanna feel you dripping out of me,” you babble. 

“Oh shit, baby, gonna cum in you. Cum for me,” she says, and you do. This orgasm is even more intense than the one before and you feel her give you one last hard thrust before warmth spreads through your cunt. She stills for just a second and then gingerly pulls out. You can feel her cum dripping out of your hole and down your leg and it almost makes you cum again. 

Agatha turns you around and spreads your legs so she can watch it better. She takes two fingers and lazily smears her cum mixed with yours all over your pussy lips. She raises her fingers to your lips and you eagerly taste both of your juices, moaning around them. 

“Do you feel better now?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes. 

You sigh dramatically. “For now. But who’s to say I won’t get into more sex pollen some other time?”

She chuckles and matches your smirk with one of her own. “Well, I guess I better keep a careful eye on you then.” 

[seelestia]

✧ a healer's touch.

although more than capable of healing himself, mydeimos finds no harm in seeking out medical help for convenience — and when he does, it's almost always and only from you. { 1.2k words }

#STARRING. mydei & healer!reader (gn).

#GENRE. slice of life, fluff, established friendship with feelings.

#NOTES. set pre-3.1, mentions of a minor injury & treating it (pls forgive inaccuracies!), one brief instance of close proximity, mentions of phainon as a tool of banter which leads to jealous mydei, reader is a bit of a gremlin & a tease.

#THOUGHTS. my first try writing for amphoreus charas and it's mydei !!! :-) bcs the concept of him w/ a healer!reader is so hdhshfhs. this was also supposed to be shorter but i got carried away. pls enjoy reading this short drabble! 𖹭

✶ masterlist.

© seelestia on tumblr, mar 2025. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own. reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Befitting of the Kremnoan pride he bears, it comes off as no surprise that MYDEI’s gaze is closely accompanied by smoldering heat that can scald those who dare to catch a mere glimpse.

But as he stands before you now with a hand over his wounded flesh, whatever flame that persistently lingers ablaze within his sunset eyes seems to have faded into something else... something more akin to avoidance.

Avoiding your gaze, more specifically.

At this point, the entrance to your small clinic might as well be considered a close friend of Mydei’s thanks to the many times he has paid this place a visit. For as often as his feet have stepped here though, it still gets annoyingly difficult to take even a single step inside when you're looking at him like that.

“This is the third time this week,” you let out a deep sigh. You aren't a fool. Obviously, the smooth cut of his injury and the prior ruckus you heard outside point to one thing: another argument-turned match between him and Phainon over... anything, really.

The disappointment in your voice doesn't bother to conceal itself and its presence alone is enough to cause the mighty warrior to flinch slightly. He doesn't question why the thought of disappointing you stings almost as much as his wounds do.

The pen in your hand has been put down, scribbled footnotes about patients are set aside, and your mind forsakes your papers in favor of addressing the looming presence at your door. Looming in appearance but not so much in attitude with the way he still refuses to look you in the eye.

"...I know,” Mydei grumbles. No resistance and no hostility, only acknowledgement towards this particular lecture of yours that he has heard several times before.

“I might have to start using webs as gauzes in the future,” you shake your head. “You and Phainon are going to be the reason I'll run low on medical supplies one of these days.”

This time, he frowns—a fearsome sight, if it weren't for how familiar you are with it in less than fearsome settings—not at you but at the issue proposed by your statement. Mydei glances around to scan your workspace and although it lasts briefly, his conclusion seems firm as he finally looks you in the eyes.

“...I'll bring it up with Aglaea next time,” he crosses his arms against his chest. Carefully, of course. Even with immortality running through his veins and his gradual numbness to the prickly touch of pain, he still can't risk getting a sharp glare from you for being inconsiderate towards his “bodily misery”.

There are times you think that Mydei can be considerate in his own way, though. Just like right now. “Oh, I jest,” you can't help the way your eyes soften around the edges. “I still have leftover supplies from the last time you did that. I'd rather not trouble her again.”

“Well then,” you quickly usher him to the empty chair near your desk before any sort of protest can escape from his mouth. “Allow me to take a look?”

He clicks his tongue—either at your act of rushing him or refusing his offer or both of them—but doesn't protest. Taking a step forward is already enough to indicate his agreement. One, two, three, four. . . exactly four steps from the doorway to reach the empty chair, a rhythm that Mydei doesn't even realize he's gotten used to.

You don't waste time getting to work as soon as he takes a seat. Following your routine, your eyes meticulously examine the wound on his skin to assess its qualities. The silence doesn't have the opportunity to stretch long as you pipe up with a particularly, frequently asked question.

“So, who won this time?” you hum as your hands deftly grab a few items off your shelf, moving on to cleaning his wound.

“Ha, as if you even need to ask,” Mydei proclaims haughtily. It's never not amusing to witness his inherent boldness resurface... after getting nagged, that is.

“Let me guess. Phainon won?” you deduce, but it's less of a deduction and more of an attempt to get on Mydei's nerves. The offended look he gives you afterwards is the exact reward you wish for.

“Don't try to be funny—” he shoots you a scowl, then hisses when you dab a damp washcloth to the area around his wound.

“Worth a try,” you smile amusedly before offering him a small apology. There is a tinge of guilt in your conscience for not giving him a heads-up about it. Cries of pain are never a melody to a healer's ears, after all. You direct your focus back to cleaning his injury, your movements more gentle: “Thankfully, your wound this time isn't as deep as your usual ones. The bleeding is also lessening faster than normal which I assume to be your ability at work,” you observe out loud.

“...Just say it's a curse,” he sighs. “No need to sugarcoat it, healer.”

“Different interpretations,” you counter.

“Whatever,” he relents, an indifference that is betrayed by his flushing cheeks. Hm, is it the heat? You're very sure all the windows in your clinic are ajar, though.

“Let me take one more look,” you scooch a little closer to inspect his injury again. The sudden shift in proximity effectively throws Mydei's senses into overdrive. He can quite literally smell the fragrance that sticks to your clothes with you this close. It only lasts for a few moments, however, and it's when you pull away that he realizes he's been holding his breath.

“Hey, you look like you're burning up,” you frown as you give him his space back. “A wound accompanied by a fever could indicate—”

“I'm fine,” his response is hastier than he would've preferred. Not enough to preserve the pieces of dignity he feels he has lost just now, but he can pick them up just fine.

“Alright then, would you like a kiss after?”

(Now, he really has to pick those pieces back up with his own bare hands.)

“I— what?”

Mydei looks at you as if you've lost your mind, as if the black tide has materialized out of nowhere to help you accomplish that.

“After I wrap up your wound,” you explain, trying your utmost best not to keel over from laughter right then and there. You know what you're doing. “Children ask me for them all the time. Says it helps with their recovery.”

Mydei can't even choose which aspect of this absolute incredulity he should address first: the logic (or lack thereof) in the sentence itself or the sheer audacity you have to ask him that. Amidst his loss for a response he deems proper, the only thing he can manage to utter is this: “Never suggest something so preposterous ever again.”

You ignore the horror in his voice in favor of fueling the flames a little more. “Not even to Phainon?” you ask, just a tiny bit goading.

“Especially him,” he snarls, “unless you want me to hurl him at death's door myself.”

“Duly noted.”

Ironically, Mydeimos thinks you are going to be the death of him someday. If that's even possible.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

— THANK YOU FOR READING! another reminder: please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

[luvyeni]

❛THE SINNER AND THE SIN❜ ( l. heeseung )

p. badboy!heeseung x fem!reader w. 4.7k+

— 𖦹 warnings. corruption kink, drug usages, virginity loss, unprotected sex, oral ( f. receiving )

authors note. this was supposed to be a short drabble but oh well ,🤷🏽‍♀️— 𖦹 ( heeseung never really liked church until he met you ) !

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

lee heeseung didn’t want a lot of things— he didn’t want to get up and go to school in the morning, or work with his day on the weekends to “keep him out of trouble” — even though that didn’t stop him from sneaking out in the middle of the night to smoke and drink with his friends

he also didn’t want to go to church with his family on sundays — well at first he didn’t, those people didn’t like him, and he didn’t care, the feeling was mutual— but then he met you, and suddenly he was ready for church every sunday; of course he never ended up staying, getting a few glimpse of you, getting up and leaving out the back where his friends waited with beer and other substances for them to try.

“the new pastors daughter? really?” his friends would laugh at him. “at least the last pastors daughter would give blowjobs to anyone who’d look at her.” jake said. “but her, look at her bro.” he’d just roll his eyes, chewing down on his lip ring as he watched you run to your next class; your long skirt flowing behind you, clutching your books as you maneuvered your way through the halls. “she’s running to class and we still have 10 minutes left and it’s gym class.” heeseung smiled to himself, the funniest thing about that is you didn’t even participate in the class, sitting on the bleachers watching everyone else.

heeseung didn’t see you that day; sunghoon suggesting they leave school to go get high at his house — but he knew he’d see you on sunday, even it was only for a few minutes.

“you know my cousin runs a camp for boys like him.” heeseung rolled his eyes at the older man in front of him and his mother. “have him fixed in no time, those scandalous tattoos and the unholy lip gone; all that dark make up as well, make him a good and respected boy, ready for marriage.” his mother couldn’t do anything but laugh awkwardly, something she always did when anyone questioned his ways. “i’ll get you the number at the end of the service.”

“put your jacket on.” his dad said. “its 70 degrees outside, and 80 in here.” he scoffed. “yeah well you should’ve thought about that before messing your skin up with all that scribble.” he said as the music started, they stood up. “you’ll sneak out in about 10 minutes anyway, for now don’t disrespect the lord with that garbage on your arm.” he threw the jacket over his arms annoyed. “thank you.”

10 minutes in and he still hadn’t seen you yet; normally you’re sitting right in front with your mother, legs covered by a blanket, hiding your legs that he'd gotten a peak of a few times before you were quickly covered up by your mother; he was sure she knew he was looking at you, of course she didn’t want her daughter being gawked at, especially by a boy like him.

his phone rang out, some people turned their heads, realizing who it was, shaking there heads before turning back. “do you mind?” his mom whispered. he took his phone out; reading the message from jay. ‘are you done staring at your girlfriend? get your ass on, jake is losing his mind without his weed.’

he tucked his phone away; standing up. his parents don’t even look at him, they’re used to this; guess he'll see you in school. walking out of place, about to make his way out the back. “you can go out the front you know?” a voice made him stop; a voice he’d only heard from afar until now. “you always go out the back, but the front is right there, they can’t keep you here, that would be kidnapping.”

he turned around facing you; your white blouse covered in red and wet. “my sister spilled her juice on me.” Your soft voice calmed him. “my favorite shirt too.” you mumbled to yourself, he smiled to himself, he was about to say something when the back door swung open. “hyung.” jake’s voice rang throughout the hallway. “hurry the fuck up, the beers are getting cold.”

your eyes widened; ready to turn and walk the other way— he was gonna kill jake. “wait.” he called out, you stopped mid walk. “here.” you turned around and he was shucking his jacket off, handing it to you. “to cover up your shirt, your shirt is white and it’s see through.” he watched your arms fly up to your chest, covering yourself, he chuckled; extending his arm out— he’d already seen it. “th-thank yo-you.” you said meekly, grabbing the jacket. “i-i’ll return it tomorrow.”

he nodded, a door swinging open again — this time it was the door to the church. “yn!” you heard your mother gasp. “mother.” you said. “yn get over here this instance.” you turned to the boy apologetically, your mother looked at the boy with disgust in her eyes, he scoffed under his breath. “see you around pinky.” he said, your eyes widened as he turned to walk out the back— your bra was pink. “what were you doing out here?” she asked. “and with that boy?” you shook your head. “nothing mother, just trying to get the stain out the shirt like you said.” you showed her the jacket. “he let me borrow this, that’s it.” You starred at the ground. “you can’t wear this, what would people think?” she exclaimed. “i have nothing else.”

“here.” she took her sweater off, handing it to you. “you are to give that boy his jacket back tomorrow and never speak to him again, you understand?” you nodded. “good, now let’s go listen to the rest of your fathers sermon.” she held your lower back, guiding you back to your seats, you held the jacket in your hand, the cute boy who you always watched leave the church; the boy you’ve watched since you moved here— he gave you his jacket.

“so?” jake slammed his locker shut. “was i wrong and is little church girl a freak?” jay rolled his eyes at the boy. “this is why we tell you not to smoke before school.” jake shrugged. “just asking a question, she looked pretty flustered yesterday.” heeseung frowned. “yeah cause she was soaked.” jake began to cheer— the people in the hall just trying to get to class, looking at the chaos the boy was causing— everyone knew where his mind went. “not like that you idiot, her shirt was soaked.” The boy high out of his mind let out a oh; the kids in the hall.

“i didn’t even get a chance to talk to her, dumbass over there ruined it and her mother walked out.” heeseung grumbled. “i gave her my jacket though so she should be coming around soon.” sunghoon spoke up. “that’s if her parents didn’t make her burn it, thinking it was cursed with some demon.” The group of boy erupted into a fit of laughter. “shut up.”

you sat your things down at your desk; you always chose to sit in the back by yourself; you preferred it that way. “hello pinky.” heeseung sat down next to you with a smirk. “wh-what are you doing?” you stuttered, he never came to first period, you started to forget he was in this class. “wanted to see what was so special about the back seat.” he shrugged. “its nice back here, might have to sit back here for now on.” he tilted his head. “that okay pinky?” you nodded, unable to speak, afraid of what would come out.

“i-i ha-have your jacket.” you said. “it-it’s in my locker, i can give it to you after school.” you could barely look him in the eye, he liked that, gave him a sense of power. “okay.” he smiled, the bell ringing, he stood up, your eyes following his tattooed arms. “whe-where are you going, class is starting, your not staying?” your eyes wide with curiosity, you looked so cute starring up at him.

“oh im not staying.” he said, watching your lips form a pout. “oh.” he smiled, did you want him to stay? “don’t be too upset baby, i just came to see you, i’ll see you later for my jacket.” your mind short circuited upon hearing him call you baby; he chuckled, watching you stumble over your words. “i’ll come find you yeah?” he said, you nodded. “good, i’ll see you then baby, enjoy your class.” you gave him a small wave as he left out the class, smiling to yourself, like a little girl given a new doll— a cute and tall and seriously tatted doll.

he had it all planned out— after a five minute curse out from jake for ruining his plans for “a girl who wouldn’t give you the time of day” — his words; heeseung ignore the boy, he finally got away from them, making his way back to the school, just in time to make it to the final bell, standing by your locker, waiting for you. “he-heeseung.”

“told you i’d be back didn’t i?” you shyly nodded, opening your locker. “h-here.” you pulled out his jacket, handing it to him. “you keep it, give it back to me when i drop you off.” Your eyes widened. “ta-take me home?” you shook your head. “my sister is home, if i show up with you she’ll tell my parents.” you frowned. “im not allowed to be with boys alone, especially.” you trailed off. “boys like me?” you nodded. “im sorry.”

“don’t be baby.” he said. “if i was your dad i wouldn’t want my precious baby being dropped off by a guy like me.” he said, lifting your head up by your chin looking you in the eyes. “he’s a smart man baby.” you felt your knees about to give out with the way he was looking at you. “w-will i see you at church?” he chuckled. “will you speak to me?” he kissed your cheek, your eyes widened. “don’t worry baby i’ll see you.” he let your chin go. “don’t miss your bus baby.” he said, closing your locker for you. “th-thank you.” you walked away, cheeks burning, his jacket still in your hand.

“you disobeyed me child.” your mother opened the door as you got ready for church. “what do you mean?” she opened the closet, pulling out the jacket you were meant to give back to heeseung days ago. “i strictly told you to return him his jacket and then you were to leave him alone.” she tossed the jacket to the floor, you picked it up, holding it to your chest. “what is this you’ve been accepting rides from him?”

it's true, after that day heeseung ask you again; and you agreed only if he dropped you off a few blocks from where you lived. “hanseuls mother saw you get out of his car, how long did you think you could hide this?” she shouted. “he’s a nice boy mother.” you said. “nice boy?” she scoffed. “you see the way he looks, hear the way he acts, he’s no good and he’s damned to hell.”

“i like him mama!” you shouted, it was the first time you shouted at your mother; it felt good. “has he done something to you, to make you act like this, has he tainted your soul?” you were frustrated. “mama are you asking if we had sex?” she gasped. “no we didn’t , he’s respectful.” You’ve never seen your mothers eyes widened. “what has gotten into you child? wait until your father hears of this.”

“nothing has gotten into me mother, but im 18, i am old enough to make these decisions on my own.” you said. “i’ll be off to college soon and i know nothing about anything, it’s like im stuck in a kids mind.” You said. “yn i- im not a child anymore.” you clutched heeseungs jacket. “stop treating me like one.”

the ride to the church was what you expect, your parents yelling at how you were pretty much damned to hell along with heeseung; that he was gonna lead you down a path of horrible decisions , to which you just starred out the window, blocking out the screaming until you reached the church.

you saw heeseung sitting outside the church inside his car, a crowed of people walking into the church— now it was your chance. “there he is im gonna get out and tell that degenerate to leave my daughter alone.” not if you could stop it; as soon as he stopped, you quickly open the door, running across the parking lot ignoring your mother and fathers calls.

you opened the door to heeseungs car; his eyes widened. “yn.” he saw you heavy breathing. “whats- please drive.” you looked out the window, your dad angrily approaching the car. “uh shit, he found out.” you nodded, he started the car. “please drive now.” your dad was about to knock on the window when heeseung sped off, leaving a cloud of dust in the wind. “shit.”

“my parents are gonna kill me.” he said driving down the street, you could no longer see the church. “screw my parents, your parents are gonna kill me.” he turned to you— you were starring out the window, much calmer than before; he smiled. “i can roll the window down if you want.” you nodded, he rolled the window down, the warm air hitting your skin, the sun shining down on your body. “it feels nice.”

“so little runaway, where to?” he said, you shrugged. “you ran away without a plan? rookie move pinky.” He teased. “it was my first time, and its blue today.” he smiled as your eyes widened; you clearly didn’t mean to tell him that. “good to know.” he said. “well you’ve already ran away and according to your dad committed 666 sins, what’s a few more?” he said. “lets go see my friends.” he did a u-turn, placing his hand on your thigh. “this okay with you?” you nodded, so he kept it.

you pulled up to a house, much bigger than yours. “jays parents are loaded and are hardly home.” he said. “this is where you always sneak off to when you should be in school?” he laughed. “little miss runaway judging me now.” you pouted. “cheer up pup, we’re gonna have fun i promise.”

“put that on.” he pointed to his jacket that you’ve been holding this time. “why?” you asked. “because i told you to.” He looked down at your outfit, your pretty white dress, these guys get off on girls like you for fun and he’ll be damned if he loses you to jay or worse— jake. “fine.” you put the jacket on. “how do i look?”

how did he tell you that you wearing his clothes made him want to take you back to his car and fuck you until the block knew his name. “you look cute.” he grabbed your hand. “will your friends like me?” you looked at him. “maybe a little too much, it kinda makes me not want to bring you in.” he said, holding your chin with his other hand. “you’re too cute for those guys to even look at.” he kissed your cheek, you giggled in response. “stop it.”

heeseung didn’t bother knocking on the door, just walking in. “his house is nice.” you said. “don’t tell him that, he hates it.” you nodded as he guided you throughout the house. “we usually hang out downstairs in his basement.” he said opening another door. “yo , jay!” he shouted. “down here heeseung.” he turned to you, fixing his jacket so it covered you. “they’re harmless most of the time, don’t worry.” he went first, still clutching your hand as you went down the steps.

“how was church?” you heard them laughing, the smell of marijuana hitting your nose. “what chapter did you learn today?” heeseung rolled his eyes. “dumbasses look up from the weed.” they turned to you, falling silent— you squeezed heeseungs hand, squeezing it. “hi.” you smiled, waving.

“yall see her too right, this not a bad trip.” all the boys turned to the boy who was laid across the couch in the fully done basement. “shut up jake.” heeseung guided you to the single couch. “sit.” he tapped his lap. “o-on your lap?” he hummed. “yeah.” he said. “or you could sit next to jake.” The boy smiled, obviously high. “i don’t bite.” jay laughed. “you just bit sunghoon.” heeseung pulled you by your waist, you yelp falling into his lap.

“yn would you like something to drink?” jay said. “jay has sodas upstairs, i can go get you one.” jake said attempting to stand. “is he okay?” you questioned. “jake? yeah, he’s under the influence baby, don’t worry about.” heeseung said, the grip on your waist becoming more tighter. “baby?” jake said. “shut up jake, don’t worry yn i’ll go get you a soda.” jay stood up, walking up the steps.

“so how did heeseung get you here, it is sunday after all?” sunghoon asked. “you are here on your own will right?” you laughed, heeseung scoffed. “she’s the one who ran away.” jake laughed. “you two are like romeo and juliet.” sunghoon shook his head in disappointment. “heeseung.” jake handed him off what you obviously knew was marijuana, that he’d been smoking and a beer. “no it’s fine, im good.”

“what your girlfriend is here and you’re trying to be a good boy.” jake teased. “jake.” jay warned coming back down the steps. “here yn i bought you a few.” you thanked him, opening one, taking a sip. “heeseung at least have a drink.” you turned to the boy. “you don’t have to hide anything, just do what you normally do.”

“you sure, i still have to drive you home.” he said. “you two can stay here for the night, heeseung normally does that anyway.” jay said, you smiled thanking him. “well then i don’t mind, my parents will have my head anyway.” he laughed, jake held out his hand containing the lit up substance. “you know you want you.”

so he did, letting himself get comfortable after a few puffs and a few beers; he was much more laid back, his legs were more spread apartment; man spreading— his hands low on your waist. “so yn are you and heeseung dating?” jake asked. “uh— yeah we are.” heeseung sat up straight, now his hard chest was pressed against your back. “chill bro, she’s all yours.” jake took a sip of his drink. “you got any pretty church friends?”

“jake put the weed down, it’s time you sobered up a bit.” jake slurred his words. “but im sleeping here.” he pouted. “doesn’t mean i want to take care of you.” you smiled, watching the boys fight the other to stop drinking and to take a sip of water. “whats so funny baby?” you felt heeseung rest his chin in between your shoulder blades. “your friends are really funny.”

“you think?” you didn’t notice to shift in his voice. “you okay?” you asked, feeling him continuously shift in his seat. “am i too heavy i can go sit on the couch.” you let out a gasp, feeling his arm wrap around your waist. “don’t move.” you finally heard the deepening of his voice. “you feel good.”

heeseung could normally control himself, but between the weed and alcohol running through his blood— the fact you’d been moving around in his lap for the past 3 hours, it was safe to say he was fully rock hard. “ar-are you getting sleepy?” you stuttered, you knew what he wanted, and you were ready— you wanted him to take your virginity. “heeseung knows where the guest bedroom is.” jay said.

“lets go to bed hee.” you stood up. “okay.” he stood up, still holding your hand. “its nice to meet you yn.” jake said, sunghoon sitting on top him trying to force water into the drunk boys mouth. “yeah good night.” the boy huffed, fighting on top of the other. “night.”

you made it to the room, opening the door. “come.” heeseung flopped down on the bed. “come lay with me.” he whispered; you kicked your shoes off, shredded yourself of his jacket; joining him in bed, sitting down. “no baby.” he chuckled, pulling you down next to him. “i want you to lay with me.”

his face was so close to yours, laying on yourside; his cheeks red from the beer, eyes matching from the weed. “so cute baby.” he fingers traced your jaw. “so cute, you ran to me today.” he whispered. “i like you heeseung.” you held his hand as he caressed your cheek. “oh baby i like you too, so much.” His breath hot against your face, making your breath hitch. “you wanna kiss baby?” you nodded, he closed the small gap.

his lips felt dry against your soft ones, but it didn’t bother you— especially with the way his hands was slowly pulling up your dress, you hips desperately trying to chase his fingers. “slow down baby.” he laughed against your lips. “i’ll give you whatever you want.” he finally found your panties, his fingers touching your clothed cunt. “just let me do everything.”

he was now on top of you, his knee in between your legs. “let me take care of this pussy.” you whimpered at his words. “heeseung.” his hand stroked your cunt. “gonna eat you.” he pushed your dress above your waist. “lets get you out of these, they’re all ruined anyway.” he pulled your panties down, almost moaning at your untouched cunt. “fuck baby, you’re so tiny down there.”

“st-stop it.” you covered your face. “don’t hide this pretty face.” he removed your hands, kissing your cheek. “i wanna see your face when i make you cum for the first time on my tongue.” soon he was face to face with your cunt. “you smell nice baby.” you let out a soft moan as he kissed your cunt. “heeseung.”

he held your thighs open, his nose brushing against your clit. “fuck heeseung!” you moaned out. “language baby.” he chuckled, licking a fat strip against your heat. “my baby doesn’t use bad language.” he pinched your thighs, diving right into your cunt, eating you up like he’d never tasted anything in his life.

heeseung was in heaven, he was no longer intoxicated because of the alcohol or the drugs— it was you; you were consuming his every being, your sweet cunt dripping into his mouth, your soft moans, your tiny hands pawing into the bed sheets desperate to hold something as he sucked on your poor clit. “heeseung it feels funny.” you moaned out. “stop please.”

he forced himself away from your heat. ���that means you’re gonna cum baby.” he kissed the inside of your thighs. “don’t you wanna cum on my tongue.” you whimpered out as he kitty licked your clit, the feeling soon returning. “i-i feel it again.” you moaned, he hummed out in approval. “heeseung im gonna cum.”

the feeling was euphoric, your body felt like it was floating, your legs wrapping around his head as you came, he had to undo your legs from his head, as much as he wanted to die in between your cunt, he wanted to be first one to fuck you. “that felt good baby?”

you nodded, he took his shirt off tossing it across the room. “you want something better, you want my cock baby?” you nodded, he lifted your dress over your head, leaving you in your blue bra. “gonna take this off okay.” he unhooked the bra, letting it fall. “so pretty.” his cock twitching in anticipation, desperate to fuck you. “pretty tits.”

he toyed with your nipples, squeezing your mounds, using his other hand to unbuckle his belt. “you wanna see it baby?” you nodded. “ye-yes please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, never been fucked before, you were ready to feel it. “wanna feel it inside.”

he groaned at your words. “fuck baby you don’t even now what you’re asking for.” he quickly pulling his pants off, letting his cock free, your eyes widened, you’d never seen one before, but he was definitely big and thick. “don’t be scared baby, touch it baby.” he guided your hands down his abs, groaning as you made contact with his length. “fuck baby, wrap your hand around it.” You obeyed. “good girl, now stroke it some.”

it felt heavy in your hands, he held the himself up on the headboard as you stroked him. “fu-fuck baby if you don’t stop im gonna cum.” he cursed. “let me put it in.” you let him go, he positioned himself in between again, letting his cock slap against your stomach. “its so big.” he smirked. “yeah?” he grabbed the base of his shaft. “gonna take all of it?”

he pressed his leaking tip at your entrance, you whimpered. “don’t be scared baby.” he slowly pushed inside you. “go-gonna be gentle.” his voice quivered as he forced himself not to stuff you full of his cock— he didn’t want to hurt you, but your cunt was sucking him in. “fuck baby your pussy is swallowing my cock.”

it felt uncomfortable the sudden intrusion, his cock slowly filling you up. “heeseung.” you whimpered. “i know baby, i know.” he pushed the last few inches in. “its in baby, you took me all.” he kissed your forehead. “good job baby.” his voice quivering due to your cunt squeezing his cock like crazy. “fuck baby, calm down my dick feels like its gonna break.” he grunted. “m'gonna move now.”

he slowly moved , dragging his cock along your walls. “fuck.” he cursed. “i love this cunt already.” he groaned. “so glad i was the first one to feel you.” he started to move his hips. “you feeling good baby.”

“so-so big.” You moaned. “c-can feel it in my st-stomach.” fuck— you were gonna kill him. “pl-please go faster.” he picked up the pace, the sounds from your cunt getting louder, right along with your moans. “don’t cover your mouth, let them hear you.” He grabbed your wrist. “let them hear how i fuck you.” you moaned out louder as he sped up. “i feel you tightening around me baby.” he hummed. “you gonna cum for me?”

you nodded. “good girl cum all over my cock, make a mess for me.” you let a few gasp, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came. “oh fuck.” he moaned. “you pushed me out when you were cumming.”

he rubbed his shaft along your swollen pussy , trying reach his high. “fuck, fuck baby gonna cum all over this tiny pussy.” he moaned. “fuck you’re mine now, no else can feel this pussy, it’s mine; gonna mold it to only take my cock.” you felt another high cumming, your cunt twitching. “you cumming again?” you nodded. “fuck me too, cum for me, one last time.”

Your legs shook as you came, he cursed stroking his cock until he came, coating your cunt in his seed. “there you go baby -fuck- cum for me.” cum dripping from the tip of his cock.

“fuck you’re so pretty; my pretty pretty baby.”

“fuck my parents are gonna kill me.” he said the next evening. “if the cops already aren’t waiting for me at your house to arrest me for kidnapping.” you pouted, you wish you could stay at jays with him and his friends. “don’t be sad baby.” he said. “just gonna drop you off, i’ll see you tomorrow i promise.” he said. “i don’t even have a phone to call you.” You said, your parents didn’t allow you to have one.

“take mines, i have another.” he said. “really?” he nodded pulling up to the street right before yours. “i’ll call you tonight alright baby?” he grabbed your face. “answer when i call.” he roughly kissed you, this kiss much more passionate, full of fire. “okay heeseung.” You got out the car. “you better answer my call baby.” He blew you one last kiss before watching you run down the block.

speeding back to his house so he can quickly deal with his parents, and then locking himself in his room so he spend the night talking to you.

©️LUVYENI

[whisperofwonder]

100% inspired by this art

Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader - 1.6k words

This was certainly the last thing you'd expected when you decided to take your nephew to see the Adlers for his birthday.

part 2 is here

Ushijima has gotten used to this over the years. The meet-and-greets with the fans are just another part of being a professional volleyball player. He appreciates the support, and while the hours spent signing autographs and interacting with fans of the team can become tedious, he knows they're all part of the reason he gets to be here.

On this particular afternoon, the event is held directly after a match. He tries not to let on just how much he's running on autopilot right now, signing one glossy photo after another and giving a polite greeting to every fan who approaches him. He's just thinking of going home afterwards, having a meal and going over some clips from the match before crawling into bed. He has an early workout scheduled for tomorrow.

He's drawn out of his thoughts by a tug on the hem of his shorts, and looks down to see a little boy wearing an oversized jersey with his number on it. A huge smile is growing on his face now that Ushijima has finally seen him. "Oh, hello," He says, crouching down. He's gotten used to the younger fans, too. He's learned that they're much less intimidated by him, so much larger up close, when he gets down to their level.

"I'm gonna be a spiker just like you!" The boy announces proudly. Ushijima isn't great with ages, but he would suppose he's around 5 or 6.

"Is that right?" Ushijima can't help but soften. "It's a lot of hard work, but it's a lot of fun, too."

"I know!" The boy is nodding enthusiastically. "Your spikes today were amazing! Can I have a picture?" He gestures to the stack of photos Ushijima has been signing. Ushijima is just about to nod and stand up to reach for his marker when a voice cuts in.

"Kaito? Kaito!" You rush up, resting a hand on the little boy's shoulder - Kaito. "I told you to wait just a minute," You scold him breathlessly, "You know better than to run off like that." The little boy is suddenly studying the toes of his shoes, but Ushijima looks up at you. Your expression is still a little frantic, but it's softening with relief now.

"I'm sorry," Ushijima says after a beat of silence.

"Oh, no, it's not your fault at all. Kaito just needs to learn to be patient, is all." You say, exasperated. "He's just too excited," You offer a smile, and Ushijima feels a strange small leap in his chest. He must still be a little wired from the match.

"Is this your son?" He asks conversationally, finally drawing to his feet as he reaches for a photo and marker.

You're looking up at him, now at his full height, a little wide-eyed. "No," You say quickly, "My nephew. He's a little obsessed with the Adlers, and I got him the tickets for today's match for his birthday." You pause, looking down at Kaito. "You're his favorite player. He was really excited to see you play."

"Ah," Ushijima scribbles his signature across the photo and hands it to the boy. "Well, thank you for your support, Kaito. And happy birthday."

Kaito looks down at the photo with stars in his eyes. You're smiling softly at him, and Ushijima catches himself watching your face. "What do you say, Kaito?" You finally prod.

"Thank you," He intones dutifully, too distracted by his prize to look away.

"Would you like one, too?" Ushijima directs at you, marker posed over another photo.

"Oh!" You pause, "I'm not really - but - sure," You say haltingly. "Sorry," You add with a soft, nervous chuckle.

"Of course," He says, a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he signs the photo. As he hands it to you, your fingers brush his ever so slightly, and he inexplicably finds himself wishing he could draw this moment out a little longer.

"Wait a moment," He say abruptly. A look of surprise crosses your face, but you nod, reaching down to take Kaito's hand. After a quick trip back to the main table, he returns with a small envelope. "Here," He presents it to you, "I thought," He pauses, "I thought maybe you and Kaito might like to come back for the big match next month. It's tickets," He adds as you accept the envelope.

"Oh, thank you so much! You didn't have to do this." You clutch the envelope and his signed photo carefully. "You're very kind, Ushijima-san," You smile sweetly.

"Don't worry about it," He insists with a shake of his head. He briefly considers getting you and Kaito a whole season pass, if it will earn him another smile like that one.

You look down at Kaito. "Isn't that nice? Ushijima-san gave us tickets to come to another match! Now you really need to thank him." You glance back at Ushijima, and that strange feeling in his chest is back.

"Thank you!" Kaito throws his arms around Ushijima's legs before you can react.

"I'm so sorry," You tug Kaito back. "That might have been a little too much thanks," You say lightly, with an apologetic quirk of your lips.

"He's fine," He waves it off. "I hope you can make it." He really, really does.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

You're once again queueing for the Adlers' meet-and-greet. Kaito is excited to meet Ushijima again, and you really do need to thank him for the gift of the tickets. That's all it is, you tell yourself, despite your conversations with your sister.

After you'd rehashed the entire interaction, she'd insisted that he must have liked you. There was no other possible explanation in her mind. She's always been a little bit of a romantic, though. The problem with her logic is that he is a tall, handsome, professional athlete. You're just you.

She encouraged you to go talk to him again regardless. After all, he'd seemed so calm, down to earth, and earnest. You're just doing this for Kaito, though.

As you get closer to the players, you can't help but catch sight of him. He happens to glance in your direction, and the bright stadium lighting tricks you into seeing a shift in his expression. By the time you reach him, Kaito is practically vibrating.

"Hello, Kaito," He greets as you approach, crouching down to talk with him just like he had last time. You can't help thinking what a sweet gesture it is. You're a bit surprised he'd even remembered your nephew's name, what with all the fans he must meet, but Kaito is tickled by the special attention.

Finally, he draws to his feet. "I have a different picture this time," He tells Kaito, "Would you like another one?" Kaito nods quickly. A slight smile plays on his lips, and he reaches for a photo, finally meeting your eyes for the first time.

"Hello," He says again, more softly. "It's nice to see you again. I'm glad you could come."

"Oh, thank you," You feel your cheeks heating up - you're just as bad as Kaito. "It was a really exciting match. I don't follow volleyball much," You admit, "But I just might be turning into a fan."

"I'm glad to hear it," He says, completely focused on you now that Kaito is admiring his freshly signed and personalized photo. "I won't ask if you need another photo," He says with the quietest chuckle, and you duck your head, embarrassed. You think of the signed photo from last time, tucked in your nightstand drawer. Somehow, you find yourself opening it almost every night.

"But I do have another question for you," He says, gaze suddenly not meeting yours. "I'm sorry that it's so abrupt. I don't even know your name," He says, almost shyly, if that's a word you can even attribute to him.

You supply it, and he nods before repeating it, smile pulling at his lips. "I was wondering if you might like to go out sometime. For coffee. Or dinner." His gaze is piercing now, and you feel your lips part in surprise.

"Oh," Is all you can say at first, before your lips move on their own. "Yes. I - I'd like that."

"Good," He says, abruptly turning away, "Then I do have something for you." He hands it to you. "Let me know when you're free."

You look down at a scrap of paper with his name printed on it - not signed - followed by a phone number. "I will," You say softly, looking back up at him and trying to hold back the giddy smile growing on your face. You're surprised to find he's smiling too, wide and genuine.

Kaito is watching this play out with wide eyes, gaze traveling between the two of you. He tugs on your hand uncertainly. "Oh!" You suddenly remember exactly where you are. "I'm so sorry, I think we must be holding up the line." Ushijima doesn't look as though he cares.

"We really should get going," You continue. "But I'll talk to you soon, Ushijima-san," You promise boldly, lifting your hand in a wave.

"Talk to you soon," He echoes, returning the wave and keeping his gaze on you for just a beat before he turns back to the next person in line. Kaito is bursting with questions, but you won't be answering a single one until you get outside.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

As time passes, Kaito begins to think he must be the luckiest boy ever. After all, no one else that he knows has had their favorite volleyball player in the world become their uncle.

[changetyre]

Look after my friends

SUMMARY: You and Max have friends from the grid over for a nice family day when they decide to try a trend on you...it doesn't go exactly as planned. Part of the Verstappen Family Verse

WARNINGS: Super short. fluff.

A/N: Another tiktok inspired drabble that I uploaded over on wattpad a while ago ;)

"Hold on a sec can you guys look after the parents please." Lando walked in his phone facing him before he propped it in front of you and Max. 

Both of you saw the red icon indicating it was filming you. You looked up as those around you began laughing at your confused faces. 

"What is this?" You asked smiling at the joke you weren't getting. 

Aside from many other things one of the small factors that made you and Max so perfect for each other was the way you both were so disconnected from the internet even before having Lea and Ivy. It was easy to play viral pranks on you because you both were simply never aware they existed. 

"What are we supposed to do?" Max turned around to look for Lando who had disappeared. 

"Is this live or something?" You furrowed your brows leaning closer to the camera. 

"PAPA! Look at what I drew!" Lea ran towards her dad completely distracting you both from the filming phone. 

Lea climbed up on her dad's lap with his help. She held up the drawing showing a childlike depiction of the current scene. Children playing in your garden and her parents, uncles, and aunts sitting around the long table. 

"Oh my god Lea this is amazing." Max beamed proudly turning the drawing around to show everyone around the table. 

"Wow!" Compliments flew in from all of Lea's favorite people making her shy away and tuck herself in Max's chest. 

"Mama I dwaw too." Ivy who was in a faze of copying everything her sister did attempted to climb up your lap. You picked her up placing her on your lap. 

"Let's see what you drew my darling." You encouraged Ivy to show you. 

She turned around showing a pink circle and a smaller purple circle with a bunch of scribbles of different colors around it.

"Wow, Ivy is that you and Lea?" You asked her pointing at the pink and purple circles knowing pink was Lea's favorite colour and purple hers. 

"YES Mama!" She got excited at the fact you recognized her. "This is wando, this is auntie wiwy, this is uncwe Ozzie, this is auntie awex, this is uncwe chawie, this is-" She pointed at every scribble and you were surprised to find she'd matched the color of the scribbles to what they were wearing. 

"Wow Ivy good job." Max also complimented his youngest daughter. "I have such talented daughters." The pride in Max's voice made you look at him lovingly. 

"Can you guys draw me something for my house?" Dani asked the girls. 

"YES!" They both cheered excitedly before shimmying of your laps and running back to their coloring area. 

"Me too please!" Charles called out. 

"And me!" Oscar called after followed by the others. 

Both you and Max turned to look at each other huge smiles on your face. "We might have two artists in our hands." You commented. 

Max placed a sweet kiss on your lips. "Maybe a little racer is in here." Max placed a hand on your growing bump, your noses brushing as you both looked at each other in adoration. 

"Ugh, you both are too in love for this challenge." Lando walked back to the garden picking up the phone you both had completely forgotten about. 

Everyone burst out in laughter as once again Max and you both looked at each other confused. 

It's safe to say the f1 world went crazy at the video, a fact you were also too oblivious to.  

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 8 (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: HAPPY ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY TO AURORA!!! I can't even believe I got this far with this fic. Fucking 50k+ words in a month??? Hyperfixation REALLY go boom! It also happens to be my birthday today 🫠 my age is definitely starting to sound WAY TOO SERIOUS now. welp. ANYWAYS - an anon motivated me to create a playlist for aurora, so here it is!!! These are some of the songs that I listen on repeat when I'm writing. Not all of the lyrics have anything to do with the story tho, some just match the vibe of the fic. Though, if I had to choose a "theme song" for Aurora, it'd definitely be Darkness At The Heart of My Love - Ghost. I know metal isn't everybody's cup of tea but in my brain, vampires = metal. And specifically Castlevania = Rammstein for some reason lmao. Anyway!! I hope you guys give it at least (1) listen, as I really think the playlist encapsules the vibes I'm trying to portray in my writing very well. ANYWAYS!!! LET ME SHUT UP!! ENJOY THIS BEAST OF A CHAPTER <3

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

? Years Ago

Jerash, Ottoman Empire

The moon was hidden behind heavy storm clouds that night.

The rain whipped against the walls and ceiling of the humble house. It consisted of only two rooms – the kitchen and a tiny bedroom with simple wooden furniture. One would consider it the house of a common peasant, but the hundreds of books piled over one another indicated otherwise. They were everywhere: over the table, stored on shelves, precarious bookcases and boxes… some looked ancient, some looked new. Some had intricate leather covers, beautiful handwriting and illustrations, while others were nothing but a bunch of pages with incomprehensible scribbles. It was even difficult to walk into the house without stepping over one.

The place smelled of spices. Many types of dried herbs were hanging around the kitchen. Different types of stones of all colors and sizes rested over the closed windowsill: quartz, crystals, amethysts, obsidian, malachites… colorful bird feathers were tied by threads in intricate designs, also hanging from the ceiling. All of that was supposed to provide “protection” against the “evil”, apparently.

Drolta hated that place.

No… hate was too strong of a word. To hate someone or something, you must care about it enough, and Drolta didn’t. She was… disgusted. All the dirt, the simplicity, the cheap magic that wouldn’t even hurt a fly… it was boring.

And the owner of that house was especially disgusting.

That short, bald creature finally appeared from inside the bedroom, carrying a heavy book in hands and an annoying large smile. When all this ended – and hopefully it would end very soon –, Drolta would make sure to kill this little man and take a long, really long bath to take his smell off her skin. She didn’t even plan on feeding off him. He didn’t deserve it. Drolta refused to drink from a neck that wasn’t soft, young and feminine.

“Here it is. The product of all of my researches over the years,” he claimed proudly. What was even his name? Was it Khalil? She didn’t remember. Before looking at her face, his eyes stopped for two seconds on her cleavage. He did it every time and hadn’t been trying to hide it ever since Drolta stepped foot into this thing he called home.

Men… oh, how easy men are. Drolta witnessed multiple changes in the world during her long lifetime. She saw empires rise and fall, cultures cease to exist, philosophies and religions sweep the Earth. But one thing that had never changed over all this time was the simplicity of men. All she needed to do was put on a tighter corset, a deeper cleavage… and she had him on the palm of her hand. Drolta didn’t even need to try much much harder. This little Khalil man was the type she despised the most: the needy type. Never got married. Judged too strange by his fellow villagers. Probably never felt the touch of a woman. He was desperate.

But he had something that Drolta valued after all: knowledge. There was a time when the world was full of magicians. Speakers, priestesses, witches, oracles, shamans, alchemists… actual scholars of the ways of magic. But that was before the fucking Church. Now, apparently, all humans knew how to do was kneel and pray for a God that could not grant them any power.

Drolta was aware that she was partially at fault in all this. However, she would redeem herself soon.

When she finally succeeded in bringing Sekhmet back to life, this Earth would know what a real Goddess is. A Goddess with real power, real impact, who could bring real fear and obedience and adoration.

Soon, she thought to herself. I can feel it. She will come back soon. I will bring her back soon.

So many centuries of preparation. So many sun cycles searching for the right candidate. She had finally, finally encountered someone whose body managed to withstand Sekhmet’s power. Erszebet Bathory grew more powerful every day; the holy blood she drank was slowly but surely changing her body, her soul, empowering her. Drolta could feel Sekhmet’s presence in this world getting stronger. She could feel her goddess through Erszebet, talking through her, striving to resurface through that vessel. Everything was going so well.

And yet – all of her effort was still not enough, because half of Sekhmet’s soul was still missing.

Aside from taking care of the vessel, Drolta and her sisters roamed Earth after the Ba – Sekhmet’s mummy. For some reason, it was always out of reach: stolen from someone, bought by someone, then stolen again, then auctioned… Drolta was always too late. She prayed, prayed, prayed ardently that her beloved Goddess would help her from the other side, give her a sign, maybe twist things a bit so she could have a chance… but oh, she knew her Goddess was too weak to help. Drolta knew she would have to find a way.

And although all odds seemed to be working against her, Drolta found another way. Drolta thought of another chance.

As far as her associates scattered around the world knew, the mummy was lost forever. She completely lost track of it somewhere in the Horn of Africa; the last news she heard about it was years ago. As much as Drolta despised the idea – as much as she’d like to personally torture whoever committed such blasphemy towards the body of Sekhmet –, she had to be realistic and assume that the mummy was, perhaps, definitely gone.

But Drolta wouldn’t let herself be drowned by despair. No. Despair was the enemy of reason. She had to be strong – for Sekhmet, for her sisters, for her goal.

So another idea grew into her mind.

Drolta was under possession of Sekhmet’s blood, the Ka; the Goddess’ Ba, the mummy, was out of reach.

And then there was the third piece of her soul which was also out of reach.

Except… maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe there was a way to reach into it.

Yes, she knew no one had ever managed to do it. Yes, she knew the possibility of failure was high. Yes, she knew that, perhaps, it was all but a delusion. However, Drolta couldn’t be sure without trying first. If there was even the smallest possibility of it working, she would go on with it.

She had to do it – and do it fast. Drolta had never met anyone that could take so much of Sekhmet’s blood, but even her couldn’t take much more; the Goddess needed her other half.She could not lose Erszebet; she would do anything in her power to keep that woman safe.

Which led Drolta to this annoying mortal man.

He was disgusting. He smelled bad. He had the audacity of assuming he was going to fuck her. And still, he was an alchemist – and there weren’t many alchemists in the world anymore. Not good ones, at least. Drolta wasted her time going after a famous alchemist in China months ago, but she turned out to be a charlatan. As far as Drolta knew, this one was real. Maybe not powerful like mortal alchemists used to be, but he could do the job.

“From the information I have gathered, it hasn’t been tried in centuries,” Khalil spoke with amazement and reverence. It truly was the work of his life, apparently. “Not many scholars even believe it happened, in fact… it is under deep discussion. However, the ones that believe it, report that the occurrence happened in Wallachia, when a certain alchemist tried to… well…”

Khalil averted his eyes, seeming embarrassed and hesitant. Oh, the traits of a man that has been laughed at and ridiculed his entire life. Drolta felt grateful that he was this way. Much easier to deal with.

She rested her hand on his forearm and looked at him with round, curious eyes – even though she already knew what he was trying to say.

“Tried to what? Please, tell me,” she asked in a honeyed voice.

Khalil probably had an erection at that moment. His face flushed and he smiled.

“Tried to bring D-Dracula back to life,” he finally let out. “Yeah, I know it sounds absurd. I-I mean, Dracula? The folk tale to scare kids? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t find it absurd at all,” Drolta said, shaking her head softly. “Please, continue.”

The man averted his gaze from hers sheepishly, holding the book just a tiny bit stronger.

“Y-You are the first person to ever take me seriously, Miss Danubia,” Danubia? Oh… it’s the name she made up for herself. She had almost forgotten. “I… I really appreciate it.”

What, are you going to cry? Spare me.

Drolta caressed his arm softly.

“I admire your intelligence. I’d sit with you and talk for hours about all of your discoveries,” the idea sickened her, in fact. But Drolta couldn’t just force him to do anything. As far as she knew, the entire process had to be done willingly, otherwise it wouldn’t work.

For fuck’s sake, it really looked like he wanted to cry. Khalil blinked rapidly and looked down at the book again.

“Apparently, the portal was opened directly into Hell in order to retrieve Dracula’s soul. But it’s entirely possible that, through this same ritual, I could try to reach into other realms, too…” For the first time, Khalil looked hesitant. He gulped. “Though, if I’m to be completely honest, Miss Danubia, I do not believe I have the expertise needed to lead such a powerful ritual.”

Drolta stepped back, letting go of his forearm.

Khalil looked up at her, slightly startled at her sudden lack of touch.

But then, Drolta looked down, putting her hands over her chest and…

Tears welled up her eyes.

“I-I wish you could understand my pain and my despair, Khalil,” she started, voice trembling. “My mother… my dear mother. I could never tell her goodbye before her death. She had such a painful, slow death…” Drolta looked at him again, a single tear streaming down her cheek. “I do not wish to retrieve her soul, Khalil; I understand this goes against the laws of nature. I just want to… talk to her. In my culture, we believe that the souls of our deceased goes to the duat. If I can just get a peek of it… just look at her face once more… you will have my eternal gratitude. I-I can’t let this chance go by…”

Drolta covered her mouth and sobbed. With the corner of her eyes, she saw Khalil rush to put the heavy book over the table and bring her a handkerchief. She didn’t want to put that stinky thing near her face, but took it anyway and wiped her tears delicately.

Khalil pressed his lips together. All the hesitance was gone, being replaced by determination.

“I believe I can do it, Miss Danubia.” He inhaled before speaking. “The g-good feelings I have for you will be my guide and shield.”

Drolta offered him a sweet smile and a fragile thank you.

Khalil took off his coat and pushed the small table to the farthest corner of the room. He then took a piece of white chalk and started to draw something on the floor.

“This is the symbol of Osiris, Egyptian god of the Underworld… or the duat,” he explained while he drew. As if Drolta didn’t already know it. Yet, she acted shocked, trying to engage him in conversation as he lit a circle of candles around the hieroglyph. She needed him content and willing. Mortals work better when they are in their best feelings; they tend to put much more of their force into what they are doing, and this, in magic terms, was extremely meaningful.

Drolta loathed the fact that she needed this man happy to achieve her goal, but it was necessary. Well, if not happy, then hard. Sexual energy can also be extremely powerful.

After Khalil finished his preparations for the ritual, Drolta approached him and held his hand.

The man visibly held his breath.

It was so easy for her to send him that sweet gaze. So easy to trap his entire attention on her, as if Drolta became the very air in his lungs. She leaned down slightly and pressed her soft lips on his cheek, making sure to stay there a second longer than necessary, before leaning away a delivering a smile that showed quiet sadness and care.

“If you succeed, Khalil, you will have my heart eternally,” she purred in an almost whisper.

He was shocked.

It really looked like he couldn’t breathe.

Finally, he managed to crack a smile. He puffed his chest like a pathetic male bird and nodded as Drolta stepped away.

“I will, my lady. For you.”

She held back laughter.

Finally, Khalil took his heavy book again and stood near the candle ring. The flames projected eerie shadows around the walls; the outside storm was everything they could hear. He placed the book in front of his feet and took a small knife from his pocket.

“Blood is required to initiate the ritual,” he explained. “You can look away if it makes you uncomfortable, my lady.”

Khalil didn’t see when she rolled her eyes this time.

He swiped the knife on his palm, wincing in pain as he did. Weak little human, can’t even stand a cut without crying. He let blood drip over the symbol on the floor before walking back to the candle ring and taking the book in his hands once more.

He took a deep breath before finally initiating the spell.

His pronunciation of Akkadian was bad. Laughable, even. Drolta could barely understand half of the words. And yet, it was enough.

The candles trembled. The air within the house got colder. Drolta felt the floor beneath her feet shake slightly, the air vibrate in a high frequency – the frequency of high magic.

It was working.

A grin slowly grew on her lips. She… underestimated this little man after all. He was an actual alchemist – but the ritual was only working because of her efforts, she realized. Khalil was putting all of his love into the spell. Yes, actual love. How such a naive creature fell in love with her so quickly after a few days of knowing each other was beyond her.

Love is also extremely powerful in magical terms.

The storm grew angrier out there. A thunder so loud and so close shook the entire house, made Khalil lost his focus for a second before continuing to read the spell.

Followed by another thunder – even closer this time.

And another thunder.

The ground shook. Some books fell from the shelves. Khalil lifted his head and looked towards the window.

There was another sound mixed within the cacophony of the heavy storm.

Screams.

What was that out there? Was the house of his neighbor burning?

“W-What is–?” Khalil stuttered.

He hadn’t noticed that Drolta was towering right behind him. How did she get so close so fast?

She held his head with both hands from behind, guiding it down towards the book again.

“Keep reading,” she instructed in a quiet whisper, her mouth close to his ear.

A violent shiver ran down Khalil’s spine.

For the first time, Drolta’s presence made him feel uneasy. Her voice changed drastically; it wasn’t welcoming anymore, or warm, or caring. It was just freezing cold. It… it didn’t even sound much human.

All these talismans he hung around his house for protection – and yet the worst evil he could possibly imagine was standing right behind him, welcomed by him with open arms.

Another thunder. Another fire. Another house burning down. A few more souls to fuel the spell.

Khalil could be a real alchemist, but he was far from being a good one, Drolta remarked to herself. All of those books taught him nothing – again, she had to do most of the job. In the few days she worked on gaining his trust, she also made sure to mark every house in the village of Jerash with the symbol or Osiris. Marked it with virgin blood to make it even more effective.

Every respectable alchemist knew that in order to open a door into the Infinite Corridor, multiple mortal lives were required. That is why most alchemists weren’t brave enough to do it.

Khalil wouldn’t be brave enough to do it too if he knew what it’d cost. That is why Drolta lured him into it and made the preparations behind his back.

Drolta chuckled. How he must had been feeling at that moment, knowing he sacrificed hundreds of lives of his fellow villagers in the hopes of sticking his tiny penis inside of her?

“I told you to keep reading,” she repeated, and this time her voice sounded like a dangerous hiss.

Khalil’s hands trembled. He gulped. His voice wasn’t as confident anymore, but he had already initiated the ritual; there was no coming back from there.

The floor shook as more souls were reaped into the spell. Suddenly, the windows opened all at once; the ceiling cracked and was swiped away by a violent gush of wind. Drolta looked up in time to see a funnel of souls converging into a single streak of red light, being attracted by the symbol of Osiris on the floor; they made a twister within the circle of candles that were somehow still lit despite everything.

Wind and rain whipped Drolta and Khalil, made his books fly in all directions. None of that bothered Drolta. She had a maniacal grin on her lips, eyes locked in the chaos unveiling in front of her eyes.

Finally, finally, finally, a white crack slashed the air inside the candle ring. A crack in reality itself.

Freezing cold wind came out of it. The crack was slowly but surely getting wider. It made Drolta’s eyes widen, shivers run her body; few times in her life did she witness magic so powerful, so strong, so chilling.

It was working. It was finally working.

She stepped aside from a shell-shocked Khalil and extended her arms in a wide movement, the smile never vanishing from her lips.

A door to the Infinite Corridor, opened right in front of her eyes.

And yet – her work wasn’t done. This door needed to be redirected; it needed to be aimed at the right place.

“Oh Sekhmet, Eye or Ra, Lady of Terror, Mistress of Dread, She Who Mauls; hear mine calling, let thou be guided by the voice of thy loyal servant!” Drolta chanted with all her might, raising her voice as to be heard beyond the storm and the magic and the weeping souls.

The crack got a bit wider. Insurmountable amount of energy escaped from inside. Drolta didn’t even know if Khalil could stand in front of it much longer, given how weak he was, so she needed to rush.

“Hear mine call, Your Magnificence!” Drolta continued, gesticulating in wide movements. “Let mine voice guide thee through the waters of the primordial abyss; let thy Akh resurface in the land of the living. Oh Sekhmet, Lady of Slaughter, She of Ten Thousand Names; walk back into thy rightful realm, retake the throne unfairly taken from thee, wear thy rightful crown once more!”

The crack got wider, wider, wider. It was difficult to understand what could be seen inside of it; it looked like a confusing kaleidoscope. Different images jumped in the blink of an eye, landscapes not even Drolta could understand. And yet, she kept chanting, hoping her energy would be the necessary guide. The mark of Osiris burned in bright red.

Finally – the image within the crack seemed to stabilize itself.

Drolta’s eyes widened.

She saw a… calm river. A temple made of gold in the distance, sitting atop of an island. A pyramid. Purple trees adorned it; the tip of the pyramid shone with a blinding light. The most beautiful sky she had ever seen.

That was it. It was the duat.

Drolta got even more passionate in her speech; her throat ached from screaming.

“Hear mine voice, Lady Sekhmet! Hear mine voice! Come to me!” She begged. Finally, finally, finally, her goddess was right there; after years and years of searching and fighting for her and protecting her legacy and trying to find ways to revive her, after so many frustrated attempts of retrieving her mummy... Finally, Sekhmet’s Akh was right there in front of her eyes.

Finally, Drolta had succeeded.

All she needed to do was cross the door. Drolta couldn’t enter the duat, but Sekhmet could cross it towards the land of the living. Drolta held a small shabti made of pure gold in her hand, the holy object in which she could safely store the third part of Sekhmet’s soul. From there, Erzsebet would only need to incorporate it.

Come to me, Sekhmet; come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me–

Something happened.

The image twisted.

“What?” Drolta gasped.

The sight of the duat blurred.

Suddenly, the winds that whipped the house got stronger, more violent. The soul twister got more chaotic. Now, everything that could be seen within the door was the kaleidoscope of colors again, passing rapidly.

It… started to get black.

“No! No! What are you doing?!” Drolta turned to Khalil, her wrath so big that made him tremble. But the man was frozen in place, tears falling down his cheeks mixed with the rain.

“I-I-I’m not doing anything!” He stuttered. “It wasn’t me!”

Drolta turned to the door again.

The air was getting even colder. Colder, colder, colder… freezing. The Osiris symbol suddenly started to burn in black – and then everything else was black. The souls, the flames of the candles, the energy rays that poured from the door.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

“No! Stop! Stop!” Drolta yelled at whatever was interfering with the ritual. “I don’t want you here. I didn’t call you!”

But it was too late.

A second before the explosion, Drolta saw a dark figure walk out of the door.

She had time to protect her face with her arms. She did not care about Khalil.

Boom.

The shockwave destroyed what remained of Khalil’s house; he was sent back flying meters away. The reaped souls let their final, painful yell before dissipating in the air. The candles were extinguished in a gush of wind.

Drolta was the only thing to remain standing in place.

She lowered her arms slowly. It seemed that even the heavy storm got timid after such an unnatural occurrence. The neighbor houses still burned; the fires spread down the hill. As it wasn’t magical fire anymore, the rain started to quiet them down. No voices were heard. No more screams. No live witnesses anymore. The village of Jerash became nothing but a burning cemetery.

Drolta fell to her knees.

A shrilling scream of pure anger crossed the air.

She had failed. She got so fucking close and failed yet again. The duat was right there in front of her and she failed.

She turned around to see Khalil’s body on the floor.

Drolta got up, red anger clouding her gaze. He was still alive – hurt, bleeding and crying, but still alive.

“You stupid piece of shit!” She kicked his stomach so hard that the men rolled a few more meters away. “Useless little man. I submitted myself to your disgusting presence for days and you still didn’t serve me anything!”

Khalil coughed blood. He refused to look at her, shrinking into his own body, crying like a child.

She should skin him alive. This, at least, would serve as a way to calm down.

And yet – she stopped in her tracks.

Rain still fell over her head. She was entirely drenched. Drolta stopped and inhaled, letting her anger quiet down.

There was someone talking to her.

Something.

The air still smelled of coal and sulfur. It had nothing to do with the burning houses.

Slowly, she turned back to the circle of candles.

Her eyes widened.

There was someone laying on the floor inside the circle. She rushed towards it.

It was… it was a woman.

For a moment, overwhelming joy and excitement rushed through her veins. Could it be who she thought it was? What if she had actually succeeded, but in a different way than she first expected?

What if that was Sekhmet incarnate?!

Drolta knelt down beside the woman. She was unconscious, laid on her side, completely naked. With care – even hesitancy – Drolta turned her body around, making the woman lay on her back. She took some strands of drenched hair away from her face.

It was a young woman. Her chest moved slowly, as if she was simply asleep.

Drolta frowned.

She pressed two fingers over her neck. A regular pulse. The scent of… regular mortal blood.

Her frown deepened.

“This is no Sekhmet,” Drolta said through gritted teeth. “This is just human woman.”

Then, she lifted her gaze – and finally noticed what was talking to her.

It was nothing but a strange, tall shadow; Drolta could barely make sense of what she was looking at. But yet, that grin was very much recognizable. The entity seemed weak, vibrating in a low frequency, making the entire area around it even colder.

“Did you bring her with you?” She asked. The entity answered. It didn’t use… words. It spoke into her mind with intentions instead. Perhaps, it was way too weak to vocalize.

Drolta huffed with disdain. “And what use would this mortal have?”

The entity moved slowly, circling around them.

Drolta froze in place.

“How do you know this?” She asked in a cautious hiss.

The entity’s grin seemed to get even wider, now knowing that it had Drolta’s full attention.

It continued sliding around Drolta. The vampire lowered her head, looking at the human woman once again.

She looked and looked and looked and looked and…

She remembered.

Slowly, Drolta’s eyes widened as realization hit her.

This… wouldn’t solve all of her problems. She still needed to find the other half of Sekhmet’s soul. And yet… it could also serve her plans, in a way.

Drolta once again lifted her gaze towards the grinning shadow.

“I know you wouldn’t be offering me this out of the goodness of your heart,” she started with suspicion. “What do you want of me in return?”

The entity trembled. Drolta leaned her head slightly.

“An easy task. And if I fail?”

The entity grinned at her quietly. Drolta chuckled.

“You won’t have it, for I won’t fail.” She got up to her feet again. “But this sounds like a fair deal.”

A fair pact, in fact.

Drolta extended her arm towards the entity. It approached her; the shadow extended too in what resembled an arm. It revolved around her hand with a chilling touch.

When the shadow retreated, there was an icy object over Drolta’s palm.

A ruby necklace.

Drolta nodded at the entity; it sent her a last eerie grin before disappearing into the shadows of the night.

It was done.

Drolta looked down.

She took the cloak off her shoulders and covered the woman’s naked body with it. She leaned down, taking her into her arms, before straightening her posture again.

It… wasn’t a complete failure, after all.

Her Goddess never left her without a way out. She was always kind to send Drolta another option, another strategy, and that’s why Drolta managed to survive and move on after every problem.

“For every suffering, a wisdom is gained,” she said quietly. The mantra that had been keeping her sane for centuries.

Khalil was still weeping some meters away from her. Drolta paid him no mind. He wasn’t totally useless in the end, which meant he gained the right to keep living.

Drolta walked away from the burning cemetery of Jerash with the unconscious woman in her arms, the ruby necklace safely tangled around her palm.

The heavy storm clouds opened a small breach for the first time; the moon peeked through, being the only witness of the horrors that had unveiled that night.

Present time

Paris, France

The sun had hidden behind the horizon at least three hours ago.

You looked out the window at the full moon reigning sovereign in the sky from the tiny inn bedroom. There were barely any clouds to hinder its view. Stars adorned the space around her, creating a breathtaking view.

And yet, the air was… eerie.

Maybe because you knew what was about to come, and the fact that the rest of the city didn’t know yet made the situation horrifying. So many people were probably having dinner with their families, resting their heads over their pillows, having no idea of the hell that was about to burst upon them.

What made the situation even more difficult was that you were, well, useless in the middle of it all.

Richter and Annette were hunting nests of vampires. Alucard was about to leave to talk to the leaderships of Paris in order to organize the defensive lines. The three of them, much obviously, were ready to fight.

And you? All you had was a useless golden scepter.

Maybe you had your hopes way too high after what happened at the Louvre. You remembered what Annette told you when you first met – you might be a witch, Ruby; you just don’t remember it. You thought that, the moment you put your hands over the artifact again, you’d have some sort of epiphany. Your past would unveil itself in your head, you’d finally understand Erzsebet and Drolta’s interest in you, you’d know why you were needed to summon eclipses…

But nothing happened.

The scepter was just heavy and very impractical to carry around.

Alucard had no idea what language the inscriptions were. He advised you to not read them out loud, as it wasn’t clear the effect it could cause. You also didn’t magically understand what these words meant. So… just another frustration to add onto the pile.

“Ruby, I’m talking to you.”

You jumped and turned your head around. Alucard was standing in front of the door, searching for something in the inside pocket of his coat and eyeing you with curiosity. You adjusted your posture where you were sitting on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I… wasn’t paying attention.” You said sheepishly.

The white-haired vampire paused for a moment.

“Are you scared of being on your own?” He asked quietly.

You shook your head. “No! Not at all. I’ll be fine.” You reassured.

To be honest, being alone wasn’t exactly an idea you liked. The last three days were the safest you’d ever felt in your life, and that was because you were around them. You tried to avoid picturing the horrifying image of Drolta in her new night creature form breaking through that window and dragging you back to the chateau. There’s no way this is going to happen, not now that she retrieved Sekhmet’s mummy… I’m not needed anymore.

But the idea you liked even less was of being a burden, and you knew you’d be a burden if you kept hanging around uselessly while they fought. Annette almost died due to your mere presence. You were sure everyone would’ve handled the fight much better if you simply weren’t there. So… it’d be better if you just stayed hidden at the inn for the time being.

Alucard shrugged slightly and approached, finally revealing what he was searching for in his coat: a… red string?

He sat by your side on the bed, eyes glued on it. The only source of light came from the moon outside and a single candle holder over the desk. The light of the timid flame created a golden silhouette on his delicate features.

“The Revolutionary Commune is reunited some blocks away from here at this moment,” Alucard explained while his fingers worked on measuring the string. You watched him in silent confusion. His voice always dropped even quieter when he was close to you like that. It was… comforting. He was so close that his arm brushed on yours. “I must go warn them about the incoming fight. There will most definitely be vampires roaming the streets right now, hence why you must stay hidden for the time being.”

You nodded. “I understand.”

You watched as Alucard tied the red string around his own left wrist skillfully. How did he even manage to tie something with a single hand? That was quite impressive. “I won’t take more than two hours, however. After I assure your safety within the Revolutionary Commune, I will come to pick you up.”

Then, he brought his wrist close to his mouth; he put the remaining length of the string between his teeth and cut it using his sharp fangs.

Oh.

You couldn’t help but feel shivers run your spine whenever you remembered that Alucard had vampire fangs. He was half vampire, in fact. It was a bit strange how, as you grew comfortable around him, this “detail” became less and less relevant; you always associated vampires with the worst things possible, while Alucard was much the opposite. Perhaps that’s why it was a bit surprising to remember part of him was one.

You also had noticed that Alucard didn’t open much of his mouth when he talked… and it seemed to be a very conscious act when he was in public. You payed attention to how he talked to those boys earlier. Was it an attempt to make his fangs less obvious?

“Give me your left wrist.” He asked. You promptly obeyed. Alucard tied the remaining string around yours this time. “If anything happens, anything at all, untie this string. Mine will untie, too, and I will rush to you.”

You nodded, a bit surprised. “This is impressive.”

Alucard chuckled and tilted his head slightly. “You were effortlessly summoning eclipses and this is what surprises you about magic?”

The words got caught in your throat.

“Well– it is impressive.” He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow, which did not help you organize your thoughts better. “A-And I wasn’t summoning them, not exactly.”

“You’re not sure about that, are you?”

No, you weren’t.

Your shoulders dropped. Alucard chuckled again.

He finally let go of your wrist and a tiny part of you immediately missed his touch.

“Remember. Two hours. No more, no less.” He got up from the bed again and walked towards the door. “I might be asking too much from you, but I’d advise you against sleeping, too.”

“As if I’d be able to close my eyes at all,” you whined quietly to yourself.

Alucard opened the door and looked at you.

Once again, it seemed that he was about to say something. He looked… hesitant. His expression wasn’t as nonchalant as usual, but you couldn’t tell exactly why. You looked at him expectantly.

Then – this small glimpse dissolved in seconds.

“Lock the door,” he said, pointing at it with his head.

Oh.

You got up in a jump. At last, he left. You safely locked it and kept the key in the pocket of your vest.

Then, you were alone.

For the first time in your life, being alone didn’t bring you relief. You’d usually look forward to the moments you’d be locked inside your quarters again, recovering from your wounds; despite the pain, it were the only times when you had some peace. Now, however, you’d wish someone was here. You hoped Annette and Richter were safe, wherever they were…

You laid on the bed and faced the ceiling. The scepter was also over the bed, right beside you.

And you just… stayed there.

Your fingers fiddled with the red string on your left wrist mindlessly. Alucard didn’t make a complicated tie as to keep it easy to undo, so you took care to not untie it by accident. This little piece of braided wool had magic in it… but you didn’t feel anything strange while touching it.

You remembered how Alucard felt that the scepter was magic just by touching it, while for you it was just a normal object. You remembered how Richter could summon elements with his bare hands and Annette could see spirits as easily as people…. Perhaps you had no aptitude for magic at all. Perhaps they made you read that book because they needed a human to complete the summoning of an eclipse, not because you had some sort of hidden power.

You touched the scepter again without bothering to look at it. Cold and lifeless as usual.

Maybe it had that reaction – shining, the rust disappearing – because it needed someone to… awaken it. Anyone. Not you specifically.

But it must had been touched by someone before, isn’t it? Of course it was. It didn’t walk into that crate. Someone put it there.

You groaned and turned to your right side.

Minutes went by. Minutes, minutes, minutes. You were on high alert, so your eyelids didn’t feel heavy with sleep.

You laid on your stomach and brought the scepter close to your face.

These characters… you recognized them.

Alucard told you to not read them out loud, but he didn’t say anything about writing them.

You got up and rushed to the desk. There was a small drawer there with a piece of paper and some charcoal. You laid on your stomach again and started to translate the characters into the common Latin alphabet. Alucard might not recognize the characters, but what if he saw the syllables in a language he could read and the words made sense to him?

As the scepter had a lot of text and you didn’t have much paper, you tried to keep the letters as tiny as possible. You broke the charcoal a bit to make a sharper point. Your hands and the sheets got dirty with the black of the charcoal, but you couldn’t care less.

You didn’t pay attention to the time now that you had something to busy yourself with. Minutes went by. Minutes, minutes, minutes. An hour. Half an hour.

You had little free paper left and a lot to translate still when a sound out there immediately brought you back to your senses.

You froze and looked towards the window.

The street was very quiet up until that point – you even wondered if nights in Paris were always so peaceful. That sound, however, was impossible to ignore; was impossible to not make your heart immediately race.

A scream.

You got up in a jump and approached the window slowly, peeking at it with caution.

The scream came from a nearby street, followed by fast steps. Another scream. It sounded female.

No… it sounded childish.

Maybe it’s nothing. Just a kid spooked by a dog or a rat. Nothing to worry about. You shouldn’t get on your nerves every time you hear a scream.

You stood by the window for some more minutes, your heart thundering nonstop… and nothing appeared. You sighed, tried to calm your already irregular breathing. Focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to muffle everything else–

Someone running down there on the street.

You eyes widened. Your breath got completely caught in your throat.

It was a kid. A small kid, desperately running away from something. A boy. You recognized the worn out clothes and the curly black hair.

The lily in the pocket of your vest seemed to get hot.

It was Oliver.

When he disappeared from your sight, you saw what he was running from: three men. They laughed as they pursued him.

Three vampires.

You grabbed the scepter, the piece of paper and without taking a single second to think, you were already running out of the room.

The only things you could hear were your deep breathing, your thundering heartbeat and your boots rushing on the wooden pavement, then on the stone street as you rushed out of the inn. You almost fell when taking a sudden turn in the direction you saw Oliver running to. The street was completely empty and cold, but your body already felt hot from adrenaline.

You ran as fast as your legs could take. Please let me not be too late please please please please please please please please please–

Another strangled scream followed by more voices coming from an alley nearby.

You didn’t take a second to consider what you were going to do, how you were going to save him from this situation.

You just rushed into it.

“Oliver!” You screamed, stopping on your tracks.

The scene unfolding in front of you made your blood boil in a mix of anger and fright.

Oliver, the little boy, had fallen; his back was pressed against the wall. It was a dead end. His knee bled – he had probably fallen –, tears streamed down his cheeks, his pants were wet. He was shaking; his eyes, the most widened you’d ever seen.

The three vampires cornered him. They wore simple clothes, but all of them shared a similar trait: the symbol of an eclipse burned into the skin of their foreheads.

They immediately turned around at the sound of your voice.

For a moment, everyone was shocked – you, Oliver, the vampires. They were the first ones to recover.

“M-Madame!” Oliver stuttered in a strangled, horrified voice.

The vampire in the middle smirked.

“What do we have here?”

“This is even better than that bastard,” the one on the right laughed. “No one told you to not walk around at night by yourself, sweetie?”

“Leave him alone,” you blurted out. You didn’t sound that frightened, at least, because your body hadn’t properly processed what the hell you had gotten yourself into yet.

“Oh, we might now that you’re here.” One of them said with a disgusting smirk. “And what is it that you’re carrying with you? Looks interesting.”

They started to approach at slow steps.

You knew how vampires acted. They didn’t see you as a threat, so they would not use their inhuman speed. No; they wanted to savor your panic, to make you think you’d have a way out the way they did with Oliver. Vampires acted as cruel hunters, not as animal predators that acted purely on instinct and hunger.

That’s why they didn’t notice when you put your left wrist behind your back and swiftly untied the string.

I’m sorry, Alucard, you thought as the reality of that moment finally hit you. You… you did it again. You put yourself in danger again, exactly the opposite of what Alucard told you to do. But if you had waited for him, if you had untied the string at the inn and then explained what happened and then hoped that Alucard caught the vampires in time, would Oliver still be alive? Would he have an extra minute of luck?

Whatever these vampires were about to do with you – it didn’t matter. You could take it. Oliver couldn’t. The same way Annette wouldn’t have taken the night creature’s bite.

“M-Madame, run!”

His voice caught your attention again.

That little boy had wet himself in fear. He could barely stand. And yet, he was telling you to run. He was worried about your safety.

That little boy.

So small and so fragile and wearing those worn out clothes and shaking and hurt.

It brought forward an instinct within you. Perhaps that same instinct you felt when you looked at Richter’s sad expression. A will to take care. To protect. Something that run deep into your soul, something very familiar in ways you couldn’t explain, as if you had been in a similar situation in the past, as if you had felt this desperate need to protect someone small and fragile and dear to you.

These men were going to kill that little boy and he wouldn’t even be able to fight back.

This strange instinct to protect and the anger towards these men and the revolt because you had been in similar situations too, countless times, and you couldn’t do anything to fight back against a force tenfold stronger than you made your mind go blank.

Blank, blank, blank, devoid of any thought. Any fear. Any hesitance. At that moment, there wasn’t anxiety anymore. Your fingers didn’t shake. You didn’t think of any consequence.

All that existed was the need to protect that little boy.

One of the vampires approached and grabbed the scepter roughly. Instinctively, you held it with both hands, trying to pull it back.

And then – the vampire screamed.

A sizzling noise filled the alley.

“Let me go! Let me go!” He screamed.

The scepter was burning his hands. He couldn’t take them off.

Your mind didn’t register well everything that happened in the following seconds.

The moment you held it with both hands, it started to glow again – but in a different way than before.

The inscriptions started to glow. That same glow traveled from one end to the other – to the tip of the scepter; the image of the sun.

It started to shine.

The light was blinding. You had to tighten your eyes. It was hot hot hot hot, you almost dropped it on the floor, but something told you to keep holding it. So you held it with all your might. You felt a strange wave of energy flow from your body towards the scepter.

The little sun of the scepter shone, brightening the entire alley as if day turned to night–

And the three vampires yelled in agony.

They tried to cover their faces, tried to run away – but it was already too late. Their skin began to burn as if they were set on fire. Their muscle, their clothes, their scalp, their bones, everything was burning. The vampire that tried to grab it was the first to fall on the floor, agonizing, until he finally stopped moving. The other two screamed, yelled with nowhere to run. Their limbs were way too damaged to move.

You felt that your heart was burning, too.

Finally, the burning was too much for you to take. With a scream of effort, you dropped the scepter with a loud metallic noise and fell back on the floor.

The light extinguished.

You panted. You supported your body on your arms. Finally, the screaming stopped.

There were three dead vampires on your feet.

Their carcasses completely burned, unrecognizable. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Smoke clouded the alley.

You started shaking again.

What– What just happened?!

But then, you heard another tiny voice besides yours and you remembered that there was someone you still needed to take care of. You got up from the floor, not daring to touch the scepter again, tip toeing to avoid stepping over the bodies.

You knelt in front of Oliver and held him by both arms.

“What are you doing here at this hour?!” You lashed out. “Alucard told you to not get out at night!”

The boy sobbed.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, m-madame,” he stuttered between his cries. “I-I-I was t-trying to help. I-I was t-telling people to g-get into their houses. I was already g-going back home…”

You wiped his tears with the sleeve of your blouse before hugging him. Tight. Oliver cried on your shoulder, his little body shaking against yours.

A hand touched your shoulder from behind – which caused you to gasp loudly.

Alucard had the most shocked, confused expression you’d ever seen. It was one of the rare moments when he wasn’t being subtle.

“What happened?” Was all he asked, but it sounded like a demand.

No no no that’s not what you should ask right now. Oliver is the priority.

The boy leaned away from you and you held his shoulders again. “Where do you live?”

He sniffed and rubbed his nose. His little face was all puffy and wet. “T-Two streets away from here.”

You got up and took his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Ruby–“

“Let’s go,” you interrupted Alucard. “I need to take him home.”

Take him home take him home take him home. Yes, this is what I need to do. This is all that matters.

You walked on a beeline with a rushed pace towards the exit of the alley – both the scepter and the piece of paper with your translations completely forgotten on the floor. Alucard followed you closely, but in silence. Oliver’s little hand was still shaking. You held it tightly.

After no more than five minutes of walking, he pointed towards his house. You leaned down and hugged him again.

“Don’t leave your house. Did you understand? Do not walk out under any circumstance. Tell your parents about it.” You repeated in a serious authoritarian tone you didn’t recognize yourself. Have you ever spoken that way before?

Oliver nodded and apologized again. Finally, he waved a last goodbye and entered the house.

It seems that you just started to breathe again when you heard the sound of the door locking.

A few seconds of silence went by.

“Ruby.”

You shivered and turned around.

Alucard looked down at you with frowned eyebrows. Was he angry? Oh fuck, of course he was angry. You put yourself in danger again. You did what you shouldn’t. You got out of the inn without his permission.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt your mission. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble for you,” you started while avoiding his gaze vehemently. Your fingers were trembling again; you hid them behind your back.

“Can you tell me what–“

“Oliver was being chased by vampires. I saw them running through the window and I couldn’t hold myself back. I’m sorry, I know you told me to not put myself in danger. B-But I couldn’t just stay still, you see?” You couldn’t shut up. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why was your voice shaking? “I didn’t want to make you angry.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“And then– the scepter– it did that thing again. I don’t know how that happened. It– it got so hot out of sudden, and then the vampires were burning too. I d-don’t know if I was the one to do it. I just didn’t want Oliver to die. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.”

“You didn’t, Ruby.”

“Oh– I left if on the floor, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I put you through all the trouble of going back to the Louvre only to drop it at the alley. I s-should take it back. Oh! And I was translating the writings too. I think I dropped the paper… well, I wasn’t translating anything, I was just writing the words in our alphabet, and I don’t know it’ll be useful at all but I wanted to help somehow–“

“Ruby.”

The words got stuck in your throat.

Alucard cupped your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him and nothing else.

He frowned. “You’re burning.”

You blinked rapidly. “What? N-No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can feel it through the gloves.” Alucard used his teeth to take the glove off his right hand; he pressed it over your forehead. He was probably trying to help, but that action made you feel even hotter on the inside. “We need to do something about it.”

“No!” You blurted out. “No, there’s no need. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll heal. I always do.”

“Ruby.” He called again.

Alucard shoved the glove inside his coat and held your face with both hands again; he lowered himself slightly to get closer to your eye level.

“I am not angry at you.” He started in a slow and quiet voice. “You didn’t interrupt me. You did nothing wrong. But I need you to understand that you are spiraling, and I need you to calm down first.”

S… Spiraling? You were spiraling?

You gulped and nodded.

“Breathe with me.” He instructed patiently.

Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. You followed his slow pace.

Adrenaline dissipated in your bloodstream; your head got quieter again. Your heart stopped running and went back to walking. Your hands, however, were still shaking.

You lowered your head, desperately trying to avoid his gaze, when you felt tears well up your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said in a weak tone.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Alucard’s voice was even quieter than usual… even gentler. He didn’t step away. His thumb caressed your cheek with care.

“I got so scared. I thought Oliver was going to die.”

Why did you even confess that? You weren’t sure; your brain wasn’t working properly anymore. But yes, that was true. You were scared of getting hurt – you were just used to pain, you didn’t like it – but you were even more scared of seeing that boy die in front of you. So small and so innocent and so familiar for some reason.

Why was that familiar? Why were you so confused? What the hell just happened?

You had no answer to any of these questions. All you wanted to do was cry at that moment – but not in front of him. Never in front of him; it’d be too humiliating. You wanted to step away, to have some space to recover. You wanted to hide from him.

Alucard had other plans.

When the first stubborn tear streamed down your cheek, Alucard pulled you closer to his body. His hands let go of your face; instead, he wrapped his arms around you. He was delicate. Hesitant, even.

Your face was then hidden in his chest.

Alucard didn’t say anything. Perhaps there was nothing he could’ve said at that moment, so he decided to act.

You froze at first. This… this was the closest you’ve ever been to him – at least while fully conscious, a proximity Alucard established willingly. You didn’t even know you had the right to stand that close to him.

When was the last time someone offered you comfort like that?

If it had happened before, you didn’t remember.

Slowly, your body melted under his. Your tense members softened. His sweet scent enveloped you. With much hesitance, you wrapped your arms around his body too, under his cape – and in the moment Alucard realized you accepted his embrace, he held you just a little tighter, a little more comfortable. One of his hands caressed your hair, while the other wrapped around your back.

You did your best to swallow any incoming sobs, forcing yourself to cry in silence. If Alucard even noticed you were crying, he didn’t show it. He just kept his arms around you protectively… affectionately. It made your insides feel warm in a way not even that strange scepter could.

None of you said a word, though there was much to be said. Both of you understood the gravity of what just happened. The three burnt carcasses were there at the alley, waiting to be inspected.

But that could wait for now. Nothing had the right to pierce through the small bubble of peace you shared.

You just stayed there in each other’s embrace for longer than your confused brain could register.

The bright full moon, reining sovereign in the sky, was your only witness.

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Questions

Synopsis: What is love? You try to answer the age old mystery. And it would seem all clues lead to one person alone— the person who was always by your side. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Growing Closer, Realizations, Fluff, Jealousy, A Myriad of Emotions PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: It's been a long time coming but...

“What does love mean?” You pondered upon the question. “Is it the way your heart quickens when you look upon a face so comely your mind can no longer comprehend anything?” You frowned and tried to focus on the sound of your heart beating your chest; you could barely feel its existence. “Or is it the constantness of thoughts about someone? Always protruding in your mind, they always seem to haunt each moment.” You tried to search your mind, what thoughts were haunting it besides the sweets you were to consume later that afternoon. 

“Perhaps it is the twisting in your stomach when the one you want is far from your touch or their attention is caught by another.” You lowered your gaze, turning upon your abdomen with the question, ‘Do I want anyone?’ in your mind. “Does love constitute excitement? A rush of blood when eyes meet? A shortness of breath when shoulders brush?” You blinked upon the question, recalling the moments, if there were any, that you had felt such sensations. “Or is it a calmness? A serenity that lulls and lures you in its warm embrace?” Was there anything that brought you calm and security when, all your life, there was nothing to fret over? You started to wonder. “Does love mean you are given all you want? That you are showered with the extravagance our worldly selves could offer? Or does it mean sacrifice? To live plainly and without the need for frills.”  Your mind could barely comprehend the words posed. 

What is love? Surely, you shouldn’t struggle as much as this to understand what love is. You have loved before. You loved your family, your pet, your subjects. And you have felt love before, haven’t you? Have you? “Love means a multitude of things, I suppose. It could be one or the other. But what I know is that it does not restrain itself in one expression— love differs from one person to the other. To some, love is loud— something so obvious and could not pose any question. To others, it is subtle— some may even question if it is truly there, but best believe, it is.” Your fingers traced the embroidery of your dress as your mind raced and thought over the words said. You were bothered, vexed with the questions that your mind could not fully comprehend. What is love?

Aemond rushed through the halls to reach the south gate, your wheelhouse coming into view just as he arrived at his post. He led out his arm to assist you, “How was the sermon?” Your knight asked, as you had just come from the Sept for the week’s service. At any other time, he would join you, especially as it was in the city where dangers were tenfold, but alas, he had business he needed to tend to. The whole morning, he was anxious for your return as he feared that the knights tasked to watch over you were not as competent as he. “I did not understand it,” You muttered, the words of the High Septon still haunting you, but at the same time, they flew over your head. Aemond could only nod, observing as a small frown consumed your face. 

He walked with you into the keep, but you were overly quiet, and it concerned him. He was threading the path to the garden where your tea and treats were served, and he was certain that that would erase any trouble in your mind, but you walked onwards to your chambers. “Are you not to have tea, princess?” He questioned. “No,” You answered curtly and disappeared into your chambers, further confusing your knight. What had happened in the few hours he was away from you?

You sat upon your desk, your hand furiously scribbling the words uttered by the High Septon to make out the meaning of love. The cluelessness of something that is supposed to be rudimentary was consuming you. What is love?! You asked yourself over and over again. You looked upon what you had written, reading the words and trying to make sense of the meaning. Surely, in your seven and ten years of living, there is something that can amount to love. You’ve read about it over and over again— you have seen it, you suppose. You had given it, of course— but have you yourself felt love?

Your head snapped upwards as you heard your chamber doors open; you were still sitting upon your desk with your ink-stained hands and crumpled scrolls littered by your feet. “Princess, it is the of your supper,” Ser Aemond announced as he assessed your frame, hunched over the table, and face flushed. You suddenly felt the existence of your heart as your eyes met with lilac ones that would glance between you and the scroll in your hand. “I… I do not wish to eat,” you say as you slyly try to fold the paper. You were embarrassed that your knight may have caught you being consumed by such a simple question. 

Aemond watched as your hands moved slowly to fold a parchment, hiding its contents from his view. He turned his eye toward your ink-stained hands and the discarded parchments on the floor. Who were you writing to? He questioned, a twisting in his stomach as he realized this was what had consumed your whole afternoon. That you certainly placed your best effort to write and re-write a letter to someone he has yet to learn. “I’ll ask your maid to bring your meal here,” Aemond said, a bit too cold as pain was consuming his insides. “No— I do not wish to eat.” You repeated, observing how the light of the hearth had illuminated the face of Ser Aemond to something almost ethereal. Why had you not noticed it before? “You must eat, princess. You did not have luncheon or your afternoon tea. You must eat supper.” Aemond stated, ready to leave and give no room for you to argue. “But—“ The following words were not heard as your knight had closed your door, his mind consumed with the question of who you were writing to so secretively. 

What comes to mind when you think of love? You questioned yourself the following morning. You were drawing a blank. You decided that the question you ask yourself means to leave out the love you feel for your family and pet. So, again, what comes to mind when you think of love? You sighed heavily as you sat in the gardens, looking upon the serve with no intentions of eating it. “Are you well, princess?” Aemond questioned as you slumped in your chair and made no movements other than the rise and fall of your shoulders each time you sighed. “Yes,” you replied automatically, as it was a second habit. “You are not.” Aemond countered. You frowned and turned to meet his gaze. “Do I not look well?” You asked, raising a spoon to look upon your reflection. 

“Outwardly, you do. But I know something is troubling you.” Your frown severed. How did he know? You thought. “It’s nothing,” you said quietly, looking upon the piercing gaze of Ser Aemond that manages to form a lump in your throat and a throb in your ears. “Then eat. If nothing is truly bothering you, then you must eat.” He stated. You gave a small nod and did as he said, even though you had no appetite. Aemond was itching to know what you were thinking— he had never met with such mystery as this. You usually uttered every thought you had in mind to your knight; why now did you decide to break such habits? Aemond pursed his lips as he once again saw a glimpse of the parchment you were writing upon the day before. Why did you not send it? What did it contain? Who is it meant for? Questions were starting to consume him. 

You sat in your solarium, staring upon the vast land that overlooks it with the intention of painting the scene, but you could not do so. The same question was still consuming your thoughts. You groaned loudly, your distressed sound reaching the ears of your knight who stood outside. “Princess?” He called, quickly going by your side to see if you were harmed even though nothing could cause it. “It’s nothing— I just… I can’t paint,” You muttered in frustration. “Why? Is your injury still not fully healed?” Aemond took hold of your once-injured arm to assess it. You froze. Your cheeks heated as his hand held yours—the rush of blood, your mind remembered, but you disregarded the thought quickly.

“No! It’s fine,” You say, trying to steal away your arm, but Ser Aemond’s hold only tightened, not painfully; it was almost calming the way he held it closer to him. “You must stop saying everything is fine when it is clearly not,” Aemond said seriously, growing tired of hearing the words you offered so he would not fret over you, but it only had the opposite effect. “Had something happened in the Sept?” He questioned, and you shook your head, your eyes glancing towards your still clasped hands, and realized there was a sensation in it that was wholly absent from the other appendage. “No.” You answered as you did not want to disclose what was truly bothering you. “You’re lying,” You frowned as you were accused of the truth. 

You licked your lips, “I am not!” You squeaked, and Ser Aemond laughed humorlessly. “You know, when you lie, you lick your lips, and your voice grows an octave higher,” He informed. “It does not,” You say lowly, and Aemond gives an amused breath. “What is it? You are aware that you must tell me what bothers you so I can perform my duty, yes?” He asked rhetorically, knowing full well you knew the answer. You sighed and met his gaze once more, your heartbeat ringing in your ears. “What is love?” You asked, giving up on trying to hide from Ser Aemond what troubled you, for he would eventually find out anyway.

“What?” Aemond asked, not expecting for such a question to leave your lips. “The other day, the High Septon’s service was about love… and I could not comprehend his meaning,” You started to explain. “I even wrote it down so I could make sense of it, but I still cannot,” You say, taking the parchment out of the small pocket of your dress to show Aemond the words uttered and you had written. “Do you understand it?” You questioned as you made Ser Aemond read what you wrote. Aemond bit his tongue as he read the words, relief washing over him. He turned to your expecting gaze, feeling his usually calm heart grow erratic. Of course, he understood it— he had felt it firsthand. But he was curious as to why you had not even once felt it. Perhaps he should be thankful for that. “No, princess.” He lied. “Oh…” You trailed, dissapointed as you throught your knight could enlighten you for he was always so worldly and he often explained to you matters you had a hard time grasping. 

“Have you never been in love?” You dared ask, not thinking twice as the words left your lips. It was perhaps inappropriate to ask Ser Aemond such a question, but you had already uttered it, and you could not take it back. Aemond cleared his throat as he once again did not expect such questions. His gaze flew to the floor, “Knights are not allowed to fall in love— our oaths forbid it.” You nodded slowly. “We are only allowed to fall in love with our duty,” he added quietly, unable to hinder the words that, in a sense, were a lie, but if he thought about it more, it was the most real truth he could offer. 

“Have you?” he then asked. You blinked. “No… I do not believe I have,” you answered, but there was an odd sensation as you said it. Uncertainty was heavy, and though you truly believed you had not once felt that type of love, it was offputting to admit it, as if a voice was urging you to believe otherwise. Aemond gave a nod, a mixture of grief and relief swirling within. 

When afternoon came, you walked with your knight to the gardens, as always. “I think he’s quite handsome,” You hear the whispers of some ladies of the court. “Even with the scar?” Another questioned. “Especially with the scar,” You hear her laugh. You looked over your shoulder to glance at them and stood by the side, giggling as they shamelessly eyed your knight. You turned to Ser Aemond for the first time; he seemed oblivious to the whispers, and that calmed the twist in your stomach as the attention of the ladies was turned to Ser Aemond. Aemond once again realized that you were in your head. He sighed and linked his arms with yours, securing you to prevent you from tripping or harming yourself. You felt warm once again, a nice sensation to combat the autumn breeze. You looked upon your clasped arms, and a question came to mind. Is love security? The sense of safety; is that what love was? 

You were stunned. You turned to Ser Aemond, his gaze already placed upon yours. There it was again, the announcing of your heart’s existence, the warmness in your chest, the weakness in your knees. And at the same time, though your heart wanted to break free from your chest, you felt no anxiousness; calmness consumed you. “Are you well?” Ser Aemond asked once more as you stared upon him, your eyes shining from the late afternoon sun. “Yes,” You squeaked after a moment. Aemond sighed as another lie left your lips, “Come now, let’s get you to your chambers,” Your knight said and led you through the halls, not letting you fret over the path, protecting you in even the smallest way. Is this what love was?

You were restless when night came, tossing and turning in your bed as you tried to make peace with your realization. “What does love mean? Is it the way your heart quickens when you look upon a face so comely your mind can no longer comprehend anything?… Does love constitute excitement? A rush of blood when eyes meet? A shortness of breath when shoulders brush?” Ser Aemod was certainly comely, not even you can deny that. With his unique lilac eye and silver locks— his tall, lithe frame; even you had to agree with the ladies with the court, he was more handsome with the scar. And each time you would meet his eye or look upon the outline of his face, it made your mind grow hazy. You sighed; finding Aemond comely did not mean you were in love with him! If that were the case, it would meant you had loved him the moment you two met! You froze at the thought. 

“Is it the constantness of thoughts about someone? Always protruding in your mind, they always seem to haunt each moment.” The morning before you went to the Sept, Ser Aemond had to excuse himself to run an errand, and all you did was think about what he was doing. Unaccustomed to him being away from your side. Even the week you had granted him leave— all you thought about was him and quietly wished he would be stubborn and return by your side. 

“Perhaps it is the twisting in your stomach when the one you want is far from your touch or their attention is caught by another.” You never understood what jealousy truly felt— what is there to envy when all you had wanted was given to you? But you did hear people describe it to be a bothersome feeling, a pit in your stomach, a twitch in your chest, an irritation that you could not be rid of. That was what you felt earlier that day when the ladies were eyeing Ser Aemond and when Celia, the seaside palace’s chambermaid, began to grow familiar with your sworn protector. 

Does love mean you are given all you want? That you are showered with the extravagance our worldly selves could offer? Or does it mean sacrifice? To live plainly and without the need for frills.” Ser Aemond often did the same; the way he would sacrifice his self-interest to protect you and be by your side. How he had gone the extra mile, doing more than what a regular knight’s duties were. Smuggling you treats and sweets, being by your beck and call, comforting you when you needed a shoulder to cry on, caring for you even though he need not. He did not offer you gifts or any material possessions— all he gave was his undying service, and that was worth more than any castle or title or riches ever known. That realization made you sit up, your mind in complete focus as you were finally coming to terms with your answer. 

“Love means a multitude of things, I suppose. It could be one or the other. But what I know is that it does restrain itself in one expression— love differs from one person to the other. To some, love is loud— something so obvious and could not pose any question. To others, it is subtle— some may even question if it is truly there, but best believe, it is.” You always knew what love is, and you had felt it. How could you not? The love you were trying to comprehend was only disguised and hidden from your mind, but now you know and can admit it to yourself with conviction. 

Ser Aemond was love, and you love Ser Aemond.

[daniiye]

The Patient ; Lovesick.

pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader  ─  genre ; romance & angst? (kinda) warnings ; none, this is my first time writing, so there would be imperfections. note ; inspired by ♡ doctor! doctor! by zb1. (pt2 is here!).

You've been a backup dancer for BIGBANG for years, forming close bonds with every member—except Seunghyun. For some reason, he always kept his distance, his interactions with you limited to brief, polite exchanges. It never bothered you; if that was how he felt most comfortable, you respected it without question.

What you didn’t know, however, was that from his perspective, the distance wasn’t indifference—it was self-restraint. Seunghyun had developed a huge crush on you, one that only seemed to grow the more he watched you from afar. He wasn’t good at expressing emotions, and instead of risking awkwardness or letting his feelings slip, he chose to keep things short and simple. It was easier that way—or so he told himself.

Seunghyun prided himself on his self-control. He had built walls around himself, carefully maintaining a cool, untouchable image but lately, something was wrong. His heart pounded at the most inconvenient times—when you laughed, when you danced, when you so much as looked in his direction. His throat tightened around words he couldn't say, and a strange, unbearable heat crawled up his neck whenever you were near.

It was an illness. It had to be, right?

and thats how frustrated sitting in a doctor’s office, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He explained his symptoms as vaguely as possible—racing pulse, breathlessness, an unshakable restlessness. The doctor listened, then smirked knowingly. “Sounds like a classic case.”

really? classic?

Seunghyun tensed. “Classic case of what?”  The doctor scribbled something down and handed it over. Seunghyun stared at the paper, confused.

Lovesick.

His ears burned. “You’re joking.”

The doctor chuckled. “No cure, I’m afraid. But the best treatment? Tell them how you feel.”

Seunghyun scoffed, stuffing the paper into his pocket. Like it was that simple. Like saying the words wouldn’t set his whole world on fire.

Seunghyun pushed open the practice room door, stepping inside to find his bandmates already there, stretching and chatting amongst themselves. The moment they noticed him, all eyes turned his way. Taeyang was the first to speak, his brows knitting together in concern. “Is everything alright, hyung?” Seunghyun hesitated for a split second before averting his gaze, busying himself with adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. He couldn’t exactly tell them the truth—that he had just been diagnosed with something far worse than a simple illness.

“Yeah..” he muttered, voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “Just a cold.” Daesung chuckled, nudging Ji yong. “Told you he was acting weird. Hyung, you should rest if you’re sick.” Seunghyun only shook his head, forcing a small smirk. “I’ll live.” 

But as the practice session began and his eyes inevitably found you across the room—moving effortlessly, completely unaware of the chaos you stirred inside him. The moment the choreographer called your name alongside Seunghyun’s for the Bae Bae pairing, his stomach dropped. He kept his expression neutral, nodding like it was no big deal, but inside? Inside, he was a mess. As you stepped closer, waiting for the music to start, Seunghyun swallowed hard. He could already feel the heat creeping up his neck. This wasn’t just any performance—this was a routine laced with intimacy, closeness, touch. 

The first notes of the song played, and suddenly, you were in sync, moving together as if gravity itself pulled you toward each other. Your hand brushed against his, and Seunghyun felt like his heart might actually give out. Every glance, every perfectly timed movement sent electricity through him. He was supposed to be cool, effortless, in control. But right now? Right now, he was fighting for his life.

As the final beat of Bae Bae faded, Seunghyun stepped back, trying to steady himself. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Why the hell am i so out of breath?

His shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin, drenched in sweat like he had just run a marathon—not simply danced a routine he had done countless times before. But this time was different. This time, you were in his arms, your touch lingering, your eyes meeting his like you could see right through him.

“Hyung, are you okay?” A firm hand landed on his shoulder. Seunghyun barely registered it, still bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. He glanced up to find Taeyang watching him with concern. “I’m fine,” Seunghyun muttered, quickly straightening up despite the way his legs threatened to betray him. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, forcing a small smirk. “Just... got too into it.” Taeyang raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You sure? You’re sweating like we just finished a whole concert.” Seunghyun waved him off, but his eyes flickered toward you—completely composed, unfazed, perfect. Meanwhile, he was falling apart over a few minutes of close proximity.

This wasn’t just a crush anymore.

This was disastrous.

Seunghyun wasn’t the type to panic, but after that dance practice, he had no other explanation—he had to be seriously ill. The dizziness, the racing heart, the breathlessness. It was getting worse. Every time you were near, it felt like his body was betraying him. Which is how he found himself back in the doctor’s office, arms crossed, jaw tight, again.

The doctor sighed, flipping through Seunghyun’s chart with a knowing smirk. “Didn’t we already go over this?”

“I just need to be sure” Seunghyun muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “There has to be something wrong with me.” The doctor leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his clipboard. “Alright. Let’s go through your symptoms again. Heart racing?”

“Yes.”

“Shortness of breath?”

“Yes.”

“Uncontrollable thoughts about a specific person?”

Seunghyun’s lips pressed into a thin line. “…Yes.”

The doctor chuckled, shaking his head. “Seunghyun-ssi, I told you before. You’re not sick. You’re in love.” Seunghyun scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not helpful. Give me something—pills, a shot, anything.” The doctor only smiled. “Love isn’t a condition that can be treated with medicine.” He scribbled something on a notepad and handed it over.

Seunghyun hesitated before looking down. Instead of a prescription, it was a single sentence:

The only cure is confession.

His grip tightened around the paper as frustration bubbled in his chest. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Because admitting it out loud? That made it real and Seunghyun wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

Meanwhile, you were in the practice room, waiting for Seunghyun to show up. He was taking longer than usual, which wasn’t like him so to pass the time, you found yourself chatting with Ji Yong and Taeyang, but even then, the topic inevitably shifted to Seunghyun’s odd behavior.

“Is it just me, or has he been acting weird lately?” Ji Yong asked, frustration evident in his expression as he leaned back against the wall. Taeyang hummed in thought, arms crossed. “Do you think he’s sick?” You frowned, considering it. “I don’t know…”

He had been acting strange. The way he avoided eye contact, how he seemed out of breath after practice, the way he would glance at you and then immediately look away like he was hiding something.

It wasn’t just you who noticed it.

Ji Yong exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, whatever it is, he better snap out of it soon. We have performances coming up, and we can’t afford distractions.” You nodded absentmindedly, but deep down, curiosity gnawed at you. What was going on with Seunghyun? And more importantly… why did you care so much?

Ji Yong glanced at your furrowed brows, his sharp eyes studying you. Then, with a knowing smirk, he tilted his head. “Y/N, why don’t you talk to him?” he suggested casually. “You’ve been his dance partner since forever.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

Taeyang nodded, as if the idea made perfect sense. “Yeah. If something’s wrong, he might talk to you before any of us.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. It was true that you and Seunghyun had worked together for years, but he had always kept a certain distance—polite, professional, but never close. And lately, that distance felt even more obvious. Still, the thought of confronting him made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know…” you muttered. “If he wants to talk, he will.”

Ji Yong raised an eyebrow. “And if he doesn’t?”

Just as you were about to respond, the door to the practice room swung open, and Seunghyun walked in, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. His usual composed demeanor was slightly off, his posture stiff, but he still had that cool, aloof air about him and right behind him, Daesung caught up, his voice loud and slightly exasperated. Seunghyun didn’t even glance at him, taking a slow sip from his coffee. “I lost track of time,” he said, his tone nonchalant, but there was a hint of something you couldn’t quite place.

As soon as practice began, you couldn't help but notice Seunghyun’s movements. They were sharper, a little more rigid than usual, as if his mind wasn’t fully in it. His eyes occasionally flickered around the room, but never stayed on the routine, and his once fluid motions now seemed hesitant, like he was distracted by something you couldn't see. You turned to face him, trying to adjust your own movements to match his rhythm, but as the next step came, your foot slipped. In that split second, you lost your balance, stumbling forward and instinctively placing both your hands on his chest to steady yourself. "Sorry—" you started to say, but before you could even finish, Seunghyun suddenly pulled back, his eyes wide with something you couldn't quite read.

His hand pressed against his chest, and you watched, a bit taken aback, as his breathing quickened. His eyes darted away from you, refusing to meet your gaze, and you could hear his breaths growing more shallow with every passing second. It was like he was struggling to keep himself under control, as if your touch had triggered something deep inside him he wasn’t ready to confront. "I'm taking a break..” Seunghyun muttered under his breath, his words barely audible as he swiftly turned and walked out of the practice room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the rest of you standing in stunned silence. For a moment, no one said anything. Then, Taeyang exchanged a glance with Ji Yong, who raised an eyebrow. Daesung's face softened in concern.

As you made your way toward the door, ready to follow Seunghyun, Ji Yong quickly stood up, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something more urgent. “I’ll go with him,” Ji Yong said, his voice calm but firm. “He’s probably going to shut down if it’s just you.’’ You nodded, appreciating Ji Yong's concern. He knew Seunghyun better than anyone, after all. Without another word, Ji Yong slipped out of the room, moving fast to catch up with Seunghyun before he could disappear too far.

Left alone with Taeyang and Daesung, you sank into one of the chairs, your hands resting on your knees as you tried to gather your thoughts. The room felt quieter now, the energy from the practice gone, replaced by an awkward silence.

You glanced toward the door, your thoughts heavy. You couldn’t help but wonder what Seunghyun was feeling, what had made him act like this. He’d been distant with you lately, avoiding eye contact, acting like he was physically ill, but it wasn’t like him to pull away from the group. There had to be more to it.

Ji Yong hurried down the hallway, his steps quick but careful as he kept his eyes peeled for Seunghyun. After a few turns, he found him—sitting alone in a quiet corner, a bottle of water resting in his hand. His posture was slumped, his eyes distant as he stared down at the label, not even taking a sip. The atmosphere between them was always natural, always easy—yet, tonight felt different. Seunghyun was distant, the familiar cool, collected front he always wore cracking under some invisible weight. Ji Yong stood for a moment, watching him, unsure how to approach. Seunghyun hadn’t noticed him yet, too lost in his thoughts.

“Hyung,” Ji Yong called softly, taking a few steps closer. Seunghyun’s head snapped up, and for a brief second, his expression was a mixture of surprise and something softer—guilt, maybe? He quickly masked it, returning to his usual unreadable expression, though his hand tightened around the water bottle.

Ji Yong slid onto the bench next to him, not even waiting for an invitation. “I think you know why I’m here.” His tone was light, teasing even, but there was an undercurrent of concern that Seunghyun couldn’t miss. Seunghyun glanced away, his gaze momentarily flicking to the floor. “I’m fine. Just needed a break.”

“You can’t keep avoiding everyone. Something’s been bothering you for a while now.” Ji Yong’s voice softened, but his words were still direct. Seunghyun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was clear now that he couldn’t dodge the conversation any longer. His fingers drummed lightly against the water bottle as he thought about how to respond. Ji Yong, sensing his hesitation, leaned in slightly, his gaze steady and patient. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Ji Yong,” Seunghyun admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand lowered from his neck, his grip on the water bottle loosening, the tension in his body finally starting to unravel. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Seunghyun’s voice was barely audible, as if he had just whispered his deepest secret to the air, unsure if he even meant to say it out loud. His eyes were fixed on the floor, avoiding Ji Yong’s gaze. “I like this girl..” Seunghyun continued, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “But I’m afraid she doesn’t like me back.” Ji Yong froze, his heart skipping a beat as the weight of Seunghyun’s words sank in. He had suspected something was off, but hearing the words spoken so vulnerably—so raw—hit him harder than he expected. “I’m not… I’m not asking for advice or anything. I just don’t know what to do.’’ Seunghyun said shaking his head.

Ji Yong smiled softly, placing a hand on Seunghyun’s shoulder. “The worst thing you can do is leave it unsaid.’’ For a long moment, Seunghyun stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the bottle in his hands, deep in thought. The words weren’t easy, and the idea of taking that leap was terrifying. But Ji Yong’s words lingered, like a quiet encouragement, urging him to finally take the step he had been too afraid to make and with a slow, deep breath, Seunghyun finally spoke. “I’ll think about it.”

ill think about it...will i ?...

Days went by, and Seunghyun’s condition only worsened. He had tried to bury the emotions he’d been holding inside, thinking that time would simply let them fade. But the fear, the anxiety, the constant tension in his chest—it wasn’t something that was going to disappear on its own. It was consuming him, little by little. Going back to visiting the doctor, explaining how his anxiety was worsening and affecting his daily life, especially around the girl he liked. The doctor prescribed medication to help manage the symptoms but emphasized that the real solution lay in addressing the root cause. Seunghyun left with the prescription, knowing the pills wouldn’t fix his deeper emotional struggles.

The day of the concert arrived, and Seunghyun could barely focus. His mind was a tangled mess of anticipation, anxiety, and confusion. He had made up his mind: after the concert, he would finally confront you. He would tell you everything—about the way he felt, the way you made him feel like his heart was constantly on the edge of bursting, and how he couldn’t stand bottling it up anymore. It had to be today. The show went on, the crowd’s energy pumping through him, but no matter how loud the music, he couldn’t drown out the constant hum in his chest. All he could think about was you, wondering if you felt anything close to what he did.

After the concert, he searched for you backstage, his heart racing as he pushed through the crowd of staff and fellow artists. He needed to find you, to finally have this conversation, to end the turmoil inside him. His thoughts were racing when he finally caught sight of you, standing a few feet away, laughing with someone. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but as he got closer, his heart dropped. You were standing there, leaning in toward the guy beside you with a smile that made his chest tighten. They were close—too close. His mind ran wild with assumptions, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. The guy had his hand casually resting on your shoulder, and your laugh, the one he cherished so much, sounded different, lighter.

A sudden wave of panic and bitterness washed over him. His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he turned away, retreating into the shadows. The sight of you with another guy, so carefree, hit him harder than he could have imagined. He stood in the dark hallway, eyes shut tight, fighting back the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He clenched his fists, the words he had wanted to say to you suddenly stuck in his throat. Were you already taken? Was he just a fool for thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was something between you two?

The feelings he had been carrying for so long now seemed pointless, like an invisible weight he couldn’t rid himself of. He had come here to confess, to face the truth but now, all he could do was turn away. It was easier, less painful, to bottle it all up and pretend like everything was fine.

With one final glance at the laughter echoing from the corner, he walked back into the chaos of the backstage area, hiding the turmoil inside. He’d carry these feelings with him, locked away, just like he always had and just like before, he’d let them simmer in silence.

[starrydali]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˖*°࿐Leo Valdez can’t stop thinking about you. Whether he's fixing things or working on the Argo II, your name always ends up somewhere—etched into blueprints, carved into walls, scribbled under tables. It started as a small habit, but now it’s like he can’t help himself. He doesn’t even realize what he's doing anymore. Meanwhile, you’re shy and flustered every time you spot it, trying not to let him know how much it makes your heart flutter. His little secret is everywhere, and you can’t help but find it sweet. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

part 1

You’re wandering the Argo II, minding your own business, when you spot it—your name, etched faintly into the edge of a railing.

“Is that...?” You squint, running your fingers over the carving.

“Y/n.”

You shake your head, figuring it’s just a one-off thing, but then you find it again. On the control panel in the engine room. On the edge of the table in the dining area. Even on the side of a wrench lying in the workshop.

“Leo,” you mutter under your breath, your cheeks heating up.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you march off to find him. You don’t have to look far—he’s sprawled on a chair near the workshop, tinkering with a small gadget.

“Leo!”

He looks up, already grinning like he knows exactly what you’re about to say. “Hey, sunshine. What’s up?”

You hold up the wrench, pointing to your name. “Why is my name on this?”

Leo doesn’t even flinch. “Oh, that? Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” You’re trying not to sound flustered, but your voice comes out way higher than you intended. “Leo, my name is everywhere. I just found it carved into the ship’s railing!”

He leans back, folding his arms behind his head with a cocky smile. “What can I say? You’re always on my mind.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “That’s... That’s ridiculous! You can’t just—”

“Oh, but I can,” he interrupts smoothly, standing up and taking the wrench from your hand. “See, when I’m building something, I gotta put a little of you into it. Makes it better.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you protest, but your voice wavers because, honestly, what are you even supposed to say to that?

Leo steps closer, his grin widening. “Admit it. You think it’s sweet. Maybe even a little romantic?”

You stammer, trying to think of a comeback, but nothing comes out.

He smirks and tilts his head. “Tell you what—give me a kiss, and I might consider toning it down.”

Your brain short-circuits. “W-what?! Leo!”

He laughs, absolutely delighted at your reaction. “Relax, sunshine. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

You cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “You’re impossible.”

Leo shrugs, still smirking. “And yet, you’re still here, holding my wrench like it’s a love letter.”

You groan, shoving the wrench at him. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He winks, twirling the wrench like it’s a trophy. “Nah, I’m just full of you, sunshine. You’re in my head, my heart, and apparently, all over the ship.”

You spin on your heel to leave, your face burning, but you catch his voice as you go.

“Don’t worry, Y/n!” he calls after you. “I’ll save you a spot on my next invention. Maybe I’ll carve ‘Leo + Y/n’ in a heart this time!”

You don’t turn around, but you can’t stop the small, flustered smile spreading across your face.

✧. ┊ Send requests! :)

[traffys-heart]

Please more virgin! Loser! Law 🥰😍😍😍😍

virgin! loser! law headcannons | sfw + nsfw

somehow he seems to be more popular than my man rosinante (˙◠˙) i acc was a law girl before the blond beauty got introduced and i got a figure of him and everything. i dont even have any corazon merch so maybe in the end i am the bigger law fan. also ty for 100+ followers! ur all so amazing <3

also big ty to my wonderful beta reader @mysunfishpeedinmyroom

cw: lowercase, pervert! law, male masturbation,

┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

—

i think virgin! loser! law would react differently depending on the reader’s background. for example, let’s say ur one of his crew. he would be super reluctant and difficult to get out of his shell and make a move on u. factors including his own position above u plus not wanting to reveal his awkwardness (everyone on the tang already knows) would make it hard for him to show his true feelings.

if reader was a straw hat then he would probably have a slightly easier time due to shachi and penguin nudging him in ur direction. while he still wants to maintain his ‘cool nonchalant guy’ persona he’s much more willing to seem less professional in front of u. good luck impressing ur favorite protective sisters nami and robin tho, and don’t get me started on sanji. the straw hat family always makes sure to look out for each other, even if those potential dates r nakama.

civilian! reader is the most likely the easiest. there is almost a zero percent chance he’ll run into u again on accident if he screws up and he’s given the upper hand in most situations. his nerdy interests aren’t seen as a weakness but sweet in the eyes of someone who is untrained in battle. he likes the softness of ur heart.

physical affection is weird for him. besides cuddling bepo and assuring his crewmates in a friendly manner on their performance he doesn’t really do ‘PDA’. if u two r going to be holding hands and hugging in public it’s going to be initiated by u. he gets used to it early on tho and begins to crave it, shyly coming up to u and asking for ur hands.

ur first kiss was nothing short of strange. law had kissed people before…like…his mother and his little sister. one time cora-san kissed him on the forehead…does that count? so law was very unprepared when u first leaned in. sure he knew what he was supposed to do, but actually following through was a whole other thing.

with cheeks puffed up like a blowfish, he slowly met ur lips w his own. ur eyes were closed so u didn’t get to see the downright hilarious sight in front of u, however the kiss was certainly… different.

like i’ve mentioned in my other headcannon posts law loves chatting abt his interests. whether it be his coin collection or sora if u can sit down and listen to his yap sessions u two r made for each other. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to hear u talk tho either, no he adores when u give him in depth detailed recounts of ur day or mini lessons of ur own favorite subjects.

˚₊· ➳ ♡ nsfw time !!

law had read and watched a lot of porn before u, usually jacking off or just sitting w his pent up energy while the rest of the crew whored out at port. this had changed when he met u. before u guys even started dating, probably when he first met u, he scrapped his fiction entirely.

his wank bank material now only consisted entirely of images of u. whether they be actual memories of u throughout the day or fragments of dreams he kept stored in the back of his mind, law no had longer his plastic wrapped novels to keep him entertained.

even better, in his free time he thought he’d try his hand at writing things abt the two of u. of course they had different names, and he attempted to keep the descriptions loose, but he knew he was writing about u. his pen scribbling away at night under the guise of paperwork it makes his crew question why he becomes so red when they try to bring him tea in his study.

he also tried his hand at drawing porn, thinking back to the art lessons giolla taught him. however after looking at his first piece and then comparing it to ur image he decided he should stick to smut.

when u two started dating jerking off became so much easier for him. all he had to do was press one of ur sweaters to his face or recall the memory of ur actual hands on his face and would cum all over his tattooed chest. it occurred to him one day that u masturbate to him as well and the thought a lot was enough to coat the inside of his jeans.

law’s favorite way to get off is suffocating himself in one ur pillows and pretending ur riding his face. the idea of being squished underneath u while u use him for ur own pleasure is so hot he can’t help but fuck his hand to the thought. he’ll probably lick ur pillow if he gets really into it bc he’s just kinda gross like that.

when he saw u naked for the first time he couldn’t believe his eyes. u two had cuddled late into the night with plans to watch some movies and ended up talking each others’ ears off in the end. when u woke up u decided u needed a morning shower and started stripping before u noticed law waking up.

he was immediately off put by the lack of ur presence by his side so when he opened his heavy eyelids to ur bare chest and naked ass at the end of the bed, he totally thought he was still in his wet dream.

u don’t think much of it before u start heading towards his private full bath, simultaneously showing off ur assets to ur sleep ridden boyfriend. law had half a mind to grab his picture snail and capture this moment. considering his own background, for him, this was a moment in history.

when u came back with ur hair wet and nothing but a towel on law was much more prepared to sing ur praises. he was hesitant to touch u, more inclined to sit back and watch u dry urself (he wants to beg u to drop ur towel so bad) and apply ur lotions.

having a little pervert as a boyfriend isn’t so bad. esp when he shows u what his surgeon grade hands can do (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) (surgery. that’s all)

—

[l0standn0tf0und]

damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes

george weasley x fem!reader (hints on short!bookworm!fem!reader)

words| +- 4400

in short|  classic story. George falls in love with his best friend. nothing more and nothing less

warnings| my english, angst, fluffy ending, mention of sex and long ranting about George's feelings

author’s note| it's supposed to be a short one. About 1000 words or so, but I got excited. and well, I tried to make it George's pov. because, you know, ✨️his pov✨️. also, it's my first scribbling in two years. enjoy))

He has been with other girls. He'd even said he has been with a lot of other girls.

There were a couple of girls he dated for a while. There were those he just fucked with. A quickie after a Quidditch match won't hurt anyone. It doesn't matter whether he won this match or not. He's well aware of the fact, that girls like him. But none of these so-called relationships were serious. Perhaps this was because he didn't consider any of them as something serious.

He tried this relationship thing because he was curious, what it's like to date a girl. But during his dates, bringing a cup, all painted with tiny violets, to his lips and listening to the chatter of his now ex-girlfriend, he thought that she'd never say such a thing and she'd never order such a lusciously sweet cupcake. And she wouldn't have dragged him to Madam Puddifoot's in the first place.

After smashing Hufflepuff to smithereens on the Quidditch field, he pressed some Ravenclaw's back to one of the walls in the locker room, pounding deep into her, hearing this girl's moans become louder with each thrust. He caught himself thinking about what her moans would sound like. Would she be filthy and loud underneath him or her moans would be more shaky and soft?

He wouldn't say any of these girls were bad, unattractive, or something like that. Just the opposite, all of them were great. But they simply weren't…her. She got deep under his skin, intertwined with his veins, and blossomed in his lungs. She was his Flower. That's how he called her.

George remembers clearly well how it started. No, not his feelings, they started so naturally, that he didn't even notice how he fell for her. George remembers clearly well how he started calling her flower. This happened back in the second year, during History of Magic. He was getting more and more bored by the second in that stuffy classroom. And there was nothing unusual about it. He got bored very easily. So he quietly began scribbling in the corner of her parchment. He remembers the angry look little Y/N gave him as she carefully pushed her piece of paper away from the redhead. She was also bored but did her best to focus on Professor Binns' words. But George continued, all smiling and trying to stifle his giggles caused by her irritation. At some point, his incomprehensible doodles began to look like something that resembled Professor Binns, but his glasses and mustache were abnormally large compared to everything else. She smiled, took George's hand, and carefully drew a tiny flower on his wrist, before returning her attention to Professor. It took him a while to find out what exactly she drew with so neat lines. It looked like an iris or daffodil, he couldn't tell exactly and she didn't know either. But after that she became flower. His flower.

And now George is sitting in the library. He came here to at least start an essay on Potions. Snape become ruthless lately, so it was easier to work in a group on this 5-page assignment about Golpalott's Third Law. That's how he, Y/N, Fred, and Lee ended up in the library. George knew that this was one of her favorite places at Hogwarts. Two and a half hours earlier, when they had passed Madam Pince's stern gaze, he almost unconsciously walked to her favorite table, between the Poetry and Reference sections.

George's re-reading the same sentence in the book for the seventh time. There's something about the idea that a whole product is greater than the sum of its parts, but he can't really understand its meaning because he's thinking about her. It would be more accurate to say that he's thinking about what Lee and Fred had said about her. The evening before, his twin, the only person in this world who was closer to George than Y/N, again claimed that his love was mutual. Fred constantly tried to push him to confess his feelings. His argumentation was always the same. Fred said that he’s older, which means wiser, and he sees everything, how she steals glances at his little shy brother in classes and how she blushes just as much when George is near. But that evening, Lee has added some new information, which George still tries to process and connects with everything else these two have been telling him through the years.

George returns to yesterday in his thoughts. He was lying on his bed again, hopelessly pressing his face into the soft fabric of the pillow, while these two opened the Pandora's box again. Sometimes it seemed to George that they were enjoying this ranting about his 'unrequited' love situation over and over again.

"Ok, look, if she felt nothing but platonic stuff, she'd not be this frustrated when she found out about you and Jane" Lee spoke in a devious voice, getting more comfortable on his bed.

"Wasn't it Jade?" Fred's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Doesn't matter, I mean this Hufflepuff blondie with the ribbon"

"She's Janis" George sighed. He remembered this relationship, which lasted just over a month or so. Janis was nice, but she talked a bit too much. And this black ribbon, which she constantly wore as a headband, pissed him off. He admitted that the ribbon matched well with her uniform and emphasized the brightness of her hair. But something was wrong with it.

"I thought she was Jade"

"Anyway, why are you telling me about this now?" curiosity and a slight note of annoyance were noticeable in George's voice "It was quite a long ago."

"Look, mate. I'm your friend, right?" Lee sat down, crossed his legs, and the blanket crumpled under his weight. One more movement and the red piece of cloth would end up on the floor. "But I'm her friend as well. She knows that I know. And knows that I overheard that conversation of hers. And I promised, I won't blab it to you…But as it turns out, I'm not the best secret keeper and I'm more of a friend to you than to Y/N"

To tell the truth, Lee was a great secret keeper. Just like he was a great friend. This made George seriously wonder why Lee broke the promise. And so unceremoniously 'blabbed' everything to him. What if he's really as blind as he was told and doesn't see obvious things. He doesn't deny the possibility that she liked him too. More precisely, he doesn't want to deny it. He hopes that Y/N also feels something that crosses the boundaries of friendship. Even if her feelings aren't as strong and all-consuming as his. As if time collapses into one tiny speck and explodes at light speed every time George sees her. He hopes for at least something, for at least a tiny feeling, a tiny sparkle in her heart that flares up at the sight of the tall redhead.

Many times he imagined and replayed in his head the moment he would confess his feelings. Tell her how all the sounds around become quiet when he hears her laugh, how each and every touch imprints and burns on his skin. He dreamed, how he would tell how much he loved her, that he could finally be honest and reveal everything that was in his head and heart.

But the younger twin thinks the stakes are too high. And maybe he's right because she thinks the same thing to herself. Even though George wants more, he doesn't want to risk everything he has right now. His eyes begin to water and a lump rises in his throat every time he assumes he could lose Y/N. His flower. He knows her too well to predict what would happen next if his feelings weren't mutual. Their communication will become awkward, they both will be cautious and afraid of saying or doing something wrong. And then, after some time of this weird communication, their connection will fade away. And even if his love is mutual, what if he and Y/N don’t work out as a couple? What then?

He can't let their previous and future years of friendship go down the drain. Y/N was the first person he and Fred met on the Hogwarts Express. And from the very first year and the very first greeting, the three of them became inseparable. Always together.

She wanted to be a prefect, so she avoided detentions and tried not to get involved in their pranks directly. But Y/N was always there, helped to plan each of their mischiefs, assisted with new inventions, and saved him and his brother from professors. George can't remember how many times she rescued them from Filch while she was patrolling the corridors. He was so proud of her last year when she finally received this little silver pin that gave her extra authority and responsibilities.

George can't imagine Christmas without Y/N now. She visits the Burrow every year and his mom adores her. Perhaps because Y/N helps with cooking more than anyone else in this house. But George can imagine in detail how hard his mother would scold him if he suddenly announce that Y/N won't come for winter break this year because he's an idiot and they stopped talking to each other.

It's not Christmas without having a snowball fight with her and Fred in the backyard. At some point, she always tries to throw Fred into the snow. But due to the obvious height difference and Fred's strength privilege, she never succeeds in this. So she's becoming the one who's giggling on the ground, covered with snow. George always laughs at this little performance while his very kind twin scatters her down with even more snow.

George's envious of his brother in some way. Fred has never seen Y/N as more than a friend or a second sister. He's envious that his twin's heart doesn't ache as much as his does. And his older brother doesn't have to make such a difficult decision. No, George doesn't wish his brother pain. No way. He just doesn't want to suffer himself. George understands, that he's not just at risk of losing her, but also at risk of depriving Fred of his best friend too. If he and Y/N don't work out, what will happen to her friendship with Fred? Yes, perhaps they will be able to maintain some thread of communication. But they certainly won’t be best friends like they are now. George wouldn't handle it. He believes that it's better to be content with the small moments he has than to lose everything.

"Where are you going?" Fred's question snaps the younger twin out of his thoughts. He's still in the library and didn’t even notice how the chair next to him became empty, as Y/N headed towards one of the sections.

“I need this book, about…” her words meet Fred's raised eyebrows "I just need another book"

A quiet “uh-huh,” sounds either from Fred or Lee as her back is already hidden between the shelves full of colorful covers.

George looks for a while longer after Y/N. If someone raised their head from studies or books and glanced at the redhead, they would see the gears turning in his head.

“I…” George moves away from the table. Legs of the chair slide across the floor with a quiet rustle. He tries to come up with some kind of a reason, but Lee is faster.

“We got it, loverboy in shining armor, go already and help your princess” In response George groanes, and a quiet "fuck off" slips from his lips as he heads after his 'princess'. He doesn't know why he decided to follow Y/N. He just wants to. Perhaps he simply feels calmer when she's around, she gives him a feeling of warmth and home just by being near.

And there she is, just three bookshelves away. George can understand why she likes spending time in the library, although he doesn't share this sympathy. It's quiet and peaceful here. High ceilings, impressive columns, and alive stained glass windows are throughout Hogwarts, but they look especially charming in this place. Perhaps it's the specific lighting or the huge number of cabinets filled with old parchment and colored bindings. And, to be honest, he likes the smell of books. There is something about that scent that the redhead can't explain.

Y/N walks along the shelf at the end of the bookrack. Her gaze runs along the top row of colored spines, searching for what she needs. Her hair is up in a messy, almost domestic, bun and secured with a wand. But some strands fell down, framing her face and descending down her neck. The tie hangs loosely around her neck. She undid it after half an hour in the library.

George just stands there and admires her for a while, unable to tear his gaze away. It seems to him as if a soft golden glow surrounds each curve of her glorious body. And this light calls him to come closer. None of the other girls looked like her in his eyes. He swallows, breaks out of this perfect trance, and quietly heads to her.

The girl stands on the very tips of her black shiny shoes. Her fingers almost touch that very book on the top shelf. "Why the hell do they always shove the most useful stuff so far away?" Y/N thinks to herself before long fingers touch the cover of the "Ingredient Encyclopedia". She sees as right above her head a familiar freckled hand takes the faded green binding from its place.

"You're welcome, flower" Y/N turns around at the sound of the voice and finds herself trapped between the worn books and George.

The corners of his lips lift slightly and the younger twin can feel the warmth approaching his cheeks. He can't control it and, to be honest, he doesn't care when she's only millimeters away.

Her "Thank you" is so quiet that George isn't sure she actually said it. Their eyes meet, and it seems to redhead that everything that happened next was in slow motion.

She just wanted to take the book. Such an innocent action. She inhales sharply as her fingertips accidentally brush his hand. He feels high-voltage sparks come from this touch and spread further throughout his whole body and explode where his heart is.

They both froze, not breathing and not breaking an eye contact. George could swear he was ready to give everything he had to live in this moment forever. Just standing next to her in an empty section of the Hogwarts library. Looking into her eyes, losing himself in their depths. And feel the warmth radiating from her hand on his.

Earlier, he thought he'd be nervous at a moment like this but he isn't. He just stares at her eyes, then at her parted lips. "George, don’t do it" he repeats to himself. His fingers shudder imperceptibly with the thought of taking her wand from messy hair, so her locks would fall freely on her fragile shoulders. "Control yourself". He's trying, so damn hard trying not to bury his hands into these shiny strands and pull her into a kiss. It takes all his strength not to. And George doesn't know what happened. Was it Y/N's rosy blush and his brother's words about mutuality flashing through his head. Was it her, standing so close that he could smell his amortentia coming from the girl.

But he gives up. George bends down, without even thinking about it, and presses his lips to hers

George pulls away even faster than he has leaned toward her. There is exposed fear in his widely opened eyes. Eyebrows are raised as the realization crushes his thoughts. His mouth opens and closes without making any sound. It seems that he's more shocked by his own action than Y/N herself.

He fucked up. He knows it.

Y\N stands there still. And this is the first time in the redhead's life that he can't read the emotions of his best friend. "Ingredient Encyclopedia" is still in her palm, but George abruptly pulls his hand away, losing all the warmth she provided to him.

"I'm…I'm sorry" is the only thing he mumbles before storming away from the book section, from the library, from her.

George almost knocks down a first-year with a blue tie when he rushes out around the corner. He fucked up. Y/N didn’t respond to his kiss, she didn’t react at all. She just froze in place. George doesn't understand how he could let himself do this. He shouldn't have. He heads towards the huge wooden door with such speed that some students' parchments fly off their desks. He doesn't notice this, nor the questions from Fred and Lee, that meet his broad back, nor the comments of the furious Madam Pince.

She appears around the corner shortly after George, calling his name. She throws the book on the table and quickly walks past her friends. The faded green binding slides across the wooden surface and lands near Lee's inkpot. Another millimeter and the small glass jar would have been knocked down and poured a black liquid onto the pieces of parchment, only half written with essay.

"For Merlin's sake, what is going on?"

“I'll bet you a galleon that George confessed to her and ran away” Fred speaks with a sly grin, shifting his gaze from the hurrying Y/N to his dormmate.

"Too much drama for these two, don't you think?"

"So…?"

"You're on" Lee agrees, moving the book away from his writings. He only managed to write the introduction and the beginning of the first few theses. It was far from 5 pages but it was at least something and definitely more than George wrote.

George walks through the library entrance. He feels like everything is crumbling inside him as he walks. The sound of his heart pounding in the ears muffles the voice calling his name somewhere behind the back.

"George!…"

He is supposed to be happy. He finally did what he had dreamed of for many years. He finally kissed the girl he was so hopelessly in love with. But instead, he feels as if a dozen Dementors attacked him. All of the hope and happiness have been sucked out of the world.

"George!…"

He'd better get away from here as fast as possible. He'd explain himself later. He'd better get to his safe space. But where should he go if he felt safe only next to her?

"George!….for Merlin's sake!….. I can't keep up with you!"

He recalls everything in his head, from what happened a minute ago to the first time he saw Y\N. He understands that all those happy moments, the tenderness, the memories they both made and the plans for the future, are all gone. He's so disappointed and so angry with himself.

"George!…"

"What?!" He stops and turns around, seeing the girl almost running along the empty corridor of Hogwarts, approaching him.

George heard her calling him. But he's not ready to face the consequences. Not now. He needs time to pull himself back together and come up with something. But he gives up. Again.

"What do you wanna hear, Y|N?!" His hands shoot up in a questioning gesture. "That I'm head over heels in love with you? With your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes! With your damn angelic laughter, which drowns out all other sounds for me! And I even with the way your brows frown when you're concentrated!"

"Georgie…" He doesn't seem to notice her soft voice but continues. She wants to say something, but his confession is unstoppable. And she understands this, so she decides to just let him rant.

"Or do you wanna hear that you became a fixed point in my mind where my thoughts always come back to? That I randomly grin to myself like an idiot when I think about anything related to you. I don't know when exactly I fell for you. But it feels like I've always loved you. You're doing something to me, no one else ever could. You make me feel special and not just another poor Weasley or the second clown of Hogwarts. Every damn time you make me feel important because of who I am and not because I'm the beater or I'm the easiest way to get to Fred." His voice became calmer with each sentence. The irritated raised tone turns into his normal deep timbre, and then it will turn into a soft mumbling. " And you make all of my anxiety and worries turn off just by your presence. I was so fucking angry with myself and you did something I dunno how to explain. So now I can't be this angry. And you are…you are just….you"

She stands next to him. Almost as close as it was back then in the library. Perhaps if George wasn't so nervous, he'd realize that he liked the scent of books because it was her scent. Every time she left the library after spending several hours there, she had this slightest scent on her. It mixed with her perfume and shampoo, so it was impossible to separate and difficult to notice it.

"Are you done?" George doesn't know what to do and just nods his ginger head. Then she rises on her tiptoes and neat fingers finds the collar of his white shirt and pulls it towards her, forcing George to lean forward. Her lips touch his. Again. Only for a few seconds but this makes him blush even more, if it's possible. His freckles aren't this noticeable anymore.

The girl pulls away, the heels of her shoes meet the cold floor and her hands slide onto George's chest. But he continues to stand slightly bent forward, batting his eyelashes. She still has to lift her head slightly to look him in the eyes. In the future, this height difference will piss her off sometimes, but he'll enjoy it endlessly, liking this even more every time.

George stares deeply into her eyes, trying to understand what just happened. But he feels that he can breathe again. And somewhere inside, where his soul is, irises and daffodils and all the other flowers start to blossom slowly. Did she really kiss him? But earlier…

"But you've…." His eyebrows furrow as the puzzles are slowly coming together in his head.

"I was taken by surprise" She explains as she watches his face soften, lips rise into a wide grin that he can't stop. And why the hell should he stop it. "And you didn't give me time to understand what's going on"

George covers her hand with his own. That hand that's laying so peacefully on his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, millimeters from her face. She can feel his breath on her lips, like a ghost kiss, dragging the moment before he crushes his lips down on hers into another real one.

Her lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against his own. This kiss is not just a peck, like the previous ones. This time George can understand that her lips are not exactly what he thought. Her lips feel thousands of times better than he could ever imagine. He finally feels relieve and all the world's happiness. All the happiness he supposed to feel. Happiness, that had been accumulating for a long time and didn't leave the palace of his dreams, Finally to escape to freedom. His palms find their place around her waist as he pulls her closer, forcing their bodies to collapse into each other, holding each other as tightly as humanly possible. Her hands shoot up to his hair, slowly letting her fingers slip into ginger strands. He kisses Y/N like he has never kissed anyone else before. With all the tenderness and love he has kept locked in his heart till this moment. George doesn’t see this, but he feels how the gray world around him is filled with colors again. The warmth spreads all over his body and his brain stops working properly.

This girl, this bright and breathtaking girl, is his. Their lips moved softly, delicately, and almost innocently before. But Y/N is driving him insane and intoxicate him with the sweet smell of her body. He can feel her hand slide to his nape and she lightly runs fingers up along his neck. Tiny soft moans escape his lips in the surprise of the goosebumps this action sent down his body. As a response, George brings up his freckled hands to cup her face. His calloused fingers caress her flushed cheeks as he nibbles her lower lip, not so hard to hurt, but enough for Y/N to feel it. Now it's her turn to let out a small, barely audible moan, which makes him break out into a shit-eating grin.

The girl gently pulls away, while George still holds her face in his warm hands.

"I love you too, Georgie. And your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes"

Bonus:

He lets out a giggle caused by quoting. He's unable to open his eyes for a few moments after this kiss, a huge smile on his face

"But…"

"But…?" The question sounds teasing even though his voice is hoarse.

"We have an essay to finish. It's due tomorrow, and you haven't even written a sentence yet." she wrinkles her nose in a taunting way.

"Nooooo" Redhead lets out a groan, throwing his head back. "Don't make me do this, Flower"

"I won't write it for you" She kisses his pouty lips as a response to the puppy gaze he gave her. Y/N frees herself from his cozy grip and heads towards the library. "You'd better write at least something unless you prefer scrubbing cauldron instead of…let's say…sneaking into Hogsmeade."

George catches up with her a couple of seconds later. He slightly leans down just for a moment to catch her hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

"Y/N…." he tries this 'puppy gaze trick' again.

"Fine." She sighs in defeat "I will help you with a plan and theses, but you will write it yourself."

George breaks into a smile once again and brings her hand to his lips, leaving kisses on her knuckles. Well, the thesis for Someone's Third Law is at least something. Plus, he’s sure that he’s sure Y/N will write his essay as soon as she finishes hers. And, to be honest, Fred's too.

After some time, when they are a meter from the huge wooden door, George suddenly wonders.

"Galleons or Sickles?"

"What?"

"Galleons or Sickles?" He repeats, opening the door in front of Y/N

"Wait, you're wondering how much they bet on us, aren't you?"

George overtakes the girl, ending up in front of her, and leans down so that their eyes are at the same level. He shoves his hands into pockets and wrinkles his nose therefore mocking Y/N's previous actions.

"I'll bet a Galleon that Lee owes Fred a Galleon"

masterpost

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the arrangement. l General Marcus Acacius

Summary: you have to ask General Acacius for help and you know that only one thing can convince him

Warnings: anger, mention of attempted rape, Acacius is violent, breeding kink, mention of slavery, meantion of death

A/N: I had a few sentences in my head, I saw a few scenes, and I wrote the rest of the story. scribbles.

[PART 2]

The dark sky was covered with shining stars, and the area was silent when you appeared in front of General Acacius' house. The tall and vast building, just like its owner, made its visitors feel respect and a hint of fear. But you didn't have time for that.

You almost ran up the short stairs and banged on the door. The doorman was surprised by your late visit, but he took you deeper into the house without any questions. You both walked along the corridor lit by burning torches until you stood in front of the open door to the main room where, despite the late hour, its owner was supposed to be there.

"General." the servant walked in, bowing, “Lady Y/N has come to visit.”

""Bring her in," a deep and soft voice replied, but you didn't wait a second longer.

"General Acacius, please forgive me." you said, entering the room and nodding quickly. "I shouldn't have visited you this late, but I couldn't wait. This matter couldn't wait."

The room was illuminated by soft light, and the cool evening air flowed in from the open window. The general was sitting behind an ornately carved desk, looking through some papers, but he perked up visibly when he saw you.

The white robes he wore highlighted his sun-kissed skin, and you were surprised at how noble he looked even when he wasn't wearing his armor.

“Y/N, you know very well that you are always welcome in my home.” he replied, standing up and walking over to you, "What did I do to deserve your lovely company on this pleasant evening?"

He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on it.

"I'm afraid that the matter I came for will destroy your peace, General." you replied, "But I don't know anyone else I could turn to. Only you can help me."

Marcus crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you carefully. His brown eyes bored into you so much that you could almost feel him beneath your skin. He always had this effect on you, from the moment you met him you knew you would never find peace again.

"I think you overestimate my abilities." he muttered, smiling lazily, "I'm just an ordinary soldier."

"I don't think so."

"I'm listening."

"General..." you started, but he immediately interrupted you.

"Marcus. Let's drop the titles if we're talking in private."

You nodded.

"Marcus." you started and he tilted his head to the side slightly, listening to your voice. "I'm sure you know my situation and what happened a few days ago. My maid, Margo, has been arrested."

"I heard about it."

"Then you know how unfair it is to her. Meanwhile, as I have been informed, she will be sentenced. During the next gladiator fights. Along with common criminals and scum. It shouldn't..."

"That's the law." Marcus interrupted you, "Your slave broke it by attacking one of the senators. She injured him."

"She was defending herself!" you raised your voice in anger "What was she supposed to do when that bag of dung tried to rape her!"

“Hold your words, Y/N.” he raised his hand "I don't know if you've forgotten, but she's still a slave."

"She's a woman. And my friend."

"It doesn't change the fact that she attacked a free man in a high position."

"Did you explain in the same way what you did to me at one of the last receptions in the Emperor's palace?"

The words fell out of you like arrows that instantly hit Marcus. His chest heaved as he inhaled deeply, and his eyes darkened.

The memories of that evening still loomed between the two of you. That was a hard and long evening. Too much wine, music, suffocating aromas from incense. 

Marcus felt intoxicated not so much by the wine he drank but by your presence. You were his unattainable goddess. His fame and heroism meant nothing when he stood before you, and he couldn't even be sure that looking at you wouldn’t bring down the wrath of the Gods upon him.

And then it happened. Marcus found you alone on one of the balconies and his lust finally got the better of him. His lips crashed against yours brutally, strong arms pulled you against his body so tightly that for a moment you felt paralyzed. Even though he felt your resistance and struggle, he thought for a moment that he could take you by force. Here and now.

And then you took advantage of his moment of weakness, freed yourself from his arms and slapped him, hissing that even if he drowned the whole world in blood and threw all the treasures at your feet, you would never be his.

The brutality he was capable of terrified you. And even though you pretended that nothing had happened between you, and Marcus apologized to you for his intrusive behavior, that crack was still there between you.

And now you were standing in front of him, asking for help despite all the resentment you might have felt towards him. Because wasn't Marcus watching your every move? Wasn't he the one who took every possible opportunity to be close? So why were you so afraid of him? He wanted to adore you, honor you on an equal footing with the Gods. He would give you the whole world because he already gave you his heart a long time ago.

“Marcus…” your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Please.. No, I'm begging you.”

Your knees went weak under you as you knelt before him in supplication.

"I'm begging you, do something. I don't know anyone else who could stand up for me..."

“Please get up, love…” he muttered, confused by your behavior.

"Marcus..."

"Get up, for God's sake!" he roared and you quickly got up from the cold floor.

You saw the wildness swirling behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw and thrashed around like an animal in a cage. After a while, however, he sat down in the chair, clasping his hands and looking at you carefully.

"Why this one slave girl?" he hissed, "You can have a new one. I can give you a dozen new ones!"

"I could ask you the same thing." you replied quietly.

Madness.

His blood boiled at the thought of comparing you to this woman. You were more than anything else. Yes, he knew perfectly well that at his beck and call, a dozen other women, hundreds of other women, would take your place. But you were engraved in his heart like words in marble, you became his treasure and blessing in one person.

You walked over to him slowly and crouched down by his lap. Your eyes were shining and your chest was heaving with nervous breathing.

"Marcus..." his name sounded like a prayer on your lips, "I'll do anything... I'll give you anything you want, but try to help me. I'm not asking for more. I don't want you to incur the Emperor's wrath, but you're the only one who can speak to him..."

"You're asking for so much..." he replied calmly, and his hand tentatively moved to touch your smooth cheek, to caress it for just a moment, "What can you give me, Y/N? You know that I would do anything for you, just for your one tender look..."

Your fingers found his hand and you kissed his knuckles.

"I will give myself to you." you whispered, "I'll give myself completely to you..."

His eyes widened in surprise for a second, but then his eyebrows knitted together as if he was trying to understand what you meant.

“Y/N…”

"I will be yours." you continued, staring into his dark eyes, completely determined, "I will be your wife. I will be loyal, devoted, and humble."

"Do not say that." Marcus interrupted you.

"I will give you what you want, General Acacius." your fingers gripped his hand tighter. "I will give you an offspring. Many healthy and strong sons. And as many beautiful and wise daughters. They will be the pride of your house. That's what a man as powerful and wise as you wants, isn't it?"

You knew your words resonated with him. They definitely hit his loins, because his body tensed and his breathing quickened. The general had a soft spot for you, you knew it perfectly well. You were flattered by his attention, but you were afraid of his power and the violence that hid within him. He wasn't like any other man you knew. Maybe if you had met in another time and place…

But the image of you swollen and full of his baby was so tempting for him.

“Y/N, is this what you want?” he asked "Will you put your life on the line for hers?"

You nodded, and Marcus knew he would do the same for you.

"Do you think... Do you think you could ever love me? That you would learn to love me? I don't want you to look at me with disgust and fear..."

Your warm hands cupped his face tenderly. A soft beard laced with gray hair tickled your skin pleasantly. You looked into the eyes of the man who had brought glory to the Empire, and now he sat before you, uncovered and uncertain. All desires were stirring within him and only you could give it purpose.

"I'm sure it will happen, Marcus." you replied "I never thought you were a bad person. Maybe if we had new chances..."

"I will never hurt you, love. I won't let anyone hurt you. I will make you the happiest woman in the world..."

"I know that." you smiled softly.

He leaned carefully towards you. His warm breath touched your lips, and after a moment you tasted them again.

Marcus kissed you tenderly and gently, as if he was afraid that he would lose you again in a moment. But when you kissed him back and your lips parted slightly, he didn't need any more. He immersed himself in you, kissing you passionately, stealing your every breath and almost leaving you breathless.

You were like an antidote to all his pain and fear. The promise of a better tomorrow.

He rested his forehead against yours, sighing softly.

"You make me your servant, and I humbly accept it." he said.

You tangled your fingers in his soft hair and Marcus purred softly.

"I'll talk to the Emperor tomorrow. I can't promise you anything, love."

"That's enough for me. I want to know that I did everything I could for her. I'm leaving our life in your hands, Marcus."

"Don't talk to anyone else about this. Go home." he gave further instructions, looking at you with tenderness. "You must show up at the next gladiatorial games."

"Will you be there too?"

"Yes, I will find you. But listen, you have to be careful now. One wrong move and the Emperor could change his mind. If I can convince him..."

"Thank you for at least trying..."

Marcus stroked your face tenderly.

"If you knew how much I could do for you... Go home. I'll see you soon."

You kissed him one last time and after a while you were escorted to the door by his servant.

The promise to try to save Margo gave you a little hope. You knew you would do anything for her and General Acacius was the only person who could change the Emperor's decision at that moment. Did you also seal your fate? Maybe...

But we will all do anything for the people we love…

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.