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Dracula witnessing a Belmont woman nearly die to save his son, then the further shock of finding out she loves Adrian. (During the castle battle in the hallway)

just-castlevania-imagines:

Saved By The Bell-mont

  • He stops for a moment and is angry at the Belmont, as he should be, this family has been a hindrance in his life for centuries
  • But she didn’t jump to attack him
  • She jumped to save his son, she took a hit for Adrian
  • He watches as his son looks at her wounded form 
  • The look in his face, he knew that look, he had been the one to give it more than once
  • Adrian craddles her in his arms 
  • “You didn’t need to save me, you know I could take it.”
  • “But I did it anyway, because this is what you do for the people you love. Doesn’t matter if it’s needed, or stupid.”
  • She coughs blood
  • And Dracula realizes that they love each other, the irony, a Belmont and a Tepes…
  • But that’s not what makes him stop, what does is realizing that if the woman dies, he puts Adrian in the same place he is
  • Without his love
  • And this, this is the last thing he could want for his boy
  • Adrian was his opposite, if he were to have no love anymore…
  • Than his son should have it

nsfw-kuroshitsuji-imagines:

{YESYESYESYESYESYESYES. i’ve actually had a DoubeCharles dream and let me tell you it was PHENOMENAL}

It’s all a blur of how it started really, a crazy sequence of who-knows-what. Magic, maybe, or luck. Yes, luck seems to be a good way to describe it. Life was simpler when you were alone, less confusing and less worrisome, but also far less interesting. Life as an unattached woman meant freedom to do what you pleased, albeit to a certain degree, but what fun was living out the daily pleasures life through your way if you were to do it alone? Having one partner to share in the splendor was great. Having two partners, however, was exceptional.   

You’re tangled in the blankets of your bed when you wake up between a memory and a dream. The morning sunshine streams through the cracks in your blinds, as the birds just outside your window sing under the resplendent light. You groan yourself into awareness and tug the lines of your mouth into a frown at the cramp starting in the shoulder of the arm you have draped over Phipps’s waist.

Grey’s breathing is soft and quiet as it has heat radiating over the back of your neck where he’s buried his face. His leg is bent at the knee, folded between the warmth of your thighs, and his fingers are relaxed and open, spreading to heat over the angle of your hip.

Phipps grunts something incoherent, and you can feel the tension of the thoughts dragging through his head in the strain pulling the lines of his abdomen taut. He shifts only a fraction, but it’s enough to rouse the smaller male at your back from his sleep.

“Stop moving, Phipps,” Grey complains, lips moving against the nape of your neck. His voice is husky, underlined with fatigue and heavy on sleep.

 Phipps, still in a state of suspended consciousness, grunts by way of disagreement. The vibration of the sound catches in the back of his throat, has his nostrils flaring on his next inhale. Grey exhales a puff of irritation, the breath of it stirring the short hairs resting against your neck. You can feel the line of his brow pull taut, drawn into an expression of annoyance toward the other male. Your lips curve into a smile before parting on a yawn, eyes watering in routine response.

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