#so moving around and keeping his hands and feet busy tends to help him with remembering things

[sleepynoons]

LOVERS' OATH BY CHEN YU-PENG – diluc ragnvindr (genshin) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – smut word count – ~2,400 warnings – unprotected sex, fingering, thigh riding, riding, pussy job, creampies, multiple orgasms, husband/wife kink, praise kink, biting, squirting, lingerie, allusions to marathon sex synopsis – your wedding with diluc was a small, intimate event, just between the two of you, the officiant, close friends, and a few notable business partners. and you're glad, because you have more than enough energy to make the most out of your first night together as a married couple.

It’s funny how your roles are reversed. You’re the more forward one compared to Diluc, but as you’re stepping out of the shower and drying yourself, you keep fumbling and dropping your towel. It takes you thrice as long to put on your robe, and it’s almost impossible for your trembling fingers to tie the silk belt into a presentable bow. Diluc, on the other hand, is sitting on the edge of the bed as he awaits you, eyes closed, palms clasped together over his knees. For once, he feels more collected and prepared. Largely due to your allure, he tends to lose his mind whenever he’s in bed with you, but this time, his determination’s only growing with every passing second, and he intends to see his goal through.

Before you step out of the bathroom, you bounce on the balls of your feet, a weak attempt to shake out some of your jitters. Of course, you delight in your excitement as well. It’s riveting to spend a planned, dedicated, uninterrupted night with your lover, and even more so, when he’s also now your husband. It’s just another title, only one amongst his already large collection of nicknames you’ve given him, but to you, it’s a new label that brings a sense of finality, that he’s to be yours, and you’re to be his, for the rest of your lives, fates forever intertwined.

At the thought, you push yourself out of the bathroom. With a soft smile, Diluc stands and meets you halfway, reaching out to grasp your forearms when they’re within reach. He ends up pulling you in so that you’re pressed against him, and you sigh and sink into his touch so you can envelope yourself with his warmth and scent.

“How was your bath, Mrs. Ragnvindr?” His voice’s only slightly louder than a grumble, and you shiver as you feel his breath against the shell of your ear.

“Very pleasant, Mr. Ragnvindr.” You ghost your lips over the underside of his jaw, leaving a soft kiss when you reach the point of his chin. You feel his arms tense at your motions, fingers curling into the fabric of your robe, before he pulls away, one hand still holding yours, to lead you to bed.

“I’m glad we kept the celebrations to a minimum,” you whisper, though you’re not sure why. It’s only the two of you in the entirety of the mansion right now, yet perhaps it’s because you have faith that Diluc already knows your thoughts and sentiments without you needing to articulate them.

As you thought, Diluc hums in agreement while he helps you sit on his lap, hands falling to rest at the curve of your hips. This position’s dangerous, you think. The robe, made of silk, lace, and traces of chiffon, is thin, and with Diluc wearing his own of the same materials, there’s very little separating your bare bodies. You run the tips of your fingertips up his chest before curling them around the back of his neck. With a gentle tug, you guide his head to tilt upwards, before you slot your lips together.

The kiss is both incredibly soft and positively searing. Diluc’s arms have moved up to wrap around themselves around your back, embracing you so tightly that you’re pressed against each other, chest to chest. It’s a dance that you both know by heart – after all, it’s something you choreographed together. When you part your lips, he surges forward, teasing you with quick licks to the roof of your mouth. When he breaks for air, you suckle on his bottom lip with full intent on leaving bruises in your wake. It goes back and forth, giving more when the other cannot, begging for more when the other’s about to pull away, forgoing the need to breathe because that’s a lesser need when also given the option to taste and kiss and never part from each other.

Your fingers are wrapped in his hair, the strands tugging thickly around your joints, as if his body is tethering you to him in as many ways as it can. Your other hand caresses his cheek, and you notice his skin’s burning, heat traveling through where his skin converges with your fingertips and melds you to him. It’s a little embarrassing, but the thought of Diluc’s blush prompts you to notice the heat pooling in your lower stomach and between your thighs, and you can’t help but let your hips jolt forward, rubbing yourself against smooth silk and toned thigh.

You pitch a moan into Diluc’s mouth, and he swallows it with another lap and dive of his tongue. He shifts you around so that you’re sitting on the peak of one of his thighs, and he grasps at your waist to help guide you as you begin to roll your body back and forth. You  open your eyes for a split second, to find that your lover’s already looking at you, possibly having done so this whole time. You whine, and the corners of his eyes crease, faint traces of joyful crow’s feet evident. In the back of your head, a longing to grow old with him appears, and you hold onto him even tighter in response.

With every rock of your body forward, your front meets Diluc’s hard cock. Your hole leaks simply at the sight of it, and you can’t help but whine whenever his shaft skims your skin. It’s tantalizing, the way that one moment you two are completely up against each other with no room for even air and then, suddenly, the next moment, you’re separating but the brief coolness of the separation only further entices the both of you.

Over time, Diluc helps you go faster and faster. Your whines gradually transform into desperate cries, which he all dutifully devours and savors, and always at the right moment, he pushes you down onto his leg more forcefully to apply delicious pressure against your clit. At this point, with all of the movement, it’s difficult to continue making out, so whenever you’re rolling back, you give Diluc a perfect view of your body’s needy shaking and swiveling.

Diluc’s not one to be very vocal in bed, but even he can’t stop the praises that spill out of his mouth when he sees you in such a state, losing yourself and all your bearings. In between pants and huffs, he groans, “So, so beautiful, my love. So good, so soft. Yeah, that’s right, keep going, you’re incredible.”

Throwing your head back, you give Diluc full reign over your body, and he takes over generously. He glides you over the absolute wet mess you’ve made on his thigh, angling you so that the stimulation against your clit is never-ending. From the corner of your eye, you admire the way his arms, thick with muscle, decorated in proud battle scars, flex and bulge, and you’ve never felt so content with giving yourself entirely to another person. The knot in your stomach builds so smoothly, and finally, when you’re about to reach your high, Diluc times it perfectly so that you release when you’re chest to chest, lip to lip, cock to stomach with him again.

Your body quakes so dramatically that it even surprises you. Hands flying to his shoulders, your eyes roll back as Diluc works you through your climax, tongue lolling against yours, fingernails digging deeply into your sides, thigh flexing against your orgasming core. You can’t even make a noise because you feel so up high, mind uncomprehending and unable to express even a noise to demonstrate your pleasure.

It’s only when Diluc releases you that, by sheer instinct, you take a deep gulp of air, and come back to.

Then, you make eye contact with each other. You only have time to utter a single “You’re the who’s incredible,” before the two of you collide back together.

You tap at Diluc’s chest, a sign for him to lie down, and he brings you with him. In this position, his cock’s nestled between your legs, rubbing against your still throbbing core. You break away, fast enough so that Diluc can’t pull you back in – and he grunts at that –, and sit up straight. With your hands placed on his chest, also chiseled and toned and covered with small red hairs, you resume rolling your hips, making extra effort to ensure that the head of his cock always catches against your folds and gaping hole. Every time his tip hits, Diluc sucks in a breath with narrowed eyes, doing all he can to smother his need to just put him inside of you.

You look down and admire the mixture of your essences. The shine of your wetness, combined with the glossy white of his pre-cum, are smeared everywhere, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this aroused before. However, your admiration causes your focus to shift, and in that split second, due to your carelessness, Diluc’s cock enters inside of you.

It’s completely unexpected. As if Pandora’s Box has been opened, you sink down onto his thick cock, and with every inch you take of him, you feel breaths being punched out of your body. You aren’t stretched out, so it’s hard to take all of his cock in. Noticing the slight crease in your brow, Diluc lifts you off, before filling you back up with two of his fingers. You sigh out of relief, but you quickly find yourself breaking down into a moaning mess only moments later as Diluc works you open with his fingers, an expert in identifying and curling into your favorite spots. Just within a few minutes, Diluc can fit two more fingers into you, and continues prodding all four inside of you until you’re a drooling, cumming mess. He watches in awe as your hole clenches tightly around him, release trickling down to his wrists.

“My love,” he mumbles, reverence and adoration overflowing in his tone. He takes a moment to simply admire your face, tears escaping down your face, nose sniffling, mouth parted and releasing shallow breaths. He then catches the look in your eyes, and although it’s clear you’re a little winded from having climaxed twice already, there’s also an obvious burning desire for more.

After all, you haven’t gotten to the best part yet.

You return to your original position, but this time, you’re not just rubbing yourself against him. Taking his heavy, leaking cock, you tap the head against your clit a few times before taking the entire thing into your hole. This time, he goes in much more smoothly, and you both, quite delirious at this point, moan at the heat and intimacy. You grind and bounce, and the room soon fills with dirty, dirty sounds of your wet skin smacking against his, your ass smacking against his balls, your hole taking in more and more of his dick.

As much as Diluc loves it whenever you take charge and pleasure him, though, he’s still at least sound enough in mind to remember his objective. Even though this marriage is for the both of you, you were the one who made it all happen. You were the one who proposed to him, planned the wedding, entertained the guests, so that he could continue his duties without interruption. It’s only natural, then, that it’s his turn now to show you how grateful he is, to prove to you that’s he more dedicated and committed to you than you can ever imagine.

As your rhythm shakes, partially because your thighs are growing a little weary, mostly because your mind’s too clouded with pleasure to properly coordinate, Diluc seizes the opportunity to grab you by the waist. You almost scream at the sensation of Diluc’s hips thrusting up into you, as his hands force you down with all their might. A yelping mess, you collapse on top of him, and let him reach deeper and deeper inside of you. And it feels so much better, hotter, than before because, for the first time, he’s not using a condom, and suddenly, you’re starting to babble total nonsense.

“Come in me! Diluc! I-I n-need your cum, please! Inside! Ah!”

Diluc’s mind completely blanks. Thus, with no capacity to withhold himself, he bites down onto your shoulder and cums. With his release filling you up, pumping you full with long, sticky ropes, you quickly follow, reaching your third high of the night.

However, unlike the previous times when Diluc gave you brief moments to catch your breath, you find yourself being repositioned so that your back’s against the bed, with your lover hovering over you.

“Again,” he grits, as he nudges your legs apart with his knees. Within seconds, he’s sinking back into you, and your mouth opens to release a noiseless scream. At the unbelievably lewd expression on your face, Diluc growls, the sound so unfettered and wild, carnal in his hopeless and uncontainable desire for your heat and tightness.

He rests his forehead on yours as he begins to thrust.

“Who am I?” he grunts, between heavy breaths.

You don’t understand at first, so entranced at the feeling of being so full. “Huh?” you weakly offer.

“Who am I?” he repeats. This time, he punctuates each word of his question with a blunt shove of his cock inside of you.

“M-my husband!” you cry.

“Good,” he rasps, “and you’re my wife. My wife. Mine for the rest of my life.”

You realize, then, that you never even thought about your new title as Diluc’s wife. Many have already been referring to you as Mrs. Ragnvindr, but for Diluc to call you his own wife? 

Clinging onto his back and shoulders, you moan and cry and scream with every one of Diluc’s movements. “Yes, I’m y-your wife! O-oh! I love you s-so much, Diluc!”

Both of you think you’re seeing the heavens. Diluc can barely mumble his “I love you more” in response, before, with a few frantic pumps of his cock, you both cum together.

It doesn’t end there. After all, it’s your wedding night. Diluc continues to take you over and over again until early in the morning, and you more than oblige, receiving his love with open arms and unconditional trust, while trying to give tenfold of it to him in return.

He’s yours, and you’re his, for the rest of your lives, fates forever intertwined.

winter event masterlist

[carewyncromwell]

“You can paint me any color,

And I can be your clown,

But you ain’t got my number --

No, you can’t pin me down!”

~“Can’t Pin Me Down” by Marina and the Diamonds

x~x~x~x

includes references to Adelia Selwyn @thatravenpuffwitch; Atticus Grimsley and Montelimar Bloom @cursebreakerfarrier; Orla Atkinson @nightmaresart; Io Gordon @drinkyoursoupbitch; and Siyana Devonshire @dat-silvers-girl! 💚

x~x~x~x

Aesop Sharp was not a man completely devoid of patience. One truly couldn’t hope to teach anyone -- or even to stay sane, dealing with students like Garreth Weasley on the regular -- if they didn’t have a little of it. But when it came to dealing with fifth year Slytherin Jackson Knightly, Sharp found himself incredibly frustrated.

Jackson had been a late arrival to Potions class when he arrived at Hogwarts for his second year, just like one of Sharp’s personal favorite students, fellow Slytherin Adelia Selwyn. Unlike his best friend, though, Jackson was not at all attuned to Potions. Not only was he enough of a troublemaker that he was perfectly willing to smuggle ingredients to the likes of Garreth Weasley on a whim, he very frequently neglected to take brews off the fire before they exploded or forgot crucial steps in the middle of brewing. Sharp would frequently remind Jackson to stop daydreaming in class (which he was very prone to do), but rather than it snapping the boy back to any sort of attention or making him reflect on doing better, he would almost inevitably lose focus again, not long after Sharp moved on. And the last thing Aesop Sharp wanted to be was a bloody nanny.

When Sharp spoke to his colleague and Slytherin’s Head of House, Abraham Ronen, about his frustrations, Ronen merely laughed.

“Ah, Aesop,” he said jovially, “you have not taught students as long as I have. Young Jackson’s behavior is truly nothing out of the ordinary. Many a student has found themselves more able to focus on those things they have personal investment in over those things that don’t spark their imagination. I would think a fellow Slytherin alumnus such as yourself would be very attuned to that.”

“I am already very well aware of how much Mr. Knightly prefers your teaching style to mine,” said Sharp very coolly. “He is definitely your kind of student. But I am not about to start playing Gobstones with bottles of Shrinking Solution just to try to earn a single student’s favor -- and Mr. Knightly should learn to see the value in all of his classes, however lacking of entertainment he may find them to be.”

Ronen gave Sharp a pat to the shoulder. “Of course. It behooves him, and all of our students, to learn how to work well with a wide array of people. But you know, even we professors need to re-learn that too, once in a while...sometimes through students we find challenging to teach.”

A flicker of amusement seemed to dance in the older man’s eye.

“You say Jackson is my kind of student -- and yes, for certain he is. Talented, amiable, excitable, curious...incredibly witty, and yet surprisingly sensitive -- I’d say Eleazar and Madam Kogawa are just as fond of the boy as I am, and they’re not even his Head of House! But truly, I think you might find Jackson’s a very promising student in his own way...perhaps even in your class. Why, if even Atticus Grimsley can find it in his heart to like Jackson as a student, despite all the trouble he gets up to outside of class, surely you could.”

Sharp was skeptical of this thought process until the day following the invigorating Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor that spring. The Potionsmaster himself had not been present at the Pitch -- he’d had much more pressing matters to research in the Hogwarts library -- but he heard the school matron, Noreen Blainey, complaining to Ronen about it the following morning at breakfast.

“ -- poor boy got that hexed Bludger straight to the face, Professor! It broke his nose in five places! And yet he’s absolutely refused to come to me for treatment!”

“Jackson seems to be doing better now, Madam,” Ronen tried to soothe her, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“Only because he’s off brewing his own Wiggenweld Potions to mask the damage! He barely avoided getting knocked unconscious! That damage undoubtedly went below the surface. And yet somehow Mr. Knightly managed to slip right out from under everyone in the stands before they could send him to me, polished himself up, and now he’s cheerfully acting like he’s fine, despite barely being able to see straight!”

Ronen frowned. “Hm...perhaps I can convince Jackson to get a full physical exam. I’m certain if we emphasize our concern for his well-being -- ”

“Concern!” scoffed the nurse. “Unlikely! That boy wouldn’t even come to me for help when he got burned by Streeler venom, Professor. He’s almost as stubborn as Aesop Sharp, when it comes to accepting professional Healing advice...”

Sharp couldn’t help but cock his eyebrows very coolly at that, but ultimately chose not to join the conversation. It had made some gears turn in his head as it was, so he decided to dwell on the matter alone over breakfast.

Jackson Knightly brewing his own Wiggenweld Potions? Now that seemed thoroughly unlikely. Knightly had never been so competent to brew a potion he could safely ingest without proper oversight. It had to have been Miss Selwyn who helped him with it -- or perhaps Montelimar Bloom: the Ravenclaw did have a tendency to come to Jackson’s rescue, when he was in trouble. Even Bloom’s best friend Orla Atkinson was well known at being talented with healing magic...

Sharp’s eyes flitted over to the Slytherin table absently. He could see Adelia Selwyn and Jackson’s dormmates, Ominis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow, sitting there -- even Gryffindor’s Beater, Io Gordon, had apparently left her own table to go over and talk to Adelia -- but no Jackson Knightly...

His left eyebrow raising with interest, Sharp sidled to his feet carefully, before trudging out of the Great Hall and back toward the stairs leading down to the dungeons.

Blasted leg, Sharp cursed inwardly. His lack of agility would never not irritate the ex-Auror -- he would’ve loved it if he could just Apparate up and down to different floors without climbing so many damned stairs, but the magic within the school’s walls was far too powerful to allow for that.

Eventually, though, Sharp did make it back to his classroom -- and as soon as he arrived, his sharp ears immediately perked up when he picked out the distinctive sound of something bubbling in a cauldron. 

Well, that could easily end in disaster, being attempted by the wrong student.

The image of Garreth Weasley blowing up his third potion that month rippled over Sharp’s mind.

Reflecting back on his old stealth training, the ex-Auror sidled into the classroom as quietly as he possibly could with his clunky leg, easing the door open so carefully that it didn’t give the slightest creak. When his eyes landed on the workstation being used, however, Sharp was a bit startled by what he found.

It was indeed Jackson Knightly. But rather than being in the company of someone helping him, he was working completely on his own, his back to Sharp as he counted out three -- four -- five lionfish spines, and then dropped them one by one into the cauldron. He kept glancing at the potion off-and-on, humming something absently, as he poured himself a cup of tea from a nearby teapot and mixed in some sugar. Once the potion had turned yellow, he tossed in five more spines, as well as some flobberworm mucus. Then Jackson sipped his tea, still humming absently, as he watched the potion turn purple.

Sharp stood in the door frame, his arms crossed, as he silently watched Jackson work. The Slytherin was in his own little world during the entire process -- eating toast, drinking tea, and even reading out of a tiny book that couldn’t possibly be for Potions while waiting for certain reactions to take place -- but he still did every step perfectly, all seemingly from memory. There were definitely points, though, where Jackson had to pause in the middle, close his eyes, and massage his temple as he took deep breaths -- clearly his head was still hurting him.

Sharp didn’t make himself known until Jackson took the potion off the fire at last. Once the potion had started to cool, he actually brought his hands together in a slow clap.

Jackson looked up, startled, as Sharp approached.

“A perfectly brewed Wiggenweld Potion,” said the Potionsmaster.

Despite being taken aback by his sudden audience, Jackson very quickly put on a big grin and gave a sweeping bow.

“To earn a ‘perfect’ assessment from you is high praise indeed, Master Sharp,” the fifteen-year-old said with a dashing smirk. 

“Indeed,” Sharp said airily. “I would hardly have believed it of you, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

The professor’s brows were raised high over his eyes as he considered Jackson a bit more carefully. There wasn’t any cosmetic damage to his face -- but true to what the school matron had said, Jackson’s blue eyes looked slightly unfocused and lacking of light. That lack of consciousness was something Sharp recognized immediately as indicative of a mild head injury.

“...You should take a seat,” Sharp said lowly. “Ingesting anything is best done in a seated position.”

Jackson gave a laugh. “Not when one is drinking one of these on the Dueling Field! My dear Lala -- Orla Atkinson, you know -- she gets competitive enough as it is. If I took the time to sit down and have fairy cakes with my potions, I reckon I’d have to ingest even more of both, once she was done with me!”

The brown-haired boy acted as flippant as ever as he wandered around the table to fetch his teacup. He played off the slight stumble in his step, as well as the slight clumsiness to his settling himself down on the edge of his workstation. Carefully ladling some of his finished potion out of his cauldron and into his half-finished tea, he then gave a long sip from the cup, exhaling lowly as he lowered the ladle and rubbed his temple. Then he plastered a smile back on as he addressed Sharp.

“Would you care for some tea yourself, Professor?” asked Jackson politely. “I borrowed the recipe from my sweetest little unicorn, Miss Devonshire, and it really is sublime...”

“No, thank you,” said Sharp.

“Oh, come now!” Jackson egged him on. “It’s still early morning -- I would think a cup of masala chai would be a good way to start the day off right.”

Sharp cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps it would -- if it were being enjoyed in the Great Hall, with the rest of one’s breakfast. But you seem to have neglected that.”

Jackson shrugged.

“Wasn’t feeling quite my best,” he said offhandedly. “But no matter -- I’ll be feeling right as rain, with a bit more of this -- ”

He ladled some more of the Wiggenweld Potion into his teacup. Sharp’s lips knit together.

“It might take a stronger potion than that to deal with the aftermaths of a concussion, young man.”

Jackson’s smile flickered ever-so-slightly as Sharp sidled clumsily across the room over to his desk.

“Oh, it -- it’s not nearly as bad as all that,” said Jackson, trying to keep the smile on despite how weak it suddenly seemed. He put down his teacup on the tray at his workstation. “I’ve dealt with far worse than this. Broken bones, glass embedded in my feet, Streeler venom...even got thrown head-first into a stone wall once, and I’m still standing! Dare I say, perhaps better than ever!”

His mouth spread into a brighter white smile. The Slytherin boy’s voice strangely didn’t come across as arrogant or blustering, however -- instead, it seemed almost reassuring: as if he wanted to comfort his professor so he wouldn’t worry.

Sharp, however, was blunt in his response.

“You may dispense with the pretenses, Knightly -- you’re not as good of an actor as you think you are.”

Jackson actually couldn’t help but pout at this.

“Bad form, sir,” he said rather coolly. “Insult my potionmaking, by all means, but to insult my performance ability overall? That is supremely ungentlemanly.”

Sharp actually couldn’t bite back a small smirk of his own. “I have been called worse things.”

Once he eased himself down in his chair, Sharp rested his hands on his desk, clasping them together as he regarded Jackson with a more serious expression.

“...You seem to know this particular brew quite well, to recall all of the steps from memory.”

The professor’s eyes flitted down to the book left open at Jackson’s station. As he’d thought, it wasn’t a book of Potions notes -- it instead seemed to be a book of poetry, judging by the few words he could make out upside down.

Jackson gave another shrug and offhand smile. “Well, as they say, practice makes perfect.”

“Indeed -- for you to brew it so well, it’s clear you’ve practiced quite frequently. Undoubtedly out of a necessity for it.”

Jackson’s dashing white smile became a bit cheekier. “What can I say? Trouble is a friend I run into quite often.”

“I’m well aware,” said Sharp coolly.

He paused. Then, after a moment, he said stridently,

“For the injury you’ve sustained, however, I do not think a Wiggenweld Potion alone would heal the damage.”

Jackson opened his mouth as if to speak, but Sharp cut him off.

“And since it’s rather obvious that you don’t wish a Healer’s input on what treatment would be suitable...allow me to, at the very least, give you some advice on what potion would be a better solution.”

The Potions professor eased himself up and out of his chair, awkwardly stomping over to his own station at the head of the class.

“Follow me,” he said brusquely.

Startled, Jackson got to his feet. He was frozen for only a moment, before he’d hurriedly rushed over to walk right alongside Sharp like a shadow. When Sharp reached his station, Jackson’s focus was abruptly drawn to the other side of the room.

“Your attention, please, Kn -- ”

Before Sharp could finish, though, Jackson had flung out his hand, and in an instant, the closest stool had glided across the room and into his open hands.

Sharp’s mouth was left slightly open, as Jackson brought the stool right up behind his professor with a smile.

“Here, sir,” he said, his charming face betraying some genuine kindness. “Allow me.”

Sharp stared down at the fifteen-year-old boy. Then he very quickly cleared his throat.

“...Ahem -- yes. Thank you.”

He sat down on the stool. Jackson then summoned one wandlessly for himself and positioned it next to Sharp’s.

“How long have you been able to summon things without a wand?” asked Sharp.

Jackson smiled brightly. “Quite a while, actually -- since I was ten, at least. Maybe even nine. I was right on the cusp when I first learned I had magic, you see. I’m not quite as good at wandless Charms as I am with Transfiguration, though -- conjuring flowers and doves is what I did most, in those days...”

Sharp’s eyebrows were rather high as he took this in.

“I know it can be kind of dangerous, to not use a wand to channel your magic,” Jackson said amiably. “Professor Weasley’s warned me of that, a few times, what with the risk of becoming an Obscurus and all. But...well, I was solely among Muggles, back then. Didn’t exactly have the means to go out and buy myself a proper wand, let alone any spellbooks. Truth be told, I....didn’t even own a wand until I returned to Britain, in time for my second year at Hogwarts. And truly, I am very fond of my wand -- she’s a most lovely thing. I just sometimes fall back on old habits.”

Wandless magic at only nine years old? Not only that, but wandless conjuration -- one of the most difficult branches of Transfiguration, largely set aside for students approaching the NEWT level? Despite himself, Sharp was actually rather impressed.

“...Hm. Well...if you can muster up the proper attention span, you could always speak to Professor Onai about such things. Uagadou is well known for teaching its students the art of wandless magic.”

Sharp turned to his station.

“Now, then -- watch closely. This brew is called the Syrup of Asphodel. It’s actually rather simple in its ingredients, but you will have to grind the asphodel root down to a fine powder and mix everything in just the right order, for it to be effective...”

Sharp stopped talking and set to work straight away. In the beginning, he could sense Jackson watching him -- before long, though, the boy once again seemed to drift off, his eyes gliding away toward the far corner of the room.

“Pay attention, Knightly,” said Sharp. “I don’t intend to demonstrate this twice.”

“My apologies, sir,” said Jackson.

Despite this, though, his blue eyes once again were drawn to the unfinished tea service at his station.

“...Sir?”

“What is it?”

“Are you quite sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea? I should think the potionmaking process would be a lot more enjoyable, if one partook in some tea in the midst of it...”

“I’m in no need of distractions, Mr. Knightly,” said Sharp airily, “and truthfully, neither are you. You get distracted enough in my class without adding a pot of tea to the mix.”

Jackson frowned slightly.

“Perhaps...” he granted. “But you said yourself that I brewed a perfect Wiggenweld Potion, while I was indulging in just such a cup of tea. And reading some lovely poems, for that matter.”

Sharp paused in his work to glance at Jackson out the side of his eye. The fifteen-year-old had taken out his wand and used it to levitate the tea service a bit more gently over to a table closer by.

“Forgive my impertinence, Professor,” said the Slytherin teenager as he got up and started fussing with his tea set, while still glancing over his shoulder toward Sharp at his station, “but for me, such ‘distractions’ as you call them are not a hindrance. My mind is prone to wander, as you know -- ”

Sharp gave a low, amused snort at the gross understatement.

“ -- but one thing that prevents that, for me, is constant action,” Jackson pressed on, unabashed. “Channeling my energy into physical activity -- even if it’s simply indulging in a cup of tea or parsing through works of Edgar Allan Poe -- ”

He summoned the book of poetry over to him with another wave of his wand, opening it to a certain page and perusing it before he returned his focus to Sharp’s station again.

“ -- I suppose it anchors me in the here and now, as it were. It gives me a reason to stay here, on the ground -- multiple reasons, in fact, all of which interest me. Whereas such austere silence -- complete stillness and undivided focus...it makes my mind restless. Like a dog being asked to walk around on two legs. It feels unnatural -- makes me prone to twitch about, just to try to get comfortable. And sooner or later, whoosh -- off I go toward a more exciting daydream, and all focus is gone.”

Massaging his sore temple a bit more with one hand, Jackson nonetheless beamed over his shoulder at Sharp.

“I confess -- it saddens me greatly that I lose my focus so easily in your class. You do so seem to love your subject.”

“How kind,” Sharp said coolly. With a tired sigh, he said, “Very well. I shall continue my work on this potion, while you do whatever you feel you must, to stay engaged. But as I said, I have no intention of demonstrating this twice -- so if your method of ‘anchoring’ yourself proves ineffective in helping you internalize my lesson, then that’s solely on your own head.”

Jackson grinned. “Understood, sir.”

And so Sharp continued brewing his potion. As he did, he could once again feel Jackson’s eyes on him, though rather intermittently, since the boy was also rifling through the book of poems, cleaning out spare potion bottles with his wand, and brewing a fresh pot of tea as he watched. At some points, Jackson even asked questions -- good ones, to Sharp’s surprise.

“When doubling such a recipe, would one simply double the ingredients, or just the amount of salt water? If one considers the potential for asphodel poisoning.”

“You would add a pinch more root for every three drops of salt water,” Sharp answered.

“And the best way to safely amplify the potion’s effects?”

“Add a half cup of dittany. It’s a resilient enough plant to not curdle in the face of asphodel when mixed in, and yet it’s soothing enough to not actively conflict with its effects.”

Jackson looked thoughtful. “Hm...would a pinch of ginger not conflict? Ginger’s supposed to be good for one’s digestion -- it might help make the tonic a bit more palatable.”

Sharp glanced back at Jackson over his shoulder with some interest.

“...Not a bad suggestion,” he said.

After a few minutes, Sharp finished off the potion and began to empty the contents of his cauldron into a vial. As he did, Jackson dropped off the second of the cups of tea he’d poured out down on Sharp's desk, not far away from the station he was working at.

“Here you are, sir,” he said politely.

“And there you are,” Sharp said crisply. With the potion vial full, he held it out for Jackson to take. “Syrup of Asphodel -- made up of nothing but salt water and, as one can expect, powdered root of asphodel. Do you remember how many drops of salt water one requires?”

“Three per dosage,” Jackson said promptly.

“And how many times did I stir this potion?” asked Sharp, as he lumbered back over to his desk.

Jackson considered this. He seemed to be counting in his own head.

“Let’s see...once when I sat down, twice before I lost focus -- three when I did. Four after I summoned the tray -- five, six...seven when I reread Lenore -- eight, nine...nine, yes, I believe it was nine?”

“Correct,” said Sharp. He placed his hand down on the desk so as to ease himself down into his chair. “Clockwise or counterclockwise?”

Jackson’s eyes drifted up toward the ceiling thoughtfully. “...All clockwise except for the first and last two.”

“Very good,” said Sharp, and indeed, he did sound rather pleased. “It seems there truly is a method to get you to pay attention to my lessons.”

Jackson grinned that bit more mischievously. “Glad to hear you’ll be more indulgent of me inviting my friend Lord Byron to class with me in the future, Professor!”

“Don’t push your luck,” Sharp said airily. “I’m still not thoroughly convinced this wasn’t some sort of practical joke on your part.”

His impish grin spreading that bit more, Jackson brought the vial up to his lips and downed its contents. Within seconds, he shuddered, but the breath he exhaled was full to the brim with relief and relaxation.

“...Ahhh...” he sighed happily as he brought a hand up to his forehead. “Oh, that does feel better...”

Sharp nodded in satisfaction. “Good to hear it.”

Jackson washed the potion down with the rest of his tea before turning to Sharp with a visibly more relaxed smile.

“Thank you for your time, sir,” he said. “And your lesson -- they’re both greatly appreciated.”

“You’re welcome,” said Sharp. “Now don’t you have some other lessons to get to? One thing I’ve learned is that however poor one’s health may be, one can’t easily justify not going to class, if he intends to not rest in the Hospital Wing.”

Jackson laughed. “No, I jolly well suppose not.”

Sharp indicated the door with a nod of his head. “Off you go, then.”

As Jackson made as if to go, though, he paused in the door frame and looked back with an odd, almost compassionate expression.

“...Sir, I really think you should try the chai,” he said gently. “Miss Devonshire recommended it to me for pain relief. Muggle remedy it might be...I would think it still might soothe some of the pain in your leg.”

Sharp paused. His dark eyes flitted down to the cup of tea in front of him to back up at the kindly boy in his door frame.

Then, very slowly, the Potions professor’s gaze seemed to lose some of its edge. It made his features look much less critical than before, though no less discerning.

“...Mm. I see.”

Sharp gave Jackson a muted incline of his head.

“...Thank you.”

Jackson’s face spread into a bright, charming white grin as he swept out of the room and back up the stairs at a run. Sharp himself also found himself smirking ever-so-slightly once he’d disappeared from view.

Jackson Knightly was certainly not his type of student -- but, Sharp had to admit as he picked up the cup of masala chai and silently enjoyed the soothing scent and taste of the brew -- he was a promising one, all the same. So long as he actually applied himself properly.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

cw: hair pulling, 141 sexcapade discussion.

"You know, I've never understood it," Gaz said, folding another hand as the cards Nik turned over on the table ruined his chance of a Full House. They'd had a few, so Gaz's brain was wading slowly towards its point when Soap folded too.

"Ye dinnae ken much, Garrick. Ye gonnae have tae narrow it doon."

Ghost raked in his winnings and then stood with a grunted, "need a slash."

Gaz scowled and flipped over one of the cards they'd been playing with before Nik could tidy it away. The set was raunchy, with depictions of busty girls in various states of undress and intimacy. The Ace of Spades had a brunette facing out of the card, her lover behind her with one hand in her hair. "Why do girls ask for this?"

"Why ask for doggy?" Soap asked, smirking around the top of his beer bottle.

"Nah, mate. The hair pulling. I've had at least two birds ask me for it. It can't be fuckin' good, can it?"

"Aye, well, I dunnae tend tae pull the freaky ones, so..."

"Alright, alright. Shut it. Nik, help me out here." Gaz looked over at their dealer, who was busy expertly shuffling the cards for the next round.

"There is a right way and a wrong way to pull hair, sergeant," Nik said.

Gaz raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Da, observe." Nik placed the deck down carefully and turned towards Soap. "The wrong way is to grab a random tuft," he lifted a large palm and snagged a handful of Soap's mohawk, shaking him from side to side, "and just start pulling them about. It is wrong. Hurts, no?"

"Ah, Jesus fuck, Nik," Soap squawked, batting at Nik's forearm. "Aye. Feels like ye scalpin' me."

Ghost returned, chuckling low in his throat at Soap's bleats of protest. He rolled his bally up over his nose and took a swig of bourbon, observing the little scene he'd stumbled back in on with interest. "Li'le scrote finally run his mouth too much, Nikolai?"

"Naw, Nik's showin' Garrick how t' pull a lady's hair in bed." Soap growled, head still tilted at an odd angle where Nik had scruffed the strip of ferret fur he called a hairstyle.

"Oh yeah?" Ghost's eyes slid over to Nik, lingering on the hand that released Soap's mohawk. "G'won then, show us the proper way."

"Regrettably, the sergeants both favour the short back and sides, but yours is longer." Nik rose to his feet, matching Ghost in height and bulk. Ghost's hackles should go up, but with Nik, they hadn't in years. It had something to do with how Price was around him, Ghost reckoned. When your damn leader relaxed, you were relaxed. Like a good dog. Nik spread his hands. "May I, lieutenant? Your mask will remain on."

"C'mon, L.T. Lessee."

"I'll buy you a drink at the pub when we get home, sir."

Ghost swallowed, levelling Nik with a heavy stare. "Ya pull my hairline as far as yours and we'll 'ave a problem," he murmured, emptying his glass before placing it down on the table. When Nik stepped into space, he got a hit of expensive cologne and engine oil that sat pleasantly on the back of his tongue. Damn handsome bastard too, all things considered. Ghost tried not to scrutinise what having him so close did to his heart.

Nik's hand settled on Ghost's shoulder first and then slid around the back of his neck, careful to keep his thumb tucked to avoid Ghost's throat.

"You slide your hand up their neck through the roots at the back," he said softly, his hand moving as he spoke, fingertips sliding beneath Simon's bally to the softness of his blond hair. "And you pull upwards, keeping your fingers close to their scalp."

What was left of Ghost's soul left his body momentarily as Nik pulled. His belly did a little flip, his knees suddenly weak, shoulders rising as he sucked in a shocked gasp. The sensation that bristled over his scalp settled behind his eyes, and they rolled closed as it continued down his spine. The world screeched to a halt as Ghost zeroed in on the man before him, his instincts firing off like sparkplugs in an engine struggling to turn over. Frozen.

Nik was watching him closely, his head tilted to the side. "It should not cause pain, but it is a... mammalian response, like a cat scruffing its kitten. It should inspire a feeling of pleasure in submission."

Ghost couldn't breathe. His eyes flickered open and he zoned in on Nik's dark eyes, the fullness of his lips and the unshaven scruff of stubble around his jawline. In that breathless moment, Ghost's entire body tingled with heat and want. He could feel Nik's warmth, so close and yet not touching him at all but for the hand in his hair; a sturdy bulwark waiting to catch him. What Ghost would give to press his face into the open collar of his shirt and rub through the dark hair he could see there, while--

"'Ear that, L.T.? Ye like a big fuckin' kitten."

Soap's jibe broke the spell and Nik released Ghost's hair, stepping out of his space to return to his seat. His gaze lingered on Ghost's eyes before he turned, and for a tense second Ghost was fockin' worried he'd be outed for whatever the hell that was. But Nik sat down with a nonchalant shrug.

"Shut it, Johnny," Ghost grunted. "Don' see what all the fuss is about."

"Aye, ye tell 'em, sir. Missionary with the lights off fully clothed is the only way, eh?"

Ghost flipped Soap his middle finger and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. "Gonna hit the sack, long day tomorrow. Don' fuck around too late." He left the room at what he hoped was a reasonable pace, but his mind was already elsewhere, namely on the aching boner stretching down his right trouser leg. He was grateful no one could read minds; if he was thinking of Nik as he had a sad, furious and slightly drunk wank, then that was between him and god.

Nik watched Ghost's retreating back over the rim of his vodka glass, his head tilted to the side in thoughtful consideration. The embers he had watched flare to life in those somber brown eyes were unmistakable. He had seen similar in two twin baby blues only two mornings ago.

Khoroshego vam nastroyeniya i do vstrechi, Simon.

[scoutswritingcorner]

Carelessly Curious

Cursed Cat Alastor Fic

Ft. Alastor x GN! Reader

A/N: More cursed cat Alastor cause it’s 2:38am and I’m having to stay up all night.

TW: Blood, talks of eating a body (mostly Cursed Cat Alastor), Alastor x GN!Reader shenanigans.

The few times your little cat friend was around and the one time Alastor got jealous.

You noticed a trend with the weird cat thing that looked like Alastor, everywhere you went the cat was not far behind. The only exception was if Alastor was actually near you, the cat would be behind a corner or a door watching every move. You would find it creepy but..it does the exact same thing Alastor does. It just stands and stares like Alastor when he doesn’t have anything particular to say or he’s trying to gauge how the room is.

Satan forbid if Lucifer got too close to you, the cat would literally start to vibrate as static and eerie growls left its mouth. It even tried to bite the King. You kept apologizing to him, having to rightfully shoo the cat away so you could have a conversation with Lucifer. Only for the cat to come back with a vengeance of 30 angry men.

Your favorite thing about the cat is how it just tends to take up the space in your lap if you're not busy- or whenever you're extremely busy with helping the front desk answer calls. It’s favorite thing (or you thought) was when it brought you body parts from the people it killed. It always sucked having to get blood out of your clothes, but Alastor was always helpful with that situation. The cat always dropped it in your lap staring at you but then realized you didn’t eat demon flesh and in turn devoured the limb easily bone and all.

~~

The next few hours of your day had passed by slowly as you did your routine around the hotel, soft tip taps of paws following after you as a soft hum of radio static. Then the soft taps stopped as Alastor appeared next to you, pulling you into a slow dance by carefully spinning you around until you leaned into his arms, soft jazz playing from his microphone. You immediately smiled, leaning your head against his chest as he hummed along to the music. “No broadcast today?” You asked after a while leaning back as the soft tune turned into something more upbeat, practically beating him to his own game. 

He chuckled, easily guiding you along into the dance, “Not today~” He whispered out and you finally realized that his usual attire had changed. The once red button up shirt was changed into a white one and his jacket was nowhere to be found, black slacks adorned his new outfit. You rarely saw him change into something other than his own red suit, you didn’t bring too much attention to it. A comfortable silence lulled between the both of you as the dance ended with him easily dipping you, leaving a gentle kiss upon your lips. The rest of the day was spent dancing away with him between fast paced dances that almost made you trip over your own feet to keep up with him to slow dances that made you sleepy.

~~

You don’t remember when you fell asleep or how you woke up in your own bed, soft jazz playing from your radio. You tried to sit up but realized there was a weight on your chest and then a soft paw gently hit your head in retaliation to your movement. The cat (you still didn’t know if it was a cat) was laying on your chest purring loudly, radio static getting louder. “Sorry, sorry.” You whispered out laying back down and the static dissipated easily, the cat got resituated on your chest and slowly blinked it’s eyes towards you before looking away staring at a random wall as if it was protecting you.

You stared up at the ceiling for a while before the cat moved from your chest to the pillow next to you. Allowing you to slowly sit up stretching your back out and then your eyes landed on Alastor sitting in the armchair in your room, softly snoring as he leaned against his own hand. Slowly getting up, you walked over draping a blanket over his shoulders and taking the book from his lap making sure to mark his place for him when he woke back up.

~~

The next time you saw the cat watching you was when you were bathing. Minding your own business as you relaxed after a stressful day only to see a bright red ball of fluff glaring at the tub, back arched as it let out a loud hissing noise. You chuckled and shook your head, “It’s fine..just taking a bath.” You told the cat but it only sent you a glance and hissed once more the red fur on it puffing up almost comically. Now that made you laugh loudly, tears forming in your eyes as you looked away. 

Calming down from your laughing fit you reached a wet hand out towards the corner where the cat stood. The cat batted at your hand, hissing louder but it never actually hit you. “Oh so grumpy..you remind me of someone~” You cooed out, leaning back and smiling, glancing at the cat who now moved forward towards the tub. “Oh? Becoming adventurous?” 

The cat grumbled as loud static echoed through the room and it stood up on its hind legs to peer into the tub, watching the water. The next few seconds felt like a horror movie. Shadows wrapped around the poor little cat's frame and dropped it into the tub of warm water causing it to freak out and climb out of the tub. Then Alastor appeared, holding fresh clothes for you. A smirk played on his lips, “Careful..you're getting careless~” He growled towards the smaller cat who growled in return. You rolled your eyes, getting up and wrapping a towel around your frame and exiting the tub. “You’re so mean to my little protector.” You pouted towards Alastor who gently grabbed your cheek and squeezed it.

“Well you’re little protector is getting too chummy with you, Darling. I have to show him who your beloved is~”

[ghouldtime]

Neighbor! König

Probably can't write a full series for this but for now HEADCANNONS

He initially moved to a residential/suburban area because of his need for privacy. He couldn't stand being in barracks provided because it's too close for comfort and there's just too many people and not enough room

He grew up in a rural village which he would really, greatly prefer but his job doesn't allow him to have that amount of space and no neighbors. The upkeep would be too much

While he doesn't have the full amount of space he'd like, it's enough to keep him busy when he's not deployed and grant him the piece of mind he needs

When he's home and in his 'residential/domestic' mode, he's not wearing the mask. That's a quick way to signal him out and lets be real, it sets off red flags. He'd rather not have the police called on what looks like a very suspicious man, thanks.

Not wearing the mask is also a good way for him to come off of 'work' mode, where he can just be himself, no covering that up.

Plus it's for safety. He knows he's taking a risk by living off of base and he's a man with many enemies. Wearing something trademarked to him in an unprepared environment is a dumb idea and is a great way to end up six feet under

His front yard is pretty minimal but he has a lovely garden in the back. Half the reason he settled on the house that he did was because of the mature trees in the backyard that reminded him of home

When you moved in, König - as much as he didn't want to, made the move to introduce himself. The main motivator wasn't out of politeness but rather necessity. Since he's away for so long, he gives out his personal number and email just in case something happens with the house

He's genuinely surprised when you react positively and even ask if there's anything he'd like you to do when he's away (like collecting his mail, watering any plants)

He's so stumped by that, not having expected such hospitality, that when you ask for his name as you enter in his contact info, his brain short circuits. He tells you it's Kevin, because it's the first K name he could think of that wasn't distinctly Germanic.

Also he doesn't want to bring anyone into his work life. He moved out into the suburbs for a reason. König is who he is on field, that's his callsign. And, once again - safety reasons. If he went around, telling people who he was, he's asking to get another target painted on his back

Though you two initially don't really talk much, you still wave when you see him or wish him a good morning. Even if he's blunt and usually brusque, you never mind it and always try to make polite conversation while respecting his boundaries and need for space

Seeing each other in the mornings becomes routine. You're up for work while he's up tending to his garden (it's better to water early morning, he insists)

He's slow to warm up but when he finally does, he's surprisingly talkative

He really opened up to you because you showed express interest in his garden and flowers alike. You always listened to his advice or would ask specific questions to get him talking and when it came to explaining things, he could talk and talk and talk

The moment he was won over though was when you asked if he'd like help weeding his garden. Taking care of it was therapeutic to him (as tedious as it might be) and wanting to actually come over and spend time with him, even if it was a "chore" made him feel something that day

Being allowed into his yard, his botanical sanctuary, is as great of an award as you can get

He finds it significantly easier to talk when his hands are busy and when there can always be things to talk about (mainly his plants, he's so proud)

You learn of his plants, the fact that he's a private contractor (he conveniently leaves out the military part), and he'll start to actually talk about himself instead of avoiding questions for once

If it weren't from exertion reddening his face already, he's sure he would've turned as red as his tomatoes when you inquired about the off handed comment about his miniatures collection

No one had ever asked him about them - or actually taken them seriously. He's used to people making fun of such hobbies

But not you, you embraced him

Seeing your face light up with amazement and hearing your specific comments about the details he made in replicas of things such as his hometown and some of the fairytale stories he liked as a kid officially had his heart feeling the warm, fuzzy feelings that he usually ignored

The next morning, he was already planting your favorite flowers in his front yard 🪻

(Part Two)

(Part Three)

[fanged-fanfics]

Hello! I hope you're doing alright and that you're getting plenty of rest. I've recently discovered your blog, and I love your one shots that I've read so far. I've read your Macaque x GN reader with a baby (which is cute, btw), but I was wondering if you could do one with Sun Wukong as well? Maybe in this one, while little baby is watching their daddy and MK train and witnessing Sun do an impressive move, the baby excitedly calls out Dada to him. Cue the proud, teary-eyed papa flinging them high in the air (but not too high), happy that he is their first word, while GN reader watches on, also proud of their little one

🧡👑 Little Peach Speaks — Wukong x Parent!GN Reader Drabble 👑🧡

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

For quite a while, parenting wasn't something Wukong was sure he was going to do. His strongest memories of interactions with kids were the likes of Nezha and Red Boy. Both of which were mainly him fighting them violently, which did not give a good start to potential parenting. MK was a much better example of his capabilities, even if the kid was more like a little brother. Still, it wasn't perfect, but he had slowly warmed up to the idea as the years went by.

You, however, had changed a lot of that. With you by his side, he was able to feel comfort and reassurance that he had been missing. Learning to communicate with you strengthened his confidence, and after a good long while, you both agreed to have your little cub. Wukong stuck to the ideal immediately, imprinting as a father onto the cub the second they were born. He may not be perfect (he was used to the FFM cubs, which were more durable and a lot closer to keeping up with him), but several hours of watching you tend to the cub with wide and damp eyes helped him greatly.

Taking the cub along for training with MK didn't initially seem like a good idea. The training, of course, usually didn't get too bad, but there was sufficient flinging and big heroic tricks that made the area of the dojo dedicated to it one to tread with caution. So, to keep out of harm's way, you were given a special spot a few feet from where the training would actually take place, fit with you own special chair and a side mini table to rest your belongings. You were gently bouncing the little cub in your lap, the baby awake and alert. They looked around with their wide and curious eyes, taking in all the colors and new shapes the dojo provided. The gentle feeling of warm sun rays was also good for them. You had a steady hand around the cub, balancing and watching them closely.

Your eyes occasionally flicked to the scuffle ahead, seeing the two lads train tirelessly as always. You smiled, hearing your cub coo in their direction. You sat them on your lap, sitting up straighter. "I know you can't see it very well, but that gold blurr right there is your baba" you explained. The cub babbled softly, and you chuckled as you gently pet their fuzzy little head. "He's always a busy monkey. But he's training the next hero, you know" you explained. You were aware this was mostly you talking to the air, but your cub had their little eyes latched onto the training session. So you pretended they were old enough to understand, if only for a little humor. "He does this to protect you, little sprout. To protect all the people of the city. He's a very strong hero"

The cub had their fist in their mouth, gumming at it absentmindedly. You gently pulled it out for them, rubbing the itty bitty paw with a cleaning rag you had prepped. As you did so, the cub stared steadily ahead. Wukong pushed off of an attempted staff swing from MK, doing a backflip in the air before landing on his prehensile tail. He chuckled as MK stumbled back, leaning on his knees with wheezing pants. "Good job, bud! Getting a liiittle faster!" He beamed proudly. "It doesn't feel like it" MK complained with an irritated pout. Wukong chuckled, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders before getting into a battle stance again. "That means it's working! If this was easy, it wouldn't be good training". MK groaned, spinning the staff around. After a quick chug from a nearby water bottle (one of your ideas), he shook his head before crouching as well.

Before either could charge, Wukong's ears picked up on a very small and struggled out, "Dada!". His head whipped around in your direction, seeing you looking down at your cub surprised. Wukong narrowly missed an attempted hit by MK by immediately zipping to your side, leaving the successor to fumble. "Did they-?" Wukong asked, and you nodded "They did, I swear! Just now". Wukong kneeled down, level with his cub "Can you say it again, little peach? Please? For dad?". The baby giggled, leaning forwards and putting a tiny paw on his nose and chirping out a "Dada!"

Wukong's face lit up like the sun, scooping the cub from your lap in a swift motion. He tossed them up in the air, but kept in mind his strength, catching them immediately "Yes!! Dada, that's right! Oh, good job, little peach! That's so perfect" he said, voice full of vibrant joy "Can you say 'baba'?". "Abbppt.. bb... daba!" The cub babbled. Wukong tucked them into his chest, nuzzling his cheek into the top of their head "Good enough! Oh, you're so smart already! You're gonna be the next Great Sage, huh?" He cooed. You stepped up, a hand on his shoulder as you pet the cub's chubby left cheek "Such a smart little blossom" you said gently, chuckling as you noticed a tear pricking Wukong's eye. He gave the cub a kiss on their head, before kissing your cheek "They're perfect, sunshine" he said, before adding in a teasing tone, "Told ya I'd be who they said first". You gave him a playful light nudge, heart full of pride as you looked at your grinning cub.

"Uh.. Monkey King?" MK asked nervously "Should I... go, or-?"

[ashwhowrites]

An idea that popped in my head before bed. I hope you guys enjoy it! Been a bit since I've written my own Robin idea so I hope it's worth the read 🫶🏻🩷

Robin writes a love note for Vickie but accidentally puts it in Readers locker

Wrong locker

Robin has been trying to figure out the best way to confess her feelings to Vickie. Robin figured since she couldn't even speak a word to the pretty redhead in general, writing down her feelings would be best. But Robin didn't want to sound like a crazy stalker so she settled for a simple love note.

Robin took a deep breath as she walked to Vickie's locker, she slipped the pink paper in the small cracks. She held her breath as the note dropped in. The sound of the bell had her racing to the other side of the hallway. She tried to look busy but kept her eye on the locker.

She smiled as Vickie walked up, but her stomach dropped when she noticed Vickie was opening the locker next to the one with the note. Robin panicked, whose locker was the note in?

Fear filled Robin's bones as Y/N walked up. The girl's atmosphere was terrifying. Her leather jacket smelled of cigarettes and perfume. Her healed black boots echoed down the halls. Her tight jeans framed her body along with her tight band T-shirt. She was intimating, and she liked to be. Her sharp eyes glared at anyone who looked at her. A snarl on her lips if anyone bothered to talk near her.

Robin felt like she wanted to die when Y/N opened her locker, the pink note falling to Y/N's feet. Robin prayed she wouldn't pick it up, maybe stomp on it and move on.

But no, Y/N picked up the note. Robin was stuck in her spot, she needed to run but she couldn't move.

Y/N tried to keep the smile off her face. No one has seen her smile and that wasn't going to change. But she couldn't help but feel her heart flutter at the sweet note. She knew she was intimidating and scared people off. But she's never had someone see her in such a romantic way.

She knew of Robin Buckley, the cute bandgirl. Y/N played on the volleyball team and the band always played at their games. Was Robin watching her the whole time?

Y/N put the note in her pocket, closing her locker. She turned around to walk to class when she spotted Robin staring. Once they made eye contact, Robin looked down at her shoes.

Please don't walk up to me

Please please please

"Hey Buckley," Y/N's voice ran shivers up Robin's spine. She gulped and looked up. Y/N stood in front of her, her confident frame stood tall.

"I'm sorry! The note was-" Robin went to explain what happened but Y/N cut her off.

"The note was very sweet. Thank you, it made my day. I'll call you." Y/N said, a smirk on her face as she took in Robin's nervous frame.

Robin didn't dare to breath until Y/N strutted off.

~~~

"And turns out it was the wrong locker!" Robin explained, her voice wavering between pitches. Her nervous hands were shaking as she told the story to Steve.

Steve nodded along with his arms crossed. Robin tended to talk throughout their shifts and not do any work. So Steve picked up the slack. But the place was dead so gossip time took full attention.

"Whose did it end up in?" Steve asked, he uncrossed his arms as he reached to grab his drink.

"Y/N."

Steve's eyes went wide and his water flew out of his mouth. Steve was a grade above Y/N throughout high school, and even he was terrified of her. He prayed he'd never run into her after graduation. Her sneer and hard eyes kept him up at night. He still has nightmares about the day he ran into her, his hot coffee staining her shirt. Steve could almost feel the bruises on his cheek forming again.

"You're fucked!" Steve said.

"Dingus! Don't you think I know that? She said she was going to call me! What the hell do I do?" Robin panicked.

"Maybe she won't call you! Let's not stress about anything yet." Steve said

~~~

Robin sighed in relief when she crawled into bed, not a single phone call from Y/N. Maybe Y/N just wanted to make Robin nervous and never planned to do anything about the note.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Robin gulped as she picked up the phone, she hoped more than anything that Steve was calling about his lame date.

"Sorry, gorgeous. Volleyball went very late." Y/N's voice traveled through the phone, and it still made Robin nervous.

"It's okay." Robin gulped, her fingers playing with the telephone cord.

"I know this place downtown, maybe Friday night after the game, we can go?"

Robin tried to say no, all she had to do was explain the mix-up. But she was scared of Y/N's reaction. One date couldn't hurt, maybe Y/N would realize how boring Robin was and wouldn't be interested.

~~~

Robin packed up her instrument, talking with Vickie about the game. Robin tried her best to keep the conversation going.

"Ready gorgeous?" Y/N asked. Robin couldn't help but blush at the nickname being said to her face. Y/N was sweaty and panting from the game, and Robin couldn't help but find it hot.

"Yeah just gotta pack up." Robin rushed out, her eyes meeting Y/N's for one quick second.

"Okay. I'm going to change then I'll meet you in the parking lot?" Y/N suggested. Robin nodded and felt the air return to her lungs when she walked away.

"What's going on?" Vickie asked, she didn't bother to hide how shocked she was.

"She kinda asked me out." Robin shrugged.

"Oh, cool," Vickie said, but Robin couldn't help but notice how displeased Vickie looked about the news. Was she jealous?

~~~

Robin tried not to stare at Y/N as they walked into the bar, but Y/N looked hot in her tight black jeans, tank top, and signature leather jacket. Robin tried to ignore how sweaty her palms were.

Robin was confused about why they'd go to a bar when they weren't of age, but Y/N knew the bartender it seemed. Y/N walked to the back booth, near a pool table.

Y/N had a beer and Robin had an iced tea. Y/N made good conversation and Robin was surprised by the things they had in common. Robin found herself enjoying Y/N's presence.

A few hours passed and Robin swung her feet as Y/N played pool. Robin didn't know how to play and she did not want to look like an idiot in front of Y/N.

"Come here and just try!" Y/N encouraged, she's been trying to get Robin to play for the last hour. But Robin kept shaking her head.

Y/N gave up on convincing Robin, instead, she'd make Robin do it.

Robin gulped as Y/N grabbed her hand and lifted her off the stool.

"No, I'm not any good!" Robin tried but Y/N shushed her. Y/N placed the stick in Robin's hand, stood behind her, and corrected her form. Robin couldn't help but feel slightly turned on as Y/N's body was pressed against her back. The feeling of Y/N's breath against her ear, and Y/N's arms wrapped around her, made Robin feel fuzzy.

Robin took a deep breath, letting Y/N guide her to hit the small white ball. Robin watched as the stick hit the ball, it rolled and rolled until it smacked into a red ball, disappearing into the corner.

"You did it!" Y/N cheered, Robin couldn't help but get lost in her dazzling smile. At that moment Y/N didn't seem so scary and intimidating. She looked beautiful and happy.

~~~

A few weeks passed and Robin cursed herself for leading Y/N on. Robin couldn't help but be swept up in all the dates and how special Y/N made her feel. It made Robin wonder why she never looked at Y/N in the first place.

But Robin was tugged between Vickie as well. The girl the note was made for. It seemed Vickie was jealous of all the dates between Robin and Y/N. Robin remembered the hard look in Vickie's eyes when she showed up in Y/N's jacket.

"Are you cold?" Y/N asked, her hand laced with Robin's as they walked through the carnival. Robin wore a thin long sleeve, not expecting the wind to be chilly.

"No, I'm fine!" Robin argued, but the shivering of her teeth and tight shoulders gave her up.

Y/N smiled and took off her jacket, placing the warm leather over Robin's shoulders. Immediately lacing their hands together again.

A jacket Robin still hasn't given back. She wore it every day to school. To make Vickie jealous? Or to have pride she got Y/N to go soft? She wasn't sure.

She felt torn between both girls.

~~~

"Do you like her?" Steve asked, he felt bad for the situation Robin got herself in.

"I think so? But I don't know if I like her because she makes Vickie jealous." Robin explained. She was stuck in her personal hell.

"Well if Vickie's jealous, it means she has feelings for you. So you have your answer. Vickie is interested and single. Do you want to go after her? Or stay with Y/N?"

"I think I want Vickie. I mean the note was meant for her but I'm afraid if Y/N finds out the note was for Vickie, she'll snap me in half " Or maybe she was worried it would snap Y/N in half.

~~~

Robin sat across Y/N as she sipped on a milkshake. Robin's stomach hurt too much to enjoy the sweetness.

"Are you okay? You look like you might be sick." Y/N said, her milkshake pushed to the side as she reached across for Robin's hand. Robin gulped as Y/N's soft thumb rubbed her skin.

Just say it, Robin repeated in her head. She needed to tell the truth before Y/N truly fell for Robin.

"I need to tell you something," Robin said, her free hand gripping the leather jacket by her lap. Y/N encouraged her with a small smile.

"Remember the note?"

"Of course I do." Y/N smiled

"I put it in the wrong locker," Robin said quickly, wincing as the words finally were put into the air.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, her head turned as she tried to understand.

"I wrote the note for Vickie and I was scared to tell you. " Robin looked up to catch Y/N's reaction. The smile turned upside down as a frown covered its place. Robin has never seen so much emotion on Y/N's face. And just like she feared, the terrifying hard mask appeared on Y/N's face.

Robin tried not to flinch as Y/N removed her hand and moved it quickly into her lap. Robin's palm smacked the table. As always, Robin ran her mouth until she made it worse.

"And I just didn't want to hurt you! And I was a little scared you'd break me in half. So I went along with the date, not expecting you'd like me! Because like I'm me and I'm so boring compared to you. I figured you'd see dating me was blah and wouldn't be interested. But then you asked for more dates and I was-"

"Scared to say no, yeah got it." Y/N barked. She was an idiot to believe someone saw her as something else than a scary monster that lurked in the halls. All this time, she thought Robin saw something in her, something worth liking and learning to love. But no, Robin was scared just like everyone else.

Y/N refused to let how upset she was shown on her face. She shook it off and grabbed her wallet. She slammed down some bills on the table, the harsh air hitting Robin's hand, she flinched again.

Robin was scared to look up as Y/N stood up. She was too scared to see the look on Y/N's face.

"Look at me," Y/N growled, Robin swallowed nervously and looked up. But there was a softness in Y/N's eyes.

"You're not boring, and you're not blah. You're funny, fun, and beautiful. Don't think so low of yourself. Next time, make sure the note goes in the right locker. I'll see you around Buckley."

Robin didn't know what to say. Y/N walked off, leaving her jacket with Robin.

~~~

Robin barely slept that night. She felt so guilty, and not all relieved. She thought telling Y/N would take the weight off her shoulders, but it was the opposite. The weight on her shoulders now crushed down on her chest.

Y/N's jacket thrown over Robin's desk chair was a painful reminder she had to see Y/N again.

The next morning, Robin held the jacket in her arms as she walked up to Y/N's locker.

"Um hey," Robin said quietly, Y/N and Vickie looked up at the sound of her voice. Robin shrunk under the gaze of both girls.

Y/N figured she was talking to Vickie so she turned back around to her locker.

Robin couldn't help but feel like she was slapped in the face as Y/N ignored her completely.

"I have your jacket." She said, tapping Y/N's shoulder. Y/N turned around, grabbed the jacket, and slipped it back on her body. In a way Robin felt a weird feeling of pride. She knew it was Y/N's jacket in the first place, but Robin wore it for weeks to where it almost felt like hers. It felt like Y/N was wearing Robin's jacket.

"Thanks," Y/N muttered the locker behind her slammed shut as she quickly walked off. Y/N couldn't watch Robin and Vickie talk about their feelings.

"Yikes, she's back to cold." Vickie observed.

"Yeah I kinda broke things off," Robin explained, a feeling in her stomach as Vickie tried to fight off a smile.

"Oh that's too bad!" Vickie said, but Robin could hear the excitement in her voice. "What happened?"

"I wrote this note to ask you out and I accidentally put it in her locker. I've been too scared to tell her but I finally did. And I think she hates me." Robin said, looking over her shoulder but Y/N was long gone.

"Ask me out?" Vickie asked, a smile on her face.

"Yeah," Robin said with a smile. Her face warmed when Vickie reached forward to lace their hands together. Robin couldn't help but notice Vickie's grip wasn't as tight and safe as Y/N's. Robin didn't feel like she was protected like the way she did in Y/N's hands.

"I'd love to!" Vickie cheered, both girls sharing a bright smile.

But Robin couldn't help but feel an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

~~~

It didn't take long for Robin and Vickie to officially be together. Steve was proud of Robin for finally making a choice, but even he couldn't help but feel like it was the wrong one.

Robin spent every minute with Vickie, searching for the fluttering in her stomach that she had with Y/N. Robin thought it was fear but maybe it was excitement.

Robin tried to fight off the frown on her face when Y/N passed her in the halls. No more warm smile sent her way. Just a hard look, the same look she gave everyone else.

Was Vickie the right choice?

[mapofthemazeinthemirror]

TXT tucking you in before leaving for a night schedule

Fluff, no warnings!

Please let me know which one is your favourite!

☆ gender neutral reader

Soobin

It takes Soobin longer than he would care to admit to leave the couch, pressing one last kiss to your face before pulling away - no wait, just one more - before untangling his arms from around you and getting to his feet. He glances back at you on his way to get his jacket and you look so lonely there by yourself now, you pout at each other. There’s just one more thing he has to do before he can put on his shoes and go. You think he’s coming back for another kiss while he puts on his jacket, but when he raises it, it comes down and over you. He tucks it around your shoulders and you slip your arms through the sleeves, wearing it back to front. It’s big enough on you to act as a blanket, bonus, it smells like him. He smiles down at you and strokes your hair, and now he really has to go because he’s getting a call from his driver who is downstairs waiting.

Yeonjun

You exit the bathroom, all warm from your shower, into your bedroom and notice something strange. Your pillowcase was always white, and now it’s black. Your attention shifts to your boyfriend who stands at the end of your bed, smiling at you. He’ll tuck you in, he says. You climb into bed, eyeing the pillow again. Wasn’t it white? It’s his shirt, Yeonjun tells you, so you can fall asleep imagining it’s his chest your head is laying on. His eyes have that sparkle, his grin wide, the way he always looks when he does something cheesy like this, as he pulls the covers up around you. You turn to kiss him, but he’s leaning over to your nightstand, the tv suddenly turning on with your favourite movie ready to play on the screen.

Beomgyu

He pulls his arm out from under you ever so carefully, retreating from the bed so slowly it would look as if he was moving in slow motion; the sheets sound so loud to him when he’s trying to be quiet. Ten minutes ago you were chatting together, until he was talking and getting no reply; you were out like a light. He had told you that you didn’t have to stay awake and keep him company until his schedule, but you had insisted on spending as much time with him as you could get. Now he has to leave, but you’re laying on top of the duvet and he won’t be here to keep you warm and he doesn’t want you to get cold and wake up. He tiptoes out of the room and dashes to the cupboard, retrieves the fluffiest blanket of all and comes quietly back to spread it gently over you. You look so peaceful and adorable that he wants to kiss your cheek goodbye but he won’t risk it, backing towards the door and, with one final look, turns out the light. He can’t wait to come home.

Taehyun

You always have a later dinner on the nights Taehyun has a schedule. He’s always said you don’t have to wait and eat when he does, but you insist on having dinner with him. When you’re done eating, you sit and chat for a while, until it’s time for him to head off to work. He offers to help you tidy up the dishes, but you tell him that you’re going to put them away and head to bed - you usually go to bed early on the nights Taehyun works because you tend to wake up when he comes home very late. Saying goodbye, he slips his shoes on at the door and then he’s gone. You busy yourself with the plates, cleaning and drying, so much quicker a job with only dishes for two, and just when you’ve closed them inside the cupboard, you hear the door unlocking again. You turn with a smile, asking what he’s forgotten. This, he says, and scoops you up in his arms with a laugh, your arms winding around his neck in surprise, and carries you towards the bedroom. With one hand he pulls the covers back, then slides you gently into bed. His eyes are warm as ever as he tucks you in, resting his forehead against yours before kissing you. He really has to go now, he tells you, but he’ll be back to perform his big spoon duties in a few hours.

Huening Kai

He starts out by bringing just one of the plushies from his bed, placing it beside you under the covers. But before he knows it, whether because he wants to drag this out and not leave yet or because of the way you smile and snuggle the toy against your face, he makes another trip and comes back with five more in his arms. He strategically places them - one on either side of your middle, one on either side of your legs, and one on the end of the bed, “standing guard”, he explains.

written by mapofthemazeinthemirror - do not repost my work in any form

[sulumuns-dootah]

31. 10. Shower - Asmodeus

    ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: Here we are: A much needed shower for our stinky king. I kinda did forget to keep describing the shower, but everything is happening in a shower :D (The prompt for this bonus was decided by YOU through a poll ^^)

Warnings: Since there was a significant amount of people also voting for Consensual Non-con, i decided to include it too - sadly couldn't fit throne fucking in :/, Asmo uses 'bitch' to reffer to reader (I honestly think that's what devs meant to translate 'female' to)

    ༺☆༻

Finally, after a long day of spending time with almost all demons in Hell, you're alone and taking a scorching hot shower. The almost-boiling water droplets fall on your body and help you relax your sore muscles. It was a long day, but it's finally coming to an end.

If you had to guess, you'd say it's somewhere around midnight and you're just about ready to collapse into your bed and fall asleep in whatever position you happen to land. Hopefully the colder air outside your shower wakes you up enough to finish your whole night routine.

Maybe you can stay in the shower for just a little bit...Suddenly a chill runs up your spine and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Huh..?

You still haven't moved an inch out of the shower and you're already cold?

No, this feels different. Almost like when Foras is around, but you're sure he's currently tending to Leviathan's nightly needs. No, this feels heavier, more overbearing than a noble.

Then... you hear the sound of bare feet and some rustling chains quietly making their way to you, back turned to the room and facing a wall.

Your fight or flight response kicks in and instead your body freezes. Maybe it's even for the best. There's water all over the place and you don't want to hurt yourself.

The intruder is so close and you hold your breath, waiting for anything.

But for the longest time nothing comes. No sound or shift in energy.

“Huhu, I love the smell of your fear, little bitch.” you jump as a mischievous whisper interrupts the agonising silence, followed by a very audible sniff. Your mind immediately jumps to Beelzebub, but the voice is way too different to be him.

The thoughts in your mind are racing, trying to figure out who this demon is, but they're coming up empty. Who is this demon and what does he plan with you?

Suddenly, two large hands find their place on your body with some more metal sounds. One pushes your torso against the tiled wall and the other pulls your hips backwards for you to feel the huge, throbbing dick, ready to impale you.

A cry leaves your lips at the sudden action as well as the sensation of being pushed up against the cold surface. Finally, your fighting response kicks in and you start to try and struggle, but it's to no avail. The unknown demon's grip on you is too strong.

“Haa~, you really know how to make things more exciting, Y/N!” the impressively long length starts being rubbed on your backside. The adrenaline, still coursing through your body makes your legs shake and your knees almost give out on you.

“Mmh~... Your fear feels very much real. Did you forget about our little talk from earlier this month?” the demon chuckles out and his hand moves from your torso to entwine in your hair.

You gasp out. From the slight pain, but also from realisation.

“A-asmo?!”

Now it makes sense. Earlier in the month you've found yourself in Abaddon and met Asmodeus for the first time. You two had a somewhat long conversation about sex, kinks and such. At one point the king of lust asked you if there was something you'd like to try but were too afraid to admit to anyone. After some encouragement, you ended up confessing that consensual rape was something that intrigued you.

You completely forgot about that conversation during your very busy month.

“Ahah... So you do remember!” Asmo doesn't waste any moment and draws a sigil on your lower belly. The lines immediately start burning, until your whole body is heated in different way than it was from your shower.

The demon king keeps rubbing against you, to which now you're more than responsive in your magically aroused state, “A-ah fuck~!”

“Huhuhu, as you wish, my pretty little bitch.” Asmodeus chuckles and swiftly enters your awaiting heat. The sigil working its magic helps you fully take him in without any problem, like you've been already going for a few rounds.

Instantly picking up a fast pace, your walls tighten around him, making your first orgasm approach much faster than you'd even like to.

“So~ how do you like your first dream fulfilled? There's much more to come, huhu!”

Oh. That's right. This was only one of your secret fantasies.

Fuck.

[crownofgildedlilies]

lazy days

pairing: aged up!kirishima x reader summary: The day off usually means running errands, but not when it's too cold outside. wc: 1.5k event masterlist

“Good morning,”

Like a scene out of a movie, light streamed towards you in gentle, yellow rays through the few cracks in the blinds. The warmth on your face was nearly comparable to the heat wrapped around your body and pressed against your back, yet your beating heart told you just exactly which one you preferred. 

A slow, sleepy smile spread across your face as you remembered how lucky you had gotten. 

You didn’t have work, and neither did Eijirou. 

“Morning,” You reply through a yawn, stretching your body as much as you could while still trapped in the cage of the pro hero’s well-built arms. Somehow, he held you closer, tighter, his chin tucking up and over your shoulder to press a cluster of saccharine kisses to your jaw. 

A sound akin to a squeal bubbled up past your lips as his unstyled and unkempt hair tickled your neck and his elbow dug awkwardly into your side, forcing your shoulder to scrunch up and catch your boyfriend in the jaw with a faint, dull, thud.

“Hey!” He protested, dropping onto his back and suddenly letting you go, arms splaying wide dramatically. Now free to move, you twisted around so that you were finally facing him, propped on an elbow. You couldn’t help the grin that found its way onto your lips as you watched him pout in an over the top way, one hand rubbing the spot on his jaw where your shoulder had barely touched him. “I was just trying to give you your morning kiss, you know. It’s not manly to attack me like that.” 

“Oh, please.” You huffed out a laugh, “Isn’t your whole thing that you’re unbreakable?” 

“Yeah, but I’m off duty now!” 

“What would Bakugou say, if he heard that you let your guard down like that?” You teased, following your words with a kiss to his so called injury. Like a salve on a wound, your affection seemed to heal him. 

But just to be safe, you kissed him a few more times. 

It took another ten minutes, but you finally pulled yourself from bed, Eijirou never far from your side, even as you dressed in comfortable clothes and brushed your teeth. Only when you both made your way to the kitchen and he busied himself cooking breakfast for you both were you able to separate yourself from him. 

Shuffling over to the living room window, you studied the world outside. Quiet, still—cold. Face scrunching in silent displeasure, you watched the snow falling steadily over the ground. It wasn’t anything close to what could be considered a snowstorm, but a few inches had gathered that would make any attempts to leave the haven of your home a hassle. 

“We don’t have to go out today,” Eijirou, as if reading your mind, offered from the kitchen. Keeping one eye on the eggs still steadily cooking on the stovetop, he extended an arm to offer you a mug—your mug, already filled with coffee you hadn’t realized he had brewed for you. “We have enough groceries to wait another day, and it won’t kill me to skip a day in the gym.”

You turned all the way around from the window to smile bashfully at him, arms wrapped fully around yourself. 

“Really?” You’re closing the distance between the two of you as the word slips out, though you didn’t mean for it to sound so hopeful. “I know you wanted to show me that new regime you made for me. I can just dress extra warm.”

“I’m sure,” He smiled softly at you as you took the coffee from him, exchanging it for a kiss, a favorite currency in your adoring household. He chased after you for a second round, only departing when a concerningly loud pop! sizzles from the stovetop. 

You stand in your spot a moment longer, watching your love tend to breakfast, a sheepish ‘they’re not burnt!’ tossed over his shoulder. As if you cared about anything other than him at that moment. And suddenly your feet were carrying you across the room to him once more, your forgotten mug deposited on the counter. 

“Ei,” You mumble, arms wrapping around his middle from behind, cheek pressed into the space between his shoulder blades. 

“Hm?” He hums in response, and the vibration is felt throughout your body. It’s such a quiet, intimate moment that has your chest squeezing with affection and ears burning bright despite all the months you had spent together. 

“Have I ever told you just how much I love you?” 

“Yeah,” He tells you lightly, a bit of a tease in his voice as he stretches forward to grab two plates from the cabinet beside the stove, and yet you still refused to let go just yet. “But if you want to tell me again, I won’t stop you.” 

He flashes you a grin over his shoulder, so charming with his hair still unstyled and bright eyes full of overwhelming love, that you suddenly grow too flustered to stay in your spot. 

“Dork,” You taunt to deflect from the blush you know he spotted rising high on your face. Twisting away from him, you found a way to be busy by retrieving a glass from its shelf and opening the fridge. 

“So, what do you want to do today?” He’s still fixing both plates with the quick breakfast he’d thrown together: eggs, a few slices of toast, some fruit you had painstakingly cut the day before. You think of an answer to his question while you pour Eijirou’s morning protein smoothie into the glass, though you knew from the moment you woke up what you wanted to do. 

“Breakfast in bed, and then a nap.” You didn’t particularly care that it had only been just under an hour since you had both woken up—a day off practically screamed for a nap. And with how rare it was that your schedules ever aligned so nicely, you were going to take full advantage of every moment your boyfriend gave you. “Maybe a movie on the couch with takeout for lunch?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” He held both plates in his hands, so you carried the drinks, and together you made the slightly frigid journey back to the bedroom. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy climbing back into bed, like somehow, for some reason, you would get in trouble for indulging in the sin of sloth. But then you felt the warmth of Eijirou’s body in bed beside you, one of his legs flung over yours like he couldn’t stand any distance while the two of you ate, and knew that he was just as excited about the idea of a day doing nothing as you were. 

And, really, if you were going to do nothing, you were glad it was with him. 

“I never did tell you, earlier,” You started, filling the comfortable silence that followed Eijirou stacking your plates on his bedside table to deal with later. Enacting the second part of your plans for the day, you both retreated under the covers for a midmorning nap. And with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, legs intertwined, you felt sleep tugging at the corners of your mind. 

“Tell me what?”

“How much I love you.” Your explanation comes with a kiss to his collarbone, delicate and soft, and he shifts just enough to press a matching one to your crown. “It’s a lot, in case you were wondering.”

“I love you, too.” From your spot under his chin, you can’t see his smile, but you know it’s there. You can hear it in his words, can feel it in the way he squeezes you tight for a few extra seconds. 

His smile, his love, is evident in every action. Love lives under the covers where you lay, in the kitchen where he cooked for you, in the living room where he knew without words that you wanted to cancel all plans for the day. 

The love lives in him, and in you, and in the home that you share, even as the months grow cold.

“Oh!” You almost knock your head into his chin as you bolt up on your elbows with an excited gasp, hopeful look in your eyes as you grin down at your boyfriend. “Can we make that soup your mom gave me last week?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Eijirou darts forward to connect your lips in a short, sweet kiss before flopping back down against his pillow. He’s grinning, suddenly, and you grow suspicious as you recognize the amused look on his face. “But we’re going to have to go out and get groceries for it.”

“Forget it,” You groan, returning to your spot curved against him like a puzzle piece snapping together. “I don’t need it that bad.”

You’re still pouting when he laughs, slow and deep, and kisses the crown of your head. 

“Why don’t we just order groceries?”

first post! why am I nervous about this?

let me now what you think!

and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for the holiday series or specific days!

[callme-holly]

Can you do tim shepard x shy clingy reader? They always want to be around tim but is too shy to have conversation with any of his men. Always climbing into his lap or leaning into his body to whisper in his ear. Always wants to hold hands and wanting to be helpful.

𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 [𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - will change the pics and edit tmr !!

It was late, much later than Tim had promised. The sun had long since set, the sky a deep shade of purple which faded into an almost inky blue; a spattering of stars were already starting to glitter and twinkle, interrupting the plainess of the dark canvas. 

The air was crisp but warm; a slight breeze stirred up as night fell, and you let out a soft, gentle sigh, moving away from the window, pacing the length of the cramped bedroom. 

9pm: that was what the clock on the bedside table read. Tim had promised him and the boys would be done by 8; yet they’re still all sat in the living room, laughing loudly and discussing everything but business. 

Tim had told you to head to bed when everyone arrived, knowing all too well how sheepish you became when they were around. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, they seemed fine enough, and they’d never done anything to you which proved otherwise, however, every single one of them was rough around the edges, and you knew from stories alone just how dangerous they were. 

That’s why you tended to stay away and keep your distance, only speaking when spoken to and sticking close to Tim’s side, where you were safe and protected. 

Still, you wanted nothing more than to be with him right now, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't fall asleep without him holding you. So, even though you knew it was foolish, you slipped out of the room and padded your way to the living room, the voices and laughter only growing in volume the closer you got. 

The soft glow of the lamp in the corner filled the room, bathing the walls in a warm, golden light that cast long shadows across the floor, and as your eyes adjusted to the new lighting, you saw that all 6 boys were seated around the room, lounging casually as if they owned the place. 

Tim is sat in his usually chair, feet kicked up onto the coffee table, cigarette between his lips, the smoke spiralling up into the air before dissipating into the darkness of the shadows. He’s watching attentively as the others all chat idly, their words entirely irrelevant and not at all important. They are so caught up in their conversation, they barely notice your presence,  and it isn't until you come up behind your boyfriend, hands resting lightly on his shoulders that he turns to face you, expression morphing into one of mild guilt. 

“Hey, baby,” he mumbles, quick to stub out his cigarette, patting his lap softly, inviting you to come sit. You don't have to be told twice. As soon as your settled against him, his arms wind around your torso, hands tracing up and down your back in a way that's both grounding and relaxing.

He leans forward, planting a soft kiss on your temple and whispers lowly into your ear, “Didn't think they'd stay this long.” His voice is low and gruff, but his tone is sweet as honey, and you melt into his touch like an animal desperate for attention. You know he's only like this for you; he wouldn't dare show this side to anyone else. 

“It’s fine,” you whisper, dropping your head so that your face is tucked in the crook of his neck. “I don’t mind. As long as they don’t stay too late.” 

Tim huffs a laugh, a low, gruff sound, the arm around your waist tightening ever so slightly. “I’ll get rid of them soon, promise.” His lips brush the top of your head, and by now, he isn't even paying attention to the conversation at hand, his sole focus on you and you alone. 

His fingers run gently through your hair, soothing the nerves that always spring up whenever you're around company. His touches are warm, reassuring, comforting, and you find yourself leaning in closer, basking in his warmth. There’s something about being this close to him, the scent of his cologne, his presence… you don’t know exactly what it is, but you know that you absolutely adore being surrounded by him.

You don’t want to move, because moving means letting go of him, and somehow, you don't think you can do that. Not when you're this comfortable and content in his arms.

Besides, nobody seems to notice the pair of you, and if they did, nobody speaks a word.  They simply sit there, chatting quietly amongst themselves, the occasional outburst of laughter filling the quiet from time to time. The atmosphere feels calm, easy, and peaceful; a moment to rest. But even as you try to drift off into a peaceful sleep, you can’t help but wish they’d hurry up and finish whatever they’ve been talking about, so you and Tim could finally go to bed and get some sleep. Together. No intrustions, no interruptions. Just Tim and you, the weight of his body pressing down on yours, enveloping you in warmth, lulling you into sleep as his hands trail up and down your sides, fingers dancing across your skin, tracing little, intricate patterns. You close your eyes, your breathing becoming slow and even with each passing second, Tim’s chest rising and falling in time with your own, steady and strong.

[section-chief-prentiss]

puzzled

Summary: In your spare time, you and Emily start working on a puzzle in her office. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader 

Word Count: 2429

Ao3

“You can refresh your email as much as you want,” JJ teased from the desk next to yours. “But it’s not going to make a case appear.”

You sighed, glancing over your computer at the blonde agent sitting across from you. Her light hair was thrown back in a ponytail, and she had a light blue blouse on and black slacks. Her legs were crossed, and she looked at you with amusement in her sparkling eyes.

“Four days,” you said, running a hand through your messy hair. “We haven’t had a case in four days.” 

“For the first time since joining the team, I’m caught up on paperwork,” Luke commiserated from his desk a few feet away. “I never knew four days could feel so long.” 

Spencer whirled around in his desk chair, his brown, curly hair flying in every direction. “A recent study found that bored participants tended to think more about time, which caused it to feel like it was moving slower. Since we’re accustomed to frequently working on cases, it’s only natural that the unexpected downtime we’re experiencing would cause us to feel that time is moving more slowly than it is.”

You set your hands on your desk and pushed yourself up to a standing position. “I’m going to see if Emily has anything for us. Maybe that’ll help time move faster.” 

Spencer perked up. “Time doesn’t actually speed up when we’re occupied; it’s only our perception that—”

A groan from the rest of the team drowned out the rest of what Reid was going to say, as you navigated your way out of the bullpen and up the stairs toward Emily’s office.

You knocked twice on her door, straining to hear her response on the other side. 

“Come in!”

You opened the door a crack and peeked your head through the space. “Are you busy?” 

Emily cracked a smile. “As busy as any of you are.”

You made your way inside, closing the door behind you, and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Emily’s desk. The Unit Chief’s raven hair hung in a curtain around her face, her bangs perfectly cut just below her eyebrows. She wore a long-sleeved red shirt—your favorite color on her. 

“No new case yet?”

Emily sat forward in her chair, clasping her hands together and resting them on her desk. “Not yet, it appears all serial killers have taken the week off.”

“Do you have paperwork you need help with?” 

Emily chuckled. “You’re so bored that you’re asking for paperwork?”

You frowned at her. “Em, I’m desperate.”

Emily’s brown eyes locked with yours for a moment. She bit her bottom lip—her tell that gears were turning, and an idea was forming in her mind. 

Nodding, she opened one of her desk drawers, reaching for something you couldn’t see.

“Hotch left this in his desk when he resigned,” Emily said, setting a box down between you.

The top of the box showed a 1000-piece puzzle depicting dolphins cresting over waves, a sunset behind them. 

You softened, thinking of the previous Unit Chief, who’d left the team to enter witness protection to keep himself and his young son safe from a serial killer. 

“Aww, for Jack?”

“No,” Emily grinned. “It was for him. He loved puzzles, said they helped him focus on a case when he was stuck.”

You picked up the box, studying the image. There were a lot of similar shades of blue, but you hoped that would present enough of a challenge to keep you entertained while you waited for a case to come in.

“Are you gonna help me with this?” you asked. 

From your first day at the BAU, being in the same room as Emily caused butterflies to flit around in your stomach. Her kind eyes, her dark hair, the confidence she strutted around the BAU with—you couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. But you’d never had the nerve to ask if she felt the same way.

You were sure she couldn’t. Even if she did, the HR nightmare of entering a relationship with your superior was likely something neither you nor Emily were willing to risk. You both loved your jobs too much, cared too much about helping people, to put any of that in jeopardy.

You watched Emily as she weighed your offer, her eyes flitting from yours to the stack of unfinished paperwork on her desk. 

“It’s either the puzzle, or we sit in here in silence working on paperwork,” you said. “Which sounds more fun?”

“Fuck it,” Emily said. “A break wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Your face lit up with a grin. “Exactly.”

You both relocated to the couch at the far end of her office, and you set the puzzle box on the coffee table in front of it. Emily cleared off the table while you opened the box and flipped the contents onto the table.

“Edges first?” you asked.

“What am I, a sociopath?” Emily joked. “Of course edges first.”

You giggled, searching through the pile for any border pieces. “In college, my ex-boyfriend refused to start with outside pieces when we’d work on puzzles together. He said it was too easy and he wanted to engage his brain.” 

“Gee, why did you ever break up?” Emily asked dryly.

“He cheated on me. Repeatedly.” 

“Like I said,” Emily paused, holding up a corner piece as evidence. “Sociopath.” 

You tried, and failed, to fight the smile tugging at your lips. She was right—your ex, Sam, was a douchebag. You deserved better than how he treated you.

And you hoped that better was sitting next to you.

You fell into a comfortable silence as you worked, sorting through pieces. While Emily searched for edge pieces, you transitioned into organizing the middle pieces into piles by color. 

Once that was done, you collaborated on putting the frame of the puzzle together—Emily assembling the sunset on the top half, and you focusing on the varying shades of blue that made up the water on the bottom half.

As you snapped the two halves of the border together, there was a knock at Emily’s door, startling both of you. 

Emily grinned. “Come in!”

Penelope rushed through the door, file in hand. “We got a case.”

An hour ago, you would’ve loved nothing more. Now, you were already missing this one-on-one time with Emily.

“I guess we should clean this up,” you said, reaching for the box.

Emily put a hand out, stopping you. “That’s okay; we’ll leave it here. Work on it during our downtime.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, silently wondering when the next time would be that you had downtime. But you weren’t about to turn down the offer, so you nodded.

“I’ll grab the team.” 

***

On the elevator ride back to the sixth floor at the end of the day, you felt yourself nodding off, head bobbing up and down in an attempt to keep yourself conscious.

The rest of the team was too exhausted to comment on it. The elevator ding startled you awake, and you moved through the BAU on autopilot, beelining for your desk and grabbing your bag so you could get home as soon as possible and sleep for a few hours before you had to pick up the case in the morning. 

Fortunately, the case kept you in D.C., so you’d get to sleep in your own bed tonight. Throughout the day, the team scattered between the BAU, Metro P.D., and various crime scenes, assisting where you could. 

But before you could hightail it to your car, the light on in Emily’s office caught your attention.

“See you tomorrow,” Tara mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” you said, making your way toward Emily.

You were too exhausted to bother with knocking—it had been a long, emotionally exhausting day, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about protocol. 

Emily was sitting up on her brown leather couch, her head tucked toward her chest, fast asleep. There was a puzzle piece in her hand.

You took a moment to memorize this moment, since you knew if you pulled out your phone to take a picture, Emily would actually murder you. 

Her hair was still perfect, somehow, even after a day of running around. Her blouse and pants were wrinkled from all of the activity, and as you walked toward her, you saw that she’d even fallen asleep with her shoes on.

You reached out to gently touch her shoulder and whispered, “Emily.”

She woke with a start, wincing from the light but searching for danger.

“You’re fine,” you said softly. “You just fell asleep.”

“I wanted to… work on it,” she yawned, gesturing to the half-completed puzzle. 

Earlier, while the team was building a profile and getting frustrated that things weren’t lining up, Emily suggested the puzzle. The team had gathered around the coffee table, debating which parts of the profile would need to be changed. The whole time, you kept your gaze on Emily, as if you were still the only two in the room.

You took a seat on the couch next to her. “We can work on it tomorrow.” Or so you hoped, assuming the case had wrapped up by then. 

Em nodded but didn’t move. You slid forward on the couch to get a better look at the progress your team had made on the puzzle, and you were impressed. Most of the bottom half was done—the difficult part, mostly due to Spencer—which just left the hues of red, pink, orange, and gold of the sunset. 

As you admired the puzzle, one piece jumped out to you—half red, half pink—and you saw immediately where it needed to go. You popped it into place and started searching for the next one. 

Next to you, Emily took the piece she’d been holding and slid it into place. Surely it couldn’t hurt to add just a few more pieces. You could always drink coffee in the morning if you needed a pick-me-up.

Your previous exhaustion melted away as you focused on your task—entering a flow state where nothing mattered except the picture in front of you and the women beside you.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you found yourself staring at the last few gaps, scattered in various places around the image that needed to be filled in. 

It wasn’t until you were down to your last three pieces—you and Emily had taken to silently alternating back and forth, and at this rate, you were poised to put the last piece in—that you realized there was one missing. 

Maybe you were just tired, you told yourself. It had to be here somewhere. Hotch was too organized to have ever lost a piece. 

You put down a piece that filled in the last piece of one of the dolphins. Emily finished off part of the sunset on the horizon line, but there was a gap where one piece needed to fill in the blueish-purple tints in the sky.

You frowned, glancing at the floor around you.

“Are we missing one?” Your voice was scratchy from tiredness and the fact that you and Emily had mostly worked in silence.

Next to you, Emily was silent as you peeked under the table before standing to search the couch cushions.

When you turned up empty, you sat back down with a sigh. “Well, that’s disappointing.” 

You glanced over to Emily to find her face flushed and hands balled in her lap. Her beautiful, dark eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours.

“Are you okay?”

Her light skin turned an even deeper shade of red as she unballed her right fist. Sure enough, the missing piece was sitting in the middle of her palm.

You laughed. “Em, if you wanted to place the last piece yourself, you could’ve just said so.”

“It’s not that,” she said, putting the piece on the table but not in its spot. “I, um, didn’t want to finish it because I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want it to be over.”

Your heart raced. Were you deliriously tired, or was Emily really saying this?

You opened your mouth to respond, but when no sound came out, you closed it again.

Emily swore, burying her face in her hands. “I knew it,” her voice was muffled. “I knew I was reading this all wrong.”

She looked up to face you, and your heart sank in your chest. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you; if you could just forget I even said that—”

“Em!” You interrupted. “I feel the same way.”

But Emily was already shaking her head. “No, you don’t have to say that. This was so inappropriate of me; I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m too tired to be thinking clearly…”

“Emily,” you said forcefully. You took her hand in yours and smiled, color flooding your cheeks. “You don’t understand. I feel the same way.”

The raven-haired beauty’s eyes widened as she took in your words. “Oh! Oh.” 

“Yeah,” you said with a giggle. “But I know it would be complicated, and I don’t want to mess with either of our careers.”

Emily sobered at that. “Neither do I.”

“But…” you hedged, glancing at the clock. “It’s 4 in the morning, and we need to be back here in two hours, so the time for good decisions has already passed.”

Before you could lose your nerve, you picked up the last piece and snapped it into its place. But you couldn’t even bring yourself to marvel at the completed image, because the person sitting next to you was even more mesmerizing. 

Pressing your palms against Emily’s face, you pulled her toward you until her lips were crashing against yours.

It felt even better to kiss her than you’d imagined. Her lips were soft, and even after a long day, she still smelled of her floral perfume. You ran your fingers through her soft hair, and Emily moaned against your mouth. 

Emily’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. Where you touched, your body hummed with electricity and desire. 

Too soon, you pulled back. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” you confessed. 

“I’d hate to make you wait again,” Emily said, a teasing smile on her lips. “But if we want any sleep tonight, we should probably head out.” 

You pretended to ponder that before shrugging. 

“Who needs sleep?” you mumbled, throwing yourself once more into Emily’s welcoming embrace.

Tag List:

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Join my tag list!

[lixxen]

Idk how well text posts do on Trolls Tumblr, but I have so many thoughts rn and want to talk about feral Branch details.

Feral Branch HC:

Branch has fur, claws on both his feet and hands, his ears move like a cat, and he can see better in the dark

"Feral Trolls" are gray trolls who have adapted from being away from others. Trolls have a built in instinct that recognizes strength in numbers. You see this with rainbow trolls being able to change their colors/auras, and all trolls being able to manipulate their hair. Gray trolls cannot change their aura, but they are around others so they can stay normal

But isolated gray trolls biologically change due to them not being around others. This happens over years, and not automatic. Once a troll changes like this, they cannot undo it. So this is why Branch cannot go back to "normal" physically, even tho he isn't gray and around others

(there's also a psychological/self actualization part. Gray trolls tend to see themselves as the problem and rainbow trolls end up more likely to becoming "feral" looking due to their ability to change their aspects.)

All genres have feral trolls, all presenting differently. Rock and pop are the most similar since they are the two physically closest looks wise

Normal trolls are omnivores, but eat more plants since their digestive systems and body needs focus more on plants. Feral trolls need more meat, but are still omnivorses

If I can get psychological, a lot of their "feral tendencies" are actually just trauma responses and bad socialization issues due to isolation. A lot of responses are stemmed from fear and anger, so lashing out/growling/swiping at others is normally out of fear or response. Plus having to survive in the wild, y'know?

Okay. Done with that part, let's get into Branch!

Branch likes to be in trees and high ground. It comes from living in a pod in the troll tree, but he lives in the bunker because it's safer. So you'll find him in trees normally because he likes being high

Branch normally hibernates during the winter, but ever since he met Poppy he stopped hibernating. This makes him horribly grumpy during the snow season

Not shown: Branch loving his ears to be scratched. Her more sensitive than normal and he loves them being pet. He also loves to lay on top of people. It comes from the need of warmth and him thinking that others need warmth.

He wouldn't lick others, since they don't have fur. But if he's around other feral trolls he'd definitely lick them.

His parents were both half rock and half pop trolls. They both looked like rainbow pop trolls, and the rock parent (dad) did not live in the troll tree. Grandma Rosiepuff was the maternal grandmother and a pop troll

The parents names were Briar and Melody

Branch has the need to burrow all the time. It comes from years in the bunker and from hiding from danger in the earlier years. You will see him burried in someone's bed probably.

Branch is really good at math and science once he starts learning and back into the village. It comes naturally to him. He wants to be a pod architect because it comes naturally to him

Clay and Bruce follow the same thing, where Clay really likes accounting and Bruce loves to run business.

Floyd is the best at performing, with JD behind him. JD though is actually really good at taking care of others and survival. Surprisingly JD can garden and keep a ton of plants alive to feed himself.

Branch and Clay are autistic with different levels of support needed. Branch needs less support while Clay needs more. Thought I'd mention this.

Clay and Viva were best friends before the Troll Tree attack. The others did not know this. Viva and JD are the ones that helped Clay learn better coping mechanisms when the band started to sour

Branch is more sensitive to sound and light. He hates fireworks and doesn't like to be touched unless he knows the person

Ablaze is the one who mainly is teaching Branch coping mechanisms for his PTSD. Poppy is his support throughout everything, but she doesn't know how to help someone heal.

Branch mandates Kismet group cuddles. This dude it touched starved and they’re the only ones he is comfortable like that other than Poppy

Even after Branch is able to speak again, as he was nonverbal when he met Poppy and by Trolls 2 he is speaking again, he prefers to be quiet and doesn't talk as much. It is simply preference at this point

Branch likes to interlock his tail with Poppy's when they're not touching, but close enough :)

I might do more later, but I am about to go into work :)

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 23: Colter - The Winter Storm

Summary: After a major job goes seriously wrong, the gang is driven out of the area. 

*This beautiful image comes from @gem-likes-rdr

*Thank you to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - TBD, but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

Shouts and chaos reign through the Van der Linde camp as it is hastily packed up. The stale odor of fires being doused with water chokes the air as sooty particles bounce into the sky like summer fireflies. Wooden boxes and crates crack loudly as they get hastily slammed shut, and wagons creak as the gang’s few possessions get roughly tossed inside. Ms. Grimshaw’s sharp voice barks instructions at the members who stayed behind while groups went out on their respective jobs. Your head rings, throbbing from anxiety and fear. You have never seen the gang so disheveled and unhinged and it is most unsettling. You are still trying to piece together what happened as you tend to the bloody wounds of your friends who are laid out in front of you. 

Apparently this ferry boat heist that Dutch and Micah had been planning for weeks went horribly wrong. The delectable smell of a take worth $150,000 in bank revenue was too tantalizing to pass up, but it also came with high risks. Arthur had tried to steer the fools from it, even Hosea tried. But their collective reasoning fell on deaf and indignant ears. So wanting no part of it himself, Arthur left the camp in a huff with Hosea to work their own real estate job instead. 

Dutch and Micah had taken a collection of the remaining outlaw misfits up to the town of Blackwater, the new up-and-coming port city of West Elizabeth. The town proudly buzzes with new businesses and commerce, with citizens and visitors flocking to the growing community. It is a lucrative area, brimming with lumber, mining, and port travel businesses along the Flat Iron Lake and its tributaries. 

Details of what transpired on the ferry boat are still unclear, as there was little time to explain what happened. But afterwards, Dutch and the others came tearing into camp like the devil himself was chasing them, hollering to anyone within earshot to pack it in. No time for pleasantries, just throw the shit in a wagon right this minute and move. 

Like a cloud of mosquitoes that scatters off of calm water when a stone is thrown, everyone explodes into an almost rehearsed motion, hurriedly moving to their respective areas to toss whatever humble belongings they have into crates. 

Fortunately, because you and Arthur share a living space now, he is able to pack up the belongings for the both of you, trying his best to be careful with your things while you are occupied elsewhere, hovering over the wounded. Arthur dismantles the tent quickly with the help of Reverend Swanson before he moves to assist you with packing the medical tent next. 

You try to remain calm, balancing packing supplies with tending to your injured friends, when out of the corner of your eye you see little Jack, his eyes filled with fearful tears of confusion. His mother has him sitting on the end of one of the wagons where she can keep a watchful eye on him, making sure he doesn’t get trampled under someone’s hurried feet. 

He sits perfectly still, nervously nibbling his fingers, as a constant in a whirlwind of commotion all around him. A hard lump forms in your throat as your heart aches for the poor child who is scared and confused as to the swirling chaos which is dangerously close to swallowing him up whole. Amazingly, the boy never seems to have too many issues with living out in the open and on the run like this. But when he sees the people who are always protecting him with their own fear pooling in their eyes, it causes Jack’s little body to shake with a new kind of panic. 

Slowly turning your face away from Jack, your gaze falls back to your monumental task at hand. Davey and Jenny are laid out in front of you, both groaning and gasping in pain from the gunshot wounds they sustained in the Blackwater robbery. Your attention skips between the two of them, changing bandages and administering tinctures and tonics in an effort to ease their pain. Reverend Swanson even offers up some of his morphine to help. And they will certainly need it for the journey ahead. 

Both Davey and Jenny’s injuries are severe and they shouldn’t be moved at all, but that is simply not an option. A sharp pang of guilt washes over you that you can’t do more for them so you patch them up as best you can, trying to make them comfortable. You then proceed to pack what you can while still staying within arms length of both of them, watching over them like a hawk. Ms. Grimshaw would normally assist you, but she’s got her own hands full right now. The whole camp has been given the directive to be packed and in place to move out as soon as possible. 

You place the last of the medical supplies into a crate to be placed into Arthur’s wagon when Dutch stalks through the area, gauging the progress of the camp’s dismantling. 

“Come on, people, we got to move!” he hollers, urgently sweeping his arm towards the lot of nerve-wracked gang members. 

“What about supplies?” interjects Mr. Pearson from his station, his face red with exertion as he heaves the last crate into the chuck wagon. “Food stocks are low.”

“No time”, barks Dutch. “We’ll just have to see what we can pick up along the way.” 

“Along the way to where?” you ask incredulously, eyebrows raised in challenge, as there has been no mention of a plan or destination of any kind. But you forget yourself, and more importantly, who you are talking to.

Dutch quickly spins on you, his dark eyes flash in your direction, his shoulders taught, pulling him even taller and more menacing. 

“Nevermind about that.” The words are growled out slow and low in a warning that makes you instantly recoil. “It is not your concern. I’m handling it.” 

But your stubbornness gets the best of you, as that answer is simply not going to placate you, not when your family’s lives are in your hands. You shake your head, face twisting up in disbelief as you look down at Davey’s blood-soaked body. 

“But what about-”

“Not now, Y/N!” Dutch’s deep voice raises in volume to immediately end the conversation. ”Just look after those who need medical attention and let me handle the move.”

Your eyes skip over to Arthur for help, but his face is set in stone with a grim expression that you cannot place. 

“Just do as you're told, Y/N”, he says flatly. 

That is all that Arthur can mutter before heading over to finish packing your shared tent.

—----------------------------------

Following the shootout, Blackwater and the entirety of the great Plains and Tall Trees region are put on lock-down. Pinkertons are brought in to cover the area to patrol like a dog ravaged with fleas, looking for the elusive Van Der Linde Gang. The Pinkerton Agency is a private security guard and detective agency that is known for their ruthless and sometimes violent tactics. Prominent companies and rich businessmen began to hire these groups shortly after the Civil War as bounty hunters of sorts to protect their interests and to help put an end to the “lawlessness of the Wild West”. 

Upon hearing that these men have now joined local law enforcement in chasing you all down makes your blood run cold. Suddenly the gravity of what your gang does, Arthur in particular, hits you full on. This “Robinhood-esque” lifestyle is no longer as romantic a notion as you once believed. And you are not so naive to deduce that if Dutch Van Der Linde is their target, then Arthur’s neck is surely in danger of a hangman’s noose as well. 

The whole territory is left in chaos in the gang’s wake. The ferryboat was a hailstorm of gunfire, killing lawmen and civilians alike. The law is not able to confirm if the gang was able to escape with the ferryboat money, as the cache has yet to be recovered. And this leaves the locals in a flurry, digging in gardens and backyards to see if the money was stashed anywhere where strangers fitting the gang’s collective descriptions were rumored to be lurking. 

Truth be told, the gang could not escape with the stolen money and instead, stashed it in an undisclosed location in Blackwater known only to Dutch and Hosea. They will have to come back for it when it’s safe and who knows when that will be. Dutch knew this would not be an easy job, but his arrogance has left nothing but destruction behind. 

But it wasn’t just those poor souls on the ferryboat who suffered. The “Blackwater Massacre”, as it is being referred to in the newspapers, has resulted in casualties to your family as well. John took a hit to the arm during the heist and Charles suffered a badly burned hand. But they got off lucky. 

Davey Callander was hit in the gut. It’s bad, too. The bullet tore right through his belly. You try to dress the wound as best you can to quell the bleeding, but you know it’s not good. His brother Mac was also shot at the scene, but apparently was not able to escape with the others. Whether Mac has been caught or killed, no one knows for sure. 

And then there’s Jenny. Sweet Jenny Kirk. She took a bullet, too, the fragment ricocheted around in her chest like a ball kicked around a schoolyard. As you hold your hand over her wound, watching the viscous red liquid pool around your fingers, you know in your heart what’s coming. Her soft brown eyes look to you, seeking that confirmation of whether she’s dying. But gazing into her ever-paling face, you don’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

“Everything is going to be fine, Jenny.” Smiling softly, you gently run your fingers through her hair before cupping her cheek. “I need you to relax and take it easy. I know it hurts and I’ll do everything I can to make it stop.” A tear rolls down the side of her face as she whimpers and nods, placing all of her trust in you.

And then there's Sean. Sean is missing, as well. He was last seen tucked behind a building, about to be swarmed by Pinkertons. He’s another one that was left behind, no one knowing whether he is dead or alive. 

Having nowhere to escape to, Dutch pushes your lot up into the Grizzly Mountains of Ambarino. It is a hard path and the gang leader is convinced that the law will not bother with the chase up there. With the situation becoming dire, he decides that you all would have to flee the area completely until this mess blows over. The threat of the swarming law is oppressive as it chases your group, strangling you all from any resources or salvation. There are few options for respite and none of them are too pleasing to begin with. 

As the procession of wagons rumbles further north, a helacious storm settles in, swallowing the gang in bitter cold and ice. The persistent snow covers your tracks into the mountains but it is a hard and treacherous journey. You make the dangerous trek up the mountainside and fortunately manage to lose your pursuers in the process. But that seems to be the only bit of luck the gang has been granted. 

Sadly, the atmosphere inside your wagon grows even more grim as Jenny’s labored breathing starts to slow as her battered body begins the final stages of failure. You knew it was a lost cause before you even hit the foothills of the mountains, but watching her life ebb away before your eyes tears at your heart nonetheless. 

Her poor body shakes as the cold winds wrap around the wagon, the constant rocking of the hard wooden platform that she lays upon offering her little relief as you try desperately to make her as comfortable as possible. You take her hand into yours, squeezing it tightly, and sing softly to her as she creeps closer to permanent relief. The fear of death that shadows her tired eyes begins to waver as she focuses on the comforting melody of your voice, a lullaby that tenderly floats into the air. 

And then suddenly, Jenny’s sweet face goes slack and her torment has ended. It takes you but a moment of staring at her young freckled face to wrap your mind around the reality of it before you and Abigail share a tearful look. Not a word is spoken between the two of you. You simply nod in acknowledgement to your friend as you look down at Jenny again. You are not looking forward to the painful task of telling Lenny. You set your lips to Jenny’s cold forehead before your hand ghosts over her face, closing her eyes. 

With a deep sigh, you now turn your full attention to Davey. You don’t know the Callender brothers too well. They always seemed too rowdy for your taste. But Arthur likes them well enough, taking a drink with them on occasion. 

But Jenny is a different story. She came into the gang just after you did. Being younger than you, she tended to stay more with Tilly and Mary Beth. She was a bit of a tom-boy, as they say, but sharp as a tack and sweet as honey. And particularly sweet on one Mr. Lenny Summers. He loved reading and discussing books with her. And that common interest created a beautiful little budding romance between the youngsters. She already knew how to read, but Lenny was helping Jenny develop her skills at it. You’d often catch them sitting at the fires together, coyishly touching shoulders and exchanging sweet blushing glances.

And poor Sean. Your mind quickly skips to him as you readjust yourself to check Davey’s bandages. Whoever caught Sean may put a bullet in him just to stop his mouth running. Karen acts like his absence doesn’t affect her so deeply, as if they weren’t so close. But you’ve heard her crying softly at night and noticed his shirt tucked into her bedroll. 

As the caravan of lost souls trudges ever onward, the sun begins its descent for the day and Arthur rides out ahead to try to find shelter from the merciless storm. You have your hands full caring for Davey, but you can’t help but worry for his safety, as well. 

Arthur is strong and as resilient as ever. And Dutch is leaning on him heavily to get the gang out of this mess that he’s made. Dutch wears Arthur like a shield, using him to take the brunt of the poundings, sending him off to do dangerous work. But as much as you hate to admit it, Arthur is the gang’s best hope at surviving this latest miscalculation. You have hardly even seen him since the gang rolled out of the valley let alone spoken to him. You want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him to make sure he is okay, to give him the support he needs, and to have him comfort you in return. But that is not possible at the moment, and that lack of connection with your love leaves you feeling empty and hopeless. 

Tucked away in the wagon between the injured, you cannot even see the outside world, let alone Arthur. You have no idea where he even is. You can only hear the world around you, as the frigid wind howls next to your ear, causing the canvas over top to shake and snap loudly. Abigail reaches up to light the rusty lantern that sways from the roof of the wagon as the darkness of the end of the day settles upon you all. The flame is small and fragile within the glass globe, struggling to keep itself going, just like the hope in your heart. 

Reverend Swanson walks along the side of the lead wagon and up towards the front of it where Dutch and Hosea sit perched on the bench, driving the poor horses onward in the unrelenting weather. 

“We need to stop soon,” Reverend hollers up to them, his voice getting muffled in the wind. “Jenny’s dead. And Abigail says Davey’s not doing too well either. We’ll need to find a place, “ he adds with a knowing look.

“We’ll all be dead soon if we don’t get out of this storm,” grumbles Hosea. The old man tucks his chin into the collar of his coat, wrapping his arms around his thin frame even tighter to try to stay warm.

Dutch nods in an attempt at consolation. “It’ll be alright,” he affirms. “We’ll find shelter soon. Arthur is out there looking for a place.”

And just like that, as if called out of the darkness, a shadowy form emerges from the swirling snow. Arthur’s unmistakable blue coat and trusty horse come into view, a faint yellow glow from his lantern acting like a beacon. 

“I found a place,” the seasoned outlaw shouts over the howling wind. “Not too far up ahead.” Arthur’s face twists up against the frigid air, his mouth turning down into a frustrated and annoyed scowl, his eyes just as icy and angry as the weather. 

Arthur turns Buck around to head back the way they came, and eventually leads the gang to settle in an abandoned mining town known as Colter. 

*This fantastic images comes from @rosesrdr2photography

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It is early evening by the time the gang arrives at the small collection of broken-down buildings known as Colter. The sun’s absence has plunged the world into darkness, making it exponentially colder. Hosea climbs down from the wagon with stiff joints and hurries over as fast as the deep snow allows his old knees to move to inspect the nearest building that looks inhabitable. He heaves his shoulder into the door, thrusting his lantern inward to cast its fragile illumination upon the interior. The room is bleak and dreary, covered in cobwebs and dust from a time long forgotten by the last inhabitants. But, at least it has walls and a solid roof. And more importantly, it is empty. 

“Bring him in here!” Hosea calls out over his shoulder into the dark. Arthur and Bill carry Davey inside on a make-shift gurney with you and Abigail following closely behind. The rest of the group falls in as well, desperate to get out of the wagons and out of the elements.

Your red-stained fingers hover over Davey’s bandages again, noting with disappointment at how much more blood has been lost since you last checked. Out of the corner of your eyes, you catch Abigail fidgeting above his chest and mouth, looking for signs of life. 

“Davey’s dead”, she announces with a matter of fact tone laced with disappointment.

Abigail’s statement halts you in your tracks. Your eyes dart between Abigail’s wind-chapped face to Davey’s lifeless one, before your gaze falters back to the wound that your hands are currently buried in, the blood already coagulating and becoming cold. A defeated sigh drags your shoulders down even further, and with a heavy heart at having lost another, you slowly retract your hands, fixing the blanket around Davey’s body like a death shroud. 

The room sits heavy with sorrow. The expressions on everyone’s faces are a mixture of both sadness and exhaustion and one that is collectively shared by the entire group. 

To his credit, Dutch senses the need of his people, the need to be cared for and consoled. You all need that guiding light to focus on if you are to make it out of this hell alive. Dutch steps into the middle of the small gathering, and proceeds to address the gang with a speech, trying to rally you all together as morale is at an all-time low. Like the father figure that you all so desperately need and share, his deep voice carries softly, yet firmly in the dead air. It is this that is Dutch’s greatest gift:  the gift of charisma. 

He ends his impassioned speech with “Get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me.” And then Dutch immediately shifts into survival mode, as there is no time for sadness. He needs to get you all refocused on the hardship that still lies ahead.

“We’ll get some supplies. Mr. Pearson, Ms. Grimshaw, I need you to turn this place into a camp.” Both loyal gang members nod in unison at their understood roles. ”Arthur, come with me. Let’s head out and see what we can find.” 

“In this?” Arthur tosses his arm towards the storm that rages all around you, threatening to snow you all in and suffocate you. 

“Yes,” Dutch declares emphatically. “We should go now before it gets worse out there and then we can’t get out at all. Come on.” Dutch huffs and turns to head back out into the cold.

You silently watch as Arthur just rolls his eyes in annoyance before he obediently follows Dutch outside. A cold and unsettled feeling washes over you as Arthur shuffles out the door behind his mentor. You are still trying to piece together what happened back in Blackwater, but the whispers indicate that it was not good at all. The fact that your friends’ blood covers your hands and clothing is a bad enough indication. 

But you overheard Javier talking about how Dutch shot an innocent woman. Your mind scrambled upon hearing that. While you are well aware of how dangerous Dutch Van der Linde can be, you just couldn’t believe that he would kill an innocent bystander for no reason. 

Once outside, Arthur fixes his coat collar high around his cheeks to block the whipping winds. And finally having a moment alone with Dutch, he takes the opportunity to ask what has been plaguing his mind since you all left. 

“What happened back there on that boat?” Arthur’s skeptical blue eyes hold Dutch’s dark ones, waiting for an explanation that he feels he’s owed.

“We missed you, Arthur. That’s what happened.” Dutch’s curt answer doesn’t provide any sort of information other than deflection with a slight hint of blame. “Now come on. We got to see if we can come across Micah or John. They’re supposed to be out there lookin’ around.” 

He quickly stalks away to head towards the horses again, leaving Arthur standing disgruntled in the snow before he can even counter his point. Dutch throws his leg over the Count’s saddle, waiting impatiently for Arthur and Buck to pull up next him and then they head out into the frigid weather once more. 

He should probably be sitting inside, trying to get warm, but the swell of anger and annoyance is more than enough to keep Arthur warm at the moment. None of this would be happening if Dutch and Micah had listened to him. But no. And now, friends are dead and missing, the law and Pinkertons are hot on your heels, and the gang is chased up into the middle of nowhere, freezing and starving. 

The two men are not out too long before Micah meets them along the path. His body is covered in snow, Baylock’s mane crusted with ice. “I found a homestead with a fire lit a little ways back,” he informs the two riders. “Might be able to get some resources there.”

“Alright good, let’s take a look,” agrees Dutch. And the three of them plod along in the snow, back down to where Micah found the small ranch. 

Upon reaching the top of the hill, Micah points down towards the property he found. There is a main house with some smaller buildings scattered about. And there is, indeed, a fire illuminating out into the blue of the night. They make their way down to the house, maneuvering around fence posts and small paddocks. They dismount and stash the horses at the edge of the property to make their way on foot, careful not to be noticed

“Alright,” whispers Dutch, “You two stay hidden out of sight. I’ll knock on the door and see what we’re dealing with. We may get farther with one freezing man out in the cold than three of us wielding guns.” 

Arthur and Micah quietly nod in unison, a rare instance of camaraderie, and each find hiding spots crouching in the snow behind a chicken coop and a wagon, diligently watching Dutch as he approaches the dwelling and knocks on the door. 

He is greeted by a man who is naturally uneasy at seeing someone arrive at his door at this hour and in these weather conditions. Dutch puts on his best friendly face at the sight of the skeptically scowling host.

“Hello, friend!” Dutch smiles brightly with that trademark silver tongue and charm. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but you see, my people and I got lost in this storm.” He pointedly waves his arm behind him towards the swirling snow. “And we’re hoping you might be able to help us out a little.”

From where they are sitting in the ice-crusted snow, Arthur and Micah watch the exchange between Dutch and the man, but suddenly, something catches Micah’s attention, causing him to abruptly sit up.

“Arthur!” he hisses, causing Arthur’s cautious eyes to leave Dutch’s form and dart in his direction. “There’s a body in this wagon!” Micah flips over the canvas that is covering the wooden structure he is hiding behind to reveal a corpse, dead at least a day with a bullet hole in his chest. “Somethin’ ain’t right here!”

And before he knows what’s happening, Arthur’s ears are assaulted by the loud cracks of gunfire. The air explodes into gunshots and shouting from all directions of the property. Quickly looking to cover Dutch, Arthur sees the man that greeted Dutch is dead in front of him with two more coming out of the house. Dutch backpedals, but makes quick work of them, while more men swarm the house from all around. 

Now, say what you will about Micah Bell, but he is quite skilled with a gun, like it is an extension of himself. And being paired up with Arthur, the two easily take care of the collection of men that pour from the house and surrounding areas. Bullets mingled with wooden splinters from ill-aimed shots graze Arthur’s head, but he is a man ruled by instinct and reflexes, and the pounding of his heart gets pushed to the far reaches of his brain. Bodies quickly begin to fall, deep crimson blood staining the pristine white of the powdery snow. 

The commotion settles almost as quickly as it began, calming once more to a deafening silence before Arthur and Micah are able to safely approach the house to join Dutch on the small porch. Dutch looms over one of the men that lays in a heap in the doorway, nudging him with his black boot. 

“O’Driscolls” Dutch spits the name with disdain, his breath frosting like a halo above his head in the cold. “What the hell are they doing up here so far North?” He looks about again as if to find the answer in the room inside the house. “Well, whatever it is, nevermind right now. Check the place over, we got people waiting for us,” he nods in determination. “Grab whatever you can that would be useful, food, blankets, medicine.”

As the three men split up to comb the property, Arthur heads into the barn to see what he can find there. The scent of old, mildewing hay and unmucked stalls cascades into his nostrils as he crosses the threshold of the barn. His blue eyes scan the sparse area which is already looking thread-bare. A huff of disappointment escapes his chapped lips as he meanders listlessly, picking up random items such as a few oatcakes for his horse and a rope, but nothing too significant.  

A shadow catches Arthur’s eye, his head snapping to attention in one of the stalls. Before he can make heads or tails of things, a body darts out of the shadows and jumps him from behind. The person hurls their meager body into Arthur’s much larger one, throwing their arms around him in a feeble attempt to knock him to the ground. Apparently another O’Driscoll hiding in the shadows. 

However, the idiot has no idea who he is dealing with and Arthur quickly flips the man over his shoulder as if he were tossing nothing more than a bag of feed. The wind is knocked out of the man’s lungs as he slams flat onto his back, blinking the stars out of his eyes as Arthur is quick to grab ahold of his jacket and begins to land blow after blow to the intruder’s face. Arthur’s fists angrily pummel into skin and teeth, as the sound of bone crunching and blood spurting from a busted lip and nose quickly escalates to mix with pathetic whimpers and sings through the brisk air. 

The commotion draws Dutch’s attention from where he is combing the fallen bodies for clues as to why the rival gang is here on this property. From outside he hurries over to the barn to make sure that Arthur is not in need of assistance. But Dutch stops short at the sight, mildly amused to see his right-hand man not only just fine, but has caught one of the trespassers. 

The younger outlaw pauses, eyes intensely burning into the man beneath with his arm pulled back, threatening to deliver another blow.

“What are you all doin’ here?” Arthur shouts angrily.

The O’Driscoll cowers in fear as Arthur looms over him. “N..Nothin’! I swear!”

A sickening sound of blood squelching fills the air again with another punch to the teeth. 

“Now, I sure don’t believe that.” A wickedly sadistic grin crawls across Arthur’s face, his breath circling in the air like that of a fire breathing dragon. 

“I ain’t gonna ask again, what are you all doing out here?!” Arthur shouts, spittle flying into the man’s face. 

“It’s…It’s a train. A train is coming through. Colm has us getting ready for it.”

A heartless chuckle rumbles from Dutch’s chest from where he stands in the doorway watching the interrogation. “Well, alright, then.” He turns to head back to the house with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Arthur, I'll trust you to take care of this.” 

Arthur barely has time to process this information before he hears screaming coming from the main house. With his captor distracted, the O’Driscoll wrenches himself free from Arthur’s gloved hands and tries to flee, sprinting out from under Arthur’s grasp. 

Tripping on his own two feet, the O’Driscoll tries to make a break for it across the yard. But he only gets so far before Arthur smoothly pulls his gun from his holster and calmly puts a bullet in the man’s back, landing him facedown in the snow. With that matter taken care of without so much as an afterthought, Arthur turns his full attention towards the continued ruckus coming from the house. 

“What the hell is it now?” he mutters under his breath, and quickly stalks over to see what the next issue is that he has to deal with. 

Taking the porch steps two at a time, Arthur barrels into the house to see Micah chasing a frazzled woman around a table as she is screaming in terror, hurling objects at him in self defense. Micah’s hands are held up, trying to placate the woman, but one could tell that he’d pounce on her the second he got close enough. Whether he was trying to calm her, or torment her even more, who knows, but either way, Arthur is infuriated at the sight. Arthur quickly rushes forward, shoving Micah out of his way, and putting himself between the two. 

The poor woman is almost feral at this point, eyes wild, her hands desperately clutching any object she can get her hands on to try to defend herself.

“It’s alright, miss, we ain’t gonna hurt ya,” Arthur tells her, his voice low and soft, using the same tone he uses with Buck when he gets spooked. 

The woman slowly ceases her screaming, her chest heaving in exhaustion as she tries to catch her breath, panicked eyes darting all around the room. Dutch comes up behind Arthur, also trying to calm the poor woman who is shaking like a leaf. 

But the calm moment is all too brief as a fire quickly starts to spread across the floor from a lantern that was knocked over in the uproar. 

“Come on, we gotta get outta here,” mutters Dutch. “Time to go.”

Dutch is quick to grab a large blanket from the living room, wrapping it around the small woman before directing her out of the house. Orange and red flames quickly crawl up the side of the walls of the dwelling like a spider as the four of them duck out of the house. Arthur tucks the woman against him to protect her from the elements, escorting her outside as the house begins to catch fire, engulfed and smoldering behind her. 

“We ain’t good men,” he informs her, “but we’re better than those others, I guarantee.” 

The poor thing quietly submits as Arthur carefully lifts her small frame up onto Buck’s saddle before climbing up himself and settling in front of her.

“They….they killed my husband,” she whimpers.

“You’ll be safe with us, miss,” assures Dutch as they begin to move away from the house. “What’s your name?”

“Sadie. Sadie Adler,” she mumbles as she turns her chin over her shoulder to watch her home and everything she loved so dearly burn to the ground. 

*This fantastic images comes from @rosesrdr2photography

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A/N: I decided to break this section into multiple chapters like I did with "Feelings Revealed." This is the setup chapter, more drama (and love) to come!

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhiss @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4rx @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck @julialoopeezz @a-court-of-valkyries

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

[wildandsmile]

Summary: When your brother leaves for America to tend to some pressing business, he found himself in need of a favor, which you were unaware of. Little did you realize that this favor came with an unexpected twist – a pink-haired man tasked with monitoring your every move.

Tw: Weird club group , Bad pick up lines, kidnapping, stalking, unknown backstabbing and guns

Wc: 4.6k

Kinks: Fingering, Degrading, Cream-pie, Praising, Sir Name, Squirting, Exhibition, Sub Reader, Dom Reo, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), humiliation, Choking, Rough Sex and Knife play.

An: Kinktober is still going to be finished but I will only do my days instead of all 31 by myself, hope y’all can understand also sorry if the story weird I just wanted to get something out.

Enjoy Kinktober day 12!

Your older brother, a legendary gang leader in the heart of Tokyo, certainly brought some complications into your life. No more regular school for you, as he worried about a target on your back, so homeschooling it was. But the real headache was that everyone knew your face and your connection to him. It felt like trouble followed you everywhere, with people trying to get to him through you. So, you can imagine his frustration when he had to jet off to America, leaving you here, all alone and unprotected.

He was in a real bind, torn between his trip to America and leaving you all alone. So, as he sat there in his chair, puffing on a cigarette, he suddenly remembered that Toman mentioned wanting an alliance. Your brother wasn't one to make alliances lightly, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He picked up the phone and dialed them, striking a deal: he'd form an alliance, but only if they watched over you while he was gone. They didn't hesitate to jump on the opportunity.

And that's how you ended up standing at your front door, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and pink panties, as you sleepily rubbed your eyes. There, you were greeted by a tall, pink-haired boy with star-shaped scars on the corners of his mouth. At first, you thought he must have had the wrong house, looking like he came to pick someone up for prom or something. But then it clicked – your brother had mentioned a pink-haired guy named Sanzu coming over to keep an eye on you. You couldn't quite recall the details because you'd zoned out when your brother explained it, something about him watching over you.

You barely had time to process it before you were shoved aside. Turning around, you found the guy already making himself at home, feet on your table and arms spread out on the edge of your couch. It irritated you, but you set that aside and approached him. After closing the door, you stood in front of him, hands on your hips, and decided it was time to lay down some ground rules.

"If you're going to be my bodyguard or whatever, we need to set some ground rules," you asserted, tilting your chin upward, trying to exude authority. The pink-haired man raised an eyebrow, and you continued, "Rule one: No breaking or messing up my or my brother's stuff, and get your feet off the table. Rule two: Don't follow me everywhere I go; I'll text you if I need your help or something. Rule thre—"

Your words were abruptly cut off as you noticed the man aiming a gun directly at your heart.

"Now you listen, princess," he declared, his voice oozing authority, "I'm the one who sets the rules here. I decide when you can come and go, who you can have over, and whose say matters. Your life is in my hands, so you'd better not get on my bad side. Do you understand ?"

The gun remained pointed at you as he spoke, but you couldn't help but roll your eyes. You started to walk away, but his gunshot into the floor stopped you in your tracks. "I said, do you understand me?" he growled, this time with a harsher and louder tone. You reluctantly turned back towards him and gave a quick nod, but in that instant, he fired at a vase right behind you.

"Use your words," he demanded, and you quickly forced out a hesitant, "Yes, sir."

With that, you made your way to your room and flopped onto your bed, pondering why your brother would choose a wild pink-haired lunatic, brandishing a gun at the slightest provocation, to protect his baby sister. You couldn't help but admit that the guy had some charm, but you quickly dismissed that notion from your mind, reminding yourself that you had school the next day.

Morning came, and your alarm blared, jolting you out of bed. You began your usual routine with some light stretches, a soothing hot bath, and a touch of makeup. However, when you emerged from your room into the dining hall, you were met with an unexpected sight. There were no servants awaiting your arrival, and there certainly wasn't any breakfast on the table. The only thing in sight was Sanzu, sprawled across the dining table like a model for a magazine cover, casually toying with your dartboard.

"What are you up to, and where are all the servants?" you inquired as you approached the man whose name you still hadn't obtained. He remained silent, seemingly oblivious to your presence, which was starting to irk you.

"I know you can hear me, Mister," you insisted, letting the last word linger as you searched for an unflattering nickname. Just as you were pondering, he finally spoke, "My name's Sanzu, and as for your servants, I sent them away. Can't be too trusting of anyone now that your brother's gone, not even me," he explained while lounging on the table.

You let out a sigh of frustration before heading to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Fortunately, you weren't so much of a spoiled rich kid that you couldn't make your own food. After about an hour, you returned to find Sanzu seated at the table, knife and fork in hand, as if he'd been eagerly awaiting his meal.

You were on the verge of ignoring him, but as you settled into your seat, something zipped past your cheek. You turned to see a dart, and it was clear who was behind it – Sanzu, still facing the other way. You rolled your eyes and returned to the kitchen, offering a middle finger salute as you mumbled, "If you wanted some, you could have just asked, asshole."

With a plate of food for the irritating pink-haired man in hand, you placed it in front of him and returned to your own seat. You closed your eyes to say a quick prayer, which seemed to get on Sanzu's nerves. He looked at you and commented, "You know there's no one listening, right?"

You gazed at him, your eyebrow raised and a hint of annoyance in your expression. "And how would you know that?" you questioned.

His response was laced with a bitter laugh, "If there were a god, neither you, your brother, nor any other gang member would be in this mess. We'd be living peaceful, happy, and healthy lives, but here we are." With that, he got up and walked away.

You decided to brush off Sanzu's earlier comment and resumed your prayer before eagerly digging into your meal. Once you had finished, you retreated to your study to join your teacher for the day's online lesson. This had been your monotonous routine for nearly three weeks – no going outside, no friends over, just making breakfast for both you and Sanzu, then retreating to your study for the day's schooling.

Truth be told, you were growing tired of the routine and decided it was time for a little adventure, away from your exasperating bodyguard. After your lesson, you informed Sanzu that you were going to bed and that he didn't need to worry about dinner. He offered a quick nod and waved you off, engrossed in flipping through various TV channels.

Back in your room, you readied yourself for your secret plan. You gathered your phone, wallet, makeup, different shoes, and a change of clothes, determined to slip out unnoticed.

Once you had all your essentials in hand, you called your friends, making sure they were exactly where they told you to meet, ensuring the cameras wouldn't catch you or the getaway car. After receiving confirmation that all was clear, you quietly descended to your brother's study. For some peculiar reason, this was the only room in the house the cameras couldn't see.

You carefully slipped out of a nearby window, evading any prying eyes, and managed to reach your friend's car without being detected. The moment you hopped in, your friend sped away as quickly as possible. And that's how you ended up at this club, indulging in drinks and dancing your heart out. It had been a while since you'd had this much fun and freedom.

As always, there had to be someone ready to ruin the fun, and in this case, it was a group of someones - a mix of girls and boys who approached you and your friends, attempting to flirt with you while delivering some of the lamest jokes and cheesy pickup lines you'd ever heard. The once-joyful atmosphere was now tainted, and you were ready to take a seat.

However, just as you turned to walk away, one of the girls grasped your wrist, halting your exit, and tried to reassure you, saying, "Come on, doll face, don't be shy. We're just trying to have a little fun." You gazed at her with a twisted expression of disgust, quickly sizing her up from head to toe. In a harsh tone, you retorted, "Let me go." Despite your threatening words, she still didn't release you. Frustration mounting, you did what any reasonable person would do and delivered a punch right to her throat, causing her to stumble back in pain.

Your brother had imparted some skills to you, though nothing too extreme. Yet now, all that training paid off. With your friends in tow, you decided it was time to leave the group that had spoiled your night. Before you departed, your bestie turned back, playfully tazed the troublesome girl, and stuck her tongue out, saying, "Gotcha, bitch."

You all stopped at a nearby restaurant for a quick meal, even though it didn't take long since it was already dark. While eating, a nagging feeling persisted, as if someone was watching you, but as you scanned the surroundings, you couldn't spot anyone, so you brushed it off.

Eventually, you and the girls paid for your food and began walking back to the car. Yet that eerie sensation of being observed didn't dissipate. You whispered to the group, huddled close, expressing your concerns. They all agreed that something felt off. With a quick nod of agreement, you all broke into a sprint, heading for the safety of your car.

You arrived in no time, your heart racing as you piled into the car. Locking the doors for safety, your friend ignited the engine, and within moments, smoke began to fill the car. The acrid scent immediately tipped you off to the nature of the gas – a sleeping agent. You urgently instructed your friend to open the door, but no matter how hard you all tried, it wouldn't budge, and by then, it was too late.

As you regained consciousness, you found yourself face-to-face with a masked man. Despite your efforts, your limbs felt immobilized, and your struggles proved futile. The man stepped back and chuckled, remarking, "You're a feisty one, aren't you?"

He then turned to converse with another man in the room, their hushed words leaving you in the dark. Letting out a long sigh, you realized this wasn't your first kidnapping experience. But, for the first time, you felt a tinge of fear because your brother wasn't around to protect you.

He then turned to confer with another man in the room, speaking in hushed tones that left you in the dark. Exhaling deeply, you realized this wasn't your first kidnapping, but it was the first time you felt a creeping sense of unease, as your protective brother was nowhere to be found.

"What kind of games?" you managed to ask as sweat trickled down your face. The masked man remained silent for a moment, only dragging the knife's tip along your bare thighs. When he reached the part of your skirt that covered the rest of your legs, he paused, gazing up at you with a wicked grin.

"Oh, the fun," he purred as he sliced through your skirt. You recoiled, and the other two assailants closed in. Fear began to well up inside you, and it was only when one of them placed a hand on your shoulder that you couldn't contain it any longer. You screamed, "Help! Somebody, help me, please!"

The masked man with the knife pressed the blade against your skin, whispering sinister words before he was abruptly interrupted. The door burst open, and all eyes turned to the entrance. There, like a knight in shining armor, stood Sanzu.

"Hey, princess, close your eyes for me, won't you?" Sanzu's voice broke through, and as he leaned against the door frame, you obeyed, shutting your eyes. Soon after, you heard a cacophony of noises and groans, and then the sensation of your hands being released and your body being lifted.

As you opened your eyes, you found Sanzu carrying you. Glancing back at the guys who had been your captors, they were sprawled out on the floor. When you turned your gaze back to Sanzu, he was looking down at you with a radiant smile, blood trickling from the sides of his head, and you could tell it wasn't his blood.

Finally, an exit came into view. Sanzu gently set you down and looked you directly in the eyes, saying, "Stay. I need to settle some business with those guys from earlier, okay?" You didn't say anything; you merely nodded in response. With that, he turned and walked back to where you had come from.

·٠•●🩷𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖟𝖚 𝕻𝕺𝖁 🩷●•٠·

He returned to the cold, dimly lit hallway and reentered the room, finding the men still unconscious. Taking his time, he carefully moved them all to the room's center and began tying them up. Nearby, a bucket of water caught his eye, and he grabbed it, emptying its contents over the group of men. Predictably, they awoke, wriggling and squirming, which only elicited a chuckle from Sanzu.

The men turned their gaze toward him, their voices filled with confusion. "What the hell are you doing, man? This wasn't part of the deal," one of them protested. Sanzu merely rolled his eyes and approached, pressing a gun to the man's forehead. "And I don't recall giving you permission to touch her either, so it seems we've both broken our deal in some way," he retorted, increasing the pressure on the gun.

The man from the other side attempted to speak but was abruptly silenced when the gun went off. His lifeless body fell limp, and a pool of blood began to form beneath him.

"I can't stand it when people ask me dumb questions," Sanzu declared, his gun aimed at the remaining man, and another gunshot rang out. He had systematically taken down all the men in the room except the one standing before him.

The man trembled, his heart racing, and Sanzu reveled in the fear that danced across the man's face. It was this thrill that had drawn him to the world of gangs in the first place. However, his excitement waned when the man began to shout at him, "You're a freakin' monster, nothing but a sick freak!"

In response, Sanzu let out a long, manic laugh and danced around like a madman. Once he regained his composure, he fixed his gaze on the man and explained, "Of course, I'm a monster. That's why I orchestrated all of this – to appear as a hero in her eyes, so she couldn't see the true man-eater that I am."

The man attempted to speak again but was silenced by a bullet through his head. With a sigh, Sanzu returned to the door, making a swift phone call, "Hey, Rindou, send the clean-up team to my location." He hung up and then made his way back to you.

·٠•●🩷𝕰𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝕻𝕺𝖁 + 𝕿𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝕾𝖐𝖎𝖕🩷●•٠·

You were back at the house, and in a hurry, you headed straight to your room, shutting the door behind you. Unbeknownst to you, Sanzu had followed you, and it wasn't until you closed the door to your room that you noticed his presence. You quickly opened the door and pulled him into your room, asking, "Do you mind staying with me, at least until I calm down?"

Rolling his eyes, he gave you a quick nod and headed over to your bed. He plopped down on it and patted the spot beside him, and you interpreted that as his invitation to join him. With that, you closed your door and made your way to his side.

The two of you watched TV for a while, enjoying each other's company. The atmosphere shifted when a steamy scene played out on the TV. You couldn't help but catch yourself glancing at Sanzu and then back at the screen. Yet, every time you looked at him, he appeared unfazed, his attention firmly fixed on the television.

The moment you glanced at him again and found him staring back, a shiver ran down your spine. It was only then that you finally spoke up. "You know, if you keep undressing me with your eyes, I might just freeze to death," he teased, sporting a cheesy grin that left you blushing.

"I wasn't undressing you with my eyes," you countered, trying to mask your embarrassment, "I was just looking at you to pick something out as a gift for saving me." You couldn't help but fib through your teeth, but Sanzu wasn't buying it.

He pinned you to the bed, now hovering over you, and declared, "Now, come on, princess, no need to lie." You attempted to protest, but he silenced you by pressing his lips against yours. The kiss didn't linger for long, but it left your mind feeling hazy, like pudding.

"How about you let me help you forget about what happened today? Consider it my reward and your stress reliever. What do you say?" Sanzu inquired, peering deeply into your eyes. In response, you gave a quick nod, prompting him to kiss your forehead and neck while uttering, "Just remember, you asked for this, princess."

·٠•●🩷𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖙 🩷●•٠·

You keep your eyes closed as you groan and wriggle under his touch, savoring the feeling of the knife and his cold, numb fingers. You groan amusingly as you snap and trap the hand of the man with the pinker hair between your thighs.

The man replies, "Mmm, seems like you're ready for some fun," as he runs the blade of the knife down your stomach and watches you shudder with excitement. With a low voice, he says, "But first, we need to get you out of these clothes."

With that, he begins to carefully start cutting your large shirt with his knife, showing your exposed skin inch by inch.

After removing your shirt, he will straddle you while drawing patterns on your chest with a knife. "You know how much I love to play with you, don't you?" He grins and leans in for a kiss, then bites your neck. Slowly, teasely, he moves his free hand down your body in the direction of your underwear. "Let's see how much you can take" He adds, before sliding a finger under the elastic of your underwear and letting it go with a snap is other hand now setting the knife black on the table.

You recoil in horror and hiss as the stinging sensation hits your skin.

As he watches you lean into her touch, he chuckles gently and watches you with hungry eyes. He grins down at you and slides a finger under your pant elastic, rubbing his fingers gently between your folds. "You're so eager," he says. "But patience is a virtue, and I want to savor every moment," he says as he leans down to bite your nipple and sucks it into his mouth, setting aside the knife.

He mutters gently, "Mmm, you feel so good," as she continues to glide his hands expertly through your slickness, and his breath is hot against your skin. "You're so moist and so silky...You feel incredible under my fingers, but I think it's time for you to show me how badly you want it," he adds, sitting up and moving away with a sly grin on his face. Let me hear you grovel for it. "Beg me to touch you again and again."

You look into his eyes with desperation as you whisper, and you groan as you realize you won't be able to feel his touch again. "P-Please don't stop, I need your touch…please touch me. I'm pleading with you.

He laughs at your pleading and kisses you passionately, his fingers returning to your swollen clit. As he pulls away from the kiss, saying, "That's a good little pet," he watches you pant and wriggle against his, his touch remaining steady despite your throbbing core. To which he replied, "But I want to hear you say it louder."

If you don't respond, he'll get more aggressive, dropping his fingers to circle your wet hole and gently teasing it as your face contorts with pleasure.

Beg for it, already. As he asks, "How badly do you want to come?" his hands move rapidly and tightly against you, sparking a fire deep within you.

"Fuckk…Please don't cancel my trip; I really need to be here. You start to scream, but it doesn't help; he pulls away his hand and stands by the side of the bed.

Sanzu's mouth curved into an alluring grin as his fingers traced the curves of your trembling stomach, inching tantalizingly closer to the flimsy cloth that barely covered your alluring curves. He eagerly drew it down, longing to feel his hand disappear behind the plush velvet. As his fingertips brushed over your tantalizingly bare thighs, they inched ever so little closer to your yearning core, and your breath caught in your throat.

What's the point, "Come on don’t tell me I turned you into a dumb slut already yet, princess?" He poked his finger inside your cunt, laughing at how tightly the walls gripped his finger.

Knowing that keeping your tongue quiet was going to be impossible, you said, "Fuck," but you didn't want the moment to end since you were so attracted to him. You needed him badly. With your eyes closed, you muttered, "Fuck, Sanzu," again.

You began making low whimpers and groans as he pushed it in and out of you, causing your breathing to become irregular. When Sanzu inserted his middle finger and ramped up her speed, you tossed your head back in an instant because you wanted to hear more of the amazing noises you created particularly for him. And he was completely content with everything. You started repeating her name under your breath when he got to the portion of the speech that always made you roll your eyes back in your head.

He said softly, "You're making such a pretty mess princess, look at you." It was the mix of his chilling voice and deft hands that gave you the old familiar feeling of dread.

I like how flexible you are in my hands. He gushed, "You take me so well," as he raised your skirt fabric once more to examine your cunt with his free hand. As they dripped from your thighs, he saw that your fluids were soaking through his hand and collecting at your feet. Unable to contain his hilarity, he let out a whistle at the location.

You lowered your sight to the place where he met your body and moaned in shock because you couldn't believe how soaked you were for him. If you thought Sanzu turned you on, seeing your body react to his touch was a whole other experience.

While his enormous, thick fingers stretched out your cunt in the alley, all you could hear were wet moans. The ease with which his fingers glided into your cunt was almost mortifying. You would feel guilty about it if you weren't getting fucked out by him, but you didn't care.

"I'm- I'm so close! Close your eyes and dig your nails into his shoulder blades as you beg him not to stop.

Sanzu spoke softly in your ear, "Cum for me, princess," as you closed your eyes and agape your mouth in search of your high. You were on the edge of passing out from the exertion, yet he didn't stop his moves on your body until you practically begged him to.

After you've squirted all over his hands, he'll proudly observe your messy state as he pulls out each finger and brings it to his mouth to be sucked clean. Your eyes were glistening and your lips were bitten because you were too tired to talk. Your tits were almost visible now that your dress barely covered your upper torso.

You finally took a deep breath, but before you could adjust to his massive frame, he lined up his cock with your now too sensitive cunt and drove his throbbing cock within. You wept because carrying his presence within you was driving you crazy. After rubbing your clit in rough circles with his left palm, Sanzu made a series of low groans. And his right made its way to your thirst, landing softly on your throat and making you and Sanzu feel like you were about to cum.

You look great like a filthy little cum slut ready to get filled, but what you don't get to cum is what makes you look great. So feel free to cry on my cock while I decide if you can continue to breathe. You whimpered as your nails dug painfully into his wrist. Slowly, your disorientation returned. When I tell you to, princess, you'll cum on my cock. While his mouth was close to yours, he started talking. His voice cracked with effort, and you could hear him taking small breaths.

The messed up expression on your face as you moaned, "M'mm yes sir, promise not to cum until I'm told" only served to make Sanzu more aggressive.

After giving you a couple more sharp thrusts, Sanzu says, "Good girl," again. When he hits the sweet spot again and time again, a sound like a scream comes from deep within your chest. He let go of your neck a little while ago.

"Cum." Your eyes suddenly went white as the demand reached your ears. While you were having an orgasmic experience, you could feel his hips jitter against yours.

He gently backed away, admiring the sight of you straining to stand up with your legs spread wide and his sperm seeping out of you into the cold ground. After cleaning you up the two of you lay in bed looking at each other and you say “I never thought we would get to this point” with that Sanzu lets out a hard laugh before pulling you into a deep kiss and goes “Never did I”. And with in that moment the room to your door opens is you brother and without he say “What fuck is this”

[666writingcafe]

Level Two

Dedicated to @ehejhrhrhrht-blog

Content Warning/Summary: MC literally gets thrown, Beel acts like a predator, biting

Your next session is in the twins' room. Prepare for a crash landing.

If I was a rational human being, I would have stopped the test after passing the first stage. The fact that I managed to resist one of the oldest demons in existence should be more than enough for me to get rewarded the star of chastity. I could have put this whole thing behind me and relaxed the rest of the evening.

But I tend to get tunnel vision when it comes to completing tasks. Even if I get incredibly frustrated, I hate stopping before I'm finished with something. I want to see it through to the end. It helps boost my confidence.

And so this silly little lamb walks up the stairs and stops in front of the door leading to the twins' bedroom.

Out of mere habit, I knock on the door. There have been too many incidents of me stumbling into something that I wasn't meant to see for me not to. Usually, there's some sort of response. Either "come in" or "Give me a minute" or even "I'm busy".

Not this time. Instead, I get radio silence.

Is it too late to back out? Surely, they'd understand me getting cold feet, right?

Don't be a coward. Besides, what's the worst that can happen?

Despite knowing that hardly anything good comes out of that question, I find myself opening the bedroom door. The next few seconds go by in a blur as I'm yanked up off the ground and sent flying across the room. As soon as my back hits the headboard of the the bed, I'm caged in by a body towering over me.

"I could eat you right now." Judging by the ravenous look in Beel's eyes, I think he means that literally. And not in a sexy way, either.

"Please don't." I feel stupid saying that, but it slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Beel chuckles, sounding harsher than usual.

"Well, of course not, MC. That would ruin half the fun." He forcibly tilts my head and licks down the side of my neck before biting down on it. Hard. I cry out in pain, but he ignores me as he begins sucking.

A warm feeling courses through my body, and it takes a lot of willpower for me to not allow it to control me. I have to look for an opening, and quickly.

Thankfully, one arrives when Beel lets go of me and begins repositioning himself, creating just enough space for me to roll off the bed.

"Playing hard to get, are we?" he asks, smiling menacingly at me. "I've always enjoyed a good hunt."

I nearly leap off to the side as Beel launches himself at me. His disorientation from hitting the wall is brief, but it's enough time for me to run over to Belphie's side of the room.

Something tells me that in order to pass this level, I have to find the note myself. I can't just ask Beel to hand it to me; that'd be too easy. I begin looking through Belphie's things, occasionally pausing to throw things at Beel to slow his progress.

My search turns up nothing. I stop moving momentarily as I think about where else the note might be, and Beel seizes his opportunity. Picking me up, he nearly slams me against the wall, once again pinning me in place with his body.

"Got you," he growls, resuming his attack on my neck. My hands grab wrap around his waist in an attempt to remain upright, and I feel something brush against my side.

Of course. His jacket.

One pocket contains a bunch of hard candy. I have more success with the other. Plucking the note out of it, I let go of him, allowing myself to side down to the floor.

Beel's eyes flicker towards the note I'm holding, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he steps back.

"Thank goodness," he murmurs. "I wasn't sure how much more you'd be able to take." He kneels down in front of me, still keeping his distance. "You had no idea how shocked I was when Asmo told me about this particular daydream of yours. I used to act animalistic in order to scare people, not to attract them." I shrug.

"I think it stems from me wishing that you wouldn't view me as being fragile," I explain. "I know that by being human, that makes me weaker than demons and angels, but that doesn't mean that I don't have any strength. I'm not going to shatter into a million pieces if you want to act more roughly towards me from time to time." He sighs again, sounding more weary this time.

"I know. You're one of the strongest people I know. I just don't want to do anything to permanently hurt you. You mean too much to me for me to do that with a clear conscience." He gets up off the floor and walks over to his bed, opening one of his bedside drawers and pulling out a bag of chips and a bottle of water.

"Here," he states, returning over to me and handing the items over to me before starting to pick up the mess I made on Belphie's side of the room.

"Do you need any help?" I ask.

"I got it, MC. Just focus on recovering."