Some days Oscar and I are friends and some days he barks LOUDLY out of nowhere for no reason while I'm doing homework or napping and I hate him just a little bit

Jaskier runs into Geralt in early spring when he's still got his winter beard and Jaskier abruptly realizes he might have a thing for beards, or maybe just Geralt with a beard

oh literally....... SO true. scruffy geralt rights

Dave discovered the heated seats in my car.

im doing my own list of things i posted earlier. idk if i’ll go all the way thru and/or share all the drawings. day 1 is cookie feat Cocoa; i said that my list was chara design but Cocoa was created as my go-to chocolate thmed design so bam.

For this thing (or maybe this month) i want to try my hand at NOT cleaning my lines too much to 1) save energy (i take a long time cleaning and it’s not always fun) and 2) beat and punch my perfectionism. Enjoy the Raw

Hot-shot, Hot-head | Clint Barton

Hey lovelies! Here's another one for Dinner at Dizzy's! I actually really like this one. Clint Barton is super close to my heart. I remember watching the avengers for the first time when it first came out (and Thor before that) and just falling in love lol. Treat him well lovelies and please do enjoy.

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst (more so fluff)

Entres (Pairing): Clint Barton x F!Reader

Sides (Prompts): 7: “Teach me.”

Notes: None, requested by an anon

Word Count: 2.9k (lol I don't even have an excuse anymore)

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“God damnit!” She hisses as the bow string snaps back against her fingers, the sting making her fumble the bow.

She catches it— like she always does— but not without another curse. She resists the urge to slam the hunk of metal against the grass, her muscles squeezing so tight she could scream. He makes it look so fucking easy. It’s not— it’s impossible. She wants her pistol back and glass of water. Water or wine. Same thing. Screw Barton and how ridiculously nimble he is— she thought she was supposed to be the agile one.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. She bites back a groan when she hears footsteps sound from behind her, rolling her eyes before spinning on the brunette, scowling at the gleeful squint of his bright blue eyes. He’s always so smug. In all of her years of knowing him that has never changed.

“Told you it’s not as simple as it looks.” He simpers, his smile so wide she wants to throw him to the ground right here, right now, and slap it off.

Slap, kiss— same thing.

“If you came out here to mock me, Barton, feel free to not.” She scrunches her nose— it’s the only thing she can do to keep the smile off her face.

Why does his grin always have to be so infectious? She wants to be annoyed still— she was annoyed before she turned around so why can’t she still be annoyed now? It’s infuriating and awful and so damn endearing. God, if she could go back to training and strangle Fury she honestly just might. What was he thinking, pairing her for fucking life with Clint Barton. She glances at the man and the smirk in his eyes and she presses her lips together.

He notices— of course he notices, they trained together, their reflexes are the same. It’s what makes them such good partners— they were created to be a team. Fucking Fury. Well, a team in one sense at least. The other not so much. She shoves the thought to the back of her head, finally letting the smile break out on her face.

“Someone has to, hot-shot.” He settles against the tree behind him, muscled arms crossing over his chest, puppy dog smile still just as wide.

God where the fuck is she supposed to look? There’s nowhere left— not the corded veins along his arms, not the golden skin peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, not the the glint in his icy eyes that she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or is just always there— she’s being attacked on all sides and all she has is this stupid bow— his stupid bow.

She drops her shoulders, rolling her eyes again and caving to his larkish voice— she always does. “I guess it’s fair. Shouldn’t rag on you so much for your terrible shot—”

“I don’t have a terrible—” He begins to protest, pushing from the tree and stepping closer to her.

She presses her fingers to his chest when he gets a few inches away, trying to keep her breathing in check. “With a pistol. Ten years later and he still interrupts. Good to know some things never change, hot-head.”

She beams up at him, palms flat against his broad chest, forcing herself to ignore the heat seeping from the thin material. It feels like at any moment he’s going to burn her, much too hot for his own good. Being this close to him she can smell his woodsy, citrus scent— like the damn sun— and she takes a step back. Co-workers. Partners. Best friends.

Nothing more.

“Ten years later and she still does everything in her power to make me interrupt. Terrible shot. Who taught you to fight so dirty, huh?” He peers down at her as he pushes past her, fingers flicking at her jaw, and she bites her tongue because it’s starting to feel like he’s asking her to say something she’ll regret.

“Uhm you? You did— weren’t you the one who kicked my knees in on the first day of training?”

He’s a good few feet in front of her now— stupid long legs— and she sucks in a breath of fresh air, her skin tingling as her body cycles him out of her blood. There’s no point, he’ll be back in a moment. He’s always back— always annoying and around and warm.

He glances back over his shoulder— “You mean right after you broke my nose, right darlin’?”

She lets her gaze flick to his nose and the faint bump on the ridge where she had jutted her palm into it all those years ago. The academy nurses are good— she can only see the blemish when she’s looking for it. Too bad her jab is better. It suits him at least— everything does.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” She hums, meeting him once more and standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He leans down, staring at her from over the crook. “Maybe I was marking you Barton— I made ya’ pretty.”

He hands her the arrows, fingers clasping over her own for a moment, encasing her in that warmth again. “Couldn’t have found any other way, huh?”

She has to force herself to meet his banter, suddenly breathless and woozy, still wobbling on her tiptoes. “Thought you liked the violence— you did back then.”

He holds her gaze, fingers tightening so minutely that she’s sure if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t notice how his eyes skim over her face before flicking over her head quickly, how his shoulders square defensively, how even when there’s no one around he’s always watching her back. But she isn’t anyone else— she’s her and she notices everything he does.

He meets her gaze again, muscles easing slightly, and her lungs scream at her because all she can taste is lemons and juniper.“Oh I love the violence.”

She tugs the arrows— and by default her hand— from his hold, searching desperately for an escape in the open air in front of her. The targets taunt her from across the field, the little pin prick holes in the middle of the red bullseye leering. She wants to throw the bow again— where the fuck is her gun?

“Why am I doing this again?” She groans and he laughs, his hand curling around her neck, thumb digging into the knots in her shoulder blade.

“‘Cause one day you won’t have bullets.” He supplies, voice too close to her ear for her to make much sense of the words. They’re like honey— too sweet, too slow.

Still she shrugs. “Won’t I have you, though? You planning on ditching me, Barton?”

Beyond the teasing she can hear the insecurity laced in her words and she wants to slap herself for potentially ruining the sunny afternoon. She can practically feel the switch in the atmosphere. The lighthearted banter fading into cold seriousness. She swallows, closing her eyes. Even after ten years she’s still terrified that one day she’s going to wake up and he won’t be in the kitchen pouring the sugar into her coffee and burning the toast. Joining the academy was her chance— at freedom, at family— and Clint was— is— the payoff of those hard years. She would be utterly lost if one day he just wasn’t there.

His hand stills, thumb still pressing into her skin, chest tensing where it just barely brushes her back. For a moment they just stand there, the only noise being the soft thud of the bow landing in the grass. A few seconds later the arrows join. She doesn’t drop them on purpose— she would never carelessly throw his things around— she just can’t feel her hands anymore. When she brings them together, wringing them together, she isn’t surprised to find them trembling. She can feel him start to shake his head, hair brushing against her temple before the words are even out of his mouth.

“Don’t even say that. Don’t. Or think about it. Ever again— you hear me? I thought I was the dumb one.” He tries to say it like a joke— she can hear him forcing his tone to stay light— but his voice is too gravelly, his words spiking too low.

She presses her lips together again, nodding. “Sorry—” she mumbles, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, sinking back slightly to knock her shoulder into his chest— “was just— just over thinking, I guess. Stressed myself out.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her against his chest. She tips her head back, putting her weight on him. It’s not unusual— it would be more unusual if she didn’t cuddle into him. That’s why she does it despite how terribly she wants to pull away. She can’t stay in his citrus arms— in this fever dream. She needs to break the spell. Maybe spend some days in the woods soon, alone, resetting her brain. She’s had to do that a few times.

“Not going anywhere.” He mumbles, hands closing around her arms, his jaw— scratchy and rough from stubble— rubbing against her shoulder. “You know that. Not now, definitely not in a fuckin’ appocalypse—” she laughs at that and he rocks on his heels, letting out a soft hum— “We’re in this together. Where the hell would I even go?”

He whispers that last part, probably hoping she wouldn’t hear, but his mouth is right there and she’s tuned into everything him. She can hear the worry, feel the rumble against her back. Shit. They’re both spiraling now and she’ll be damned if she brings her down with him. She has to do something.

“Teach me.”

He freezes behind her, hands softening their grip. When he speaks his voice is a little tighter than normal— hesitant, maybe. “What was that, darlin’?”

She goes to pull out of his arms again, bending to retrieve the bow, but she only ends up pulling him with her, the giant man curling around her easily. Too easily. She clenches her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to whirl around and push him to the ground.

Push him to the ground and climb on top of him.

“Teach me how to use this stupid thing, Barton. Can’t do it— you were right.”

Apparently she doesn’t have whirl around— he does it for her, spinning her so quickly that the heavy metal almost whacks him. He pries it gently from her fingers, releasing it back onto the grass. She almost protests— what the hell was she so afraid of dropping it for when he practically just threw it? — but before she can he’s pulling her off her toes and spinning her around.

“Clint what are you doing—”

“Ten years— it’s taken ten years for you to say those words.” He laughs and she swats the nape of his neck, rolling her eyes, feet dangling off the ground. It’s all she can do to not curl them around his hips. “And you tell me my ego is big.”

She scrunches her nose at the man, eyes dipping over his crinkled eyes and triumphant smile, once again fighting the curve of her own lips. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask for help?”

He snorts, dropping her on her toes before slumping onto the grass, sprawling out on his back— clearly not about to actually do as she asked. “No— if you wanted to learn that badly you would have by now. You’re not stupid, just stubborn.”

Clint leans up, warm hand curling around her ankle and yanking, pulling her feet out from under her and sending her flying. Before she has time to scream— hell, to even think about screaming— his arm is hooking around her stomach, catching her midair and lowering her easily to his chest. Ten years and she’s still never ready for that. She goes to drive her elbow back against his ribs but he catches her, grabbing her arm and instead pulling her to rest across his stomach.

She grumbles but turns anyway, cheek pressing against hard, warm muscle, meeting his gaze from where his head rests on his folded arms. “Then what?”

He flashes her another toothy grin— that can’t be good. “Was waiting for you to tell me I was right about something. Took you long enough.”

She scowls. “Shut up, will you?”

“Awe, is someone angry that I won?” He teases, his voice warmer than the sunshine on the bits of her exposed face.

“Barton, I said shut up.”

His laugh is too easy. Too musical. It rumbles against the parts of her that are pressed against him and makes the rest of her ache, wanting to be pressed against him as well.

“Geez, someone’s touchy today.”

As if to enhance his point he runs a gentle finger over the top of her spine, right where her tank top stops, and she has to clench her jaw against the heat that pools in the pit of her stomach and the shiver that races down her back. It’s the final straw. Ten years is a lot of straws— maybe she’s a hoarder of said straws— but finally her last one has broken. She can’t take it anymore. She bolts upright.

“Shit—” he mutters lowly, probably not intending for it to reach her ears, before speaking louder— “c’mon darlin’ I was just messing with you—”

She swings her leg over his stomach, knees caging him underneath her, thighs spreading deliciously over his warm abdomen, and his mouth snaps shut. He’s up on his elbows, no doubt because he had been worried and was on his way up to check on her, but now it only serves to bring them closer together. For a moment all she does is look at him, chest heaving, palms pressed against his chest and anticipation laced in every muscle. Each breath he takes tortures her— what’s he thinking?

She’s never thought Clint Barton to be a mind reader but maybe anything is possible at this point because as soon as she thinks it his crystal eyes narrow, his pink lips quirking up. “Are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”

Butterflies erupt in her stomach— wait, no, that’s just her gut twisting as he flips her over so fast that she doesn’t have time to blink. Dammit he’s quick. She’s quick too, though, legs finally curling around his hips to keep her back from crashing against the ground. She doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around his shoulders but when her head stops spinning she can feel her fingers digging at his arms. Her back eases against the ground, one of his arms slipping under her head, his other hooking around her thigh and pressing her that much closer to him.

His nose bumps against hers, breath hot on her lips, and she doesn’t try to fight the smile this time. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

His lips brush against hers, just a wisp— a promise— of what’s to come, and she squeezes her thighs tighter, pulling a raspy groan from his mouth. “Gave you ten years, didn’t I?”

She hums, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “You did— what on earth is wrong with you Barton?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She kisses the other corner, just barely brushing her mouth against his as she passes, reveling in the way his hips push her harder into the grass. “Someone’s touchy today—”

The rest of her words are cut off— they’re swallowed— by two warmer-than-sin lips. He tastes like candy. Like red licorice and lemon drops. That’s all it takes for her to kiss him back, hands slipping into his hair and yanking— maybe she should be gentler but she can’t help it. She’s been patient, she’s paid her dues. Besides, if the moan that rips from his lungs and passes over her tongue— all needy and wild and lemon tinted— is anything to go by then she would say he doesn’t mind it. His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers, and she returns his moan with one of her own.

“Why— he mumbles into her open mouth, pausing momentarily to tug her bottom lip between his teeth and groan— “why didn’t we do this earlier? Like—” his lips skim over her cheek, up to her ear, tugging on her earlobe next— “like ten-years-ago sooner?”

She turns her face towards him, following him as he moves down her neck, lips pressing against his cheek. She doesn’t want to detach from him now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever want to. Her mouth slants against him, teeth nipping at his jaw, and he hikes her higher up his body. Her fingers are still tangled in his silky hair, raking through the strands and trying to memorize the feeling.

“I don’t know.” she mumbles against him— she can’t bring herself to find a witty remark, she just wants more.

He pulls back, ducking his head, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “That was passive of you, hot-shot.”

“Barton.”

For once he doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back down, nose bumping against her with another brain melting chuckle. She arches up, impatient for his touch. Before his lips skim hers he says something else, though. It’s like he can’t help but annoy her every chance he gets.

“Maybe you’re the hot-head after all.”

Is is possible to get a dad!Saul x daughter!reader. Maybe a specialist is trying to get with her and he goes all overprotective dad since it’s his baby girl?

“Are you nervous?” you ask straightening the collar of his shirt. You don’t have the heart to tell them that your dad will consider them a suck-up for wearing a shirt considering they’re already looking like they’re ready to jump off a cliff. 

“What makes you think I’m nervous? Is it the shaky voice or the sweaty palms?” Your lips turn into a thin line as you try not to laugh. You know your dad will be a little overprotective but, in the end, he’ll be happy as long as you’re happy. It’s just right now you’re having a little too much fun watching them squirm. 

"I think it's a little bit of both," you tease. You don't talk as you head to your dad's office and now even you are getting a little nervous.

"It'll be fine. He'll love you," you mumble. You've always been really close with your dad and if he didn't like the person you were dating then it just wouldn't work.

"Are you telling me or yourself?" they ask trying to make light of the situation but it's not working when you'll be standing in front of your dad in a little while. When you knock on the door, you're the one with sweaty palms.

"Y/N, sweetheart. What's going on?" Your dad hugs you completely ignoring the person standing behind you.

"I wanted you to meet someone," you say weakly nodding your head towards them. That's the first time he actually looks at the person behind you.

"If you're here to ask for extra tutoring, I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with the student counsellor." It's a low blow even for him and you're not sure why he's acting like that.

"Dad," you hiss hoping he'll get the message. You really want him to like your partner.

"Come in," he says stepping aside and completely ignoring your outburst. This is not off to a great start. You can only watch as he continues to rip them apart asking all kinds of questions that you haven't even thought about yet.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?"

"Do you love her?"

"There's a fire at Alfea. Do you save your buddy or her? That's an easy one by the way."

"Dad!" you exclaim stopping him from asking any more questions. He at least has the decency to look at a little ashamed. He's going to scare them off before you have a chance to start to relationship properly.

"Can I have a minute with my daughter?" You've never seen someone hurry out of a room as quickly as they do. It almost makes you laugh until you remember the reason behind it.

"Dad, you're being really embarrassing."

"I'm sorry. I just worry," he admits giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Worry about what?" It's always just been you and him which is why this is so important to you. It's the first time you're introducing someone to him.

"You're my little girl. No one's ever going to be good enough for you." You roll your eyes as you hear his confession. You get it but all you're asking is for him to dial it back a little.

"They make me happy, dad. Like waking up with a smile happy." He's always told you to find someone that makes you smile from the second you wake up. That's the kind of love to aim for and now you've found it.

"I suppose I can give them another chance then." You kiss his cheek with a huge smile.

"I'll go get him."

------------------------

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @estelmei @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @artsyle​ @baueoud @glowingatdawn @shadowhuntyi

No one asked, but how about some more of that Secret Admirer AU: Shitty Poetry Edition??? I'm totally making that the official tag btw.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4:

“Again with the smile!”

WWX looks up, startled from where he's doodling in his notebook. There's a piece of paper in JC's hand that he's glaring at with the fury of a gaseous, burning, celestial giant. He stares for a second. Says, confused, “What?”

JC lowers the paper and fixes that glare on WWX for no reason at all. This, he's used to. It's fine. Only this time it seems like there's an actual reason behind his brother's displeasure, and it centers on the piece of paper he's holding.

“The hell is wrong with this chick?” JC says, and he squints at WWX. “Smile,” he demands, and WWX can't help the slide of his mouth, but it's bemused and he knows it looks awkward. JC scoffs and says, “You look like a goddamn madman.”

“What are you even talking about?” WWX asks, and JC shakes the paper in his hand like it's committed a crime and needs to go to origami prison where every other failed piece of paper goes.

The trash. Origami Prison is the trash.

“That is not yours,” says a voice, and both WWX and JC turn around to find someone standing behind them.

It's LWJ and he looks — WWX quickly looks away from him, back to JC whose expression has soured like milk. WWX feels a protective surge through his body and he snaps at the collar of JC's white shirt, “Mind your own business!”

It's meant for LWJ.

He doesn't look at LWJ.

“That does not belong to him,” LWJ repeats, like WWX had not just told him off. However, his voice is quieter, and if WWX didn't know any better, he would say it's softer as well.

“I would hope not!” JC snorts. “If someone wrote me terrible poetry like this, I'd drown myself.”

At that, WWX's gaze snaps up to his brother's face, startled, and his stomach flips. His eyes go to the paper, and suddenly, he really needs to see it. He sets down his pen.

“What is that?” He asks, reaching, and JC snaps his hand away. WWX feels frustrated.

“It was in your desk,” LWJ says, like he has any business talking to them. Like WWX isn't avoiding looking at him like the plague. “JWY took it when you were not looking.”

WWX wants to yell at him to go away, but those words strum through him and he glares at his brother.

“Give it to me!” He orders, but JC scoffs again and holds it out of his reach. “JC! It's mine!” He leaps out of his chair.

“No!” JC huffs, standing from his desk to avoid WWX's lunge. WWX braces himself on JC's vacated chair so he doesn't follow his dive to the ground. He watches as JC circles around, keeping the desk between them.

WWX can feel himself bristling. His skin prickles with need. He needs that paper. Needs to see what's on it. His face feels hot and he needs JC to stop being a dick for just one second! He stands, ready to chase.

“I'm protecting you! Some creep keeps writing gross poetry about your smile! There's obviously something wrong with them!”

“JC!” WWX hisses. He looks around. They're drawing the attention of the class again. Normally, he would not mind. But normally, JC isn't shouting about poetry written to him about his smile.

“What's going on?”

It's NHS. He's setting down his books on his desk and he's looking between JC, WWX, and LWJ, who is still, for some strange reason, standing nearby like he has some stake in this argument.

“He got another one!” Shouts JC like it's the most scandalous thing he's ever heard. He shakes the paper. “That creepy secret admirer wrote him a haiku about his smile!”

“His smile again?” NHS says, and for whatever reason, he looks at LWJ who is still standing there like he belongs. WWX refuses to look at him. NHS glances back at JC. In an instant, he's snatching the paper, and, horrifically, he reads aloud.

“Burning, unaware.” NHS's voice is low and serious, but the class is so quiet and still that it echoes out like a judge proclaiming WWX's damning sentence. But, like JC has suddenly remembered he's supposed to be loyal to him, he smacks NHS in the back of the head.

“Ow! What!”

“To yourself!” JC snaps.

NHS pouts at him, but acquiesces, much to WWX's relief. As much as he wants to know what's written on the paper, he's quite aware that everyone is listening in. It's humiliating.

NHS blinks down at the paper, reading silently. After a moment, he looks up, right at WWX. His eyebrows rise, and again, he glances at LWJ before staring at the paper again.

“Wow,” says NHS.

WWX can hear whispers. His classmates are watching the spectacle his brother and his friend are making of this. His whole head is hot with the blood rushing to it. He wants to jump out the window and flee.

He wants to slip through the floorboards and disappear entirely.

“I know right?” JC says like NHS has just agreed with him. He grabs the paper out of his hand, staring hard at it like it's the most offensive thing he's ever read. “Look at him, look — WWX, smile!”

“I don't smile on command!” WWX shouts. He can feel his face burning with mortification. His hands are shaking. He clenches them and holds them stiffly at his sides. He hopes no one notices.

He wants to die.

Then, JC looks him dead in the eye and says, in the most solemn voice, “Turtles.”

A memory slams into WWX, and against his will, a puff of laughter escapes him like he's been punched in the stomach. He laughs. Torn out of him, he chokes a little, his mouth releasing a strangled sound before he begins giggling. He slaps a hand over his mouth.

“See?” JC says triumphantly. He points right at WWX's face. “He looks —”

“There is nothing wrong with his smile,” says LWJ, and WWX feels his heart trip over itself, shocked and baffled at the defense. He looks at LWJ and immediately looks away, back to JC. “That paper does not belong to you,” LWJ repeats like a broken record. “Return it.”

“What are you, blind?” JC snaps at LWJ. “Anyway, mind your own business! Who even invited you into this?”

“Stealing is prohibited in Cloud Recesses,” LWJ goes on, voice flat, eyes narrowed, completely ignoring JC's comments. Giving no quarter, he says, “Return the poem or suffer the consequences.”

JC stands there, staring at LWJ in incredulity, mouth parted and eyes wide.

WWX seizes his chance. He darts over the desk and grabs the paper, taking it from his brother's slack grip. JC squawks in outrage, but WWX is back over the desk, sliding across the dark wood and reading through the poem.

Wei Ying,

Burning, unaware Planets revolve around your Gravity, sun smile

— Your Secret Admirer

He goes still, his cheeks burn, his eyes go wide.

“WWX!” JC says. “Don't read that! Someone is tricking you!”

“How do you know, though?” NHS speaks up, thoughtful. “Maybe someone really does like Wei-xiong's smile.”

“Impossible!” JC grumbles. “He smiles like an idiot! Who could like that?”

“JWY!”

WWX jumps at the voice. Looks up to see LWJ glaring at JC. His hands are clenched at his sides. He looks vicious, lips trembling like he's trying to hold back a snarl, like he's a single moment from punching JC in the face. He stares, surprised. With the sun shining through the east-facing window, LWJ's eyes are shining bright gold.

WWX can't look away.

It takes forever for LWJ to speak, and when he does, he looks no less angry, but his voice is calm.

“Bullying is against the rules,” LWJ finally says.

JWY sneers at him, opening his mouth to undoubtedly emit a scathing remark.

“WWX!”

Jumping in place, WWX looks around to see LQR has entered the room. It must be five minutes to the class start time then. He's frowning severely at him.

“Get off that desk this instant!”

WWX hops off the desk and smiles at him. But then the poem echoes in his head and he purses his lips together. His stomach is squirming. He doesn't like it.

“Is there a problem here?” LQR asks. He's finally noticed JC, LWJ, and NHS standing around, facing each other. JC immediately ends his staredown with LWJ and schools his features. He bows to LQR. NHS quickly shuffles into his chair, smiling nervously.

“Not at all, Grandmaster Lan,” JC says, and he makes his way to his desk.

LWJ gives his uncle his own respectful bow, says nothing, and returns to his desk from whence he came. WWX, grateful the whole thing's been brought to an end, slips into his own chair, discreetly tucking the poem into his pocket.

His stomach hasn't stopped squirming. He's doing his best to remain still. He wants to glance around. See if he can catch someone looking at him. But LQR is gazing at them all with suspicion, so WWX stays put and focuses on his notebook.

He doesn't doodle.

* * *

WWX beats his brother to class. There's students already there. He notices, with a grimace, that LWJ is already there. He's sitting in his chair, reading, but as if sensing WWX's attention, he raises his eyes.

Their gazes meet.

WWX is quick to look away.

Ignore him, WWX tells himself. Don't interact.

He goes straight to his desk and sits. Biting on the inside of his cheek, he checks.

There's a paper taped to his notebook.

His heart skips a beat.

Peeling it off, he examines the neat handwriting, near perfect. He still doesn't recognize it. He's never seen this handwriting outside these notes. He has no idea who it's from. At the bottom, it's signed with that same anonymous handle.

His hands are shaking.

He reads.

Wei Ying,

Where all is quiet My love is loud It moves like a wild dance Around a bonfire

Howling, hooting, calling to the pale moon Pleading, praying to grant a boon

It speaks like a symphony A harmonized breathtaking movement It breathes like the ocean Relentless, devastating, everlasting

Swift, singing, my love lifts my soul Shaping the earth of my life

It blazes like the sun A merciless light-bringer, a double-edged sword Unrestrained, it is dangerous My hands clench upon it in fear

My love only settles when you are near Like a sleeping dragon upon its wealth

My love is gleeful, dizzying laughter Discombobulated, I stumble Hoping to be caught in your arms I long, I yearn

I am alight, hay to your flame I burn, I burn, I burn

— Your Secret Admirer

“What the fuck,” WWX breathes.

He sits, frozen, heart pounding in his chest.

“WWX!” Calls JC as he rushes into the room.

WWX sticks the poem into his notebook, turns to a blank page, and frantically doodles. JC sits beside him. He speaks and his voice is scolding. Something about rushing ahead without him. WWX's heart is in his throat as he draws a sun, scorching, a flower, wilting. He draws a tidal wave, its edges frothing angrily with music notes. He draws a bonfire, a shadow dancing around it.

“Fine, ignore me!” JC grumbles, and he pulls a book open to read. A few seconds pass, and he elbows WWX, who elbows him back like a reflex.

What the fuck, WWX thinks. His mind is so very far away. Who is doing this?

He turns the sun into a dragon, mouth smoking. The bonfire is the product of its flame.

“Hey,” JC says, and WWX forces himself to jerk his head in a show of attention. “Any poetry today?” His voice is strangely serious.

WWX can't speak. His heart is in his throat. He shakes his head and shrugs.

“Good,” JC says. “Don't read them anymore if you get any. It's either some creep who's obsessed with you or an asshole playing a prank.”

Like WWX is incapable of attracting anything else.

His brother's words sting. He says nothing. He keeps drawing.

Hoping to be caught in your arms, the words echo within WWX. I long, I yearn.

There's no denying it any longer. The poems are meant for him. They have his name on them. There's a fluttering warmth in his belly.

He ignores it.

@october505 wanted August and outdoor sex, so here we are. St. Andrew’s Cross. August Walker x Reader. Chase, outdoor sex, fluids, rough sex, fucking in a room full of corpses, restraints, blood, degradation. All you have to do is evade him until midnight. Good luck.

Tagging @iwillmakeyoucraveme @its--fandom--darling @indigosaurus @summersong69 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @imneonpanda @october505 @seriouslygoodlookinggents @feralrunaway @hell1129-blog @takemeback-toparadise @ashleyskywalker @cavillryarchive @critfailroll @luclittlepond @devterra @davidbuddbg @brandycranby @mary-ann84 @zealoushound @hylian-hoe struck-out tags don’t work. Holler for on/off the taglist.

The chase takes you to a park in the middle of the night, and it is quiet; no birds, no wind, nothing but your breath harsh in your own ears and you’re trying to muffle it because

Because

Because August Walker is close behind and he is hunting. He is hunting, and if he finds you it’s all over; you’ll have lost.

(The wager is exquisite: the winner gets to choose what happens tomorrow and you know he won’t go easy. Could be a vibe that holds you on the edge all day. Could be his feet kicked up on your back while he sips his drink. Could be he ties you to a rail and says come and get her.

Or you could win, and wouldn’t he be a beautiful sight on the St. Andrew’s cross, bound and clamped and with the shock collar snug around his thigh)

And he will tear your clothes to ribbons on the ground beneath the trees. He’ll put you on your knees in the mud, maybe, or make you squirm on your belly while he has you from behind. Does it matter? Either way you’re getting fucked unless you can elude him til the midnight bell.

(A loss is still a win. What’s the point?

The point is that you try. Besides. Don’t you want to see me writhe, to see my cock pulsing in empty air? Pet. I’ll come undone for you, and all you have to do is—)

Just don’t let him see you.

He’s just a man. He can’t possibly smell how wet you are for this, cunt aching and he hasn’t even caught you yet. But he could be anywhere, moving through the darkness with steps that shouldn’t be as silent as they are; with all the vast thick bulk of him you’d think he would go crashing about like a bull elephant, and yet.

And yet you’ve seen him moving quick and quiet in vest and boots and every part of him tense; you’ve seen him slip the knife in with a lover’s touch, his other hand tight over the target’s mouth and oh they might call him the Hammer but you’ve seen the gentle devastation he can bring.

You’ve felt the blood thrumming through him after a fight, his whole body a live wire and remember how hard he was, how viciously he thrust himself inside you. His hands were big and gentle on your face as he bruised your cunt, as he angled your hips so he could take and take and take and

Distracted, pet? He’s close, too close; his voice is rough and low and in this hollow there’s the sound of snapping twigs, a sound you hear because he wants you to hear it. He wants you to make an error in your panic, to run headlong into his chest, to feel him pinion your arms at your sides as he murmurs you lose. I’ll fuck you now, and tomorrow you will give me my winnings.

But if you did that now it would be a lie and he would know it; there would be no fuck, only a disappointed glare, and so you run from the sound. You run like the hounds of hell itself are at your heels, crashing through bushes and pines, because now it’s not about hiding, it’s about eluding him. It’s nearly midnight; you’re so close, so very close.

And the bells begin to ring.

The last bell peals half a second before his fingers grip your shirt, before momentum carries you down into the dirt with him heavy on your back. I won, you say, but it’s thin and breathless from adrenaline and the weight of him pressing the air from your lungs. I want my prize.

And that is?

Right now? Fuck me like you won. Then tomorrow I’ll have my turn.

And he does.

All your clothes are a lost cause; he tears them from you easy as paper until you’re naked on his jacket with leaves in your hair and he is so hard, spearing into you with little thought and less warning. This might not be the fight or the kill of a job, but still the adrenaline burns through him; still his body reacts in the same way.

(Oh, how you’ve had him bloody and only some of it was his; he breached you with sticky fingers and his breath was tinged with copper when he surged up to kiss you deep. And in the room with bodies still cooling on the floor, he made you come with a clench and a cry that could wake the dead)

Every thrust is enough to drive the breath from your lungs as he chases the tipping point; with every shuddering gasp of air you come closer and closer and he is fucking into you like it’s punishment, like all he wants is for your arms to give out and send you crashing to the ground, like all he really wants is to tunnel deep inside you and come out somewhere near your throat.

August, fuck, I—

Alright?

Unh. Yeah.

Then shut your mouth and take it.

He’s harsh because he knows tomorrow you’ll give these bruises back to him, because he feels the predatory need to clamp his jaws and bite, because he can feel the way you’re fluttering around him. You like it, out here in the open, where anyone could see me using you like a sleeve. You just can’t help being weak for me.

(Your legs are jelly and so he carries you down, five flights of stairs passing in moments because you dallied and time is running short.

Alright?

Alright.

The getaway’s a little hairy but you make it; here in the safe house the walls are damp and the floor is warped but there’s a soft bed and a bottle of something nice)

For you. Only you. And oh how he likes that; he comes with a groan, teeth clamping down on your shoulder, coming in long hot pulses. And you’re not far behind; half a moment of his hand on you and it’s all over.

So what do you have planned for me, pet? He’s wrapping you snug and warm in his jacket, admiring the way his semen slips down your thigh. He likes this, leaving you filthy, leaving the evidence of your coupling visible on your skin. I am at your disposal.

And when he hears your words he’s already feeling the press of his limbs against wood, the cuffs snug at wrists and ankles; he’s hoping it’ll hurt a little and oh August, love, I’ll give you that and more.

Say It

Scaramouche x fem! Reader

Warning:

N/SFW content

Smut

Language

Rough-ness?

Tags are posted accordingly.

☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆

Scenario

Scaramouche knows you want him, he just has to get you to admit it.

☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆´•.¸¸.•`☆

Scaramouche’s harsh blue eyes drilled into yours, his frame inching closer and closer to yours, every step towards you made you take one step back. You could feel sweat running down the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very nervous as your back made contact with the wall behind you. 

"You are always telling me to go fuck myself, and yet-," Scaramouche's left hand slams against the wall, caging you in and his right hand grasped at the collar of your shirt, pulling it towards him. 

 Your face was pulled close to his own, your wide eyes staring straight into his stormy blue orbs, nose almost touching his. 

"You are always looking at me with that face," Scaramouche's grip on your collar tightened, "You are always talking back to me, always denying me," 

 Scaramouche glared at you, "Yet-" 

He drew closer, the front of his body pressing against yours, further pressing you to the wall you were pinned to. "Yet, you want it don't you? You want me." 

 You could barely breathe, your face turning red by the second as you were surrounded by him. 

 "There is no denying it, I know. You can't hide it from me." Scaramouche's lips neared yours, so close to your own you could feel his breath on them. "You want me to fuck you." 

Your eyes widened, mouth opening to quickly shout some profanities at the male, denying his accusations, but they felt short as his lips came crashing down into yours, a mess of teeth and tongue.

Scaramouche harshly bit your lower lip, slightly sucking on it as his hand on your collar moved to the back of your head, gripping your locks to keep you in place. Your hands moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, to break free from his hold on you. To break free from his lustful kiss that was making you weak in the knees, the lustful thoughts of him that plagued your mind. 

Slowly, your composer was breaking, giving in to his kiss. Your hands loosely cling onto the fabric of his shirt. What felt like forever, Scaramouche finally drew back, breaking the kiss, a string of saliva connecting both of your lips. He stepped back a bit to admire his work, taking note of the way your cheeks were flushed red, a glazed look in your eyes with some of your hair sticking to your temple, ruffed up and messy from his ministrations. 

 A smirk creeped along his face, his dark blue hair falling just above his eyes. Reaching his hand up, Scaramouche grabbed your chin, focusing your attention on him.

"Now," he began, his knee finding his way in between your legs, pressing against your crotch, "Tell me what I want to hear."

Words were caught in your throat, unable to escape out from your lips, your gaze never leaving his. You couldn't bring yourself to speak, your face burning bright as his knee further grind into you. Your body felt hot, sweat forming as it caused your clothes and hair to cling onto your skin. 

You didn't want to give in to him, didn't want to give him the satisfaction at knowing he was right. But you were cracking, caving in to his stormy eyes and smug smirk on his face, to the way he dug his knee between your legs causing small shocks of pleasure to spark within you. 

You wanted him, you needed him.

"Well?" he questioned, his hands now resting on your hips, forcing them to grind down on his thigh, "I am waiting." 

Bitting your lip, you turn your face to the side, desperately trying to keep the sounds that threatened to escape your lips inside, hands loosely propped up on his shoulders. 

 "......-e" a mumble of words passes threw your lips, uncomprehencable to the human ears. 

"Hmn? I couldn't hear you," an evil smile plastered on his lips, "Repeat that for me." 

Embarrassment coursed through your veins, squeezing your eyes tight as you willed yourself to repeat your earlier statement.

"I want," your eyes drifted to meet his, "for you," your grasp on his shoulders tightened, "to fuck me." 

It was as if you said the magic words, for the next thing you knew Scaramouche was already pinned you down to a nearby table, ripping off your shirt from your body, hands playing with your chest as he sucked and bite the skin from your neck down to your collar, your legs spread open, allowing him to hastily rut his hardening erection in his pants into you. 

"I knew it," Scaramouche groaned into your ear, teeth lightly biting at the lobe.

"I fucking knew you wanted me to fuck you. You want me to fuck you until all you can think about is me. You want me to fuck you until your whole body belongs to me and only me, right?" 

His words were coming out in harsh pants, his clothed cock grinding down on you, chasing his own pleasure. "You want me more compared to that bard right?" 

A dark chuckle escaped from him, leaning back to fully look at you. "You know I can give you more than that drunkard of a bard can give you, and deep down you know it." His hands reached down to undo his pants, letting his cock spring out from its confinement.

"Whats his name again? Vinnie? Victor?" Scaramouch gazed down at you, giving his shaft a couple strokes. "Venti?" 

At the sharp intake from you, he knew he guessed right. 

"You and I know for a fact that he can't fuck you the way I do, and you know that. That's why you want me isn't it? He just can't give you what you want which is why you come crawling to me." 

By this point Scaramouche fully disrobed himself from his pants, yours included as he dragged you towards him by the hips, aligning his throbbing cock with your entrance. 

"I'll give you want you want then."

Bloodbound: Queen's Heart Book 3 Chapter 29

Kamilah x MC (written in second person perspective, like in Choices)

1452 words

A/N

I don't own these characters. They are the property of Pixelberry.

Warnings: None this chapter.

Tag List: @kamilah-is-queen @samanthadalton @somethindarker @witchesplayatnight @danna-min-sinclair @mrs-avamontjoy @glowriter @hellyeah90sbaby

Adrian freezes in his tracks, spotting a man standing in front of car. “That is certainly not my contact.”

You grab Kamilah’s hand, she twines her fingers to hers. “I think that is Takeshi.”

She nods at that. “And one of the five.”

“No…” Jax has never looked so frozen in surprise.

Takeshi ignores everyone and runs towards Jax, lifting him up in the air by the collar of his jacket. “I told you to never step foot in Japan. But of course, you never listen, boy.”

Kamilah shakes her head and walks over towards him, “Now is not the time for that. If you found us, that means the others will know.”

He drops Jax and sees Kamilah for the first time, “Kamilah Sayeed? Is that really you?”

Kamilah rolls her eyes, “I know you don’t have a bad memory, Takeshi. How long do we have before they come for us?”

Disheveled and with a wrinkled expensive suit, Takeshi tries to straighten himself out.

“Right about…”

Several black SUVs screech down the tarmac and circle around you all. Humans dressed in black paramilitary uniforms jump out. Some hold crossbows and others hold UV grenades.

“This is a nice warm welcome to Tokyo.” You grit your teeth. Kamilah makes sure you are right up against her side.

“We need to be as compliant as possible.”

Everyone slowly raises their hands above their head. The soldiers are still decidedly hostile to you all. Kamilah’s cool calm presence helps to keep you the same way.

It seems like Takeshi is trying to get them to calm down. It also seems like those words are falling upon deaf ears.

You all have to allow yourselves to be cuffed in devices that look similar to the ones Kavinsky had, all those months ago. You REALLY thought you’d not have to see those things again.

The group is split up in two cars. Fortunately, you are seated in the middle between Kamilah and Jax.

“…how do you know Takeshi?” Jax asks, barely able to hold back his frustration.

“I could ask the same of you, Jax.” Kamilah answers without answering, her brow lifts curiously.

“Uh.” He slumps in his seat, “He Turned me, after one of Priya’s clan members drained me dry.”

You look between the both of them, not saying a word.

“I see. I didn’t even know that Takeshi made it over to America.”

“Are you going to tell me how you know him?”

At first it does not look like she is going to answer, it takes a long time for her to even breathe, “Gaius and I were here, over 700 years ago. He became best friends with him. As a gesture of friendship, Gaius turned him.”

“…the hell?” His upper lip curls and he looks down at his hands, folded into fists.

Nothing else is said, the car drives you to a dark underground parking garage.

The room you are all lead in, looks like something out of an anime or an expensive sci-fi movie.

“Whoa…” Of course, Lily is amazed, “Is this Tony Stark’s lab? Please say, yes!”

“Lily.” You warn. Sure, she is your best friend, but you realize that she is wearing thin on your patience here lately.

“What?!”

You shake your head, “Maybe not with your shenanigans? We could be in a lot of trouble. Please?” You plead with her desperately.

“Fine.” She frowns and looks down at her feet.

Even more like a movie, chairs descend down from the ceiling opening. It would be like this in Japan. You lean against Kamilah, since the two of you can’t hold hands.

“Kamilah.” A slender woman wearing a skirt suit addresses her coldly, “Funny you should be here.” Her tone is devoid of humor.

“I wonder why, given what you do to vampires, when they step foot here.” She answers with her own defined coldness.

“But you came anyway.” Aiko counters.

“So, I did.”

“Is it me or do they have a vibe?” Oh, thanks for that Lily. She certainly has a way with words.

You elbow her hard enough to make her double over. Kamilah’s annoyance at her, filters aridly through the bond.

“And you brought the whelp that Takeshi Turned. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Ha.” Kamilah finds humor in Aiko’s words, “That worked out so well last time.” That’s a story you’d like to know for later.

Aiko’s nostrils flare and she rolls her eyes.

“We can get to that later; we would have never come here if we didn’t need your help.” Adrian interjects.

Kamilah steps up, and you follow her. Aiko silently notes how close you both are, physically. “We’re here because New York has fallen.”

An older man leans over in his chair. His elbows prop up on his lap. His fingers steeple, and he rests the tip of his chin on top of them, “Again? I thought New York was freed of Gaius.”

“And who pray tell, has it fallen to this time?” Dark humor lines Aiko’s voice.

“Rheya, the first vampire.” Jax steps up to answer.

“She won’t stop until all of America falls under her thumb.” Kamilah adds.

“Why should we care about the fall of America?” Aiko laughs. “About time I say!”

“Because when she is done with us, she’ll come for you.” It is Adrian’s turn to answer.

“You.” The elder vampire that spoke before, starts calmly. But anger is still held behind his words, “Come to our home and declare doom and gloom. You expect us to stop what we are doing to cater to that? Especially when you throw Takeshi’s sin in our faces?”

“I didn’t break any laws; I turned the boy in America.”

“We’ve only came here to seek sanctuary and get help from Kano. Amy here—” Kamilah tries to say.

Like they were one person, the Five recoil and let out a collective sigh of surprise.

“How do you know about Kano?” Aiko’s voice is so frosty, you literally get chills. “No one is supposed know of his existence! No one!”

“Rheya will stop at nothing to have her. To turn her into a monster to help destroy us all. She is the Bloodkeeper. As a vampire, this gives her immense powers. She can’t control them, and she needs a powerful psychic to train her to better use them to fight Rheya.” Kamilah is calm outwardly, but you feel her worry of losing you again for the third time.

“She is also the only one who is resistant to Rheya’s powers.” Adrian adds quickly.

A cybernetic woman makes her appearance. Lily is shocked into silence for the time being. “A vampire that is also a Bloodkeeper? Intriguing.” Her voice has a hollow whistle to it.

Kamilah looks at you with as much pride and love she can conjure, “It is a complicated story for later, but indeed she is the first of her kind.”

“Please, by helping me.” A beat, “Us. You will prevent your sanctuary from being taken over.” You speak with a gentle urgency, trying hard to bite back your fears.

“While, I don’t like the approach, and Kano would most definitely like to meet this generation’s Bloodkeeper turned vampire. We must consider Kano’s wishes on the matter.” Henry appears more tranquil than he was earlier.

“Henry!” Aiko shouts, “Their very presence brings us danger!”

“Shove it, Aiko. You’re still bitter I left you and you know it.” Kamilah barks back.

“THE VIBE I KNEW THERE WAS A VIBE!” Lily JUST has to shout.

“For god sakes, Lily.” Kamilah shakes her head. “Shut up, or next time I will cut out your tongue.” She’s telling the truth.

You look at Lily and shake your head, “Lily. Just. Stop. I can’t even with you right now.”

Lily bites her lip and looks highly guilty, and you can tell she realizes she said way too much.

“Takeshi,” Henry goes on, ignoring the outburst. “I take it you want to vote on it?”

“He gets a vote on the mess, he created?!” Aiko crosses her arms. “I should think not!”

Henry rolls his eyes. He seems like he is used to Aiko’s own outbursts, “I say Takeshi takes care of them. If Kano should want to work with Amy. If not, they go back to where they came.”

A dark man, who was silent the whole time says, with a smile, “I for one is delighted to see what she and Kano can get up to.”

“I don’t. It has a high probability of ending in disaster.” The cyborg vampire says skeptically.

(Gee thanks, cyber lady.)

“To Rheya.” Kamilah frowns and says only for your group.

“Back to hell.” Adrian sighs.

Second part of my multiple whumpees series, which I decided to call "decoration only"

New and probably maybe last whumpee gets introduced in this one, with Painting still being defiant

The ending was completely unplanned and at first I wanted it to go in a different direction but my brain said "no <3" so uH

Tagging; @whump-it

-- tw;; display whump, multiple whumpees, implied noncon & noncon kiss, conditioned whumpees, dehumanising, intimate whumper, multiple whumpers, captivity whump, it as pronoun --

Painting tugged at their restraints, over and over, hoping for some form of movement. Doll silently shook its head at them with pleading eyes, trying to get them to stop. If Gerald saw them attempting to escape again he would be furious, he was still in a grumpy mood from them kicking his boyfriend earlier.

Painting shot it an angry look and let out a huff, finally giving up. It knew the position they were in was uncomfortable, it felt lucky not to be restrained themselves this time, but it didn’t want Painting to get in trouble. Doll had been good enough to be allowed outside the bedroom for once so it wanted to make the best of it. But if Painting started acting up and ruining the night now, Doll would have to pay for it later as well. It only wished Painting would understand that and quit resisting all the time. Hopefully if everything went smoothly, it could have a night to itself for once.

Doll didn’t want to set any expectations, events were always a gamble. If it got lucky enough its owners would get too drunk to really do anything to it, otherwise it would just get thrown around and used by them like every other night. It shuddered thinking about it. It tried to dismiss the thoughts, and enjoy what little free time they had. Doll sat down on the wooden floor with its legs crossed, staring at its bare feet. All its nails were neatly painted a light green to match Gerald’s pillows. It hated itself for actually liking them, the color was pleasant, it couldn’t deny that. It just wished it had been allowed to wear something less revealing and warmer for the event then a short skirt and crop top, but it supposed making it feel embarrassed was half the fun.

Doll wondered how long it had been since it first came here. It must’ve been months already, it couldn’t remember its life outside of this house anymore. Or had this always been its life?

The door to the showroom swung open, and Doll immediately stood up, hands behind their back. It could hear Painting shifting on their feet next to it. It tensed up watching Brandon walk towards them, bag in hand.

“Dollie! Come here, bubba.” He barked.

Doll ran up and kneeled before him. It kept its eyes on his feet, too nervous to look up.

“The old hag decided to buy you a new collar for tonight, because your current one has gotten old and it would be embarrassing for us to make people think we can’t afford anything better.”

He reached inside the bag, taking out a pink collar with fake white flowers attached to it. It carefully peeked up and held its breath as he replaced its old collar with the new one. The collar felt more stiff and was tight against its skin, it hated it already.

“There. You look much cuter like this, dollie.” He purred.

Brandon placed two fingers under Doll’s chin, tilting its head up, and pressed a kiss against its lips. It tried its best not to pull away, it felt embarrassed having to kiss him in front of someone else. Doll heaved a sigh of relief when he let go of it. It could feel Painting staring at it, but it didn’t want to see their face, the judgmental look in their eyes. Brandon slowly stroked its cheek, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“You look a bit red darling, something wrong?”

He gave it that fake, caring smile. The smile which always made it believe he cared, if only for a moment. Doll shook its head, trying to avoid eye contact. It wanted to just sink into the floor and disappear. He cupped its face with his hands, making it flinch.

”Good. The guests will be here in an hour, so get ready, bubba.”

Brandon gave it another kiss on the forehead and walked back out. Once he was out of sight Doll reached up to the collar, trying to get it to loosen. It whipped its head over to Painting when they tapped their feet on the ground to get its attention. Confusion was written on their face, staring at it with wide eyes. It wasn’t sure what to say to them, and turned its eyes down in shame, shrugging. It didn’t need their judgement right now.

-

The room was crowded with people, making it hard for Neko to navigate with plates in their hands. They tried their best to be efficient and not make anyone upset, which became increasingly more difficult as the hours went on. Neko’s muscles were burning from running around the entire time. They silently served the guests their drinks, and moved on to the next. On their way back to the kitchen Gerald stepped in front of them, stopping them in their tracks. They bowed politely, waiting for an order.

“I’ll be showing off my decorations soon, so go get Flower from outside.” Gerald hissed.

“Yes, master.”

Neko turned around and swiftly moved to the front door. They took a peek over their shoulder, biting their lip, before reluctantly opening it. The air outside was cold, hitting them in an instant. For a moment they stood still, taking deep breaths, admiring the sky. They didn’t want to keep Gerald waiting for too long. Flower’s white hair stood out in the dark, so they didn’t have any issues finding them. It was only when they approached that they could see the tear streaks on their face. Neko could tell the guests hadn’t been kind, they never were.

“Hey, you gotta go inside.”

Neko reached their hand out, which Flower gratefully took. They lead them back inside, through the crowd, straight to the showroom. The change from cold to warm air made Flower shudder for a bit. Nonetheless they took their place next to Painting, sitting down in a different position. Doll took a glance at them, slowly standing up and taking its place in the corner, keeping its eyes down. Neko silently remarked how different it looked from last time they saw them. They scanned the room one last time to make sure everything was in the proper place, then hurried off to find Gerald. It took them a long minute to find him in the crowd, but eventually found him in the middle of the room, talking to Brandon.

“Master? Everything is ready.” Neko said.

“Very well,” Gerald clapped his hands two times, echoing through the room and silencing everyone. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve all had a lovely start to the evening, now, I’d like to show you all my latest work.”

Neko was already at the door, opening it so the guests could enter. Gerald and Brandon took the lead entering first, everyone else following after. They waited until the room had cleared before entering themselves, leaving one door slightly opened, just in case they had to get something. Across the room they could see Painting snarling at people getting close to them. The sight made them wince. They let out a deep sigh, already knowing how this would end for Painting. They flinched at the sudden sound of footsteps barreling towards them. In the blink of an eye Doll was standing next to them.

”Do you.. need something, Doll?” Neko asked, concerned.

“I felt lonely. Master said I was allowed to go to you.”

It avoided eye contact with them, looking in a completely different direction.

”Can I hold your hand?”

Doll nodded, and Neko took its hand in their own. They smiled at it, they missed having contact with another person. Doll smiled back, a small smile, a kind one. They both stood silently, forgetting about the world around them. It would be okay, they were sure of it.