#Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge

[ronearoundblindly]

Hit By Fate

a Steve Rogers x Reader life lesson

[This is my own entry for my 1-1-1 Challenge, but also is a very belated gift fic for @itickledthesleepingdragon. May we all remember that we are worth care and consideration!💜] WC 2365

Recommended links: Habibi Through The Years--The Old Guard fandom, Joe/Nicky (Ao3) Invaluable--Star Wars fandom, dad!Obi-Wan

Summary: It's just an accident, and you're totally fine. One handsome man, however, does not agree.

It’s not their fault; it’s just bad luck.

You should have texted to confirm this morning, but since Syd told you she’d text you if anything changed, you didn’t want to pry. Your friends make enough fun of you already for never coming out. You didn’t want to give them one more story in their long list of times you bailed. They already think you’re allergic to fun, so tonight you were going to show them.

You’d rushed to the restaurant after work. You even woke up early to do your hair before work so that you’d still look nice. You brought a purse to transfer your wallet and keys and makeup into so as not to carry your much larger work bag around. You even drank less water the entire afternoon so you wouldn’t be rushing to the restroom and slowing down your cross-city commute.

But then you arrived and there was no reservation.

Not under anyone’s name.

The hostess seemed outstandingly indifferent to your situation. You stepped aside for other patrons, sneaking peeks through the wonky glass dividers to catch a glimpse of your friends at a table maybe, and you texted one.

>>Hey.

<<Whaddup? Tiff replies.

>>You guys here yet?

<<Where?

You give the name of the restaurant and feel your guts crash to the polished wood floor.

<<We were there earlier. Yeah. Why?

Your hands start to shake with anxiety and a touch of rage.

>>I thought we were meeting at 7

The dots show up and disappear. The hostess huffs, staring at you while striking through a line on her paper. You’re blocking one of four total doors to enter the building, but apparently, that’s still taking up too much space.

<<Syd and Karol got off at 4 so we just had drinks early

<<TGIF

<<On a pub crawl now

They know you still work tomorrow. They know you likely would barely drink at dinner. You know exactly why no one would bother asking you if you could get out of work early, and you know they would not try any spontaneous fun for your first time out in months. They didn’t ask because they knew you’d say ‘no,’ or even worse, they knew you’d say ‘yes’ but be uncomfortable the entire time.

You try to call Syd, a last-ditch effort to get a lock on just how drunk or how far away they are. You tell yourself that if they are close and seem relatively coherent (and if the bar serves some small plates of something because you are hungry) then you’ll go. You will absolutely go.

Syd doesn’t pick up. You try Karol. No dice.

Fine. You turn to ask the hostess if there is space at the bar to eat, but she looks at you with such annoyance and a raised finger while she handles a couple who clearly out-rank you in some way.

Defeated, you leave instead.

This whole thing has taken so little time that you’d have to wait another ten minutes for the next bus back. You just walk, staring down at your phone, willing one of them to talk to the other, willing one of them to realize they’ve left you behind.

Do they even care that they’ve done it? Are they even your friends anymore?

The sad part is that you don’t go out much, but these are the friends you go out with the most. It just so happens that’s a few times a year, and that is you trying. This is you pushing yourself.

It’s not good enough.

Just as the WALK sign lights up at the street corner, the dots show back up under Syd’s message, and you shove it closer to your face.

You don’t see it coming.

A cab’s bumper smacks your left leg and bats you sideways. The solid hit feels like a tumble on the ice rink. It spins you, your phone flying out of your hands, and you’re scrambling not to fall. Your muscles tense every which way that’s not natural, probably looking klutzy.

You shoot back up too fast and look around, wondering if people are staring at you now, but the few other people crossing simply walk on by.

The cabbie only rolls down his window.

“You okay?”

Not actively concerned. Not getting out of the car. Not even apologizing.

But if you’d kept walking, you’d be across already. If you weren’t just standing there, the cab would be able to turn and so would the several others behind him.

One honks.

“Fine,” you say quietly, waving him on for emphasis and stepping back to find your phone.

All the effort of the day, all the preparation mentally and physically, and you are stranded on the wrong side of the road, exactly where you started, metaphorically and near-actually run over.

You have to crouch down by the curb and pray your phone didn’t slide into the gutter, wincing at a particular angle that shoots pain up your left thigh. Maybe you aren’t fine.

“Miss?” a tentative, low voice calls above a classic pair of Converses on the sidewalk. “Think this is yours.”

A man in glasses and a ball cap hands your phone back, the screen mercifully intact.

It’s such a tiny blessing in this string of unfortunate events.

The breath you take turns into a whimper and ends in a sniffle. Tears sting your eyes as you start to think about what happened—what really happened—in the past minute.

“Thank you,” you choke out, snatching the device. The gesture seems aggressive after the fact. “Sorry. Thank you,” you try again.

“You okay?” How the same two words can sound so different from two people, you’ll never know, but the difference floors you harder than the car’s impact.

With the utmost care, the stranger’s hands lightly touch your shoulders and guide you out of the road.

“I’m fine.” You’re an automated recording, retreating to a quiet and lonelier space in your mind. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You got hit by a car,” he says bluntly.

“No, just a—“ you look up into the man’s face, his blond hair, his blue eyes, his strong jaw, his height “—graze.”

“Yeah, you got grazed by four thousand pounds.”

“You’re…” All you can do is point at Captain America’s chest and blink.

He frowns and whispers. “You recognize me?”

Somehow that’s the strange part?

“Shoot. The glasses usually work. Don’t…please don’t make a big deal, but I…I’m sorry I couldn’t pull you out of the way.”

Steve Rogers buries his hands in his jean pockets, folding himself more into the cover of his hoodie and leather jacket.

“You wanted to help me?” you croak.

He ticks his head in confusion, respectfully indicating that you’ve asked the one and only dumb question known to mankind.

“Why?”

You don’t even know what you’re asking about now. Why me? Why today? Why now? Why not? You don’t notice your hands are shaking until he grips them gently.

“I can take you to the hospital,” he offers.

“I’m fine.” The repeat earns you another frown. “I’m not…hurting,” you clarify.

“That’s called shock, sweetheart.”

Steve seems to catch himself and sighs.

“Sorry. What I mean to say is let’s find you some water and somewhere to sit, okay? I’ll check you out then.”

You nod immediately. He’s only half-turned when Steve spins back around.

“Not check you out check you out,” he mumbles, “just like a once over. No, not…” he sighs harder. “I am going to make sure you are alright.” Every word is strategically emphasized.

He leads you to the nearest bench. His head stays down the entire way to a newspaper stand to buy you a bottle of water.

You can tell by the way Steve monitors every move of the bottle to your lips that he fights doing it for you. From his overly attentive posture, you’re surprised he waits a whole minute to ask how you feel yet again.

Still stunned, honestly, but it’s not just your left leg that aches, it’s your whole body. That seems too pathetic to admit aloud, but if you say the ‘fine’-word one more time, he’ll surely carry you to the dang ER. He has that look.

Instead, you admit, “I’m hungry.”

A smile blossoms over his features. “I can help with that.”

The boyish glee with which Steve Rogers walks you (gingerly) to a nearby, hole-in-the-wall pizza parlor is endearing. You’re not a patient for those minutes, and when he orders for you both (there are three lines on the board and that’s the menu) while you claim a teeny tiny booth, you’re not a victim of your day.

When he tells you how he found this place originally, how it’s almost like the pizza he remembers from long ago but better, you’re not alone anymore.

“Were you going to get food when…” Steve trails off.

Maybe it’s the shock wearing too thin to mask the rest. Maybe it’s the hot cheese warming your insides and melting your anger. You spend the next ten minutes blabbing about what happened with your friends and explaining what you were doing when the cab hit you.

“So you weren’t even okay before the car?”

His words throw you for a loop.

“No, I mean, it was just a misunder—“

“You’re doing it again,” he cuts in. “You’re diminishing you in the picture.”

You take a long swig of your soda while staring blankly at him. You watch Steve realize you aren’t even going to impose on him for an explanation. He drops his slice on the plate and holds out his huge hands as props.

“The whole picture of your day, right?” His arms are wide, then he points at things on the table. “You told me about Syd and why it’s ‘fine’ that she changed plans for her own convenience. About Tiffany and Carly—“

“Karol,” you sputter mid-sip.

“Carol, right, sorry. Everyone has a -y in their names now. I just assumed.”

“Karol with a -k,” you add.

Steve…ponders whether that’s some sort of joke before waving his hands to regroup. “You told me how your other friends—using that term loosely—rationalize leaving you to eat or even navigate the city alone—“

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Debatable,” he chuckles. “And then you tell me about how the cab driver probably didn’t need the hassle of dealing with some minor injury he inflicted on—and I quote—‘someone.’”

His eyebrow pops up over the rim of his glasses as if that will drive his point home, but you’ve got nothing.

“Where are you in the picture?” he finally blurts. “It’s your time and your effort and your body and your safety, and you just told me everyone else is more important. They all deserve consideration before you in your own life. Including some driver who could have killed you!”

He’s getting visibly agitated the more he talks, and you shrink in the seat, not out of fear but out of guilt for taking an evening of Captain America’s time to yourself. If your friends couldn’t even stand to spend a meal with you, it makes sense that Steve would be annoyed with your company.

“Wait, there,” he points directly at your face, “what was that thought? What did you just think?”

“I—I’m sorry I—“

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Steve asks bluntly.

He must see your eyes glisten with more unshed tears because his whole body visibly softens.

“You showed up at the place you all agreed on—“ he counts on his fingers “—at the time you were told, and walked across a street with right of way.” He does what you are beginning to think of as his signature sigh. “Am I missing something?”

All you can do is chew on your bottom lip.

It takes you what feels like an eternity to notice. “I could have really been hurt,” you mumble finally. “That’s not okay.”

Steve stretches his long arm across the tiny table, opening his palm to await yours.

“I hate to tell you this. You don’t have to be torn open to be ‘really hurt,’ sweetheart.” This time he says the nickname with firm intention. He squeezes your hand. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d come to the infirmary with me and get some industrial-grade salve on what’s sure to be a nasty bruise.”

You smile sadly, still pushing away errant thoughts that you’re imposing on the Captain.

“And by the time that’s over…it’ll be time for a late-night dessert before I take you home.”

In the fluorescent light, you can see him blush fiercely.

“As an escort—escort you,” he corrects, “to your door, I mean. For safety.”

He shrugs uncomfortably to adjust his layers of disguise, hanging his head, this time to hide his face from you.

“If you ever wondered why I’d go out to pizza alone,” Steve whispers, “wonder no longer.”

He scoots across his side of the booth to stand.

You think for a long moment.

This is important. This is one of the most important men in the country—nay, the world—begging you to be the protagonist in your own life. He wants you to want that.

You deposit the last grease-crumpled napkin onto the stacked plates and clear your throat. “I like this picture,” you say first, but it’s not enough. It’s not loud enough. It doesn’t hold weight or take up its due space.

You try again.

“I like being in this picture.”

He’s tall and his gleaming white teeth are perfect and his bright blue eyes are framed by long lashes and he’s staring right at you. How could you not shoot your shot?

“I’d—“ you fight the urge to look away “—consider seeing a sequel, too.”

Steve pushes up his fake glasses and nods, still pink in the cheeks. His hesitation reads as shy, not polite, not dutiful.

He juts out an average, hoodie-covered elbow for you to balance on.

“S’pose that means I should know your name, miss, and what your favorite flavor of ice cream is.”

Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge Details

A/N: In case you were wondering, the life lesson I wrote Steve Rogers teaching us is one that I constantly struggle with, too. This is an everyday, uphill battle to recognize our own worth and know that taking care of ourselves is not selfish. I hope this serves as a wee reminder!

Taglist: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america angst #captain america fluff

[jamneuromain]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Steve Rogers x Reader (You)

Life Lesson:  There's always going to be a coworker that you don't like.

Warning: Cursing? A lot of cursing (?

A/N: This is my entry to @ronearoundblindly's Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge <3 Based on the inspiration from Eclipness. I mostly do the editing work :3 Basically some short snippets of your life being a task force leader in the Avengers.

*

Past

You heard of the funny business, that Rhodey commenting on Peter Quill, the legendary Star Lord, “So he’s an idiot?” To be honest, even if you are barely the type to joke around and have fun at the workplace – mind you, you work for the Avengers, the place that a single mistake could cost the lives of millions if not billions - you could barely keep the amusement off your face for three full days after you heard the anecdote.

“You’re laughing now, but I’m telling ya’,” Rhodey sipped his coffee, his words were more of a warning and a piece of advice to you, when you both and seven new recruits happened to be in the coffee room during the break and Rhodey shared his experiences in past missions, “sooner or later you’d figure there’s someone dumb as hell and you’ll feel the exact same way.”

The new recruits burst out a new round of laughter, but you shook your head with a small smile. The warmth of your coffee mug prickled your fingers slightly as you picked it up, “I’m sure it is not as bad as it sounds. We have the best agents here in the compound. They are the best of the best of the best.”

You knew Rhodey for a long while now. In fact, he was one of the instructors in your early years of army life. However, it wasn’t until later that the Avengers Initiative became more stable that he introduced you to this line of work, when all the other Avengers are either too busy or too incompetent (and yes, Rhodey was referring to Tony when he used this word) to lead a special task force that dealt with missions that were not quite Avenger’s level, but tricky if put in the hands of normal agents and squads.

And for the record, Rhodey wasn’t talking about anyone specific this time when he said “someone”.

While you thought otherwise. Sure, there will always be an annoying coworker or colleague at work, but you were certain that you could keep it professional.

Oh boy Oh. How wrong you were.

**

Now

“Cap has been on this mission for six months, and now he needs your help on this lead.” Sam, who has been like a big brother since your arrival, and even more brother-like when he knew about your army life, opens the conference room door for you. He flashes his pearl white teeth, “Debriefing starts in two minutes. I know this is your first time working with him. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”

The glass door opens, and there stands Maria, mission dispatch officer of the Avengers Initiative, who simply nods and gestures you to sit down, checking her tablet and probably taking notes on her brief later. Your task force teammates sit on either side of the table, talking or minding their own business.

“Good luck!” Sam waves and disappears down in the corridor.

A few seconds and Maria still hasn’t started debriefing.

“Maria, do you need a couple of minutes?” You ask in confusion, seeing that Maria has no intention of introducing your next mission.

Maria raises her head from the tablet, blinks in confusion, before realization hits her, “we’re still waiting for one more.”

Debriefing was supposed to start three minutes ago.

No matter who comes through that door next, you’re going to show him, or her …

“Sorry everyone. There’s been a little incident downtown.” Steve Rogers, the blonde bulky super soldier rushes through the door, crashing himself down the chair beside you, “hello, you must be the leader of the task force. I’m Steve. Nice working with ya.” As he extends his hand.

You shake his hand out of politeness, while Maria starts pulling out the map of hostile locations where the lead points to.

It’s hardly likely for you to show him … some moves or anything.

But Captain Rogers is one of the greatest soldiers ever walk the Earth.

It’s going to be pleasant working with him, right?

… right?

***

The first mission that your task force is on this lead, you hand Steve full authority of commanding you and your unit.

Literally every recon mission you have been on, whether leading the task force or when you were in the military, was orchestrated perfectly. You get in, gather the info, and get out. Easy peasy.

But no.

You heard of the saying that goes around in the compound. “Every recon will turn into a full-on engagement.”

Whoever says that remains anonymous, but it’s no secret that these missions refer to Captain Steve Rogers.

It was an urban myth, you thought. How can someone as experienced as Steve Rogers, a man who has been through actual World War II, could make mistakes and blow up a simple recon?

You were proven wrong.

“Coming in hot, four o’clock!” Steve shouts as he blocks an RPG with his vibranium shield, explosion and dust wrap around him and engulf him in flames.

You curse under your breath, hands steady on your sniper rifle and take out another guard on the gate.

It wasn’t his fault, nor your teammates’. When the recon became an engagement with hostile members of this organization. It was … purely bad luck?

When some guard hit the panic button, setting the entire place in lockdown, and yelling in the comms that he couldn’t see his pal heading to the bathroom on the security cams.

But still, this NEVER happened before.

You join the messed up battle field as Captain Rogers plans for extraction, which includes getting in the RV (seriously, RV? These bad guys sure know how to have fun) and blasting the concrete walls using the new plasma cannon that you snatched from the bad guys’ weaponry room.

“Do we know how far is the blast radius of this thing?” You are in favor of getting out, but you aren’t in favor of killing yourself when getting out.

“We’d have to wait and see then.” Captain Rogers says in extreme optimism, covering your six when you and your teammates cram in the bus-like RV.

David, the mechanic expert in your team, plops up the skylight with the help of his teammates, holding the dangerous cannon and nodding to you, “we’re ready.”

“On my mark, go!” Captain Rogers hops on the RV as well, and tells you to drive.

The firing gradually ceased, as the enemy agents sure are baffled as well why you are driving towards a wall.

“NOW!” He shouts to David, who steadies himself and fires the cannon with a spectacular aim.

Oh, the plasma bomb-thing hits the wall alright. It blasts a hole with a radius of ten miles, taking down the whole wall with it, and burning a few yards of trees near the castle as well.

You hit the gas pedal and go through the hole – technically there isn’t a hole. There used to be a wall. You take the RV through the empty space which used to be a wall, and get out of sight of the enemy agents.

While your teammates lie down and rest, some taking care of their wounds with a first aid kit they found somewhere, you spare a glance at Captain Rogers. Ash and dust smear his pretty face, hair all tousled and his helmet lost – again, you heard that the equipment room produces ten helmets per month for him, just because he’d lost one somewhere almost on a daily basis during the mission.

And you know. You just know.

He’s reckless as hell and you won’t enjoy working with him.

Not one bit.

****

He hurries on the Quinjet before you and your task force take off.

“What’s this mission?” He speaks to you in a low voice, placing his shield near his feet, taking a seat right next to you.

“Caribbeans. For the felon codename ‘Tower Gate’.” You fasten your seatbelt, instructing the pilot to take off, “I thought you were on another mission?”

“Tower Gate? I thought he was in Spain?” He furrows his brow in confusion.

You clench your jaw, trying to make your voice sound calm, “the last mission when we,” you point at you and him separately, “were pursuing Tower Gate in Spain, and he got away, was six months ago.”

“Oh, right.” He pauses for a moment, clearly taking in you and your teammates suit up as divers, “what’s with the suit?”

Inner peace. You tell yourself. Inner peace. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You didn’t get briefed?” You eye him, almost speechless, trying not to sound mad, “we are going to dive into the ocean to approach the island. Does your heavy armor…” work in the ocean? Won’t it drown him???

That would be tons of reports to write.

“I’ll figure something out.” He smiles, leaning back against the cockpit when the plane hits a small turbulence and he sucks in air and rubs the back of his head with a painful expression.

You kind of know where he gets his crazy ideas from.

He probably banged his head a lot during missions without his helmet.

Speaking of, “where on Earth is your helmet?” You can’t help but ask.

An embarrassed smile lingers on his lips, “kind of … lost it. During the last mission, and equipment room hasn’t produced the new batch yet.”

“Lost it???” You raise your voice by an octave, “and you’re going on missions like this?? Without your helmet?”

He definitely banged his head a lot.

……

“I’m telling you, Maria. He has the worst intel, rushes in front of the whole team without even a proper plan in mind, and he keeps putting himself in danger, which I will not tolerate when I’m running missions.” You complain to Maria Hill, who looks thoughtfully on hearing your reasons to kick Steve out of your team, or stop running missions with you at least.

“I’m sorry, but Steve can pick his own missions.” Maria shrugs, “however, I can forward your opinion to him, if it helps.”

If it helps?

You huff and leave the room.

*****

“Hey, I think we’re supposed to go over the briefing for the mission tomorrow.” You are stopped by Steve Rogers on your way to mission dispatch center. He taps your shoulder and asks if you could join him in the conference room.

“But there’s no mission tomorrow?” You shake your head for clarity, “what’s the codename for this mission?”

“Code name Streetlamp.”

“That’s … Agent O’ Hare. O’ Hare is working on ‘Streetlamp’.”

“Uh… where can I find Agent O’ Hare?”

You know O’ Hare. Not so well, but you know him. He’s one of the new recruits at the time you were brought in. His office is right next to yours and you occasionally bump into each other in the coffee room.

“He’s … on leave.” You choose your words carefully.

“When will he be back?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“He’s got a mission tomorrow. Who authorized this?” Steve furrows his brows. Even though he’s extremely handsome, you still want to punch him in the face.

And you are extremely sorry for O’ Hare too.

You bet Steve is going to wake up in the middle of tonight and think about how he should have NOT asked you this.

“His father passed away and he headed back to his home to arrange the funeral.” You sigh, feeling the blood pumping in your head, “and you authorized his leave. You are the only person who can authorize senior agents’ leave.”

“Wait I do?”

“GO ASK THE HR NOT ME!” You exclaim in frustration, “I’m not your secretary!”

“Oh. Umm… okay. Have a nice day.” Steve looks apologetic. And it seems he is heading towards the HR department.

Jesus Christ. He needs a secretary or an assistant or something.

Why doesn’t he have one?

Why doesn’t anyone see that?

Is Avengers Initiative that broke?

******

Steve was wounded in action during a mission together.

Apparently, he still has the power to choose which mission he participates in.

Sure, he was wounded when he was crazy enough to draw fire from half of your opponents.

Two ribs, a cracked skull – see, you knew he’d get hurt when you realized his helmet has gone missing again – and a broken arm.

Touching. Truly. But you prefer it if no one gets hurt.

You went to the medic bay and sent flowers and shit, leaving shortly because you have leave for the mission briefing.

Out of curiosity.

Just out of curiosity.

That Steve decides to poke around the phone.

It should take two days to heal and he can’t really paint or read, with his headaches and the cast on his arm.

The small and handy phone seems like a way to kill time.

See, no one, and you mean no normal person, would check other people’s Whatsapp signature.

But Steve, being completely ignorant to modern day social rules, accidentally clicks in your profile and reads your signature: SGR is a big dumbass.

And your twitter, which he almost magically found, your twitter that was unattached to the rest of your social media, but he stumbled upon.

“Jesus F Christ pay ATTENTION this is YOUR mission brief???!!!”

“You are the team leader??? Could you TRY NOT to get us killed????”

The dates of the post miraculously click with the missions you went on together.

“Parachute. The fucking dude jumps off without a parachute. From the plane. WITHOUT A FUCKING PARACHUTE!!!”

“THAT FUCKING SHIELD ALMOST KILLED ME YOU CAN JUST TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO SPEAK AT MY FUNERAL”

“I should resign JFC I might get an aneurism for working with this dumbass”

“The helmet the helmet the helmet how many times do I have to say put the FUCKING HELMET ON”

And the one from the very start: “Maria asked me why the enemy fortress seems different on satellite image. What can I say? Because we BLEW THE FUCKING WALL and BURNT the ENTIRE FOREST DOWN???”

Steve would argue that he’s not a dumbass before he read all the posts on your twitter.

But now he doesn’t have any evidence to back him up.

He does sound like a dumbass when you repeat his actions in your tweets.

*******

You were hauled up in the middle of a night in your bed for new updates on your last mission. Afterall, villains work 24/7 and don’t care what time zone you are in.

You yawn behind your coffee mug, but the rest of the participants seem energetic when they are in Russia, adjusted to the local time zone already.

Steve, not surprising, was also in the meeting. The background of this online conference looks like his office in the Avengers compound. Clearly, he too is a bit disturbed by the conference at 2 am, as he tries to focus but you can still see the tiredness on his face.

Your phone pings with one new message as you yawn again, failing to cover your tiredness with your mug this time.

Steve Rogers: I heard that the Avengers Compound is haunted in the middle of the night ;)

You double check your surroundings.

You are at home, only that your online meeting background was set with a virtual office background, looking like as if you are in your office right now.

Focus on “AS IF”.

You chew on your lower lip not to reveal the smugness as you type back.

You: I’m at my house. But is there something just floated behind your back just now?

The next second, you see Steve panics and looking over his shoulders frequently, having Maria and Tony stop and ask him if everything is alright.

Nope. Everything is not alright.

You are completely wide awake at this point, as Steve blushes and tells them to continue.

You did not miss that he adds a jacket to his thin T-shirt as soon as the briefing continues. The super soldier serum does nothing to compete with the chillness coming from the bottom of his heart for fear of ghosts.

You hide your smug smile behind your coffee mug.

Steve Rogers. Fear of ghosts. HA!

Is Steve cute? Do you like him when you are not on missions? Sure.

Do you still think he’s dumb as hell and want to punch him in the face whenever you are on missions together? Hell yeah.

A work I hold dear: Attached

This, absolute this. This is the fic that started my madness of (writing for) Steve Rogers and dragged me down to hell of sinfully hot Professor Rogers :3 This is an absolute masterpiece that I'll forever hold dear (and definitely rush back to if I ever get an email saying that another chapter has been updated)

My work that I hope gets more attention: Wishful Thinking

I know it's yet to finish and dark and everything but def I hoped for more responses to a fic with a few chapters that I haven't managed to work out ;_;

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #Ro's 1-1-1 challenge #writing challenge #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction

[goddess47]

A fic written for @putijeansdiaz-ronordmann Ro's Buddie (9-1-1) Reverse Challenge... I got 'fake dating' as a trope and included the dialog prompt: "If I'm being honest... I'm a little suspicious of you."

This was fun to do! Hope you enjoy this bit of fluff!

#fandom: 9 1 1 #fic #buddie #ro reverse challenge

[hermitadaymay]

WELCOME TO HERMIT-A-DAY MAY 2024!

I'm thrilled to bring this challenge to you all for the second year in a row! Hermit-a-Day May is a challenge inspired by Hermitober, but with a twist: instead of theme prompts, we focus on a specific Hermit every day!

THE RULES: 1. Any type of fanwork is welcome so long as it features, or is otherwise inspired by, the Hermit of the day. 2. Tag #hermitaday to have your fanwork reblogged, or submit it directly to the blog (Please note that while I recognize the value of fanworks involving more mature themes, and they can certainly count toward challenge completion if you're keeping track for yourself, content on this blog will be kept "PG-13" so that all may enjoy.). 3. Fanworks for one Hermit posted after the day rolls over to another Hermit's day (per the US Central time zone) will be reblogged in a big queue in June. 4. I am not interested in seeing captions or tags in which you disparage your art/skills. We're all improving all the time. Be kind to yourselves.

WHY SHOULD I PARTICIPATE? To show love to every Hermit, from the most to least subscribed, from those who have been on the server from day one to those who only joined this season! And because challenges are fun! And because, this year, there's an extra dimension to the event: a fundraiser for Gamers Outreach, featuring art incentives by @rendiggitydog and @belmarzi.

GRAND TOTAL INCENTIVE: For every $150 we raise for Gamers Outreach, belmarzi will make 10 seconds' worth of animatic, featuring as many Hermits as she can fit into the time frame.

INDIVIDUAL DONATION INCENTIVE: For every $65 you personally donate to the fundraiser during the month of May, Rae rendiggitydog will draw you a shaded flats commission of a Hermit of your choice.

WHO’S RUNNING THIS? Hi! My name is Luna! You can use she/her, he/him, ze/hir, or ro/ros/roseself pronouns for me. My main blog is @as-if-unreal. Yep, before you ask, it really is just me, but to be fair I've had a lot of help.

BONUS SUNDAY PROMPTS EXPLAINED UNDER THE CUT

TFC - May 5th While he may no longer be with us physically, TFC left behind him a legacy of quiet care and good humor, and Hermitcraft would not have been the same without him.

FRIENDS OF HERMITCRAFT - May 12th There are plenty of shows, podcasts, competitions, other servers, and more woven into the internet ecosystem around Hermitcraft, and plenty more people involved in them: just as a small number of examples, Season 9's Rift opened up to a whole server of Emperor friends, and there are always allies to be made in MCC and enemies to be made in the Life Series. Today is for celebrating all of those who, while they may not be Hermits themselves, exist and entertain in proximity to them.

FAVORITE "ALT" HERMIT - May 19th HoTGuY and Poultry-Man. Helsknight and Evil Xisuma. Renbob and - look, you get the idea. This server is full of theater kids ready to toss on an alternate skin and play into a brand new character at the drop of a hat. Who's your favorite?

GROUPS AND COLLABS - May 26th This month is all about one Hermit a day... but what we really love is when they interact with each other. What does your favorite duo or group of Hermits get up to together?

#hermitaday #hermitcraft #hermit-a-day may #hermitcraft smp #vintagebeef #xisumavoid #zedaph #keralis #ijevin #mumbo jumbo #xbcrafted #skizzleman #stressmonster101 #pearlescentmoon #cubfan135 #docm77 #falsesymmetry #welsknight #ethoslab #joehills #geminitay #bdoubleo100 #iskall85 #tangotek #zombiecleo #impulsesv #grian #goodtimeswithscar #hypnotizd #smallishbeans

[ros3ybabe]

Winter Break Goals/Habits/Things to Begin

So, my winter break begins Saturday officially, even tho I finish all my schoolwork by tomorrow/Thursday. I figured to keep me on track with my goal of being a better me in 2024, I'd make a list of some things I'd like to incorporate into my days during my 6 week long winter break! Not everything will be accomplished, but I'm going to try my hardest.

🩷 My Winter Break List 🩷

consistent workout routine 3-5 days a week

try out a pilates class (local studio)

study japanese/spanish every day (create a new routine for studying either)

consistent sleep schedule (10pm - 6am)

daily afternoon hot girl walks (30+ minutes)

daily gratitude journaling

answer a journal prompt daily

read every day, 1 chapter of a book minimum

pick up a hobby and practice it several times a week (drawing, crochet, etc)

daily morning and night skincare

daily meditation (in the morning)

educate myself on healthy financial habits

drink electrolytes daily

watch one episode of a TV show minimum (NOT American Dad - thats my comfort sho)

clean bedroom and do laundry often, weekly at worst

get ready for the day, every day (do my hair, wear clothes I DIDNT sleep in, maybe some light makeup)

eat breakfast every day

meet my protein goal daily

track all my habits daily

it seems like a lot, yes, but it is completely doable as some of these habits take 10 minutes or less and I have 24 hours in a day to fill up. I get bored very easy si if I don't set goals, I'll end up staying in bed on my phone all day long and that's not healthy or productive whatsoever. I'll include these in my daily challenge updates too to keep myself accountable!!

here's to trying ro be a better me!

til next time lovelies 🩷

#pink pilates girl #pink pilates princess #self care #self development #self love #wonyoungism #it girl #health & fitness #mental health #physical health #that girl energy #that girl #it girl energy #clean girl #green juice girl #pink aesthetic #pink academia #pink blog #pilates aesthetic #uni student aesthetic #university student #college student #student life #student #wonyoung motivation #studyblr #langblr #girly aesthetic #study aesthetic #health and fitness

[telomeke]

THE SIGN – CULTURAL REFERENCES, MYTHOLOGY AND META

‌

This post comes on the heels of the one by @respectthepetty about mythology and meta of The Sign, linked here. 😍👍 If you've not read it yet, I recommend you do before watching any more of this series, because it will help things make more sense (especially if you're not familiar with some of the cultural references thrumming in the background).

Anyway, I'd previously done some research on the legend(s) of the Garuda and the Naga in Southeast Asia, and so I'm writing this post to share what I've found because it does have relevance to at least some of what we're seeing onscreen in The Sign, and elaborates on @respectthepetty's post.

‌

The Garuda and the Naga are mythical beings with origins in Indian mythology that have been transposed into cultures across Southeast Asia.

In Hinduism, Garuda is a single deity, depicted in either full-bird form or part-bird and part-human, and is the king of birds and also a divine sun-bird (with physical attributes similar to an eagle's). His elder brother, Aruna, is the chariot driver for Surya the sun-god, while Garuda himself is the mount of Vishnu.

In Buddhist mythology, the garudas (sometimes also spelt garulas) are a society and race of gigantic predatory birds, sometimes also depicted as part-human in form. The garudas are intelligent, social and blessed with might and magical powers.

Thailand may be predominantly Buddhist, but it has also been strongly influenced by ancient Indian culture and Hinduism, and thus both the concept of a single deity Garuda and the race of garudas co-exist in Thai mythological beliefs.

The nagas on the other hand, are snake-like or dragon-like creatures, whose realm is the water world. (The word naga is derived from Sanskrit and is also etymologically related to the English word snake.)

In mythology nagas and garudas are perpetual enemies, although neither side is actually identified with good or evil – they are simply two groups eternally at war with each other (so occidental-leaning minds should dispel any preconception that the water serpents are necessarily the bad guys in The Sign, even though the narrative seems to be tilting in that direction).

When borrowed into popular culture (as has been done for The Sign) you may sometimes see influences of Chinese dragon and phoenix mythology (as Chinese cultural influence is also present in Thailand, and the dragon/phoenix motif of Sinitic culture nicely parallels the naga/garuda conflict pairing). And because of Garuda's association with the sun in Hinduism, and a parallel with the fiery phoenix of Western mythology, you may sometimes see garudas portrayed as aligned with the sun and/or flame as well.

There are some hints of these in The Sign. The naga that Phaya encounters while struggling underwater during the open sea training challenge in Ep.1 is very Thai in appearance (especially with the curved, forward-pointing crest, making it look much like the nagas that adorn Thai temple architecture). But the array of pronged, backward-pointing horns and trailing antennae appear to be a design nod at Chinese or Japanese dragons (East Asian dragons are also strongly identified with the watery realm, by the way). And in the graphics of the series (e.g., in the poster at the start of this post), the sky (the realm of Garuda) is suffused with sunlight and speckled with what look like drifting sparks, referencing sun and flame.

Because of the wings tattooed on his back and his time in the air force, Phaya is most likely the reincarnation of a garuda in human form (and this is why he struggled with the water challenge, as he was completely out of his element).

This is also possibly why we see him smoking early on in the series (because of the alignment of Garuda with the element of fire), and significantly he does this while Naga Tharn (irked by Yai's teasing at the dining table) seeks refuge in the washroom (which is ห้องน้ำ/hong naam in Thai, literally water room):

‌Billy also describes Phaya's character in the promo video for the series (linked here) as being "like fire, always hot and burning... quite hot-headed." 👍

Elsewhere in the same promo video (linked here), Tharn's good friend Chalothon is explicitly identified as the reincarnation of an important naga, which immediately signals that he and Phaya will be at odds in the series:

‌

The water deity that saves Phaya during the open sea challenge – Wansarat, whom he drew in his sketchbook – is not just Freen Sarocha in a fancy scuba suit. 😂

If you look at her arm and hand when she reaches out to save Phaya (before she turns into Tharn) the green scales meld into the skin of her human wrist – they're part of her natural covering, and she's really a nakhee/nagin/nagini, a female naga, appearing in human form to save Phaya.

The narrative has made it strongly obvious that Phaya is a reincarnated garuda, while Tharn is the reincarnation of Wansarat, from the lineage of the nagas. And the teaser-trailer (linked here) tells us that Phaya and Tharn/Wansarat are lovers bound to each other through time:

‌

However, the special promo video (released 24 November 2023) also tells us (in Heng's interview linked here) that Chalothon and Wansarat were lovers in past lives, even while it is Phaya and Wansarat (reincarnated as Tharn) who are paired by fate in The Sign.

And as the nagas and garudas are bitter enemies, the love story between Phaya and Tharn/Wansarat that transcends time and reincarnation cycles is also one that must have been (and will continue to be) forbidden by their respective naga and garuda tribes (especially since Tharn/Wansarat also used to be naga Chalothon's lover), and will undoubtedly be a source of conflict in the series. This is way beyond the Montagues and Capulets! 😍

‌

So with this as the base, I took a look at the characters' names, and those belonging to Phaya, Chalothon, Tharn and Wansarat especially also reflect their garuda/naga origins. 🤩

Phaya's name (พญา) means lord, king or leader. While it can be applied to the nagas (พญานาค/phaya naak refers to the King of the Nagas) it is also used for Garuda (the Thai national symbol) – พญาครุฑ/phaya khroot, or Lord Garuda (and is what his name references in The Sign).

(above) Billy Patchanon as Phaya

‌

Chalothon's name (ชโลทร) is rare, but it is derived from Pali/Sanskrit and means river, sea or body of water, reflecting the watery homeland of his naga persona.

(above) Heng Asavarid as Chalothon

‌

Tharn's name (ธาร) also has a connection to his water-dwelling naga roots. Tharn/ธาร is short for ลำธาร/lam thaan and means stream, brook or creek (and he is thus a naga nong to Chalothon's phi).

(above) Babe Tanatat as Tharn/Wansa

However, Tharn is his chue len. His formal name is Wansa, and is the same Wansa in Wansarat (which the narrative lets us know at Ep.1 [3‌/4] 9.35).

(above) Freen Sarocha as Wansarat

Now Wansarat is spelt วรรณษารัตน์ in the subtitles (at Ep.1 [3‌/4] 9.02), and I can't find any translation of it that makes sense in the context of The Sign's world-building.

But Wansarat's name is spelt differently elsewhere on the Internet (on Thai drama websites, and movie databases, etc. like thaimovie.org), and I assume they've all based it on official releases from Idol Factory because the spelling is consistent across these other sources – it's วรรษารัตน์ there.

And Wansa/Wansarat spelt this way also reflects the nagas' dominion over water, because วรรษา/wansa (an archaic word, referenced in an older dictionary but not newer ones) means rain or rainy season (from the Sanskrit varsha) – in Thailand the nagas are also associated with rain control, and prayers are offered to them for timely and abundant rainfall when it is needed. (The -rat part of Wansarat is a feminine ending meaning jewel or gemstone, and may echo with meaning for speakers of Indian and Sri Lankan languages, since it's derived from the Pali/Sanskrit ratna).

‌

Just out of interest (because nobody asked 😂) some of these naga/garuda elements were also present in the early episodes of KinnPorsche – the den of the Theerapanyakuls (nagas, wealthy beings of the underworld) was full of watery elements (e.g., the waterfall, the various pools, and Tankhun's carp – which in Chinese belief are the original, natal form of dragons). The -nak in Kinn's formal first name Anakin (which is not a traditional Thai name) is also a nod at the word naga. Porsche had the tattoo of a fiery phoenix on his back, and was out of his element whenever water was concerned (e.g., his failed pool challenge, the mermaid costume punishment, his misadventure with the sprinkler when he tried to smoke in the store room – water vanquishing the flame). Kinn was unable to make fire when they were trapped in the forest, despite claiming to be friends with the flame, while Porsche could immediately do it.

But I didn't see the KinnPorsche narrative taking the naga/garuda themes much further than these random nods in the earlier episodes. Maybe it did (like Kinn and Porsche could be seen acclimatizing to each other's realms more), but I just couldn't be bothered to look at the show more closely since it didn't really stand up to deeper scrutiny, and after the first few episodes I just went along for the exhilaration of the ride instead. 👍

‌

Anyway, I'm totally bedazzled by the level of world-building going on in The Sign and look forward to more from the series. If the first episode is anything to go by, I think Executive Producer Saint Suppapong may be on to something! 😍

#the sign #the sign the series #mythology #naga #garuda #naga and garuda #thai mythology #thai bl #phayatharn

[picardsims]

Picardsims' 3k CAS Challenge

Sooooo I hit 3000 followers!! In order to celebrate, I invite everyone to participate in my little CAS challenge/contest!!!

Rules: Pick an apartment with a backstory that speaks to you (or multiple) and make a sim/family (your pick on whether you want to make the whole family or just one sim) who could live there. CC allowed, anything is allowed really. In two weeks (so, 22nd of April) I'll pick 3 of my favorites to get a prize! If you win, you can tell me any 3 build-buy items and I'll make them for you! (deco, unless it's something I 100% know how to make functional :>) In order for me to see it use the tag #picardsims3k (and tag me!! I'll see it sooner probably but I'll look at everything in the tag promise) Without further ado:

Apartment #1: Ro Kaya 62/1

Sims: 2 This apartment belongs to an elderly… couple? Two friends? Nobody knows and they're too scared to ask. You can find the tenants of this apartment in the hallway or on their balcony, keeping tabs on the neighborhood. Nothing gets past them. If you get on their good side, you will get invited for tea and get treated to fascinating stories from the past.

Apartment #2: Ro Kaya 62/2

Sims: 5 Is there enough space in this apartment for this married couple, their twins and their toddler? Definitely not. However, they just finished renovating it when they got pregnant (may or may not have been an accident), so it's not like they're going to move now… How long can the parents survive sharing their bedroom with their little one?

Apartment #3: Ro Kaya 62/3

Sims: 1 Their whole life, this Sim has wanted to be an artist. That didn't sit right with their straightlaced doctor parents, who refused to support them through art school. On impulse they moved to Tomarang and befriended a local painter, who allowed them to stay in their old apartment. Now that they're an award-winning graphic designer, their parents are finally trying to reconnect. Will they let them back in? Or is their chosen family the only one in their heart?

Apartment #4: Ro Kaya 64/1

Sims: 2 A single father raising a teenage daughter… What could go wrong? He's obsessed with plants, she loves gaming with her friends. She's mad he keeps putting plants in her room, he's mad she keeps putting laundry on the floor. However, no matter how hard they fight, there's nothing a midnight session of making pancakes together cannot fix.

Apartment #5: Ro Kaya 64/2

Sims: 2 After their grandmother passed, moving into her apartment was a dream come true for this Sim. Not so much for their partner. You see, grandma ran a very popular bakery, and they're supposed to inherit the business — sounds great, except they don't like baking all that much. One partner whose entire life has revolved around cakes and cookies, one partner who only uses the oven to make frozen pizza — can they handle the challenge? Or will their relationship crumble like bread with too much flour?

Apartment #6: Ro Kaya 64/3

Sims: 5 Two couples and one single person, this apartment sure is crowded. However, when you're just starting college, that doesn't sound all that bad — the rent is low, and there's always someone to party with! However, they'll soon learn it's not all loud music and cheap drinks — there's a line for the bathroom and you're never sure whose turn it is to vacuum (not yours though, that's for sure).

Remember: the tag is #picardsims3k, the deadline for the prize is 22nd of April (feel free to keep it going longer though!) and I'm incredibly thankful for each and every person who follows me (I am not kidding though dm me pictures of those pets I know you have them)

Enjoy! kotpicard

#picardsims3k #sims 4 #cas challenge #ts4 #simblr #sims 4 cas #sims 4 cas challenge

[maluarty-blog]

You had it all.

Your mother's love.

Your "perfect" and safe world.

But it was all fake.

It all went down the day a stranger knocked on your door and opened your eyes.

Now, you'll try to discover yourself with the people who rescued you.

Build a new life, or die trying to.

Discover your powers and weaknesses​.

Choose Mc's animal companion.

Uncover your past.

Befriend your new companions or at least some of them.

Romance 1 of the 6 Ro's.

Leon (M)

Leon is a kind heart, receiving you with open arms from the very first second. He has a calm temper and a strong brain. His amicable and strategic qualities make him the leader of the mercenary group. But it's visible that something dark lurks in his gentle eyes.

He's very tall (1,95m) and athletic, with tan skin and a scar on his lip. His black hair is cut short, and his violet eyes reflect perfectly his calm and serene character.

He wears a light brown shirt, black pants, and dark brown boots.

He fights with a simple silver shield.

Iara (F) 

Iara is the second in charge. Her strategic and cold demeanor is enough to compensate for Leon's calm procedure, giving the group an excellent balance. She's quiet and observant but has a soft spot and cares for her companions.

She's tall (1,79m) and has a lean but athletic build. She keeps her curly red hair in a high ponytail. Her golden accessories shine in contrast with her pale skin. She has several scars, but one is more perceptible, crossing her eye, a wound that caused one of her turquoise eyes to be completely pale white.

She wears lightweight golden armor with soft beige fur on her shoulders.

Her golden and bluish-green accessories adorn her neck, ears, and wrist.

She fights with a black and gold whip.

Matheus (M)

Matheus is a charismatic individual. He's clever and very fond of puns and jokes. The young man has quite the ability to read people and has been trying to help you understand your past. As friendly as he is, he seems to have trouble letting people get closer to him.

He's average (1,71m) and lean, with umber skin. His soft brown curls are cut short, and his olive eyes are full of compassion and comprehension.

He wears glasses and a simple sleeveless white shirt combined with baggy pants.

He fights with a silver crossbow with a crow symbol engraved on it.

Dante (M)

Dante is in charge of the magic rituals and enchants. He's a grumpy and hotheaded kind of person. Being a fire Elementalist, he can summon fire, but he's not immune to it, having an arm covered in a burn scar. 

He tends to be reserved and doesn't like being touched by strangers.

He's average (1,75m) and chubby, with fair skin. His chin-length hair is golden blonde, and his eyes are as red as the flames he summons.

He wears a sleeveless shirt with a turtleneck and black pants. He wears in his right ear two black earrings.

He fights with a saw-toothed silver sword.

Siena (F)

Siena is a cunning woman, always having the right words to escape the most challenging situations. She's very fond of Matheus, and just like her friend, she loves making jokes and a good fight.

She's short (1,61m) and robust, with olive skin. She has raven long hair that matches her dark eyes. 

She wears a long black shirt and greenish baggy pants.

She fights with greenish and silver gauntlets.

Levi (NB)

Levi is cold and seems to hate you for what you are. They are sarcastic and straightforward. They tend to avoid you, but even with their cold distance they seem interested at you. Maybe something in you draws them.

They're tall (1,78m) and athletic, with light brown skin. Their shoulder-length black hair is partially tied in a short ponytail. Their gray eyes seem cold when they look at you. Will they grow warmer with time?

They wear a sleeveless gray shirt and leather pants. And a brown leather arm bracelet.

They fight with silver daggers.

                    ⚠️Trigger Warning: This game is rated 17+⚠️

Currently it has : Self-harm (not intentional), emotional dependence, emotion manipulation and violence.

LINK: https://maluarty.itch.io/into-your-eyes

#twine wip #twine if #twine interactive fiction #twine story

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

#vampire primo owns my heart #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #vamprimo #?? #papa emeritus i fanfiction #papa emeritus i smut #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #mind the tags #my writing #petrifyingpapas #friday nights

[detectivestucks]

Hatake Harassment II

18+ Content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Anbu Kakashi x F!Rreader

Summery: Kakashi finds himself unable to regulate his emotions when it comes to you and your new relationship. A scare on a mission causes him to reevaluate your training.

Warnings: NSFW, Toxic relationship, Harsh spanking, DubCon Oral, DubCon Penetration, Public Shaming, Violence

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1

Belonging to Kakashi and being his favorite toy was challenging. He ricochets between being gentle and loving to possessive and cruel in a single glance. He found himself unable to regulate his emotions when it came to you and it left you constantly horny and reeling.

After every mission he would carry you to his home like you were his most prized possession. Then once you were across the threshold he’d throw you against the ground and make you clean his undercarriage with your mouth before the both of you showered. It was his most distasteful kink. Seeing you gag and squirm as you obediently follow orders made him rock hard every time. 

He always washed your tongue off thoroughly afterwards before defiling you up against the wall. Back pressed up against the cool tile as Kakashi drives up into you. Desperately clinging to him as his tip finds your cervix. Each mission ending in deep scratch marks across his back. A chorus of grunts and moans ring out from you both.

Once the water had rinsed away your sins, he’d take your hand and guide you over to the couch. He’d grip your fingertips as he laid on the cushions before gently tugging you down to lay on top of him. Nestled on his chiseled physique, you’d sink into each other’s arms and peacefully nap.

His ownership over you could be publicly degrading too. One afternoon after a team exercise, you were changing back into civilian clothing when Kakashi caught Tenzo staring at you. Feeling a rush of possession (cause you were his after all), he came over to exercise his authority. In front of the entire locker room, while making direct eye contact with Tenzo, he grabbed you by your ponytail and pulled you to your knees while holding the back of your head, pushing your face against the front of his pants. 

He rubbed your face all over the abrasive fabric. You could feel his erection through the material as your cheek, mouth, and nose were squished into it. While your mouth watered for a taste, it was deeply humiliating. You struggled to push yourself off of him and when you were sucessful, he gave you a nasty look before pulling you up by your hair and pushing you against the locker. 

He stuck his fingers in your mouth and told you to suck. You hollow your cheeks before the entire fleet of Anbu agents. He strokes them in and out between your lips.

He hums, “You belong to me. Isn’t that right Baby?”

You stare up at him feeling small. Looking into his dark eyes, you shake your head ‘yes’ wishing you could melt into the locker and disappear. The rest of the room turns away as Kakashi rips his fingers out of your mouth. He gives Tenzo another glare before he grabs your wrist and yanks you out of the room determined to terminate any further leering by his male comrades.

Missions had changed too. While watching Kakashi take command was erotic and he was an incredible captain, you hated that since you started seeing each other you no longer fulfilled your role as an Anbu agent. He kept rushing through his part of the mission so that he could run over and protect you.

“I heard Kakashi took out his target and then doubled back to take out yours before you even got into position.” Tenzo taunted, “How does it feel to be the most useless member of Team Ro?” You look down in frustration. He was right. Kakashi rarely lets you do your job anymore. It’s as if he has no faith that you are cut out to do the position that you were nominated for by the Hokage. You had essentially become the token healer of your group. 

Determined to prove your worth, you coordinated with one of your teammates to trade targets so that you were on the other side of the compound Team Ro was raiding, away from Kakashi. He had been placing you near him in all of the recent battle plans ‘to protect their only healer.’ No one was ever going to take you seriously if he keeps running to your rescue the way he’s been lately. Plus Yugao was of similar build to you so you were sure your targets were comparable. 

During the invasion, you’d come to find out that you were terribly mistaken. He was much bigger and stronger than you could have anticipated. But you were sure Kakashi had. As you fought for your life, you realized he had a very specific reason he wanted Yugao to face off with this particular shinobi. That reason was her swordsmanship. Yugao was a skilled swordsman comparable to the enemy you were facing. She would’ve had an easy time cutting him down but your combat skill was taijutsu. Hand to hand combat was where you excelled and you were struggling to disarm the man so you’d have a fighting chance. 

In your losing battle, the ninja’s sword sliced your arm deep, hitting a major chakra point, that rendered your arm useless. He was finally close enough for you to grab his sword and fling it across the room but too bad it came at such a high cost. You switched to fighting with your legs, swift kicks striking his face before he grabbed a hold of your ankle and threw you to the ground. The impact had knocked the wind out of you as you felt your back and head collide with the floor. You tried to fend him off with your one good arm as he sat, kneeling on top of you. 

Panicked, Kakashi looked around and saw Yugao in your position instead of you. He worked quickly to fulfill his duties before heading back to the other side of the compound where Yugao was supposed to be positioned. He found you underneath the enemy. One arm severely injured, the other losing the battle against a rival kunai slowly driving towards your face. 

On the ground, eyes locked onto the knife inching closer to your death, you weren’t sure how you were going to get yourself out of this bind. Blue lightning bursts forth from the shinobi’s chest, followed by Kakashi’s hand. Your target fell lifeless on top of you. You used your only good arm to shove him off before concentrating your chakra to begin patching yourself up. As green chakra glowed in your hand Kakashi leaned down and whispered furiously in your ear.

“This isn’t over!”

Team Ro made it to their designated camp for the night. Kakashi gives you a livid look and you know to follow him. He leads you far away from the camp. Finding a spot alone, he yanks down your standard issue pants and grabs you by the neck, pulling you down across his lap to give you the beating of your life.

Even from a distance the entire team hears your yelps and cries. Normally you could grit your teeth and take it, but today he was angry. Exceedingly so. You beg for him to stop, squirming under his death grip. 

“Kakashi stop!”

“You’re hurting me stop!”

“Please! STOP! PLEASE!”

You’re screaming while tears gush from your eyes. You strained with all your might to look him in the eye as you plead. When you finally were able to crane your neck around, the expression on his face was inhuman. 

His face resembled that of a beast, yet tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Your recklessness was unforgivable. You scared him today. He thought you were going to be taken from him. He can’t handle thinking about that possibility. He was determined to beat you senseless till you understood the gravity of your misstep. 

When he had worked out his frustration he silently got up and walked away from you, headed back to the rest of the unit. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve before you pulled your pants back over your rear. You wince as the rough fabric grazes your skin made raw by his hand. Then you head back to the team alone, tears once more in your eyes both from the pain and the shame. 

The rest of the team turns away, granting you the privacy you craved. Hyo however, locks his eyes with yours and grins. Getting off on your tears and the sound of your cries. You quickly look away and focus on grabbing a bite to eat before you move to lay down. You lower yourself to the ground and suck air between your teeth when your buttocks meet the forest floor before you readjust to your stomach. Hunger licks Hyo’s features as he watches your struggle. 

Hyo nearly jumped when Kakashi appeared in front of him. “You have first watch. North side.” He directed. Eyes thin, piercing into Hyo, warning him to stay away. Kakashi walked over. He set up his sleeping mat next to yours. You turn your face away from him. You couldn’t stand to even look at him.

He places a hand on your shoulder and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” He pauses as he takes a second breath, “I can’t lose you and today I thought I would.” 

Those were the only words he spoke before laying down at your side and falling asleep.

Now after every briefing he directs you to a secluded room to review the tactical plan privately. Pushing you down on your knees and shoving his manhood into your mouth before he began to quiz you on what was just discussed. He’d force himself down your throat, only allowing you to breathe when he expected an answer to his questions. Sometimes he’d hold you down on him with his belt, like the first time he had you, sometimes he’d use one hand, and when he was feeling passionate, wanting you to pay special attention to the plan, he’d weave the fingers on both of his hands into your hair, holding your face flat against his stomach. In this position, even breathing through your nose was impossible. Your larynx constricts around the head sunk deep in the back of your neck as you gasp for air that’s not coming. Spittle dripping from your lower lip, soaking his pants. He viciously shoves his length in and out of your mouth using it as a cock sleeve as he is brutally honest with you. In his eyes you are the weakest member of Team Ro. You need to be coached through the plan or you could be harmed.

By someone other than him that is.

He also began to micromanage your training. At times he made you wonder how you ever became a Jonin or got promoted to the Anbu. He’d beat you down into the dirt every day. When he was done, he’d drag your frail, worn out body to the showers and have his way with you. 

Everyone in the locker room would see him dragging you in. Sometimes it was over his shoulder like the spoils of war, other times it was by the collar of your uniform while your feet left a trail of mud on the floor. Each time your body was left practically lifeless from sheer exhaustion. 

He made it his duty to fuck some of that life back into you, like the responsible captain he is. The tile of the shower magnified your pathetic moans as he ravaged you. Echoing loud enough for all to hear. 

“The day you can walk to the showers yourself is the day I stop.” he husks into your ear. 

Thrusting into your unprepared cunt that graciously sucked him in anyways. Tiny noises of pleasure make their way past your lips. You simper breathy ‘thank you’s’ as he hammers into you while you lay there in a heap on the shower floor. Your hands lazily play with his hair as he bites into your neck. He gripped you tight during these raids into your vulnerable slit. His fingers pushed the lactic acid out of your muscles under their pressure. It was the only reason you weren’t too sore to do it all over again the next day.

He’d turn you into the top member of his team within two months. He was sure of it. You worked harder than any other member of the Anbu and you had the potential; you just needed to be taught. He made it his personal mission to give you as many private lessons as it took before he could feel you were safe on missions. Until then this is how you were to be treated. Like a useless brat in need of a brutal sensei.

He owned you. That much was obvious. Whether or not he was your boyfriend was open to interpretation. Such titles seemed beneath him. 

Either way, he made it his mission to use you daily. Exercising his ownership by rolling your nipples between calloused fingerpads. Touching between your legs any time he chose. Dragging you into the nearest closet to grace you with his lips. Fucking you regardless your of location. He was right when he said he’d have you craving him. You did. He was toxic but you found yourself lost if he was not abusing you.

After your lessons he takes your battered and used body from the showers back to his home. He lays you on the bed and climbs in next to you. He whispers into your ear.

“No one will ever take you from me. I won't let it happen, I promise. I will make you strong.” 

Tucking a stray strand behind your ear he pulls you into him. He buries his nose into your hair while he holds you tight. You nuzzle your head into his armpit. 

“Mine.”

 “Yes baby, yours.”

Allowing his warmth to replenish you, you drift off to sleep. 

Masterlist

#kakashi x reader #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake #kakashi senpai #kakashi is daddy #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi anbu #hatake kakashi #hatake smut #kakashi romance #dark kakashi #kakashi x you #reader x kakashi #mean kakashi #anon ask

[ronearoundblindly]

1 Year-1k-100 Late Challenge

So many things to celebrate, but so little time!

Over a month ago, I hit the outrageous milestone of 1,000 followers. I'm so shocked and humbled by this that it has taken me until hitting 1,100 followers to scrape together the celebration I want. Also, today is my ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY of posting fic on Tumblr!! (I just lurked for a bit before that. Doesn't count. Shhh 🤫)

This brings me to the 1-1-1 Challenge!

Something Old-Something New-Something You

1

Drabble YOU write based on the following prompt:

A life lesson from your favorite character

(or, ya know, one of your fave characters...)

This could be a romantic lesson, an emotional lesson, or even a cooking lesson. Sky is the limit! No word limit, but please use the readmore break if over 500 words. This can also be ANY character, from ANY media, but the idea is that you may find new fans and friends when I reblog your work, so keep in mind which fandoms I write for and that is who you're being promoted to!

(Use all applicable warnings and tags. If those are not present, I may ask you to add them before I reblog your post!)

NOW to the other fun parts!

INCLUDED IN YOUR SUBMISSION SHOULD BE:

1

Link to a work you hold dear.

This may be from another writer OR yourself. It's ok to be proud of your work!!! It's good! Please make sure that post has all applicable warnings and tags. It will be read and reblogged separately.

...and finally...

1

Link to a newer work OF YOUR OWN that maybe didn't get the attention you hoped for.

('Newer' is used very loosely here. There isn't actually a cutoff.)

It's been a lousy couple of months for many of us writers, and I'd like to lift us all up more. Again, no limits on which characters or fandoms this work is from, but remember who I can reach based on my own fandoms. I just like reading stories! Again, all warnings and tags should be clearly labeled! This work, too, will be reblogged separately.

IF YOU ARE NOT A WRITER, this challenge is also open to fics submitted by ask (user or anon). Your submission can fit the prompt above in some way or could just be a well-loved fic you recommend to me. (If I cannot find the fic or link, I will do my best to post a request to find it, but that will slow me down FYI.)

Warnings include but are not limited to smut and dark fic. I don't mind reading those, but you MUST LABEL THEM. No restrictions on genre either. If your links are posts from a series, I suggest making sure they work well out of context so you can get the greatest amount of interest.

Tag me! Put the tag "Ro's 1-1-1 challenge" on your submission post! (it's not necessary for the linked works to have this tag)

I am putting a tentative end date of May 31st, 2023, but it will depend on if I get busy and have to slow down my reading. I will get to AS MANY AS POSSIBLE, and you are always able to send me recs at any time!

gorgeous graphics by @darsynia; divider by @silkholland

I expect there is something I am forgetting to specify, so you may need to check back for additional info/edits.

#ro celebrates #Ro's 1-1-1 challenge #writing prompt #writing challenge #fanfiction writing #reading fanfiction #fanfic community #fanfiction #ro's 1 1 1 challenge

[the-likesofus]

ring the bells

9-1-1 on Fox | Buddie | 5k words | Coffee Shop AU | alternative first meeting, fluff, getting together, first kiss, meet-cute

Written for @ronordmann's Reverse Prompt Challenge. Thank you so much Ro for inspiring me to try writing something out of my comfort zone with this fic &lt;3

"Order for Evan!" 

If ever Buck was to die of happiness it would be in this moment. For hours he has been craving, yearning for some sort of hot, sugary drink. It started with a call to a chocolate factory and ended with an empty milk carton in the firehouse refrigerator and an apologetic look on Chimney's face. 

As soon as Buck got off his forty-eight-hour shift he had made a beeline for the nearest cafe. It was not his usual, he would typically stop at the coffee shop closer to his apartment on his way to work, but this place wasn't busy and Buck is desperate for a sugar hit.

It's because he's so desperate that Buck is taking the first mouthful as he's walking out of the store. 

He anticipates the smooth cream and sweet syrup, the spice of cinnamon to balance it all out but the mouthful slides over his tongue like hot, bitter tar and lands in the bottom of his stomach like a rock. 

"God–what the?" He sticks his tongue out and tries to rid his mouth of the taste. That is definitely not the coffee that he ordered. 

For a brief moment, Buck considers that maybe the universe just knew that he actually wanted black coffee but then decides that that's stupid and the universe is wrong this time because he definitely really wanted the drink he thought he ordered. 

So, against every ex-hospitality worker fiber of his being, he turns back to the counter and gets the attention of the barista that served him 'his' drink. 

"Hi there," he starts as brightly as he can for seven o’clock in the morning. "I'm so sorry to do this but I think you've given me the wrong drink. I ordered a caramel latte with cinnamon but this is, well, black."

"Oh!" The barista looks shocked for a second as he checks the order dockets on the counter in front of her. "I'm so sorry, I must have–."

"Given him mine." An unfamiliar voice sounds from next to Buck and when he turns he finds what is potentially the most beautiful man in all of the greater Los Angeles area. 

The barista nods. "Yes, I'm so sorry. I will remake them both right away."

The man eyes Buck's outstretched hand oddly before saying, "No need." He looks at Buck and Buck's sleep-deprived brain almost gets lost in the chocolate of his eyes. "Do you have any diseases I should know about?"

Buck stops short. "I'm–. What?" 

"Diseases." The man says—like that it is a normal thing to ask a stranger. "Are you contagious or anything? I'm in a rush."

"Ah, no. I don't think so."

"Good. I'll just take this one then." And then he reaches for the coffee that is not Buck's coffee but is in Buck's hand and Buck is too baffled to do anything but let him take it. The man disappears from the cafe and Buck is left standing at the counter with his arm still outstretched towards the barista who looks just as confused but shakes herself out of it faster than Buck does.

"I'll remake yours now." He says briskly. "Won't be a minute."

"Ah, yeah. Thanks." Buck mumbles dumbly and turns to see the man's retreating back disappear around the corner. 

The barista hands him a new cup a few moments later along with a five-dollar bill, obviously intending to refund him for the mistake, but he tucks it straight into her tip jar, thank you kindly, and then leaves, the bell ringing behind him as he goes.

Continue on AO3

#buddie #buddie fic #reverse prompt challenge #round 5 #meegs writes stuff #coffee shop au #911 fox #911 abc #911fic #911 fic #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #911 on fox #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #911 on abc

[ro-is-struggling]

Goodmorning Ro! I wanna send in a request for your event but don't have much in the way of specifics so I hope that's alright? Besides, I don't remember that episode and would love to see where you take it if you take it. Anyway hope you have a good day!

Prompt: 9 (Part 1)

Character: Dr. Strange (Character B)

Genre: Comedy/Fluff/Light Smut(if inclined)

OMG I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO POST IT! Life got in the way and I had to stop writing for a while, but I'm back now! Thank you for your patience and I hope this silly little fic finds you somehow after all this time anon💕

I loved writing this one! I tried my best to combine the above-mentioned genres as best as possible, but idk, I hope I did a good job. I feel like I wanted to make it more of a crack fic at the start but then I got carried away and ended up being more spicy. I literally had to stop myself from turning this into a full on smut lol I hope you like it anyways!

THE CALL || STEPHEN STRANGE X READER

Summary: During a girls night you are challenged to leave a dirty message for Stephen Strange as part of a game of truth or dare. You accept without much thought, the alcohol in your system stopping you from realizing that your relationship would never be the same after that.

Warnings: suggestive tones, alcohol consumption, attempt at humor, teasing, a bit of dirty talk, name calling (whore) implied smut

English is not my first language

Word count: 4300

This fic is part of my 600 followers celeration

The girls' night was Wanda's idea. After the stressful mission you had been through, hanging out together to relax and gossip was exactly what you needed to recover. Nat and you were a little tired, but eventually gave in after Wanda convinced Hope and Sharon, who happened to be in the avengers' compound when you arrived, too. So you all changed into your comfiest pajamas and, after kicking all the men out of the living room, you all settled down on the couch with a cheesy rom-com playing in the background as you chatted.

The tiredness and tension disappeared from your body as you laughed with your friends, joking and listening to their love problems. It was nice to switch off your brain every now and then and act like you were normal people, worrying about trivial things instead of thinking about the problems affecting the world. It kept you sane and restored your faith in humanity. There was nothing that improved your mood like hanging out with your friends just eating junk food and talking about stupid things.

You were having a good time, drowning in pizza and ice cream while laughing, but when Natasha started mixing drinks things started to go off the rails. With the alcohol levels in everyone's blood rising the conversation became increasingly more chaotic and wild, confessing embarrassing secrets and constantly telling one another how much you loved each other. It wasn't long before someone suggested playing truth or dare and everyone agreed, far too drunk to think about the consequences.

The first few rounds were uneventful, consisting mostly of silly truths and the occasional simple dare such as taking a shot or doing something to annoy one of their teammates. However, as the rounds progressed and the alcohol got into your systems, the game got out of control. And when your turn came you regretted your choice of dare as soon as the words left Natasha's mouth.

"I dare you to send Strange a dirty voicemail." The redhead looked at you with a mischievous smile. Her arched eyebrow challenged you, wondering if you would even dare to accept her proposal. She knew how you felt about Stephen, she'd had to listen to you ramble on multiple times about him and his perfect face that looked like it had been carved by the angels themselves. She knew you liked him, but she also knew you were never going to make the first move. So she thought the best thing to do was to give you a little push —well, it seemed small in her alcoholized mind.

"No way!" you groaned, refusing to participate in the game. You weren't drunk enough to ignore that voice in your mind telling you that this was a bad idea. 

"You can't refuse!" Wanda interjected. "That's not how it works!"

"If you do, you'll have to drink from the mystery cocktail and you don't really want to do that, trust me." Sharon said, remembering the horrible taste of the mystery drink Natasha had prepared as punishment for chickens who didn't complete the dares. She didn't know what the fuck she'd put in there, but it tasted awful.

"Fine!" You gave in to peer pressure. "But it'll be anonymous!" The last thing you needed at that moment was to have to face the consequences of such actions. What Natasha didn't seem to want to understand was that your hesitation to confess to Stephen how you felt about him didn't just come from a place of fear of rejection, it was much more complicated than that. You could handle rejection, what you couldn't handle was continuing to work with him after such humiliation. Stephen was an avenger, so before you did anything you had to consider how it might affect the team.

"That's fine by me!" Nat aceptó y las demás chicas la siguieron.

"But I'm going to need a drink before I do this."

You took a sip of the strongest drink on the table, feeling the sting of the alcohol as it went down your throat. You needed a lot of courage to do what you were about to do, to lower your inhibitions to the point of losing your sense of shame and self-control. You weren't as intoxicated as you would have liked to be —you were definitely going to remember this in the morning—, but you figured it was for the best. You still needed to be able to speak clearly and form coherent sentences, two things that would be impossible if you kept drinking. So you rested your now empty glass on the table and picked up your phone, ready to get it over with for good.

"It has to be good!" You heard Wanda say as your fingers awkwardly searched your contacts for Stephen's number, making sure to set your number to private and encrypt it before doing anything so he couldn't trace the message back to you. "You have to talk like you mean it."

"Yeah! If he doesn't get a hard on after listening to your voice then you failed the dare." Natasha added and you threw one of the couch cushions in her face.

"That doesn't make any sense! You can't possibly know the effects it might have on him." You complained, pointing out your friends' exaggeration. "He might not even open it."

"Oh I'll know," Wanda assured you, giving you one of those mischievous smiles that sometimes made you question her mental sanity. 

"Whatever," you said, rolling your eyes. "Any other requests before I do this? It's now or never." The girls shook their heads, giving you the green light to proceed. You took a moment to mentally prepare yourself, clearing your throat and blurting out a few words as you searched for a new tone of voice that sounded sultry yet different enough from your normal voice to throw Stephen off. 

Before tapping on his contact on your phone you tried to focus on him and how he made you feel. His cocky smile was the first thing that came to your mind, the one he gave you every time his plans worked out after you questioned them. That smile drove you crazy. His lips in general drove you crazy. You spent more time than you'd like to admit imagining what it would be like to feel his kisses on your skin, caressing every inch of your body. You wondered if his tongue was as skilled at pronouncing incantations as it was at bringing pleasure to a woman. The mere image of his face buried between your legs, devouring you like a starving man was enough to make your center drip with need. 

His hands were the next thing that popped into your mind, the way they moved in the air with precision each time he casted a spell. You loved watching him work, you got completely lost in your thoughts as you silently admired him, imagining how his hands would feel on your body, touching each curve with delicate sensuality. You were convinced that he really knew what to do with his hands to have a girl screaming his name in seconds, those skillful fingers of his were good for more than magic and you were dying to feel them exploring the deepest parts of your being.

Once you let your imagination run wild it was easy to find the right words to complete your dare. You didn't even have to think too hard about keeping a different voice, the low, sensual tone came naturally to you as you left a message for Stephen detailing everything you wanted to do to him —and everything you wanted him to do to you. You tried to control yourself since your friends were in the room with you, carefully choosing your words so as not to reveal so much about your true fantasies. But you made sure he knew how attractive you found him and how you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you. 

The moment you hung up, all the girls burst into hysterical laughter, theorizing about what Stephen's reaction would be when he heard your message in the morning. You were buzzing with euphoria, too intoxicated to feel embarrassed, so you laughed with them. Your confused mind wasn't able to comprehend that you were the one who would have to face the consequences of your little game. That was a problem for the Y/N of the future and at that moment the next morning seemed to be far in the future. All that mattered to you at that moment was to relax and enjoy the evening, laughing with your friends. And that was exactly what you did until at some point you fell asleep on the living room couch.

When you woke up in the morning you regretted all the decisions you had made the day before, from accepting the first drop of alcohol to sleeping on the couch. Now not only did you have a headache that barely let you think, but also your whole body felt stiff due to the awful position in which you had slept on the couch. You grunted as soon as you felt Tony's voice, no doubt speaking louder than necessary to annoy you as he paced around the kitchen preparing breakfast. You hated the open concept building design more than ever at that moment, missing walls that separated the living room and sheltered you from the sound.

"I hate you." You winced when he came over to ask if you were going to have breakfast. He sounded so cheerful and amused while you were miserable that it made you angry. Your head was pounding and your stomach was upset. However, the smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen forced you to get up, reluctantly dragging yourself into the kitchen where Nat, Wanda and Sharon greeted you with tired looks. 

"Seems like you ladies had quite a night." Steve said with a smile, grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting down next to you. His hair was still wet from the shower, probably because he had gotten up early to go for a run like he did every morning. You never really cared about that, but this time you couldn't help but look at him like he was crazy for daring to do such a thing. The very idea of moving at a speed faster than a zombie made you want to vomit.

"Remind me to never drink again." You grumbled, taking one of the pills Nat had passed you. Sharon agreed with you, complaining about how the world still seemed to be spinning around her.

"What the hell did you put in that drink?" She asked Natasha, but the redhead just laughed. 

"Shhh, can you guys stay quiet? My head is killing me." Wanda interjected, raising her head to give everyone a pleading look before plopping back down on the marble of the island. 

Everyone's condition improved considerably after eating a lot of greasy food and drinking a lot of water. It also helped that the medicine kicked in, although you were still feeling tired and slightly sore. When you regained some of your good mood and will to live you went back to the living room, settling down on the couch with a cup of hot coffee in the hopes of watching the tv until your energies were recharged. However, your plans were ruined when you discovered that someone was already there. And not just anyone, but Stephen Strange, who was talking to Tony while holding his phone in his hand. 

Memories of the night before came back to you in a series of flashes that replayed in your mind like a movie. You stared in horror at the men in front of you, wondering if Stephen had gotten your message yet. You sat as far away from them as possible, focusing on your coffee as you tried to listen to their conversation. Your strategy was to be discrete and play dumb if their eyes at any point caught on you, but when you saw Natasha walk into the living room you knew your plan was out the window.

"What are you guys talking about?" The redhead interrupted them, "Expecting an important phone call?" She added, looking at the phone in Stephen's hands with a raised eyebrow. 

"Our favorite wizard here got a spicy message from an encrypted number and he needs my help to figure out who this mystery person is" Tony explained with amusement in his voice and Stephen gave him a murderous look.

"Thanks for the discretion, Tony."

"Spicy how?" Natasha pressed the issue to see if she could get Stephen to give more details, especially about how that message had made him feel. 

"Oh you have to hear it, this girl did not hold back." Tony said and you choked on the coffee you were drinking. He had heard it! "She was really grateful to him for saving the world and wanted to give something back to him, if you know what I mean."

"We all know what you mean, Stark. You're not very subtle." Stephen rolled his eyes. "And give me that back." He snatched the phone out of her hands before she could pass it to Natasha to listen to the message. "Can you help me or not?"

"Why do you want to know who this person is?" Nat teased, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "You really liked it, huh?"

"No! I just... I'm concerned it might be a stalking situation so I want to know who this person is." Stephen tried so hard to sound confident, but even you were able to notice the hesitation in his voice. He was making excuses. He was at least intrigued by the message and that made you feel a strange sense of pride. Even though you were a little drunk, you had managed to get his attention with your words and your sensual voice. Sure, he didn't know it was you, but that didn't matter to you at the moment, the confidence slowly building in your system didn't let you think about it.

"Hey! No one is judging here." Tony spoke up. "If I were in your place I would like to know who this mystery person is too."

Stephen let out a sigh, rolling his eyes. "Just let me know when you get something."

He stormed off, leaving you with a million unanswered questions and a strange feeling in your stomach. Tony ran after him and Natasha took advantage of the fact that you were alone to give you a gentle push to get your attention. You moved your gaze from the door through which he had disappeared to look up at your friend, who was looking at you with a playful smile.

"He's crazy about you." She stated but you downplayed it, saying he was only interested because he didn't know it was you talking on the other end of the line. However, you couldn't help but feel a little flame burning inside you. You felt confident and for the first time since you had met Stephen you felt you had a chance with him.

The next time you saw Stephen was during an Avengers meeting to discuss a possible mission. You barely paid attention to what Steve was saying, too distracted by the perfect profile of Stephen sitting next to you. The sunlight coming through the large windows illuminated his face in a special way, giving him an ethereal aura that made it impossible for you to look away from him and those ridiculously sharp cheek bones he had. It was torture to have him so close looking like a Greek god and not being able to do anything about it. Your new found confidence hated it. It took all your power to control your urges, striving to calm your wild fantasies at least until Steve let you out of there. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't realize the meeting was over until you saw the other team members disappearing behind the door. Soon it was just you and Stephen in the large conference room. You gave him a quick glance and noticed that he was looking at his phone once again. You wondered then if he was waiting for another message from you, if he was as crazy about that mysterious voice on the other end of the line as he seemed to be. It was pretty hard to contain your urges at that moment.

"Any new leads on your mystery person case?" your voice alerted Stephen, who looked up from his phone to rest his gaze on you.

"No, Stark hasn't called me yet."

"Is that what you were checking on your phone while Steve talked?" You asked him, getting up from your seat to move closer to him, settling against the table right in front of his chair. "If Stark had called with any leads?"

There was something in your tone of voice that alerted Stephen, a sensual undertone he had never heard in you before and it made him wonder what you were getting at. He had felt your eyes on him throughout the meeting, he always did, but for some reason this time it felt different.

"Why do you care so much?" He countered, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm just curious as to what has you so distracted lately." You faked innocence, shrugging your shoulders. "Was it really that good?"

"Excuse me?" Stephen was surprised by your sudden audacity, though he couldn't say he didn't find it intriguing. 

"It seems to me that you're desperate to hear that voice again." You leaned closer to him, lowering your head to be at his level. Your eyes were locked on his, admiring the dark shadow in the icy blue of his orbs. He held your gaze as the tension in the air intensified, curious to discover what your next words would be.

"I can help you with that," you added, using the same low, sultry tone you had used in the message. "Even better, I can show you just how hot I think you are... how desperate I am to feel your hands all over my body, using your powers to restrain me and do whatever you want with me." 

If your voice hadn't already given you away, repeating the words you had said to him in the message definitely had. His eyes grew wide, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and confusion. You had never seen Stephen so perplexed and you had to admit that it felt good to be the cause of that. You were used to it always being the other way around. You used to be the one who was speechless every time he gave you a smile, it was nice to have the power for once.

Stephen was not an easy man to silence, even in the strangest or most stressful situations, he always found something to say. But now he was speechless, looking at you in complete astonishment as he tried to process the situation. It wasn't just discovering that you were the mysterious person he was looking for that threw him off, but also the confidence you exuded. He had never seen you act that way before, though he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. He couldn't stop his mind from running wild, imagining every detail of the message that occupied his thoughts but now with you. Never would he have imagined that behind your innocent look and shy attitude was an imagination as dirty as his.

"I can give you what you want, all you have to do is ask." Your warm breath would collide against her earlobe when you spoke, giving her goose bumps. Your perfume assaulted his nostrils with every breath he took, intoxicating his entire system with your scent. He felt dizzy, his mind clouded with desire and anticipation having trouble concentrating. 

However, when you turned away from him, walking towards the door to finally get out of there, his brain snapped out of it. Raising his hand in the air, he conjured a kind of glowing lace made of pure energy that closed over your wrist, stopping you on your feet. With a gentle push he managed to turn you around to face him as he used his other hand to close the door to the room and pull down all the blinds with a simple flick of his wrist.

"Where do you think you're going? I'm not done with you yet. We're just getting started." Stephen said to you with an arched eyebrow. You noticed a hunger in his eyes you had never seen before, the cool blue of his orbs almost completely consumed by the black in his dilated pupils. It ignited a flame inside you, a warmth spreading through your stomach as you carefully analyzed Stephen's body language, trying to predict his next move. All your arrogance and confidence disappeared under his intense gaze. You were like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen in place waiting for his next reaction.

All he had to do was pull the glowing leash and you were forced to move closer to him once again. You would have lost your balance had it not been for his grip on your waist, successfully trapping you between his body and the edge of the table. You had nowhere to run, though you really didn't want to.  

"Who would have thought that behind that cute and innocent act there was such a dirty whore, desperate to be seen?" Stephen's voice was condescending, mocking, as his cold blue eyes pierced into yours. It made you feel small and insignificant in the face of his imposing figure, your cheeks heating with the blood that was quickly pooling there from the embarrassment of being so exposed. He finally knew the truth, you were a dirty whore desperate for his touch. 

"I never would have guessed you were the voice on the message saying those dirty things." He was barely touching you —his fingers trailing up your arms to your shoulders, following the line of your collarbones before descending through the space between your breasts—, but that was enough to quicken your breathing. And every time you inhaled, you breathed in his intoxicating scent, a mixture of his cologne and the aroma of his own essence that made your knees weak.

"I was hoping it was you. The first time I heard those words I closed my eyes and imagined you acting out those fantasies. I got so hard just imagining it." As if to emphasize his words, Stephen pressed his hips against you, letting you feel the bulge beginning to grow in his pants. You couldn't contain the moan that escaped your lips, a pathetic whimper that put a smile on Stephen's lips. 

He was enjoying the growing anticipation, having fun with your suffering. He was torturing you as retribution for your mysterious little message that had had him going crazy all this time, forcing you to experience the same desperation he did, using only his voice to arouse you. You hated it and loved it at the same time.

"You have no idea how much I wanted it to be you...but then I thought it could never be, you're a good girl and good girls don't use that vulgar language." You looked down, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer as you felt the embarrassment taking hold of you. But Stephen didn't let you off that easily, taking your chin in his hand to force you to look at him. "Tell me, were you really so desperate for my attention to leave that message? Were you so desperate for me that you pushed aside your good girl attitude and manners to expose the whore you hide inside you?" 

His voice was a husky whisper against your ear, his lips almost brushing against sensitive skin seductively. The ghost of his touch was driving you crazy and his dirty words traveled straight to your core, that throbbed desperate for attention. You could feel his presence, the warmth of his body against yours, his imposing gaze, the subtle caresses of his fingers on your skin, but it wasn't enough. You needed more to satiate your need for him, much more.

"Yes," you managed to mumble. Your voice sounded much more pathetic and desperate than you expected, but that didn't really matter. On the contrary, Stephen seemed to enjoy it. "I'm tired of hiding it, I need you Stephen... I need to feel your touch." You were practically begging him, asking him to have mercy on you and give you something to calm the flames burning inside you. But he just laughed. His warm breath hit the sensitive skin of your neck, giving you goosebumps. Your hands ran up his chest, determined to get for yourself what you needed as he refused to give it to you. If he wanted to torture you, it was only fair that you retaliated. Two could play that game.

But before you could go much further, Stephen pulled your hands away from his body, binding them behind your back with the same magical bond he had used to draw you to him. It was tight around your wrists, but not too tight, just enough to make sure you couldn't move easily. He wanted control.

"Oh, I'm going to give you what you so desperately want, don't worry about it, darling." He murmured against your lips, brushing them with every word he spoke. "But first I have to teach you a lesson... you see, you have to be more careful about what you wish for, because it can become real."

#ro's 600 followers celebration #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x female reader #stephen strange smut #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x female reader #stephen strange x reader smut

[midnightsun-if]

i need to know!! from 1 to 10 how jealous do the ros get? and how do they act/show it?

Koda: About a 3. Despite being a shifter, he’s not the most territorial of people, unless pushed. If it’s nothing too serious/he actually notices, and he finds himself bothered by it, he’ll simple walk up to you and sling an arm around your shoulders or waist. If it is serious? He’ll probably let loose a growl while doing so, to ensure that the person doesn’t mistake you as single again.

Scarlett: A solid 10. You are hers, just as she is yours. Nothing, and no one, will ever change that. Which means she does not appreciate people trying to challenge said claim. It’s not the toxic sort of possessiveness wherein she doesn’t trust you to go anywhere without her, you’re your own person, but she definitely keeps an eye on you when at a party or something similar— just to ensure your safety. When she does get jealous? It’s either with the coldest fury, directed solely at the other person, or she simply grabs you by the wrist and takes you somewhere private.

Cyrus/Cyra: An 8. Phoenixes, by nature, are territorial and C is no exception. They try to rationalize everything when they are feeling territorial, thinking they’re being absolutely stupid for it, but that doesn’t stop them from how they’re feeling. They either get super sullen, completely lost in their thoughts as they try to figure various things out, or you’ll have a protective Phoenix on your hands, which isn’t something anyone wants.

Quinn: Around a 6. They’re laidback, but that doesn’t mean they appreciate someone trying to take what’s theirs. They don’t see you as property to lord over, but they do want to protect you— as any wolf-shifter mate wants to do. They’ll instantly be by your side, not moving an inch, until that person either folds under their stare or they’re forced to take you to a safer location; while they know you can take care of yourself, they don’t want you to be around any of that.

Caden: 1. They don’t really get jealous in a general sense, they may feel some level of longing/envy, but that’s about it. On the rare occasion that they do get jealous, their eyes flash dangerously and the room gets exponentially colder. That person will not have sweet dreams that night.

Sloane: Around an 8 or 9. Sloane hasn’t had a lot of people that really care about them as much as they care about you. So to have that now? They’re not going to want to lose it. They wouldn’t micromanage you, or try to dictate anything you do, but they will stick closer to you if they feel like someone is getting a bit too close for comfort. Would probably bite through more than a few cigarettes from their efforts to keep their growls/snarls at bay.

Blake: Before a relationship? 0. After a relationship? 9. You’re the most important person in Blake’s life and they’re not about to have someone try to interfere with that. They get super clingy when jealous, will be hanging off your arm the whole night or whispering various things into your ear (either sweet nothings or something a bit dirtier). They want your attention on them, and no one else. (If it was harmless then they wouldn’t really mind, but it just depends on the person.)

Reginald/Regina: A solid 5. Smack dab in the middle. It all just depends on the situation at hand. They know that they’re a human in a world of gods, pretty much, but they don’t let that drag them down. Especially not when they can someone like you theirs, they feel like the luckiest person alive because of that (doubly so that you call them yours). It takes just the right amount of events to spur their jealousy, but when it happens? They start barraging the person with various questions about you— “Since you know them so well, what’s their favorite color? Favorite book? What about their favorite snack, huh?”— all the while their hand is snugly in yours.

#midnight sun #asks #ro: blake herrera #ro: koda kingston #ro: r presley #ro: caden randall #ro: quinn grant #ro: sloane addams #ro: c aurelia #ro: scarlett voltaire #scenario asks #jealousy

[kingsdespair-if]

DEMO UPDATE 4!

Hello dears, I have another announcement to make.

I am happy to inform you that Chapter 1 is finaaaaaally complete!

Here's what you can expect:

- Chapter 1 is finished. - You will meet the last RO for this chapter. - You will also have the opportunity to meet a prince. - There will be a few more interactions with Amisha, or you can give the new RO a chance to steal your heart. - Bug fixes and other minor changes (Thank you all for the feedbacks, I hope to continue providing the best experience I can, and I greatly appreciate your assistance.) - A little surprise awaits you at the end of Chapter 1.

Currently demo: - 166,328 characters - 28,668 words

Please note that the first chapter was intentionally kept short. The upcoming chapters will be longer as the story progresses.

You cand find the demo HERE.

Intro post is HERE.

I would like to express my gratitude to my dear friend, Chance, for their unwavering support, helpful tips, and for keeping me company during the challenging process of coding and developing the characters.

#interactive fiction #kingsdespair if #twine if #original character #demo #twine game #twine wip #lgbtqia

[ethanreedbooks]

Dive into NYX #1 with Stunning Variant Covers!

Get ready to dive into the mutant-filled world of NYX with the stunning variant covers for Collin Kelly, Jackson Lanzing, and Francesco Mortarino’s NYX #1, hitting shelves this July! Marvel Comics has been on a roll, teasing fans with variant covers for Phoenix and X-Force, and now it's time for NYX to shine. The latest reveals feature three breathtaking covers showcasing Laura Kinney, better known as Wolverine.

These incredible covers are brought to you by the talented artists Rogê Antônio, Stanley “Artgerm” Lau, and Todd Nauck.

In the world of NYX, Krakoa may have fallen, but mutantkind is still ready to take on the world. Set in the upcoming From the Ashes era, NYX explores how mutants navigate the challenges of returning to the big city. Penned by Collin Kelly and Jackson Lanzing, with art by Francesco Mortarino, this series delves into the harsh realities of life as mutants face bigotry, mistrust, and misinformation. Without the guidance of the X-Men and the protection of Krakoa, they must rise above the hate and evolve in the face of adversity.

Today, fans can feast their eyes on a new array of variant covers for the debut issue! These covers spotlight Laura Kinney, also known as Wolverine, who originally debuted in the groundbreaking NYX series as X-23. Throughout the new series, watch as she embraces her role and hunts down violent anti-mutant oppressors in the city's darkest corners.

Don't miss out on these incredible covers! Preorder NYX #1 at your local comic shop today and immerse yourself in the thrilling world of mutants. Visit Marvel.com for more information.

NYX #1

Written by COLLIN KELLY & JACKSON LANZING

Art by FRANCESCO MORTARINO

Cover by SARA PICHELLI

Variant Cover by STANLEY “ARTGERM” LAU

Virgin Variant Cover by STANLEY “ARTGERM” LAU

Variant Cover by RO

#uncanny xmen #x men #x-men #marvel comics #wolverine #gambit #jubilee #rogue #nightcrawler #new orleans #gail simone #fall of x #x 23 #nyx #from the ashes #x men comics #x men 97