#thank you for another ask these are SO much fun!!!!

[not-inappropriate]

I will say, the entry level job market on indeed dot com does indeed dot suck. But I think I’ve learned a decent amount since indeed and company websites are the only job boards I’ve used, and I’ve had a decent career so far, so I feel like I’ve got some decent advice. if any of this helps anyone at all hell yeah.

So:

1) HR people ALWAYS exaggerate the requirements. However much experience they say they want, you probably need one third of that. Certifications required usually means certifications preferred, depending on the industry. Like, Don’t apply to a surgeon position with only a nursing degree; but there’s a solid chance you can get a job with a CPA firm without being a CPA yourself. Just make sure you can give some sort of explanation as to why you would be able to do the job if asked.

Story: My brother (1 year experience, Bachelor’s degree) was once encouraged to apply to a new position within his company by his boss, who had instructed HR on the requirements and experience needed for the position (bachelors required, entry level, 1-3 year experience preferred), and when my brother goes to the website to apply it says 3-5 years experience required, Masters degree preferred. Bro said boss was PISSED. HR can be a joke sometimes.

2) Cover letters are usually pointless if it’s not an extreme specialty position with few candidates. Unless it says they’re highly encouraged or something

3) Maybe the most important: send follow up emails for EVerything. I think this is what held me back for months when I first started using indeed. And it doesn’t matter how bland or thoughtless is is. Two sentences in an HR bro’s inbox is worth 10 cover letters. And if you got a screening call or an interview and haven’t heard back in a week+ ?? Call their ass. They might offer the job to you on the spot. Last time I was job hunting I got a mid offer, after being ghosted on two good offers I’d interviewed for. I called both of them and said Soooo y’all make a decision??? They both offered me a job within 24 hours. (Brag, sorry)

Each listing probably has hundreds of applicants. People just spamming their resume across the internet. And emails, or especially calls, show actual interest. Go to the company website > about us > our staff > contact us > whatever. “Hi Mr. Bob. I saw your listing on indeed and wanted to introduce myself. I graduated this year and had trouble contacting anybody on the job listing websites, but I believe I have the qualifications necessary for the position. If you have a moment, could you forward my email to the relevant parties. My resume is attached. Thank you, XoXo”. Whatever. When I was working in my first entry level job doing data entry and answering phones, I got a phone call like this, and we actually gave the guy an interview (this guy blew it RIP). I’ve seen another boss mad when he got a call from a reasonably qualified applicant who said they hadn’t heard back after applying on one of the other job listing sites, and he came out yelling at his secretary (yeah he was an asshole), demanding to see the resume. Offered him the job in the first interview. (Hell yeah). Plus people feel bad turning you down after hearing your voice. You’re a human to them now.

4)As far as finding more relevant jobs? Similar to point 1. For entry level, select the 1-3 years experience instead. For bookkeeping, choose accounting instead. When I was also looking for a bookkeeping job, I couldn’t find one for the life of me. When I was looking for accounting jobs as a Managerial Auditior?? Bookkeeping listings all over my indeed page. Yeah it’s bullshit, but aiming up helps. Thats about all I have for that though.

So yeah. Apply to things you might not perfectly meet the requirements for. Emails and phone calls get people’s attention. and Real Bosses are often pissed when they find out the inefficiencies of HR and job boards too. Just send it

Anyway. Job hunting can be the least fun endeavor on the planet. Sending thotts and prayors for the lot of you 🙏🙏🙏 and praying I never have to do it again (now that I found my dream job) (on indeed dot com) (fuck indeed dot com) (but also thank you indeed dot com)

do genuinely find it fascinating how indeed.com is like the biggest job-hunting website out there and yet manages to be profoundly useless in every possible way

[itsnesss]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | lee myung-gi (player 333) × fem!reader

summary | player 230 threatens and intimidates you, but player 333 intervenes, protecting you from him

warnings | mild threat and intimidation, tension, angst, fluff

word count | 0.5 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

The tension in the room is palpable. The murmurs of the other players fade as player number 230, Thanos, slowly approaches you.

“Wow, what do we have here?” Thanos says, his voice deep and gravelly, a tone he knows how to manipulate to make everyone around him feel uncomfortable. His eyes scan your figure from head to toe with a predatory gaze. “You’re... interesting.”

A chill runs down your spine. You don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at you, the way his words feel like a game you can’t win, or if it’s the fact that you know exactly what he’s after.

“What do you want?” you respond, trying to sound firm, but fear slips into your voice despite yourself.

He smiles, that kind of smile that makes you think he already has everything under control. He steps closer, and you can see his eyes gleam with a mix of amusement and threat.

“What I want... is to know what’s beneath that façade of resistance. It’s always fun to break people like you.”

Your breath quickens. You know you’re on dangerous ground, but you can’t back down. You’re trapped. However, just as Thanos takes another step toward you, someone intervenes.

“If you don’t mind, I think she’s not interested,” comes the voice, firm and determined.

You quickly turn around and see player 333. He has positioned himself between you and Thanos, standing tall with a look of resolve in his eyes.

Thanos looks at him, sizing up the new intruder, his smile now more mocking.

“And who are you to get involved in this?” he asks with disdain, raising an eyebrow.

Player 333 doesn’t flinch. He’s calm, but you can feel the tension in his body, the same kind of tension that occurs before a confrontation.

“I’m someone who won’t let you touch her,” he responds in a calm yet firm voice.

Thanos laughs, but the laugh doesn’t reach his eyes. He steps toward player 333, testing his reaction, not sure if he’s truly willing to fight or if he’s just testing the other’s limits.

“Do you really think you can stop me?” he asks, eyeing him from head to toe, as if he were just an insect he could crush easily.

But player 333 doesn’t take a step back. Their eyes lock, and you can feel the electricity in the air. The kind of tension that only appears before a storm.

“I don’t need to stop you, I just need you to step away,” he says without moving a muscle, his voice a challenge in itself.

Thanos watches him in silence for a long moment, as if considering whether it’s worth continuing with this provocation. The arrogance on his face fades slightly, and it’s as if he suddenly realizes that player 333 isn’t going to back down.

Finally, Thanos snorts in disdain.

“This isn’t over,” he says, his voice heavy with threat, before turning and walking away, his presence still lingering in the air.

333 doesn’t move until Thanos has disappeared completely. Only then does he turn to you, his eyes softening slightly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone much gentler than before.

You, still in shock from the intervention, nod, though you can’t help but feel your hands tremble slightly.

“Thank you... I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

333 makes a nearly dismissive gesture with his hand, but there’s a slight smile on his lips, as if the danger meant nothing compared to seeing you calm.

“You don’t have to thank me. I wasn’t going to let someone like him touch you.”

“But...”

“It doesn’t matter.” His tone is serious, but there’s something protective in his gaze that makes you feel safe. “Here, no one is going to touch you if I can help it.”

For a moment, you stand there, speechless, watching him. Something inside you feels grateful, but beyond that, there’s a deeper feeling, a connection you can’t even explain.

[metanarrates]

Hello. Sorry if this a stupid question u can ignore if u want.

How can someone get better at media analysis? Besides obviously reading a lot.

Im asking this bc im in a point where im aware of my own lack of tools to analyze stories, but i don't know where to get them or how to get better in general. How did you learn to analyze media? There's any specific book, essay, author, etc that you recommend? Somewhere to start?

I'm asking you because you are genuinely the person who has the best takes on this site. Thank you for you work!

it sounds like a cop-out answer but it's always felt like a skill I acquired mostly thru reading a ton, and by paying a lot of attention in high school literature classes. because of that I can't promise that I'm necessarily equipped to be a good teacher or that i know good resources. HOWEVER! let me run some potential advice to you based on the shit i get a lot of mileage out of

first off, a lot of literary analysis is about pattern recognition! not just pattern recognition in-text, but out-of-text as well. how does this work relate to its genre? real-world history? does it have parallels between real-life situations? that kind of thing.

which is a big concept to just describe off the bat, so let me break it down further!

in literature, there is the concept of something called literary devices - they are some of the basic building blocks in how a story is delivered mechanically and via subtext. have you ever heard of a motif? that is a literary device. it's a pattern established in the text in order to further the storytelling! and here is a list of a ton of common literary devices - I'd recommend reading the article. it breaks down a lot of commonly used ones in prose and poetry and explains their usage.

personally, I don't find all the literary devices I've learned about in school to be the most useful to my analytical hobbies online. motifs, themes, and metaphors are useful and dissecting them can bring a lot to the table, but a lot of other devices are mostly like fun bonus trivia for me to notice when reading. however, memorizing those terms and trying to notice them in the things you read does have a distinct benefit - it encourages you to start noticing patterns, and to start thinking of the mechanical way a story is built. sure, thinking about how the prose is constructed might not help you understand the story much more, but it does make you start thinking about how things like prose contribute to the greater feeling of a piece, or how the formatting of a piece contributes to its overall narrative. you'll start developing this habit of picking out little things about a text, which is useful.

other forms of in-text pattern recognition can be about things like characterization! how does a character react to a certain situation? is it consistent with how they usually behave? what might that tell you about how they think? do they have tells that show when they're not being trustworthy? does their viewpoint always match what is happening on screen? what ideas do they have about how the world works? how are they influenced by other people in their lives? by social contexts that might exist? by situations that have affected them? (on that note, how do situations affect other situations?)

another one is just straight-up noticing themes in a work. is there a certain idea that keeps getting brought up? what is the work trying to say about that idea? if it's being brought up often, it's probably worth paying attention to!

that goes for any pattern, actually. if you notice something, it's worth thinking about why it might be there. try considering things like potential subtext, or what a technique might be trying to convey to a reader. even if you can't explain why every element of a text is there, you'll often gain something by trying to think about why something exists in a story.

^ sometimes the answer to that question is not always "because it's intentional" or even "because it was a good choice for the storytelling." authors frequently make choices that suck shit (I am a known complainer about choices that suck shit.) that's also worth thinking about. english classes won't encourage this line of thinking, because they're trying to get you to approach texts with intentional thought instead of writing them off. I appreciate that goal, genuinely, but I do think it hampers people's enthusiasm for analysis if they're not also being encouraged to analyze why they think something doesn't work well in a story. sometimes something sucks and it makes new students mad if they're not allowed to talk about it sucking! I'll get into that later - knowing how and why something doesn't work is also a valuable skill. being an informed and analytical hater will get you far in life.

so that's in-work literary analysis. id also recommend annotating your pages/pdfs or keeping a notebook if you want to close-read a work. keeping track of your thoughts while reading even if they're not "clever" or whatever encourages you to pay attention to a text and to draw patterns. it's very useful!

now, for out-of-work literary analysis! it's worth synthesizing something within its context. what social settings did this work come from? was it commenting on something in real life? is it responding to some aspects of history or current events? how does it relate to its genre? does it deviate from genre trends, commentate on them, or overall conform to its genre? where did the literary techniques it's using come from - does it have any big stylistic influences? is it referencing any other texts?

and if you don't know the answer to a bunch of these questions and want to know, RESEARCH IS YOUR FRIEND! look up historical events and social movements if you're reading a work from a place or time you're not familiar with. if you don't know much about a genre, look into what are considered common genre elements! see if you can find anyone talking about artistic movements, or read the texts that a work might be referencing! all of these things will give you a far more holistic view of a work.

as for your own personal reaction to & understanding of a work... so I've given the advice before that it's good to think about your own personal reactions to a story, and what you enjoy or dislike about it. while this is true that a lot of this is a baseline jumping-off point on how I personally conduct analysis, it's incomplete advice. you should not just be thinking about what you enjoy or dislike - you should also be thinking about why it works or doesn't work for you. if you've gotten a better grasp on story mechanics by practicing the types of pattern recognition i recognized above, you can start digging into how those storytelling techniques have affected you. did you enjoy this part of a story? what made it work well? what techniques built tension, or delivered well on conflict? what about if you thought it sucked? what aspects of storytelling might have failed?

sometimes the answer to this is highly subjective and personal. I'm slightly romance-averse because I am aromantic, so a lot of romance plots will simply bore me or actively annoy me. I try not to let that personal taste factor too much into serious critiques, though of course I will talk about why I find something boring and lament it wasn't done better lol. we're only human. just be aware of those personal taste quirks and factor them into analysis because it will help you be a bit more objective lol

but if it's not fully influenced by personal taste, you should get in the habit of building little theses about why a story affected you in a certain way. for example, "I felt bored and tired at this point in a plot, which may be due to poor pacing & handling of conflict." or "I felt excited at this point in the plot, because established tensions continued to get more complex and captured my interest." or "I liked this plot point because it iterated on an established theme in a way that brought interesting angles to how the story handled the theme." again, it's just a good way to think about how and why storytelling functions.

uh let's see what else. analysis is a collaborative activity! you can learn a lot from seeing how other people analyze! if you enjoy something a lot, try looking into scholarly articles on it, or youtube videos, or essays online! develop opinions also about how THOSE articles and essays etc conduct analysis, and why you might think those analyses are correct or incorrect! sometimes analyses suck shit and developing a counterargument will help you think harder about the topic in question! think about audience reactions and how those are created by the text! talk to friends! send asks to meta blogs you really like maybe sometimes

find angles of analysis that interest and excite you! if you're interested in feminist lenses on a work, or racial lenses, or philosophical lenses, look into how people conduct those sort of analyses on other works. (eg. search feminist analysis of hamlet, or something similar so you can learn how that style of analysis generally functions) and then try applying those lenses to the story you're looking at. a lot of analysts have a toolkit of lenses they tend to cycle through when approaching a new text - it might not be a bad idea to acquire a few favored lenses of your own.

also, most of my advice is literary advice, since you can broadly apply many skills you learn in literary analysis to any other form of storytelling, but if you're looking at another medium, like a game or cartoon, maybe look up some stuff about things like ludonarrative storytelling or visual storytelling! familiarizing yourself with the specific techniques common to a certain medium will only help you get better at understanding what you're seeing.

above all else, approach everything with intellectual curiosity and sincerity. even if you're sincerely curious about why something sucks, letting yourself gain information and potentially learning something new or being humbled in the process will help you grow. it's okay to not have all the answers, or to just be flat-out wrong sometimes. continuing to practice is a valuable intellectual pursuit even if it can mean feeling a tad stupid sometimes. don't be scared to ask questions. get comfortable sometimes with the fact that the answer you'll arrive at after a lot of thought and effort will be "I don't fully know." sometimes you don't know and that can be valuable in its own right!

thank you for the ask, and I hope you find this helpful!

[nosyp]

Hii could we possibly get a smut w Cho Hyun-Ju x f!reader where were basically a person who loves to joke around n chill w everybody else but when it comes to Hyun, we get all distracted, stutter around her, n js listen to everything she says not even realizing that we have a crush on her until someone brings it up n were like “oh crap wtf im being weak😥” which causes us to avoid her n be in denial of having feelings cuz we wanna seem focused n nonchalant which everyone notices especially her n that causes her to corner us n lead to smth spicy? Pls n thank u!!

THIS IS SO GOOOODDDD!! I'm so sorry but errrr I'm trying to figure myeslf out rn so not much smut 😔😔😔😔😔

Title = Flustered and Fallen

Warnings = mdni, kissing, touching, smut interrupted by guard sorry hehe🥺

Pairing = Cho Hyun Ju x fem!reader

Summary = You're confident around everyone, except Hyun-Ju. When you realize you have feelings for her, you start avoiding her. But Hyun-Ju won't let you hide anymore, and things get more intense when she corners you one day.

Word count = 1.5k

You were the kind of person who could easily get along with just about anyone. Your relaxed attitude and carefree nature made you a natural at making friends. A well-timed joke here, a playful comment there, everyone loved how effortlessly you could lighten the mood. The other players would often gravitate toward you, laughing at your banter or joining in on the fun. You could talk about anything and everything, and no matter the chaos of the games, your personality never once changed. But that was before she came into the picture.

It started to shift when Player 120, Hyun-Ju, entered the room. At first, you told yourself it was nothing. She was just another player, just another person to interact with. But then, it happened. The moment her gaze met yours, something inside you flipped and you found yourself stumbling over your words, losing track of sentences mid-conversation. Where you usually spoke effortlessly, now you fumbled, feeling like an idiot each time she looked at you.

"H-hey," you tried to joke, but instead it came out broken up and stuttered. "Don't te… tell me you're gonna– gonna be the quiet one in this group? You got–gotta keep up with all the st– stuff happening! Or else you'll be left behind."

But as soon as she turned her head toward you, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles, you suddenly felt heat rush to your face. Why was this so hard? Why was your usual confidence suddenly evaporating?

"Maybe I'm just waiting for you to catch up," she teased, her voice calm yet somehow sent shivers up your spine.

You tried to laugh it off, but all you could manage was a nervous chuckle, blinking awkwardly as you avoided her gaze. It was her. Her presence. It made everything feel different. You’d quickly become aware of how much you started paying attention to the way she spoke, the way her posture shifted. Every time she moved, you couldn't stop watching her.

Even when you were surrounded by others, your mind would drift back to her. You'd notice how effortlessly she handled herself in the games, how she made every action seem so smooth, and how you couldn't seem to focus when she was near. Unlike the playful, relaxed version of yourself you showed everyone else, with Hyun-Ju, you were clumsy. Awkward even. You couldn’t even make eye contact for more than a second without feeling your chest tighten.

One day, after another awkward moment where you fumbled a sentence in front of her, your friend nudged you with a grin. "You good, [Y/N]?" he asked, eyeing your flushed face. "You look like you're about to pass out every time Hyun-Ju speaks."

"Wh-what?" you stammered, shaking your head. "I'm fine, just—" You trailed off, trying to brush it off like it was nothing. You glanced at Hyun-Ju quickly, who was talking to someone else. The sight of her made your heart race again.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your act. "Come on, I’ve never seen you act like this before. You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?"

Your throat went dry, and you could feel your heart start to pound harder. "No, no! I don’t—" you sputtered, but it was too late. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, hard. You did. You had a crush on Hyun-Ju. You weren’t sure when it happened, but now that it had settled in your mind, it was all you could think about. Your attempts to deny it only made things worse, making you avoid her more.

It didn’t take long for others to start noticing, either. You went out of your way to be anywhere but near Hyun-Ju, trying to appear uninterested. But every time she walked into the room, you found yourself stiffening, words faltering, and cool exterior melting.

“[Y/N]?” a voice cut through your thoughts. It was Hyun-Ju’s voice, calm as usual. You froze, immediately standing up to look anywhere but at her. “Everything okay?”

You forced a smile, trying your best to act like you were just as unaffected as you always had been. "Yeah, just—just thinking."

But Hyun-Ju was no fool. She saw right through your act, and a smirk tugged at her lips. "You’ve been acting strange lately. Is it something I did?" Her tone was teasing, but there was something in her eyes that made you shiver, an unreadable look that seemed to look straight through you.

Your heart raced, and your mouth went dry. “I— uh— I’m fine," you managed, turning away quickly to avoid her gaze. You didn’t know how to handle this. You didn’t want to admit it, but being near her made you feel weak, and you hated it. You hated how powerless she made you feel.

Hyun-Ju seemed to notice your discomfort, and the intensity in her eyes shifted. There was a hint of amusement now, mixed with something else. Something more dangerous. She leaned closer, her voice dropping low. 

“You can’t hide it forever, you know. I know what you’re feeling, and I don’t mind.” Her breath was warm against your ear, and your breath caught in your throat. Then she got even closer. “In fact, I actually like it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was too much. Too intense. You needed to get away.

“I’m just... I’m just focused on the game,” you stammered, attempting to walk away quickly. But Hyun-Ju’s hand caught your wrist, her grip firm but not painful. “Don't think you can run away from this, [Y/N]. Not now.”

And in that moment, you realized you were in deep. She wasn’t going to let you pretend any longer.

—

Fuck. How did you get into this situation? Somehow you were now sharing a stall with her.

“I– I– don’t know why I act weird around you okay?!” you say, trying to give excuses for your weird behaviour. 

“You sure? Everyone else seems to notice and you know why.” she says, continuing to pressure you for answers. “I’m not here for your excuses.”

You felt the walls closing in on you, heart racing in your chest. Her gaze was unrelenting, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer, her presence so overwhelming it made your breath get stuck in your throat.

"I–I don't know what you want me to say..." you stammer, feeling your confidence slowly slipping away under her intense stare. The space between you two was so tight now, your skin prickling with the closeness.

"You don't know?" she murmured, her voice soft but with an edge that made your body tense. "You really don't know why you're acting like this?"

You couldn't meet her gaze. You wanted to look away, to step back, but your feet seemed frozen to the ground. She moved again, just an inch from you now, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, "I think you do."

Her hand brushed against yours, fingers barely grazing your skin, and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran down your spine. The heat between you two was almost suffocating, and every inch of your body screamed to close the gap.

But instead, you froze. What was she waiting for? What did she expect from you?

Your eyes were starting to hurt, maybe from the light above, maybe from the tears you were holding back. You didn’t know. 

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a pair of lips suddenly being pressed against yours. The kiss was so tender… so loving. Were you going crazy? Maybe you were. Involuntarily, you leaned into the kiss, further deepening it, letting you taste her tongue as she tasted yours. Then, she pulled away, ending your sweet moment.

"You're not like the others, y’know…" she murmured, her voice low and soft. With every single word, you felt like you were going even crazier. "You make me want to do things I haven’t done in a long time."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words. Was she… was she admitting something? Or was this another game? You couldn’t be sure, but the way she looked at you told you everything you needed to know.

"I…" Your voice cracked, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could stop them. "I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t stop thinking about you." you finally admitted. 

She only lets out a chuckle until she lets her lips crash onto yours again. She sucks, nibbles on your lip as her hands roam around your body. The warmth of her touch was solicitous, showing how much she loved you. 

Almost automatically, you started leaning into her touch more, eager to feel more of her. The heat in your body gradually increases the more you feel her fingertips dragging around your body.  

Then– the door slams open and reveals a pink guard. Fuck no.

“Player 120. Player [number]. Come out. Time is up.”

[marikosfragrance]

"What is a dealbreaker in a relationship with bllk boys?"

Characters : Isagi Yoichi, Karasu Tabito, Itoshi Rin, Hiori Yo

Note : thank you for the ask once again, i had fun doing this, I might do a part two with some other characters, but if any of you wants a particular character next, feel free to ask, mwah. Hope you enjoy reading!!

Warning : I am going be to be realistic and harsh about this to keep the "canonical" edge; even if you think that this isn't canon, I can accept it. This is just how I portray them, trying to make them as canon as possible.

Isagi Yoichi

Being in a relationship with Isagi is a pleasant experience, but it comes with a set of limits.

One of the major dealbreakers for him, is the lack of support in his partner. Isagi would prefer a partner that supports his goals and dreams, forming mutual respect for themselves and their goals. I can't imagine Isagi staying with a partner that also belittles his work— he values shared positivity in a relationship.

Another is an overly arrogant partner. A partner that looks down on him and doesn't recognize his efforts. Once again, he thrives on positivity on a relationship and it goes the same for equality. He respects his partner and expects them to do the same.

Another is a person that is negative. He would be more than happy to comfort an innsecured partner. He would see it as normal, but a partner that always complains about things, always thinks about the worst of everything and drags him into it, would drain him mentally and I cannot see Isagi wanting that.

Another is a partner that is disloyal. This is pretty much self explanatory, so I won't delve deeper.

There are many more, but these are some of the major ones.

Karasu Tabito

Karasu would be a good partner, but nevertheless, once again— limits.

One of the things that would be a huge dealbreaker for him in a relationship is the lack of intelligence. Don't get him wrong, you don't have to be Albert Einstein, but Karasu is smart. He likes his intellect either being challenged, or have his intellect also be matched. All in all, it would be a huge dealbreaker for him if his partner lacks the ability to be able to keep up with his fast thinking nature— and he would lose interest.

Another major dealbreaker is an overly dependant partner. A partner that always second guesses, very negative, doesn't have confidence and lacks independence would make him lose interest. Especially if his partner needs constant validation and demands his attention every minute of the day, and can't seem to trust themselves unless told to, would drain him mentally and make him lose interest.

Another major one, is someone that is disrespectful. As in, disrespecting his boundaries. He also likes his space, and he doesn't see the need to have his partner be involved in almost everything. He sees his partner as an equal and he won't ever mentally drain them, so for him, having some space set is a good way to thrive individually and not having to constantly depend on the other. And disrespecting of boundaries is also something he won't tolerate, having a partner that forces him to do things he isn't comfortable with, is a major turn off.

There are maybe some more, but let's keep it this way for now.

Itoshi Rin

Being in a relationship with him is already mentally draining enough, especially his situation with his brother. But if someone is persistent enough, these are his top major dealbreakers in a relationship. To which if done, he won't hesitate to drop his partner.

Rin is serious and independent. And one of the things that is a huge dealbreaker for him would be a partner that disregards his independence. Rin's goal to surpassing his brother, and becoming better at soccer has already become a part of his identity and self— stemming from his independence. So if his partner attempts to diminish that independence, intentionally or not, that partner of his won't be with him for much longer. He needs a partner that supports and understands his goals, aswell as understand how a relationship with him can have someone feeling neglected.

Another major turn off is a partner that is overly sensitive. For Rin, he has a blunt mouth, replicating his brother's harshness and he might accidently say things he might not mean to his partner. If his partner is someone that takes every word seriously, or can't seem to understand where he is coming from and doesnt have the ability to comprehend whether or not he meant what he said, can't last in a relationship with him much longer. Rin might not outwardly say harsh things, but sometimes it would slip from his tongue from time to time. A partner that can see through to him and understand he doesn't mean anything, would mean alot him.

Another is a partner that relies on him constantly. And is pessimistic. Rin has goals, and he is ambitious. He strives to achieves them— his independence and confidence would not mesh well with a partner that is negative all the time and not confident. Being reliant also is a major turn off as he strives in independence. He is already mentally drained enough with his brother and goals, I cannot see him lasting with a partner that needs constant assurance, validation and attention since he already is emotionally closed off as he is. There needs to be a balance.

Hiori Yo

For Hiori, he had grown with parents who imposed their own aspirations onto him, and such he lacked the emotional connection a child should've formed with their parents.

With this, I can see lack of genuine connection being a huge dealbreaker for him. He would deeply appreciate a partner that can make meaningful interactions and deep understanding. He wouldn't like it if his relationships are nothing more but just.... there. If he is in a relationship, he plans to make a deep connection with that person. If that person only interacts with him in a shallow manner or doesn't connect with him on a deeper and more intimate level, I can see Hiori not lasting long with that person. He might not even consider dating them.

Another major turn off is being controlling. He already carries the weight of his parents being controlling on every aspect of his life, as well as his future. They already have a hold of him, restraining him. I cant see him with a partner that does the same. In fact, he might even avoid people like that for the sake of himself. A partner like that would be a major turn off as he would feel as though the relationship is just another cheap reflection of his parent's control over him and his life.

Another is an overly dramatic partner that makes dramas and creates conflicts. He already has so much on his plate. Relationships are supposed to be a source of comfort, and a healthy space. Hiori is mentally drained by his parents and he won't be able to keep up with even more conflicts and dramas. Hiori likes a peaceful atmosphere, so his partner has to be able to offer a comfort place for him, and not another place filled with reminders of his parents.

___________________________

That is all!! Once again, thanks for the ask, enjoyed making this. Might even make a part 2 of my own hehe. But if any of ya'll want specific characters, don't be afraid to ask.

[punksyeet]

- Only Mine ❥

Plot: What was supposed to be a wholesome night between Gianna (OC) and Roman, turns rather nasty when the Tribal Chief feels disrespected by his lady.

Warnings: Mature language, angst, manipulation, toxicity, & smut (oral in the shower)!

to whoever requested this: it was so much fun and an absolute honor bringing your request to life. a million times thank you & i hope you enjoy this as much as i loved writing it. 💗💐

—————————————————————————————————

A mixture of cheers and boos erupt in the arena, as my fiancée just defended one of his championships against Cody Rhodes.

“Here is your winner! And still the Undisputed WWE Universal Champion: Roman Reigns!” Samantha Irvin announces from ringside.

I cheer and watch my man exit the ring then walk back up the ramp, alongside his wiseman and cousin Sefa, who played a huge part in him retaining tonight.

As he disappears backstage, the arena quiets down and I feel a slight hand on my shoulder.

I turn around and see a security guard.

“Mrs. Anoa’i?” the man confirms, an emotionless expression on his face.

I nod, smiling. “Yes, that’s me.”

He gives me a quick nod. “Your fiancée asked me personally to escort you to his dressing room.”

I smile, grab my purse, and stand up. “Perfect, thank you.”

He does another quick nod and leads the way.

“Here we are,” he exclaims, as we reach a door that reads ‘The Bloodline’. “He should be inside.”

I give him a soft smile and nod. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he replies and walks away.

I take a deep breath before turning the door handle and pushing it open.

“Hi my love,” I coo, entering the room and shutting the door behind me.

Joe looks up and immediately stands, a gorgeous smile growing on his face when he sees me.

“Hey sweet thing,” he replies, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I stand on my tippy toes and hold his biceps, as he presses his lips to mine in a passionate kiss.

“Congratulations on your win,” I state once we pull away, running my fingers through his gorgeous black locks. “You looked amazing out there, as always.”

He smirks and cups my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “As always, huh? You love watching your daddy dominate, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” I hum in approval, batting my eyelashes at him. “You know I do, Joe Joe.”

He chuckles and leans in once again, capturing my lips in another kiss.

It gets steamy quick, when he slides his tongue against mine, resulting in both of ours fighting for dominance.

Of course, his wins.

It always does.

I let out a soft whimper as he trails kisses down my neck, finally landing on my sweet spot just below my ear.

A few moments later, we’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

He groans and rolls his eyes, pulling away from me.

I giggle and kiss his cheek before he walks past me and to the door.

He opens it and Paul and Sefa appear.

“My Tribal Chief,” Paul begins, holding out his hand for a shake. “Congratulations again on retaining.”

Joe gives him a soft smile and nods, taking his hand. “Thank you, wiseman. And thank you for your help, cousin.”

Solo keeps his face expressionless, just reacting with a simple nod. “Anything for you, my Tribal Chief.”

I smile at their interaction and sit down on one of the sofas, as Joe steps aside and lets them in.

“Oh hello,” Paul greets when he sees me. “Sorry, I didn’t know we had company.”

I chuckle. “It’s alright, Paul. Nice to see you.”

He gives me a smile. “Likewise, my Tribal Queen.“

I shake my head and smile.

“Good to see you Gi,” Sefa greets me next, opening his arms for a hug.

I smile and accept his offer. “You too, Sef. Thank you for helping out Joe tonight.”

I look over his shoulder and see Joe stood against the wall, no expression on his face, but still looking rather irritated.

I give him a confused look and he rolls his eyes, walking away and to his connected bathroom.

I let out a soft sigh and pull away from the hug, putting on a fake smile.

“Well,” Paul speaks up again, breaking the awkward silence. “I wanted to have some words with the Tribal Chief but I suppose it can wait. We best be going.”

I nod, standing up and following them to the door.

“Give our best to Roman,” Sefa requests, following Paul out.

“Will do,” I reply, smiling.

We say our goodbyes and I watch them walk off.

Once they’re out of sight, I close the door and head to the bathroom.

“Joe?” I ask softly, knocking on the door.

When I don’t get an answer, I slowly open it and peek in, to see my husband in a steaming hot shower.

“Joe?” I call out again, a little louder this time.

“What?” he asks, an irritated tone in his voice.

What the fuck is his problem?

I take a deep breath before responding. “Everything okay? You usually don’t just walk out like that.”

Once again, no answer.

Alright, fine.

I close the door behind me and step out of my dress, undergarments, and heels.

While he’s turned around, rinsing off his body, I step into the shower and fold my arms across my chest.

Feeling my presence, he turns around and immediately scans my body.

“Wanna tell me what your issue is?” I ask, a sense of bravery coming over me.

Don’t get me wrong, I know better than to disrespect Joe.

Lord knows I’ve learned not to the hard way.

But I won’t stand for this bitch ass attitude he has towards me, especially with no explanation.

“Wanna fix that tone before I fuck it out of you?” he responds, crossing his arms and mocking me.

I roll my eyes. “Joe, just answer me. What’s the matter?”

He nods, smirking. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know better, huh?”

When I don’t answer, he continues.

“If you must know,” he exclaims, matter of factly. “I don’t appreciate my future wife getting all touchy with my cousin.”

Excuse the fuck outta me?!

A look of disgust mixed with confusion comes over my face. “Joe, what the fuck are you talking about?”

He grabs my neck and holds me against the wall. “Last warning, little girl. Fix that tone or you gon’ get it fixed for you.”

I take a deep breath, locking eyes with him.

“You enjoyed that hug a little too much,” he continues, still holding me in place. “I saw the way you were smiling when Sefa was holding you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh come on, Joe! Give me a break!”

“Gia-“ I cut him off before he can scold me again.

“No, Joe. No!” I yell, tears forming in my eyes. “I love you. I’m wearing the ring that you proposed to me with. I’m marrying you in under two months. You don’t get to accuse me of having feelings for your cousin when I’ve been nothing but loyal to you. Having insecurities about a relationship that’s lasted this long and is about to take a huge step forward isn’t a good look.”

For once in our entire relationship, he’s silent.

He slowly removes his hand from my neck.

I blink, allowing tears to slowly run down my face. “So you don’t have anything to say? It’s just fuck us now?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face.

I hold my hands up in defeat, crying uncontrollably. “Fine.”

As I start opening up the curtain to leave, he pulls me back in by my arm.

“Joe let me g-“ he cuts me off by cupping my face and smashing his lips against mine. Hard.

And like the in-way-too-deep idiot that I am, I kiss back.

A couple of seconds later, we pull away and he presses hs forehead against mine before giving it a kiss as well.

“You’re right,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

When I respond with only sniffles, he continues.

“I acted that way because,” his voice trails off. “Because I love you. I wanted to spend my night celebrating my victory with my beautiful soon-to-be wife. I wanted you all to myself. And when my cousin and Paul interrupted, it annoyed me. I acted out of anger. Baby, I love you. I love you so much. And I shouldn’t have accused you. Not of something as idiotic as having feelings for my cousin. You deserve better. I’m sorry.”

I wipe my eye with my forearm, letting out a quiet sniffle. “You have no idea how much that hurt, Joe. How could you even think of me that way?”

He shakes his head, running a hand down his face. “I was frustrated, baby. I don’t think straight when I’m frustrated. You know that. It’s not an excuse, I know. Just please forgive me? I can’t live without you. I’m nothing without you.”

Who am I kidding?

I love this man far too much to stay mad at him.

Joe Anoa’i is my drug.

I let out another sniffle before pulling away and cupping his face. “I forgive you, my love.”

He gives me a soft and grateful smile before pulling me into another kiss.

I kiss back and he soon pulls away, kissing my cheek and wrapping me into a hug. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Joe. Always.”

For a while, we just sit there holding each other in comfortable silence, the sound of water cascading down our bodies and hitting the shower floor.

“Now,” he begins again, pulling away from the hug and holding my waist. “What do you say we wrap this up and head home, hm?”

I wrap my arms around his neck and run my fingers through his hair. “Not so fast.”

He gives me a confused look as I get on my knees.

** smut warning! **

I apply a kiss to his perfectly pink tip and look up at him. “Let me show you how proud I am of you, daddy.”

I tease his slit with my tongue, letting saliva drip down to his balls.

“Fuck,” he whispers, slowly throwing his head back against the tile wall.

Eventually, I add my hands, swirling them and my tongue around his length in sync.

“Just like that princess,” he coos in between moans, grabbing fistfuls of my hair and bobbing my head up and down. “Your mouth is so fucking good.”

A few moments later, I feel his dick pulsate in my throat, signaling that he’s close.

“F-fuck!” he moans, grabbing my hair tighter. “Daddy is gonna cum, okay? Be a good girl and swallow it all for me, princess.”

I do as I’m told, allowing the warm and sticky substance to line and run down my throat.

“Amazing job as always,” he praises, cupping my face. “What a good girl you are.”

“Mhmm,” I half-moan half-giggle, scooping up a string of spit dangling from my lips and stroking his cock with it.

** smut over! **

He looks down at me, a smirk forming on his lips, and slides his thumb across my lower lip. “Your daddy’s girl. Forever. You know that right?”

I stare directly into his eyes and nod, taking it into my mouth and sucking it.

“Aht aht,” he scolds, taking his thumb out, resulting in me pouting. “Only good girls that use their words can suck their daddies fingers. Now respond to me correctly, angel face.”

“I’m your girl, daddy. Only yours. No one elses. Forever.”

“Mmm,” he hums in approval. “That’s my good girl.”

I give him a soft smile as he cups my face and gently lifts me up.

“Cmere mama,” he mutters, before pulling me into a passionate kiss.

I immediately kiss back, my hands sliding up his chest.

“You take such good care of your daddy,” he coos against my lips. “I love you so much.”

I blush and tug on his bottom lip as I pull away to respond. “I love you too, my Tribal Chief.”

He smirks and pulls me back in, smashing his lips on mine once more.

Ugh. How lucky am I?

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn't resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Busy?” Vivica hums with doubt. “Again.” 

“Sorry, Vic, I just... can’t,” you roll your eyes at your reflection. No, the eye liner is too much. You think mascara’s fine. 

“What’s going on?” Her voice rises from your phone as it rests amid the mess of your bathroom counter. “Ever since your birthday, you’ve been kind of a bitch.” 

She isn’t wrong. You twist the wand of the mascara and pop it from the tube. You sigh. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Better reason for you all to go without me,” you say. “I don’t want to bring you down.” 

“Hm, fine,” she lets her disappointment through. “But you’re getting coffee with me soon. I’m worried.” 

You nod and brush through your lashes. “I’ll let you know what I’m free.” 

You sniff as she tuts noisily. “Fine, I’ll wait.” 

“Go, have fun,” you insist. “Text you later.” 

“Right, sure.” 

You tap the red button and the call ends. You slide the wand into place and twist the mascara shut. You fighting a losing battle here. You drop the tube and throw your head back, heaving out a breath. 

You don’t even know why you’re doing this. It’s a joke. A date? You’ll just be letting down one more person. You hate to waste Curtis’ time. Hence, why you haven’t told anyone about it. You don’t need them to know about another fuck up. 

The phone buzzes. You roll your eyes and press your fingerprint to the screen to unlock. You expect another long lecture typed out by Vivica, instead, it’s Curtis. Is he already here? No, you’re not ready. You bend to read his message. 

‘Hey, if you got em, wear sneakers or hiking boots.’ 

You squint. Huh? Is he taking you on a hike? Wow. Well, you suppose you deserve that kind of effort. Besides, you’re really not in the mood for a crowded restaurant where you have to pretend to know the appetizer sharing etiquette. 

‘I can dig some out’ you type back. 

You step back and sift through your sparse make up. You pick out a shade of lip gloss closest to your natural hue. Is it really necessary? Why are you even trying? You know how this ends. You pop your lips and snap the cap into place. 

Maybe he’s a murderer. Somehow, that doesn’t scare you. Even as the pieces seem to fall into place. He’s taking you out alone. Somewhere he’s kept a surprise, and he told you to bring sporty shoes. You expect you might be running from an axe in the woods soon enough. Not such a dire end considering. 

You shake off the absurd thought. You don’t want to look like you went overboard. Curtis has been so casual about all of this. Yeah, casual. Just put on something simple. 

The black jeans could easily be mistaken for nicer pants. The turtleneck isn’t too much either. Blue cotton with little white daisies. You’ll put a cardigan over it and pull on your hiking boots. Wow, a dream come true. A date in Sorel avant garde. 

Your nerves begin to go wild. You don’t know why. It’s not a real date, it’s a courtesy. He asked so you might as well just go. You grab your phone and wait on the couch, a youtube video babbling unheard from the television. 

Your phone vibrates. You sit up. It’s Curtis. 

‘Here. I think.’ 

‘I’ll come down’. You type back. 

You get up and hurry around. You grab your crossbody bag and your keys. You shoulder out the door and lock it behind you. Your phone buzzes once more. 

‘Right by the door.’ 

You come out and look around, searching the cars parked along the curb. Your attention is drawn back to the motorcycle between an SUV and Honda Accord. You approach Curtis as he hugs a second helmet under his arm. 

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers the helmet. 

You take it as you process the full picture. The matte black tank, the leather saddle bags in the same shade as his jacket and gloves, the steel gray exhaust and thick tires. You nod. 

“Not at all.” 

“I shoulda warned you,” he says. 

“I’ve been on one before,” you assure him as you pull on the helmet and loop the strap under your chin. 

“Oh?” 

“I know, I don’t look like the type. I’m not.” You flip the visor down. 

“Ah, well, whoever he was, hope he didn’t spoil the ride completely,” he says, “get on.” 

He turns and straddles the bike, kick back the stand. You hesitate then reach for his arm. You climb up behind him and swing your leg over. You wince as you land on the seat. Ouch, you’re still a bit sore down there. 

“Gonna have to hang on tight,” he pats his side. 

“Sure, uh... right.” 

You hook your arms around him. This is an easy gag for a man. Get a woman nice and close under the fear she might become road kill. Slick. 

“You ready?” He rolls the bike towards the street. 

“Ready,” you assure him. 

He starts the motor and revs. He angles around and speeds off down the road. You pull yourself closer as the wind tunnels around you. The smell of leather fills your nose as you close your eyes. It’s not awful, is it? 

When you look again, you’re head towards the town line. You watch the trees grow thicker as he steers along the country roads. That paranoia rises again. It would be just your luck. Look what happened the other night. 

You lift your head and peek over his shoulder. He rides up to a farm and comes a halt. He plants his feet in the dirt and kills the engine. A thrum lingers in your muscles as the roar of the bike dulls your hearing. 

“We’re here,” he proclaims. 

You take his cue. You get off first and he parks the bike with a kick of the stand. You wiggle the helmet off and look up at the farmhouse and the barn further back. Your brows pinch together curiously. 

“It’s not that lame, I promise.” He takes your helmet and hangs it with his on the handle bar.  “Friend of mine owns the place. He let me have it for the night.” 

“Mhm, good friend.” 

“Yeah, he can be,” he removes the saddlebags from the back of the bike and waves you on. “That way, just around the back.” 

You nod and turn away. You stride up along the side of the house. It’s an old-fashioned place. Faded wood and peeling paint. You pause before you can pass it completely. You look back at him as he nearly runs into you. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

You look him in his stormy gray eyes, “you’re not going to kill me, right?” 

He snorts and his cheek dimples. “I can’t guarantee no blood but that’s far from the plan.” 

You frown. What a strange answer.

You shrug and turn back to your path. You come out around the back of the house, sown fields in the early stages of growth behind a large board painted with circles. A ply wood target. A picnic table across from it with a clutter over one half. You cross your arms as you near. 

“Hatchet throwing,” he puts the saddle bags on the table. “Thought it would be fun. Something a little less... crowded.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head like a squawking crow. 

He lifts one of the axes and holds it up. “Good stress relief.” 

“Mm,” you reach for one, less confident in your grasp. 

He turns to the target and extends his arm towards it. “You wanna keep a light but sturdy grip,” he says. “You don’t want it to catch.” 

He bends his arm back and swings it ahead again, letting the hatchet fly with easy. You flinch as it thunks into the target, just off-center. Your lips slant. 

“You got a lot of experience?” 

“Well, I started with darts at the bar but didn’t like all the drunks. There’s a place you can pay to do this in town but it’s pricey and loud,” he says. “So... I put this together.” 

“Yeah, probably not worth the money.” The words hang in the air, a question whether you mean the activity or yourself. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Uh, oh,” push your bag behind you and look at the target. “I...” You raise your arm, try to line up your aim, then drop it down. “I can’t.” 

“You want a few tips?” 

“Think I need them.” 

“Alright, no problem. It’s no biggy. Worst that happens, it lands in the dirt.” He comes close and lightly guides you by your shoulders, standing you perpendicular to the target. “Alright, bring it up.” 

You raise your arm and he helps you line up. He gets even closer and nudges your feet with his scuffed boots to get you in position. “That’s it, just like that.” 

You grip the axe tighter and your eyes widen. Those words hit you like the blade, slicing deep. The body on top of yours, his rasping cooes, and his cruel thrusts. You blink away the vision of Hugh and shudder. 

“Here,” Curtis touches your hand, “loosen up. Pull back. Yeah, you got it.” He steps back, “when you’re ready, let it fly.” 

He stands away from you and watches. You bite down and stare at the target. All your frustration and fear bubbles in your chest. You narrow your eyes and take a breath. You fling the hatchet without restraint. The thunk in the wood is deafening. 

Curtis whistles, “wow, good shot.” 

You turn straight to examine the board. Your shot is opposite of his, right on the line with the bullseye.  

“Lucky,” you say. 

“I dunno, you seem like a natural,” he crosses the ground and pulls out the hatches. “Wanna toss a few more? Build up an appetite?” 

“Uh, sure,” you agree. “It is kind of fun.” 

“I think so. Even more when you have company,” he approaches and offers the hatchet. “I packed a picnic so we won’t have to chew on seeds.” 

You glance at the sprouting fields. You laugh. It was a little fun. 

“Got one,” he spins the hatchet in his hand. “You go first. Since you won first round.” 

“What? No I didn’t.” 

“You were closer so... that’s a win. Champ.” 

“Alright, no need for the sarcasm,” you shake your head. 

“I’m a sore loser,” he winks. “So, take it easy on me and I might lighten up.” 

🎯

The rumble of the engine stays with you as you climb off the bike. Curtis cuts the engine and flips down the stand. He takes off his helmet as you descend back to earth. Literally. Somehow in those last three hours or so, he kept the world from invading your mind. 

“That was nice,” he says. “I think.” 

You hold the helmet in your hands, a good way to keep them still. You look down and crack a smile. He hangs his on the bike. 

“Another one huh?” He says and you pop your head up. “Got another smile.” 

You blush and shake your head, “I don’t know. I guess.” 

“You had fun?” He asks. 

“I did,” you contend and hand over the helmet. “Thanks. For everything.” 

“No, thank you.” He holds the helmet at his side and stares at you. The streetlights cast ominous shadows over him. He shifts so his sole scrapes the ground. “I hope maybe we can do it again.” 

“Er...” you’re struck by the suggestion. Again? Like a second date. That can’t be real. Not after everything. Oh bitter irony. “Sure, Curtis. I think next time I could let you win.” 

“Yeah, next time,” he rasps. He leans in and you realise what’s happening. He’s going to kiss you. Oh. 

“Ugh, oh,” you trip on nothing and hop up on the curb. “Oops, sorry, it’s so dark out here.”  

He recoils and clears his throat, “yeah, uh, you want me to walk you to the door?” 

“Uh, no, no,” you put your palms up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” 

“Alright,” he says despondently. “Have a good night.” 

“Yeah, you too.” 

“I’ll text,” he mutters. 

“I’ll answer.” 

You spin and cringe at your building. You suck. You're a dork. Ew. Ew. Ew. 

You march up the walk and don’t stop until you’re inside. You blew it. So close but so far. Just like you expected. Well, then you can be that disappointed. 

You retreat to your apartment and slam your phone down. You won’t think about it. He has to drive home and he won’t text tonight anyway. You just hate a date. A date! 

Was it really real? After everything? You think so. 

You sink onto the couch. You hold your chin and pick your lip. Just another day and you’d be in la la land. This would be heaven. One more day and you may have let him kiss you. Before you were used up and tarnished. 

Ugh. Why couldn’t you have just let it happen? Because those things don’t happen to you. Romance isn’t for you. It’s for other people. And people lie. Even Curtis. Maybe he won’t text after all. 

You lean back and turn on the television in resignation. You put on an early 00s sitcom with a sadly departed main star. That’s how life is. When it’s good, it goes wrong, or it’s just over. When it’s bad, that’s when it seems eternal. 

You cross your legs then think better of that. Even with all the lube, there’s a lot of damage done. Nothing serious, just sensitive. It was your first time. You don’t imagine it gets better. 

Your phone buzzes at the end of episode two. You nearly jump off the sofa. Don’t be stupid. 

You get up, patiently, and get your phone. You sit down again before you unlock it. The message that comes up isn’t from Curtis. Or Vivica. Or Mila. Or Jerrod. 

It’s from WhatsApp. You only ever used that for... 

‘You lookin’ for another weekend fling?’ 

You stare at Hugh’s message. You deleted the conversation but you recognise the number. The two checkmarks turn green to show you’ve read the message. God dammit. 

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re mortified. You crash back to earth with startling speed. You can’t undo that. Worse, you don’t think you’ll ever get past it. 

You clear all your apps and put your phone on do not disturb. 

You stretch out on the couch and focus on the TV. Not really. It just glares in your vision as you stare through it. As you can hear nothing but a distant whistle. You stay like that, fractured, until your consciousness slowly falls away. 

You’re back in the hotel room. Alone one minute then pinned to the bed. The ceilings tear open as Hugh fucks you. You’re gushing around him, the smell of blood fills the air with iron. You meld with the blankets, shrouded in them, then suddenly thunder roars through the space. 

Curtis rides in on his motorcycle. How? A hatchet flies and hit the headboard, glancing by your cheek. You look past Hugh’s writhing body, completely oblivious of the other’s man disgusted glares. 

“Slut.” 

The word wakes you. You jolt up and hold your head dizzily. The windows are glazed over with the soft tones of morning. You groan and turn your legs over the edge of the couch. 

You get up to make your coffee. The dark roast brew and the aroma eases your nerves. You grab you phone out of habit and sit down. You have another message. You put the phone down. 

You go back to the kitchen and fill a mug. You drink in silence. You take the cup into the bathroom and shower before you finish the dregs. As you sit to pee, you wince. It’s been a week. It’s still painful but you’re sure it’s all in your head. After all, your pride hurts worse than anything else. 

You rinse your cup, pick up your phone, and determine to delete the message. As the chat opens, you’re stopped by the image there. You nearly drop it. Instead, you lean on the counter is gasp. 

‘Thot I was ur 1st' the message reads beneath the photo of you and Curtis in the yellow cascade of the streetlight. 

The checkmark fills and three bubbles pop up. Fuck. The next text comes quickly. 

‘How would ur bf feel about u fucking strangers?’ 

‘Not my bf. Leave me alone.’ Your thumbs tap furiously and you hit send. 

He sends a laughing emoji and the dots appear again. ‘I got a discount. Just 4 u.’ 

‘No thx. Not interested’ 

‘Didn’t ask don’t care but think I know who would’ 

You huff and hang your head back. You don’t get it. Why is he doing this? He got his fee and you got what you paid for. 

‘No. Pls don’t message again.’ 

You bring down the menu and delete the conversation and block the sender. It isn’t until after that that you realise. He took that picture outside your building. He knows where you live. How? 

The police? Would they do anything? Would they believe you? You just deleted the evidence. 

He’s bluffing right. He just wanted more money. You’re not stupid. Come on. You are a wallet to him, nothing more. You’re not naive enough to think he enjoyed it any more than you did. It’s business to him. He did his job and he got a pretty penny. If you could get that much for a few hours, you’d be hustling too. 

It’s just a poor attempt at blackmail. A hail mary for any extra pay check. Too bad for him, you don’t have that type of money. You already splurge on regret. 

You’ll keep an eye over your shoulder but you really doubt it’s anything more than greed. He must have a dozen clients. Hm... that thought doesn't make feel you better. You don’t know that you’ll ever really feel good again. Did you ever before? 

📱

“I know it’s cliche but I told you, I’m not exactly the creative type,” you settle in at the table and look through the cafe window. 

“I told you, I trust your judgment. And can’t go wrong with coffee,” Curtis says. 

“Guess not, but I’ve had some shitty coffee in my day.” 

His cheek dimples and he tilts his head in agreement, “me too. I’m not some coffee snob but some of the water they serve around town.” 

“You’re talking about Smokey’s, right? They serve ash-flavoured piss. Oh, sorry, I...” you give a sheepish smile. “I got carried away.” 

“You’re right though,” he snorts. 

“Ha, thanks. Mila disagrees. She keeps trying to convert me.” 

“Sounds like Jensen but with those acid energy drinks. I told him, he’s going to have a heart attack.” 

“Ew, those things are worse. It’s like someone made mountain dew worse.” 

He chuckles. That doesn’t happen often. “Wow, I should bring you in as backup. Then he might actually listen.” 

The barista comes with your drinks and you thank her. You ordered a tea latte, not your usual fare. Curtis eyes it as he cradles his cup of dark roast between his large hands. 

“I’m not much of a tea person but that looks interesting.” 

“London Fog. Just very foamy Earl Gray,” you explain. 

“Ah,” he nods thoughtfully. Your bag vibrates and you elbow it back on your hip. Not right now, Mila. “Not to be socially awkward but you like horror movies?” 

“I like them but they still scare me,” you say. 

“Really? Something actually scares you?” 

“What do you mean?” You scoff. 

He stares at you. “Do you really not know?” 

“Know... what?” 

“You’re terrifyingly hard to read,” he says. “You’re so lock and key that it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking. Easy to assume you want to scoop my guts out with a plastic spoon.” 

“I’m not much for slashers, I’m more into psychological scares,” you counter then catch yourself. You smile. “Sorry. I’m not... you know, I can be a bitch but I’m not really one.” 

“That isn’t what I meant.” 

“I know, I just don’t know how else to say... if I look at you like a rabid dog, I swear, I’m just thinking.” 

“Yeah, Jensen says I have RBF too.” 

“RBF?” You wonder. 

“Resting Bitch Face, although he started calling it Raging Curt Face.” 

You laugh. He does too. The last bit of ice melts away. 

“I’m on a roll today,” he says. “So I may as well ask, wanna come over and watch scary movies?” 

🍿

The mood is set. The curtains are drawn to darken the room and the television glows as the only source of light in the space. Not much of a beacon as the images on the screen remain in shadow as the grinding soundtrack drones from the speakers.

You sit on the couch, enthralled by the manic horror of the character’s shallow breaths. 

You jerk as something brushes over your shoulder. You quickly still yourself as you realise what it is. Curtis stretches his arm over your shoulders. 

“Scared yet?” He asks. 

You giggle, “only a little.” 

He stays close and you don’t push him away. It’s such a weird feeling. To have someone in your space but you don’t mind it. To be honest, it’s comforting. 

You stare at the screen as the tension builds. As a loud noise frightens you, you jolt and lean into Curtis. He curls his arm snug around you. Then the next startling twist comes and you turn your face into his shoulder. 

“You didn’t say you were a baby,” he teases. 

“Oh, hush,” you speak into his shirt. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he grits and brings his hand up under your chin. “I’ll protect you from the boogeyman.” 

You glower up at him and he sighs, “don’t look at me like that.” 

“How can you tell how I’m looking at you?” 

“I can feel it,” his thumb rubs your chin and he leans closer. 

You swallow as he keeps coming. You don’t stop him. You’re stuck. Your body won’t answer the screaming in your head. He presses his lips to yours and you let out a soft noise. He presses his mouth against yours for a moment then pulls away. 

He’s quiet as you puff you, your heart racing. “Was that okay?” 

You cough, “uh, yeah... sorry, I... I’m surprised.” 

“Can I do it again?” He asks. 

You quiver and nod, “sure.” 

He kisses you again. This time his tongue traces the crease of your lips. You open to him, unsure what you’re supposed to do. He delves within as he cradles your head and squeezes you closer. 

A warmth creeps up your body. Cozy at first. Intoxicating either. But it keeps burning. Hotter and hotter as his hand slithers down your back. His groan triggers a tickle in your brain and nearly bite down.  

You touch Curtis’ chest and urge him away. He reluctantly parts and slackens his hold on you. You stand up without a word. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

“I need your bathroom. Sorry.” 

You hurry away, staggering through the dark, and close the bathroom door behind you. You flip the light on and stomp to the tub, sitting on the porcelain as you drop your head into your hands. What the fuck? What is wrong with you? 

That wasn’t bad. It was great. You were getting somewhere. You were having a normal experience. It’s like you just can’t let yourself win. 

You smack your cheek, then your other. You do it a few more times before you sit up straight. God! What a disaster. What a stupid woman you are. You can’t even blame anyone but yourself. You did this to yourself. 

You ran away from Curtis. You came in here to mope. And you hired Hugh. 

No, don’t-- that’s not relevant. You’re forgetting that. It didn’t happen. You’re trying to move on. You can move on. Curtis doesn’t have to be your penance; he can be your antidote. 

There’s a knock at the door. You stare at the wood. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” Curtis asks. 

“Yep.” You call back. 

“I’m sorry if... if that was too much. If I went too fast,” he says. 

You huff and stand. You drag your feet to the door. You make yourself open it and face him. He turned the lights on. You ruined the night. 

“I think maybe I should just go. I’m sorry I spoiled the movie,” you say. He doesn’t move. 

“What? I paused it. It’s fine. We can finish it.” 

“No, Curtis, I’m just... I keep... aren’t you tired of me yet?” 

He shakes his head, “no, are you tired of me?” 

You clamp your lips and pop them in exasperation. “No.” That makes this harder. Because you aren’t tired of him. Because you do like him. 

“So why are you running away?” 

He grips the door frame. He’s a big man. He doesn’t have to let you leave but you know if you say you want to go, he will. For a moment, his size reminds you of another person. One who didn’t listen. One who didn’t hear your 'stop'. 

“This is really embarrassing but I’m just going to be honest otherwise you’ll just think I'm insane,” you throw your hands up. “I’ve never, uh, never... had... someone before. You know? Never been on any dates, er, until you.” 

He nods and his expression stays the same, “alright.” 

“So yeah...” 

He narrows his eyes, “is that it?” 

You stare at him. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.” 

“I don’t care about that. I care about us, you know? About right now. So then or whenever, it’s not important. But right now I can be patient. I can take it slow.” He drops his hand from the frame. “We can just watch the movie. That’s it.” 

You look down and slump, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he gently touches your arm. “I don’t want you to be sorry because you did nothing wrong. Thank you for telling me.” 

You don’t say anything else. You’re too mortified to muster more than a grumble. You reach for the light switch but he stands as a wall between you and escape. 

“One more thing though,” he says, “I’m not just someone. I'm your boyfriend.” 

You falter and clasp your hands in front of your stomach, “boyfriend?” 

He smiles, “I can wait for my girl. That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” 

He offers his hand and you consider it as your lips curve without a thought.  You accept the offer and latch onto his large hand.  

“Guess I’ll find out,” you say.” 

[subeddieweek]

Welcome to Sub Eddie Week 2025!

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There are no official sign-ups for this event. Our interest form can be found here, but it is not required. This event is open for everyone who would like to participate and there's no deadline for deciding to join.

Prompts:

You'll notice that we only have one list of prompts this year instead of two! This is because there is so much overlap and some can be used in both sexual and non-sexual context.

We got a few questions last year asking if prompts on one side can be used for the other, and we decided that one list with many options will help ease any confusion.

Another note about prompts: some are vague for a reason! This is so you can make them work for anything you can think of. For example 'wet' can be used for watersports, cum play, spit, sweat, or anything else you can come up with that involves wetness. Another example would be 'heat' which can mean anything from omegaverse to just being too hot on a summer day.

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Please tag us in all your WIPs for this event so we can cheer everyone on.

Happy 2025, let’s have some fun this year.

[kaiyunsim]

paw paradise —

pairing : idol!jake x daycare worker!reader

summary : jake's dog, layla, has been attending a doggy daycare and has taken a liking to you… and maybe the owner too.

a/n : i love jake. i love golden retriever energy.

— wc : 1.1k — not proof read —

jake sim has always been a morning person. the soft light spilling through his curtains, the chirping of birds outside his window, and most importantly, the enthusiastic barking of his golden retriever, layla, are enough to pull him out of bed with a smile. layla is practically vibrating with energy as jake clips on her leash.

“ready for daycare, girl?” he asks, scratching behind her ears. layla responds with a happy bark, tail wagging furiously.

every morning, jake drops layla off at a local doggy daycare while he heads to practice. it’s a cozy little place tucked between a coffee shop and a florist, with colorful murals of dogs painted on the outside walls. it’s called "paw paradise," and it’s as much of a haven for jake as it is for layla.

you work there, and you’ve seen layla plenty of times. she’s impossible to miss, bounding in with her golden coat practically glowing, a stark contrast to the sleepy-eyed boy holding her leash. you’ve always thought jake was cute in an approachable, golden-retriever-boy kind of way, but you’ve never had the chance to really talk to him. he’s usually in and out within minutes, his mornings rushed and busy.

one morning, you’re at the front desk, checking in dogs and chatting with their owners, when jake walks in. his smile is soft but genuine as he approaches, layla’s leash wrapped securely around his hand.

“hey,” he says, sliding the daycare’s sign-in clipboard toward himself. “how’s it going?”

“it’s good,” you reply, trying not to sound too nervous. “how about you?”

“can’t complain. layla’s been up since six, so she’s ready to burn off some energy.”

as if to prove his point, layla wags her tail so hard that her whole body shakes. you laugh, crouching down to give her a few pats. “she’s such a sweetheart.”

jake’s grin widens. “she likes you. that’s rare; she’s usually all about the dogs.”

it’s a small comment, but it sticks with you. there’s something about the way he says it, casual but warm, that makes your chest flutter.

after jake leaves, you’re busy with the usual daycare chaos—feeding schedules, playtime rotations, cleaning up after the more “exuberant” dogs. but layla’s easy. she gets along with everyone, her gentle nature making her a favorite among the other pups. you find yourself sneaking her extra belly rubs during breaks, thinking about her equally charming owner.

the days pass in a blur of wagging tails and barking dogs. jake becomes a familiar face, always polite and friendly, but never lingering too long. you start noticing little things about him: the way he always thanks you before leaving, the way he scratches layla’s ears like she’s the center of his world. it’s endearing, but you keep your distance. after all, he’s just another client.

one weekend, the daycare hosts a small "pup playdate" event for clients and their dogs. it’s meant to be a casual gathering with snacks, games, and plenty of room for the dogs to play. you’re busy setting up when jake arrives, layla trotting happily beside him.

“hey,” he says, balancing a tray of cupcakes. “i brought these. figured the humans might want snacks, too.”

“nice touch,” you reply, smiling. “you didn’t have to, though.”

“well, layla insisted,” he jokes. “and by insisted, i mean she stared at me while i baked.”

throughout the event, you notice how easily jake fits in. he chats with other dog owners, laughing as layla plays tug-of-war with a beagle while she is twice her size. at one point, he joins you by the snack table, where you’re refilling bowls of treats.

“this is really nice,” he says. “you guys put a lot of effort into it.”

“thanks,” you reply, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “it’s fun seeing all the dogs together.”

“you’re good at this,” he adds, his voice warm. “the dogs love you. layla especially.”

his words catch you off guard, but before you can respond, a chorus of barking erupts as the dogs chase after a stray ball. jake laughs and jogs over to join the chaos, leaving you feeling oddly flustered.

a few days later, jake surprises you again. this time, it’s a rainy morning, and he’s soaked from head to toe when he walks in. “i forgot my umbrella,” he explains, shaking water off his jacket. “but layla needed her playtime.”

you grab him a towel, trying not to laugh. “here, dry off before you catch a cold.”

as you softly dry his hair, you notice how his usually neat appearance is a little disheveled. it’s strangely endearing, and you can’t help but offer him a cup of tea from the staff kitchen.

“you don’t have to,” he says, but you wave him off.

“consider it a thank-you for all those coffees you’ve brought me.”

the two of you sit by the window, watching the rain as layla happily plays in the indoor area. the conversation flows easily, moving from lighthearted topics to deeper ones. jake tells you about how he adopted layla during a tough time in his life, how she’s been his constant source of joy. you share stories about your journey to working at the daycare, your dreams of opening your own place someday.

these little moments start to add up. jake’s visits become a highlight of your day, and you find yourself looking forward to seeing him more than you’d like to admit. but it’s still just friendly… at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

one evening, as you’re locking up the daycare, jake’s car pulls into the parking lot. layla’s head pops out the window, barking happily when she sees you.

“hey,” jake says, stepping out of the car. “i know it’s late, but we were just at the park and thought we’d swing by.”

“lucky me,” you say, grinning. “what’s up?”

jake rubs the back of his neck, looking unusually neevous. “actually, i wanted to ask you something.”

“oh?”

he takes a deep breath. “i was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. like, just us. no dogs.”

your heart skips a beat. “i’d like that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

jake’s face breaks into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “great. how about this weekend?”

“it’s a date,” you reply, and layla barks as if in agreement. “c’mon in, i’ll give you a ride home”

“if you insist” you couldn’t hold back a smile.

you’ve always believed in the magic of dogs, but you never one to lead you to someone like jake.

turns out, paw paradise really is paradise after all.

[221bshrlocked]

I finally sat down, with no distractions, airplane mode on so I don't respond to anyone while I'm reading this, and boy oh boy. This was so flipping perfect @prolix-yuy thank you thank you thank you so much for writing for my husband! Pero Tovar will forever be my favorite character of Pedro's and this was a genuine treat. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year dude.

I love that right off the bat, it's screaming enemies to lovers and I am here for it!

The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy. 

Oh this description of him is so goddamn perfect!!!!!!!

“No, they are ugly.”

This actually made me snort out loud because Pero's bedside manner in any conversation is literally this passive aggressive!

He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before. 

We love a gentleman!!!!!

“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle.

Oh the stuttering awkwardness is too damn endearing and would unfortunately work on me with so much ease.

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”

Somwhow, the four words are enough to make me pout because Poor guy. Pooooor guy!

“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.” 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSS!

“I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”

Hooooooly hell man, I'm nervous!

“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?” 

Jessssssssus Christ man I can almost hear him.

“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both. 

I'm salivating right now and I don't know what to do with myself. Oh and the follow up retorts are too funny!

....you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume....

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH DUDE WHA and the smut is just ughhhhhhh I am reading this fic again before I go to sleep

“And what must I do to share it with you?”

What a gentleman.

Ah, but it's cold outside

Pairing: Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Summary: If you could throw Pero Tovar out of your bed and breakfast you would, but something more than your constant bickering keeps him darkening your door.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering, PiV sex, consenting unprotected sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), cumming inside, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), Pero Tovar is Uncircumcised, pain kink, exhibitionism, slight degradation kink, enemies to lovers as self-actualization? We love to see it.

Notes: Happy Holidays @221bshrlocked! I am your not-so-Secret Santa for @pedrostories Secret Santa event! I love love LOVED your prompts and had to give you as many as I could possibly jam into one fic. Plus it's been a while since I've written Pero and I need that grumpy man to get his ass handed to him every now and then. I hope you enjoy!

With the wind howling outside and the lights flickering dangerously, the last person you want to see on your front steps is Pero Tovar. But you barely have time to register the dark-haired pain in your ass before he’s pushing past you and into the warm haven of your bed and breakfast.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another week,” you call over your shoulder, closing the door against the freezing air. Even when the latch clicks the force of the gusts still rattles the door. 

“I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome,” he huffs, swatting snow off his wool jacket to puddle on the floor. Rolling your eyes, you stalk into the kitchen for towels. 

“It’s late, what do you want?” you call from the other room, unable to stop yourself from twisting your mouth into a pretty fair imitation of Pero’s scowl. You’d just turned off all the lights, only the twinkling glows of Christmas decorations still lighting the main floor. 

“The road’s snowed out, I can’t see shit. I debated on whether it would be easier on my nerves to keep going or stop here.” He waves at your exasperated face when he catches the towel you toss. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The telltale frustration rises in your throat, and you swallow it down. “I don’t have any rooms, everyone’s hiding out from the storm.” Busying yourself with the late-night tasks you know by heart, Pero thumps along behind you.

“Believe me, I would rather be in my own bed than your ‘charming’ ones, but I am out of options. Anything. A couch. It’s too cold to sleep in the truck.”

There it is again, that seething annoyance climbing up your spine. You take in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before gesturing at the common room.

“The couch is the best I can do.”

Before you’re done speaking he’s striding in, shucking off his jacket to drape over a chair before kneeling by the dying fire. You’re about to scold him for kicking it back to life but if the power does fail the heat will be welcome. 

“I have to finish closing up, yell if you need something,” you add, his dismissive wave meeting your mocking wave back. The scrunch in your shoulders eases partway through the mess of dishes you’re washing, thankful that the silence of late nights is still yours even with the eerie howls and creaks of the storm surrounding you.

Yours and Pero’s relationship was barely that, if anyone asked. When he first came to town you were elated that a carpenter-handyman type was finally local. You had so many projects half-finished or begging to start in your bed and breakfast, a cozy Tudor-style house you bought at the peak of another career crisis. Thankfully this choice was a revelation, even with the tremendous undertaking. The pipes were of indeterminate age and prone to cracks, the noise of the radiators a heart-pounding alarm clock. The unpleasant odors of past smokers and bad cooks hung heavy everywhere you turned, but paint and YouTube videos and determination brought it up to a standard you were proud of. However, you didn’t want to know what electrocution feels like, or be chummy with the scent of carbon monoxide, so after a proper number of niceties and crossed paths you invited Pero over. 

The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy. You had to focus on showing him the finicky electrical box and the concerning gas hookup in the kitchen to stop your mind from wandering to steamy romance novel plots. 

Then he started speaking, and it all went to hell. 

“You should take down the curtains too,” he hummed, the cadence almost masking the disdain before your brain snapped to attention.

“The…curtains? Are they a fire hazard?”

“No, they are ugly.”

Heat flooded your face, your teeth clacking together as you whipped to look at Pero. His face is the picture of disgust, and when he meets your eyes there isn’t a hint of embarrassment in them. “Did they come with the place?”

“No, they fit the aesthetic.”

“This is an aesthetic?”

You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips but he didn’t back down one bit. He kept talking.

“I thought the furniture was from the previous owner. Cheaper, you know. You like it?” He looks around as if someone would back him up, but you just fold your arms.

“People don’t come to a bed and breakfast because it’s modern, they come because it’s quaint and charming and…”

“...cheaper than the Marriott…”

“And how would you do it then? Design the space for me, oh wise one.”

“Not how my grandmother would do it.”

Pero did not get your business that day.

Embarrassingly enough, he did get it three weeks later when your gas line started leaking. He critiqued how many mouse droppings were behind the stove and recommended an exterminator. You almost threw him out.

So if anyone asks, you and Pero do not have a relationship. You have a business agreement, at best. A begrudging one. He comes when you call - not quickly, of course, and it feels like a personal slight even when he insists he has many clients - and you pay him after haggling over the cost of the pipe or how long he actually worked for (he has a tendency to charge for his hour-long lunch breaks). He makes his snide little comments and you spit a retort back, and sometimes you swear you catch him smirking to himself after you deliver something especially sharp. 

As you dry your hands, you dwell maybe a few minutes too long on this. You’d never admit it in earshot of his big head, but there’s something incredibly freeing about talking to Pero. Sure, he criticizes and complains about anything he comes within five feet of, but he’s never cruel to you. He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before. Most try to talk over your or around the topic, and you have to smile and gently redirect them to understand that yes, you are aware of what an impact driver is and no, you think drywall screws would be overkill to reattach that molding. You’d rather snark at Pero all day then have one of those pillow-scream-worthy conversations again.

Shaking off the retrospection, you take a plate of leftover roast chicken and potatoes into the common room. Pero, as you expected, has stoked the fire into an almost concerning blaze but the warmth is welcome. He’s settling back into the well-worn couch and scrolling on his phone as you plop the plate on his lap. Your knuckles graze the top of his thigh when you withdraw, a nervous tingle dancing through your stomach.

What the hell was that about? It’s Pero, for fuck’s sake.

“Eat,” you order, rounding the couch to drop into the open space. If there’s one order Pero will never argue about it’s to eat, which he does with gusto and a nod in your direction. The crackle of the fire covers the ravenous chewing - even barely hungry he eats like a man starved - as you let your body relax into the cushions. All the guests are tucked away, breakfast is prepped and ready, and the silence is welcome. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

“I did not think you would be fully booked. I wouldn’t have bothered stopping by.”

It’s too late and you’re too tired to deal with this bullshit right now. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“And why would you think that Pero? Because somehow I could never run a business this well?”

“That’s not…”

“Or am I not paying you enough? Are we about to have a heart to heart over hourly rates?”

“I am not…”

“Then fucking out with it then! If you hate being here, being around me so much, then just tell me why so I can stop trying to give a shit about it.”

The silence that follows pulls your hands from your eyes, and where you thought Pero would be glaring at you he’s…confused. Which is…also confusing.

“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle. “Most people defer to me because I’m…” Gesturing at himself, what could be a brag instead is dripping with annoyance. “The men pretend to be in league with me, and the women laugh at everything I say. It’s so…boring.”

You’re frozen in place, brows knit as you let him speak, a tingle rising up the back of your neck and flooding your fingertips.

“Any bullshit that entertains me, I can do with them. But not with you.” He can’t meet your eyes, instead staring into the fire that paints the planes of his face in luscious amber. “You never let me get away with shit. I like that. I thought you liked that too. You always seemed to get…brighter when we were…” His hands come up and make little quibbling mouths, finally looking at you. 

Have you ever seen his gaze so bare before?

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”

Inside your body, a mounting wave of understanding and excitement fills your limbs. No one has ever praised your fire, your brightness, only wanting to tamp it down into something manageable and palatable. Now before you is a man who not only revels in it, but encourages it? You’ve never felt this thrum of excitement before, like holding a tuning fork against your sternum. 

“You did,” you say, the strength of your voice surprising. Rising to stand, Pero’s chin tilts, a supplicant before you. “Because if you had given me even an inkling of an idea that this was foreplay, I wouldn’t have held back.”

Much like your own revelation, you can see your words change Pero. His brow smooths before arching in tandem with his growing smirk. Hands coming down to grasp the seat cushion, his veins bulge against the creak of upholstery. He tilts his chin to you with shrinking obedience. 

“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.” 

The words drive you to clench. This is dangerous new territory, but nothing could hold you back from striding headfirst into it. Two swaying steps place you in front of Pero, his knees widening to stand between. The new angle makes him lean back, exposing the tantalizing length of his neck dotted with delicate freckles. 

“I don’t know, Pero, you may not deserve that honor.” A giggle rises in your throat, letting yourself enjoy your new-found freedom. Saying exactly what’s on your mind without the nagging fear of being too much. By Pero’s expression, he’s enjoying it too. You wind up another retort, but his next words steal your breath. 

“Are you wet right now?” he says, tongue slipping out to lick at his lower lip. The crude statement slams heat into your face, and suddenly your hand is in the air and headed for Pero’s stubbly cheek. 

“Ah!” he scolds, catching your wrist firmly before you make contact. Your brain barely has time to register you were going to smack him! when he yanks you closer, catching yourself on the back of the couch.

“I knew you were sharp in many more ways,” he gloats, and you can’t decide if you want to try wiping that smirk off his face with your palm or your mouth. “I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”

This is the precipice of desire and level thinking, your toes on the edge. Strong voices shout that this is crazy, foolish, ill-advised. You feel too good to pay them mind.

“Why don’t you find out?”

Hunger roars in Pero’s eyes but his movements are slow, steady as he helps you straighten to standing. The fire licks at your back, but his hands finding the waist of your jeans are scorching. Eyes flick up to you as he pops the button loose, thick fingers grasping the small zip to open it tooth by tooth. The challenge is to let him take his time, and you’re up for it. By the generous tenting in his pants he’s affected too. 

“What will I find if I take these off? Pretty little panties? Something lace? Nothing at all?” he husks, toying with the plaquet as he purposefully doesn’t look. 

“I think my previous answer still stands,” you retort, and your boldness earns you a rakish smile while Pero rolls your jeans down. The darkness of night shrouds your form, but anyone stumbling in could find you like this. Something tells you Pero likes it better that way.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and his hot breath ghosting over your mound raises goosebumps. 

“At this rate it’ll be morning before…” you tease, lips forming around a smile, but that morphs into a choked exhale when Pero deftly pulls aside your panties and slides his thumb over your clit. Your hands come to his shoulders, digging in as he traces an experimental circle. 

“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?” 

Staccato laughter punctuates your “yes” before he presses in, those hands you’d marveled at fitting into the hot clutch of your cunt just shy of painful. Then he curls them and you can’t stop the high-pitched whine that whistles out. 

“Just needed something to scratch that itch, hm? Needed a little finger fucking to relax?” he says, and even with your body responding beautifully to his slick rhythm you can’t let that go. One hand twists into his hair, wrapping locks around your fingers before squeezing. 

Like an electric shock Pero’s body locks up, mouth falling open and his hips undulating more than you expected. You tut at him, superiority flooding your brain even as your pussy drenches his hand.

“Tattling on yourself, Pero. Let your mouth run just a little and I’ll learn all your secrets.” His fingers redouble their efforts, thumb sliding over your clit as he coaxes your orgasm to the surface, but now his head is in your hands, nails digging into his scalp as he fights against succumbing to the pricks of pain.

“Devil woman,” he hisses with no fire. “Tell me what you want - fuck, you’re so fucking wet - tell me what you want to make you cum.”

Your mind races with possibilities - your slick smeared on Pero’s beard, his hands wrapped around your headboard, what his lips would feel like - but the mounting need in your chest is to be filled. 

“I want to fuck you. Right here.”

Pero curses colorfully, fumbling at his belt. You ease his hand from your pussy, the ache of the loss a yawning chasm but he needs both to yank off his jeans and boxers. Pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, you’re nude and silhouetted by the dying fire. Pero is struggling with his shirt when he glances up at you, stunned into stillness. 

“Mierda,” he whispers. It’s said like a prayer, and at this moment you know why worship is addictive. Pero’s reverent gaze is a stronger aphrodisiac than any oyster could hope to be. He comes back to himself enough to yank the shirt over his head, revealing dark chest hair leading down to a healthy mess of curls surrounding his flushing cock. He fists it, sliding the foreskin down to reveal the deep purpling head slick with precum. Cocking your hip, you fake a loud sigh.

“Fine, I guess you have a big enough dick to act the way you do,” you observe, diffusing the weighty moment enough for Pero to scoff and smile. It’s new on his face, his scowl so everpresent, that you bask in it briefly. 

“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both. 

“What are you, Santa?” you ask, straddling him and settling on his thighs as he rolls his eyes.

“Are you trying to make me lose this? Is it a little too intimidating for all your big talk?” Pero teases, stroking his definitely still very hard cock before tapping the head against your mound. 

“Don’t worry, I know how to get it back if you do,” you quip, dragging your fingernails lightly down his chest before he can retort. He reacts exactly how you’d hoped, muscles clenching and a bead of precum dribbling from his tip. “Do you like it when I make it hurt just a little bit?”

“Yes,” he groans, unashamed, unselfconscious, and your cunt throbs. “You can make it hurt more,” he says, eyes widening suddenly as you see him realize he said that out loud. Sliding closer to hover over his proud cock, you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can blame it on the storm in the morning. 

“I’ll let you have anything you want if you’re a good boy for me.”

The whine he’s clearly embarrassed to have let out is cut off by a sudden inhale.

“Wait,” he gasps, hands digging into your hips to hold you above his cock. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control,” you interject, “and I haven’t slept with anyone in…like, eight months.”

Pero’s hands knead into your flesh, eyes searching your face.

“I’ll pull out.”

You don’t even think about it.

“Don’t you dare.”

If what you saw was hunger before, what’s in Pero’s expression now is ravenous. His lips curl back into a snarl, eyes deep and dark. Suddenly his fingers are inside you, scissoring you open roughly as you pant into his ear. 

“Tell me to slow down,” he growls, but you shake your head. “Tell me…when I need to.”

“I need you, Pero, please, now.”

No longer holding you still, Pero’s hands guide you down onto his cock. The moment his head breaches a whole body shiver races through.

“Are you…”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He fills you until he’s in your guts, your lungs, surrounding you with his arms and his thighs below. The splay of his hands on your back makes you dizzy, head buzzy with hormones and his musk and every place he’s touching you in a symphony of pleasure. Faintly you realize he’s saying something, lips moving against your shoulder.

“Pero?”

“Can I kiss you?”

A few drops of clarity sharpen the mush in your brain.

“You’re inside of me and we forgot to kiss.”

Pero’s chest hitches once, then again, then the both of you are moving out of sync as hiccupy laughter overtakes you. He pants when you clench around him, trying to catch his breath until you both come back to your senses. 

“I was enjoying what you were saying too much,” he admits, leaning back against the couch. His face is shadowed but you catch the glint of his eyes, the wetness of his plush lips. How had you resisted them this long?

Pero beats you to initiate, pulling you down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and chaste, his hands cupping your head as you part. But you beat him to return the kiss, pressing him into the couch with a deeper kiss, barely waiting for him to react before urging his lips open. He hums greedily into your mouth, letting you explore with your tongue before he fills you with his. It’s not long before his mouth is frantic, gripping your hips as he makes an experimental thrust into your cunt that breaks your lips apart.

“Pero, fuck,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as he thrusts up deep and smooth. You meet his pace, rolling your hips to grind your clit against him. Fighting for dominance, you finally push him back and ride him in earnest, lifting up over and over again to slam his cock into your cunt. He’s mesmerized by how your tits bounce, taking one in his palm to knead to tease your nipple as your orgasm creeps up your spine. 

“Fuck, Pero, you feel so good,” you moan, slowing to grind down, the friction of his pubic hair on your clit giving you the edge to pull your climax close. 

“You feel amazing on my cock. Are you close?”

“Yes,” you pant, using every inch of Pero to find that moment of bliss. “Fuck, yes Pero, I want to cum on you. Want to feel you inside.” It’s right there, you’re at the brink of tipping over.

“Fuck, yes, oh fuck, say my name like that. Say it when you’re cumming.”

Your nerves sing and your body pulses to the beat of Pero, Pero, Pero rasping from your lips. He’s growling something you wish you could understand but the blood is pumping too loudly in your ears. The only thing you register is the couch against your back as Pero flips you. He’s pressed long against your body, hips snapping into your cunt even as you’re so tight around him. 

“...beautiful, you’re so beautiful, can’t stop…” you faintly hear as the sensations of Pero’s hands roaming your body, his humid mouth at your neck, and the wet slap of his cock bring you back to your body. His thrusts are becoming erratic, right on the cusp of his own orgasm, when you dig your nails into his back and rake them down his spine. 

Pero’s orgasmic bellow is muffled in your neck as the throb of his cock empties inside you. You offer little scratches up and down his arms and shoulders as he comes down, hips pressing in deeper as he lets out satisfied groans. Finally he slumps, head resting on your chest as he catches his breath. 

The silence is back, the dimming fire combating the dark. This was by far the best fuck you’d had in ages, and in no small part due to the freedom to just be. But when the sun rises - hell, when the post-orgasmic haze lifts - what will this even look like?

Pero sighs and lifts up on his hands, easing his cock out before softly swearing and grabbing his shirt to wipe away the cum dripping out of you. 

“I might recommend getting this couch cleaned,” he muses, sitting up on his knees to look down at your loose-limbed body with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think we’re the first ones to do that on this particular piece of furniture,” you joke, enjoying the wrinkle of disgust on Pero’s face. 

“Then I definitely recommend a shower. And request a bedsheet.”

The statement is unassuming in a way that you needed. Yes, this is new and strange, but you’ve always embraced both. 

“You know, there is still one bed left in this bed and breakfast.”

Pero’s head perks up.

“The only problem is that it’s mine.”

A roguish smile dimples Pero’s cheek as he hovers over you.

“And what must I do to share it with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

END

"I ought to say, "No, no, no sir" Mind if I move in closer? At least I'm gonna say that I tried What's the sense in hurting my pride? I really can't stay Baby, don't hold out Baby, it's cold outside."

[precure1ove]

Hello! Your writing is CRUNCHY in the best possible way. Could I request I request a short story with Idia and an introverted idol reader? Hope you have a nice day!

boyfriend's favourite dj

summary : after finishing with a recording, you call you're number one fan for his reaction.

characters : idia shroud

warnings : introverted reader?, reader is an idol, established relationship, idia is your number 1 fan, fluff

a/n : this request really got my brain thinking and i had so much fun writing it!! i haven't wrote idia much so thank you for requesting<33

“Alright, that's a wrap, well done everyone!”

The director’s voice booms throughout the studio, and you feel your muscles finally relax and legs slump forward to a nearby chair, graciously taking a water bottle that was offered to you. 

At last you were finished with recording the final part of a music video for a new song that you wrote for an upcoming anime. 

Chugging the cold liquid, you pause to exchange thanks and praises with the staff members, declining any invitations to go out and eat afterwards but nobody took offense to that, they already knew your answer anyway. 

Despite being well known in the idol community for being energetic and sociable that persona couldn't be further from the truth. 

In reality, you’re an introverted mess who would rather stay locked away in your room and play games all day. Unfortunately you’re an idol but it pays well at least and you had some fun.

Unlocking the door leading to your changing room to get into more comfortable and less ‘hey i’m a famous idol’ clothes, you check your phone to reveal a bunch of notifications from Blue Nerd.

Scrolling through them as you get changed out of the tight fitting costume, you laugh at his freak out at the announcement of the music video, the word ‘traitor’ being said multiple times.

Leaving the building after nodding to the receptionist and saying a few goodbyes, you press the call button, lifting your phone up to your ear as you pull up the hood paired with a mask.

“I’m going to the ramen place near my work, do you want your usual?”

You continue on your usual route back home, listening to the faded background noise of the song you just recorded playing and quiet noises of a finger tapping to the beat.

“Idia..? Come on, you better not be serious about ignoring me.”

A moment of silence passes as you anxiously pace down the streets, underestimating the lengths your boyfriend would go to.

Until a familiar grumble was heard closer to the speaker now, and a familiar voice speaks from it.

“Traitor. Is this why you weren't able to do our daily farming sessions..”

You sigh, energy returning whenever you speak to him.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, and you always take care of my account whenever I'm busy with being a super cute idol”

His laugh cuts through the speaker at the high pitch tone you usually use for talking with fans and live videos.

 Another silence passes between you but it wasn't the uncomfortable one you got when he had intentionally ignored you.

“So what did you think of the song?”

You ask, curious for his reaction since this song was one that you worked the most on during the past few months.

“It’s a bit different from what you're usually known for but I liked it. The beat was smoothing and while the lyrics were cheesy it was..nice.”

A wave of relief passes through you and a breath you didn't know you were holding escaped.

 He liked the song, it was good. Great actually.

“A-anyways you were on about ramen, does that mean you're coming over?”

Entering the shop, you pass a nod to the owner who was already getting started on both of your usual orders, being a regular has its perks.

“I haven’t seen you in forever and I know you're dying to ramble about my song”-and to not make this more love cheesy-”nerd.”

Idia groans again embarrassed, you could imagine his face blooming a pretty shade of pink to match his hair. 

“Will you stay on call with me, just until I get home?”

A loud gasp shot through the speaker then silence again until you hear a familiar game loading in the background. 

A new update came out for it and you haven't had the time to check it out so Idia will probably commentate it for you as he plays through it.

“Sure, sure, sure… just until you get h-home.”

likes & reblogs appreciated

masterlist⠀ — ⠀ request here

[cjlouwho]

I Like the Taste of Vanilla

Start from the beginning on ao3, or read today's entry below.

Day 4: My Heart is Racing in a Weird Way

Tommy wasn't sure what was happening as Buck led him through the bar. Eyes lingered on them as they passed by each table until they reached a door that read Employees Only.

“Evan, what are we doing?” Tommy asked, scooting in closer to his boyfriend as people passed behind him.

“Hang on, you'll see.”

Buck knocked on the door and waited, glancing back at Tommy with a nervous smile.

“Did you get a job here?” Tommy asked. “Babe, are you hurting for money? I can-”

Buck pulled Tommy to his side and patted his chest. “Tommy, relax. Let's just... just wait.”

After waiting a few more seconds, the door opened just a crack. A man wearing far too much glitter, in Tommy's opinion, peered out. “Password.”

Buck grinned. “Paradise.”

The man eyed them both, then opened the door and let them inside, leading them down a hall.

“No touching unless given permission, although looking is highly recommended,” the man began to recite like he was giving a college tour, “use condoms, clean up your mess. No kink shaming. Sharing is caring.” He opened a door at the end of the hallway and moved to the side to let them through. “Have fun, newbies.”

“Ev- Evan, what are-”

“I do have a couple rules,” Buck interrupted, moving so he was directly in front of Tommy. “I really don't want anyone else touching you, and I don't want them touching me either.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Tommy mumbled, barely audible over the music and the moans. He cleared his throat, speaking a bit louder. “I don't want that either.”

Buck nodded. “Okay... Okay, good. I guess, um, we should f- find a spot then, right?”

“Um, oh, sorry,” Tommy moved as far into Buck's space as he could as a man in head to toe leather walked behind him with another man following him on a leash. “I, Evan, I don't know if there's any space here.”

“Sure there is!” Buck replied with a nervous laugh. “We don't take up that much space. Come on.”

They continued through the room, and Tommy couldn't help but feel far too overdressed in his blue jeans and black henley. He was sweaty, a bit panicky, and- “Is that... is his whole arm in there?” He froze, eyes wide at the sight of it.

Buck leaned in close to Tommy's ear. “No kink shaming,” he muttered.

“I'm not shaming, I'm impressed... and having some sympathy pains,” he added with a grimace. “Damn, he's going hard. I hope that man has good health insurance.”

Buck tugged at his arm, moving them along. “What about back here? Not too crowded. We c-”

He was cut off by the sound of a whip cracking nearby, followed by a yelp and a moan.

“Oh, Evan, my-” Tommy brought a hand up to his chest, flinching as the whip struck down again, “my heart is racing in a weird way.”

Alarmed, Buck held onto Tommy's arm, looking around until he found an exit. Making his way through the maze of bodies, Buck led them out of the building.

Tommy took the opportunity to take in a deep breath, the cool evening air hitting his face. “Sorry,” he said, leaning against the brick wall, “I know you wanted to do... whatever in there, it's just- that's not really for me.”

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “Tommy, I don't care about any of that stuff. I thought it's what you wanted.”

“Hmm? Evan, why would I want that?”

“The movie!” Buck exclaimed, as though that explained everything.

“The movie? What movie?”

Buck groaned. “The movie we saw a couple weeks ago. They had a scene in the back of a seedy bar where all kinds of kinky shit was happening. You popped a boner in the theater!”

“That's because Cheyenne Jackson did full frontal and I'm human!”

Buck put his hands on his hips. “S- So it didn't have anything to do with the, uh, the chains or the, um, the other stuff?”

“God, no,” Tommy replied with a shake of the head. “I mean, sometimes things can be hot in theory, but it doesn't mean I wanna do it. This, however,” he said, pointing back toward the bar, “scared me more than war.”

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

Tommy held his arms open, waving Buck toward him. Without hesitation, Buck wrapped himself up in Tommy's arms. “Okay, maybe it didn't scare me more than war,” Tommy admitted, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple, “but it did leave me with some phantom pains. Did you see how hard that fist was-”

“I saw, I saw,” Buck interrupted with a shiver. “I know I always say I want to feel you the next day, but I'm not sure I'd want you rearranging my organs like that.”

Tommy laughed, tapping at Buck's side until he leaned back enough for them to look at one another. “You spent the last two weeks researching this place, didn't you?”

“It was the only one with five stars,” Buck whined. “And I wanted to go somewhere that I knew no one would just start touching you, or me.”

“I will say that, in the forty-five seconds we were in there, they were all very respectful,” Tommy admitted. “I just don't think I'm the fuck-you-in-a-room-full-of-people type. I also hated how they were all looking at you like they wanted to eat you.”

“Oh, please!” Buck huffed. “They were looking at you like that, not- not me. I was so close to jabbing some eyes out.”

“I disagree. Not about jabbing eyes, but about where the eyes were focused.”

“Agree to disagree.”

They were silent for a moment. Tommy looked off to the side, lips pursed.

“What is it?” Buck asked.

“Can we just talk about the fact that the place cannot be sanitary? I know they say to clean up after yourself, but God, Evan, there's no way-”

“I know, I know,” Buck soothed, running his hand over Tommy's chest. “I thought about that too.”

Tommy eyed Buck briefly before reaching up and cupping his face, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked, his thumbs stroking Buck's cheek.

“What?”

“Next time you think there's a kink I wanna try out... ask me.”

“You mean you haven't loved my surprises?” Buck joked.

“Oh, they're great,” Tommy answered sarcastically. “I am afraid the next one might actually kill me though.”

With a smile, Buck took hold of Tommy's hands and pulled him away from the wall. “Ready to go home?”

“Hell yeah. Can we get in bed and do none of the things I just witnessed in there?”

Buck cocked his head to the side. “You mean you don't wanna shove your arm so deep inside me you could pull out my heart?”

Tommy shivered. “Evan,” he whined, “I'd almost forgotten about it.”

“Honey, there are some things the mind will never forget,” Buck replied as they reached the truck. “That was absolutely one of them.”

[rafeskai]

Game On | Gamer!Rafe Cameron x Gamer!Reader

Leveling Up

Summary: After your first game of Call of Duty with Rafe, what began as a casual gaming session quickly turned into a growing friendship. Rafe’s support and encouragement not only helped you improve but also gave you the confidence to explore a new world of gaming. When he introduced you to his squad, you found a place where you truly belonged, forming bonds with the group and deepening your connection with Rafe.

Pairings: gamer!reader & gamer!rafe

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: Another random 'chapter' to this AU

The next day, you sat down at your console, still buzzing from your game with Rafe the night before. It was your first time playing Call of Duty, and you had to admit—having Rafe guide you through it had made all the difference. You didn’t expect much out of gaming, but somehow, it had turned into something more.

As you scrolled through your friend requests, you spotted a notification: killshotking had added you. You smiled, your heart skipping a beat. You had a feeling he might, but seeing it pop up made it real. You quickly accepted the request.

Almost immediately, a message popped up from him.

killshotking: “Yo, it’s Rafe. You on? Want to play again?”

You hesitated only for a second before typing back.

angelhunter201: “Definitely. You up for a rematch?”

A few seconds later, he replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

killshotking: “Let’s do it. I’ll invite you to the party.”

The sound of an invite popped up, and you joined the party chat, ready for round two. As the game loaded, Rafe's voice came through your headset, smooth as ever.

“Ready to kick some ass today?” he asked, his voice playful but with that underlying competitive tone.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, your fingers gripping the controller with a little more confidence than before.

The match began, and this time, you were on your own a bit more, but Rafe still guided you when needed. There was something comforting about his voice, a mix of experience and encouragement that helped ease your nerves.

“Good job on the flank,” he praised after you took out an enemy trying to sneak behind your team. “You’re getting the hang of it fast.”

You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. I think I’m finally starting to understand the map a bit.”

The game flowed better this time, and you were making plays you hadn’t thought you could. Between the gameplay, you started talking more—asking Rafe how long he’d been playing, what other games he liked, and just getting to know him. You were still figuring out how to talk to him without sounding like a total noob, but Rafe seemed easygoing, never making you feel less-than.

“So, you’re pretty good at this,” you said between rounds, still not fully used to talking while playing. “How long have you been playing?”

“Been at it a while,” he replied casually. “Started when I was a teenager. It’s just kind of stuck with me.” He chuckled. “Kinda like a second job, but more fun.”

“You must be really good then. I’m still just trying to get the hang of everything.” You laughed lightly, not wanting to make it sound like you were fishing for compliments, but Rafe took it in stride.

“Hey, you’re killing it already,” he reassured you. “You might not realize it yet, but you’re picking it up fast. You should see the people I started with—no offense to them, but they weren’t as quick as you.”

You felt a rush of pride at his words. It was easy to get lost in the game, to forget how new you were when Rafe made you feel like a natural.

As the match wrapped up—another win for your team—you noticed that you weren’t just feeling good about the game. The conversations between rounds, the joking back and forth, had been... fun. You found yourself smiling more than you had in a while.

“So, uh…” You hesitated a little, not sure how to make the transition, but you figured it was worth a shot. “Do you have Discord? I was thinking it might be easier to chat there.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. You were starting to regret asking when Rafe’s voice came through, casual and a little surprised.

“Yeah, I do. That’s actually a great idea. It’d be easier than the in-game chat.” He sounded like he was already pulling up his app. “I’ll send you my handle.”

He quickly sent over his Discord username, and you added him right away. The second he accepted, the familiar ping of a new message appeared.

killshotking: “Yo, you good to play again soon?”

You quickly typed back, excited at the thought of playing with him again, but also eager to chat more outside the game.

angelhunter201: “I’m down. I’ve got some free time today if you want to team up again.”

The conversation flowed easily in Discord, and for the first time, you felt like you were building something more than just a gaming partnership. Rafe wasn’t just a player to you; there was something about him that made the whole experience feel different. He was kind, laid-back, but also competitive—exactly the kind of person you could enjoy spending time with, whether it was playing or just talking.

The next few hours passed in a blur, more games, more conversation, and as you logged off for the night, you couldn’t help but feel like you had just started something new.

You’d gone from a nervous newbie to someone who was excited to game again with someone who wasn’t just a teammate but maybe even a new friend... or something more.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next couple of weeks felt like a blur, but in the best way possible. You and Rafe had quickly settled into a rhythm of gaming together. What started as a casual invite to play Call of Duty turned into nightly gaming sessions, each one filled with laughs, playful banter, and some surprisingly deep conversations in between rounds.

You had learned so much from him—not just about the game but about life in general. Rafe had a laid-back attitude, but there was an undercurrent of determination in everything he did, whether it was playing a match or talking about his goals outside of gaming. It was that same energy that made you keep coming back, eager to talk to him and team up again.

One evening, as you logged in for another session, Rafe had a surprise for you.

"Hey, got a minute before we queue up?" he asked, his voice casual but with a hint of excitement.

"Yeah, what's up?" you replied, adjusting your headset.

"So, my boys are on tonight. Figured I’d invite you to squad up with us." He paused, adding, "I think you're ready to hang with the crew."

You hesitated for a moment. It was one thing to game with Rafe, but meeting his friends—especially if they were anything like him—was a whole different level. You hadn’t expected to be introduced to anyone else, but it seemed like Rafe trusted you enough to bring you into his circle.

"Uh… sure, why not?" you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "I’m down."

"Sweet," Rafe responded with a grin you could practically hear through the mic. "It’s gonna be fun. Just hang tight."

Within a minute, you were in a party chat with Rafe and three other people. You could hear them laughing and chatting already, their voices blending into one cohesive, casual atmosphere.

"Alright, guys," Rafe spoke up, and the chatter quieted down a bit. "This is (Y/N). She’s been playing with me for a while now, and I think she can hold her own. (Y/N), this is Topper, Kelce, and JJ."

“Yo, welcome!” Topper’s voice came through loud and friendly. "Glad to have another one in the squad."

"Hey, hey," JJ added, a bit more laid-back but still welcoming. "Don’t worry, we go easy on the newbies. For the most part."

Kelce’s voice followed, quieter but still friendly. "Glad to meet you. Let’s see what you’ve got."

You smiled to yourself, feeling instantly at ease with their friendly, easygoing banter. Rafe had definitely picked a good group of people to hang out with. You quickly introduced yourself, and the group dove right into the match.

As the game progressed, you found yourself getting comfortable with the group dynamic. JJ’s dry humor kept everyone laughing between rounds, while Kelce was surprisingly tactical, always offering suggestions on strategy. Topper was the most competitive, always pushing everyone to play harder, but you could tell he respected the effort each person put in. And Rafe—well, Rafe was still your go-to teammate, always ready to guide you and make sure you felt included.

It wasn’t long before you had your own little moments with each of them. You had a blast joking with JJ, asking Kelce for tips on how to play smarter, and even getting a competitive streak going with Topper. But the best part? You felt like you were becoming one of the boys—like you’d found your place in this tight-knit group. Rafe had made sure of that, introducing you as a real member of the squad and not just a tagalong.

That night, after an especially intense match where your team pulled off a clutch win, Rafe messaged you on Discord.

killshotking: "See? Told you they’d like you. You fit right in with the crew."

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

angelhunter201: "Honestly, I didn’t expect to get along so well with everyone. You guys are great."

angelhunter201: "Yeah, we’re a good bunch. And you’re holding your own out there, so that makes you one of us for sure."

You felt a little burst of pride at that. It felt good to be accepted, not just as a gamer but as part of a team—part of Rafe’s circle.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of late-night gaming sessions. You had started to improve drastically, and the more you played with Rafe and his friends, the more you started to feel like you truly belonged in their group. It wasn’t just about the game anymore—it was about the camaraderie, the inside jokes, and the way Rafe always had your back.

As you spent more time with them, you couldn’t deny that something had shifted. Your connection with Rafe had grown deeper. There were those little moments during gameplay where you’d catch him looking out for you, giving you an extra boost of confidence or a tip to help you improve. You weren’t sure if it was just the way he was, or if there was something more there, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart raced when he smiled or the way your stomach fluttered when he complimented you on a play.

One evening, as the game wrapped up and the team started to log off, you stayed behind, wanting to talk to Rafe.

“Hey,” you started, feeling a bit nervous. “You, uh… you’ve been really cool to me. I just wanted to say thanks for introducing me to the crew. It’s been a blast.”

Rafe chuckled, his voice warm and easy. “Of course, (Y/N). You fit in with us. You’ve earned your spot, no question.”

You felt that familiar flutter again, but you brushed it off. “I guess I’ve still got a lot to learn, huh?”

“Don’t worry,” Rafe said, his tone softening. “We’re all learning. Just having fun along the way.”

You smiled, but this time, it wasn’t just about the game.

The connection between you and Rafe was becoming undeniable, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it might look like outside of the game, in the real world. But for now, you were content—content with your spot in the group, and more importantly, content with the way you and Rafe had begun to level up, both in the game and in getting to know each other.

© 2025 rafeskai | All rights reserved. My work is a work of fiction inspired by different characters, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[katzkinder]

@ky-kyu you asked about gluttony pair and it got kinda long so I decided to make it a separate post for the sake of people's dashboards. Also, I have another post here!

But I have more thoughts on them thanks to this page Yarra shared earlier, and many more besides, but I'll stick to this scene because otherwise this will really turn into a monster.

the wording nicco uses in the right panel is pretty moving, especially in relation to gluttony, at least in my opinion, and these scene between them is what really made me fall in love with these two as characters who were, quite literally, made for one another.

Basically, it's about how the opposite of Gluttony is a banquet.

Having so much excess and sharing it with others, allowing someone to fill their plate without worry because you know you have more, and how that relates to Nicco being the Eve who has an entire group of people surrounding him at all times, something which makes him unique as far as the main cast go because he's always being supported. The other Eves don't really have like... An entire group of human characters they're close with the way Nicco does.

A banquet without guests will simply rot and go to waste. Nicco, being a mafia boss, brings all those guests with him and allows them to partake of what he has to offer.

Food tastes the best when you share it with someone you love, and your joy is multiplied through their own. The joy of a shared meal cannot be understated. Even terrible food becomes fun when you have someone to laugh about it with. Even failure becomes tolerable when you share it.

And it's just. One of the first moments of big characterization we get from Ildio when we see his past is that he is a man who shares what little he has, even though he acknowledges that he has earned it, and the little slave girl has not. Even that far back, when his only desires went as far as an animal understanding of life, he was someone who could have, and probably did, draw in others around him for that unthinking kindness, so I really love how Nicco handles his problems. Because they actually share a similar fault

Both of them will attempt to take on too much for themselves to bear, and yet they can't help it. To defend the weak is what they feel they must do.

Gluttons for punishment, as it goes

And yet...

To be able to share the pain and the joys, to have a feast with one another with life as the centerpiece…

I think it's just… Extremely beautiful, the way their love for their fellow man is able to express itself

And I think it's even more beautiful, the way that even when being beat to a pulp, Nicco takes the time to look and see and experience the pain Ildio doesn't even realize he's holding onto

He doesn't let Inner Gluttony distract him. He doesn't entertain the demon attempting, however poorly, to shelter Ildio's heart by putting the blinders on. He speaks to him as an equal. As a friend. As someone who is worth listening to, and cherishing. He helps Ildio to face his grief.

He gives Ildio the same love he would give to any friend. Bite by bite, tear by tear, Nicco shares the burden Ildio tried to be Atlas about.

The song Nicco sings while they dance with the people they've loved and lost is Ciuri Ciuri. It's a Sicilian folksong, whose title means "Flowers, Flowers"

The verse Strike has carefully written out on the page translates to "Flowers flowers, flowers all the year. The love you gave me, I give you back"

And the love Nicco gives to Ildio...

Ildio will give back to him.

[missmyloko]

A Look In My Book!

On The Twelfth Day of Fun I present... a look inside my book! For those of you who have bought a copy already, thank you so much! For those of you who are on the fence or just want to know more before you buy, then this is for you! First, let's look at some pages that relate to the karyukai, specifically, that of hikizuri/susohiki:

Next, let's look at darari obi:

For those of you who continuously ask about how to date and price your kimono, this book is full of information to do just that and examples to give you ideas of what's worth what. Here's a snippet on what can raise or lower the price of your kimono:

Prior to this page is an index of over 150 common, uncommon, and rare kimono motifs in English, romaji, and kanji (with visual examples to boot!). Another example of a page that shows how to date is as follows:

You may have noticed that the estimated price on the kimono shown on the page above has changed since I featured it a few days ago. This is due to some newer kimono coming onto market in the past year that have sold for similar prices that were higher than the published price, but that price on the page would still be considered a fair price if trying to sell (which are what the prices in the book are). So, if any of this has interested you then you can pick up a copy at any of the links below: Amazon America (currently on sale!) Barnes & Noble USA Amazon Canada Indigo Canada Amazon UK (also on sale!) Waterstones UK Schiffer Publishing Worldwide

[pricegouge]

I saw you were asking for horror prompts 😈 so here’s my scary perverted one:

Vampire!Nik who’s turned when his milaya is still a baby. Comes back 20+ years later to haunt and turn her so they can spend eternity together despite the fact that she doesn’t even remember him❤️🥀

-🗡️

okay, yeah. i had fun with this one, thank you!

cw: incest. age gap, but only kinda cause vampires. horror elements. vague vampire lore, including thralls. dubcon kissing/heavy petting. blood. unedited as usual, sorry. abrupt ending cause i ran out of steam. ~5k

he can't be bothered to watch over you for many years. life (death, rather) is just all so very exciting. he spread his wings. proverbial, maybe, though he's heard tell of something more ancient. more literal.

he doesn't forget you. how could he? you haunt his waking hours for what seems an eon, days and nights blurring until he has to rest for long years, wakes to a different time entirely and worries about how much he's missed.

much, as it turns out.

you're a proper woman when next he sees you, headstrong and borderline unrecognizable. he follows you for days, weeks. learns all your patterns, the quiet parts of yourself you seem to keep hidden behind locked doors he can only pass because he installed them, the bones of the house shaped by his own hands - an estate that's fallen to ruin, once-lavish halls picked apart by collectors, barren and drab with the dwindled staff. he tells himself it's a morbid type of curiosity but he knows better the second he lingers too long, sees you for the woman you've become when you undress before him, gazing upon yourself in a mirror that won't betray his presence, even if he wants it to. wants to see confusion cloud your face as recognition wars with your fear. you must have seen photos of him, your governess keeping you educated on the man who'd given you a name and a fortune and left in the night. he doesn't look quite look like himself anymore, but he more closely resembles you than he does his re-creator. and surely that in itself should sway you?

for you must be as lonely as him.

night fall is the worst for you, those lingering hours after the staff have retired where sleep eludes you, entices you to pick up hobbies which have not given you joy for many years. you'd been moved to the master suite some time back, the overlarge bed as tempting as a siren. you'd grown slovenly, your governess always said so. lax in your studies and far too melancholy to find a suitor.

but what could it matter, really? the estate had been searching tirelessly for a match since your first season, the only bachelors who'd made offers old and penniless. you still had a pretty enough dowry, but no one wanted to be saddled with the get of some wayward lord. not when there'd been no proper abdication. not when the specter of your father loomed over every inch of the estate, his fist still clutching at every gem. sometimes you imagined the sheets even still smelled like him, a faint trace that would linger some mornings and burn up with the sun when you finally let the maid in to draw the curtains.

but it was just a silly fantasy, some trace of comfort born from loneliness. in truth, the only possible clue you could have of your father's scent rests in the humidor tucked in the corner by the secretary - fine cigars turned stale, full-bodied notes now arid. hollow as the house itself.

you're sat with one, dry, peeling paper tickling your philtrum as you try to discern what flavors still linger. licorice, certainly; heavy and cloying. something earthier under it, a fine balance. leather, maybe. it's a distraction, a mindless way to pass the hours before you could feasibly fall into bed without your prying governess saying anything, shut your thoughts off for a time. you'd already written in your diary, another dull entry. brief with the monotony of your life. honestly, cataloging the notes you can pick out of these ancient, abandoned cigars would make for a more interesting read. this one still smells the strongest, though the paper has turned brittle with handling. sometimes you watch the gentlemen of the ton, carefully memorizing the precise way they snip the ends off, roll the cigar over the open flame of their lighters. you often imagine doing the same, like to picture yourself smoking the aged rolls expertly.

really, you know you'll end up in a coughing spell loud enough to wake the whole house, but the truth is you've never tried. it's a curiosity that's grown on you, the slow creep of moss over rotting trunks. you swap the cigar for something less flavorful, something that won't be missed, and rifle through the secretary until you find the little cigar kit you'd kept safely tucked away. maybe, like the rest of society, part of you expects it's owner to return someday, reclaim what's his.

the cigar falls apart a little, once clipped. flaky shreds of tobacco and other strong herb shake out at first, but you moisten the edges of it delicately, lick your fingers as daintily as possible and fuss about the paper until becomes slightly more malleable. lighting it is less of a chore than expected, the oils long dried. shake catching like tinder. you yelp and wave it out, stamp the little ashes that rain onto the carpet with a slippered toe. feel silly after. sillier still when you take your first drag and think for a moment you've managed to imbalance all your humors - immediate expectorant clogging your nose, inflaming the column of your neck. rough wool, still matted and nettled from the field fills your lungs and you cough, ragged and silent.

small blessing, no prying governess to heed your call.

light-headed, you wobble to the window, breathe deep of the frigid breeze you let in. winter steals in around you, rattles the pane on it's way past and sends the curtains fluttering. it makes your chest ache in a new way, but is a balm to your overheated skin, soothes your throat as you gasp for each breath. clutched in your fingers, the cigar glows brightly in the strong wind, crackling away happily. as your sinuses clear, you note the lingering heaviness of licorice, a black tar that seems to seep down your throat, gags you. you give it up for a bad job and smother it on the pane before tossing it onto the roof below. with any luck, a curious crow will snatch it away before spring melt off can dump it into the pasture, catch the attention of the gardeners. you've no clue how well-acquainted your governess is with the brands your father used to smoke and you've no plan to find out, resolving to leave the window open all night if you have to in order to clear the stench of your foolish endeavor.

the candles have guttered but it's no matter, the moon bright enough that you can disrobe and navigate to bed even without them. it's not a difficult endeavor anyway, the bed such a ridiculously oversized piece it dominated most of the room and called into question the size of the man who'd commissioned it. you drown in it most nights, restless, twisting yourself up in sheets that stretched on forever, wound around you until you'd wake gasping, clawing at your own belly as if to loosen the stays of a corset that wasn't there. the physician who'd come to see to you was unsympathetic to your claims that the bed was simply too large - had suggested sleeping in your corset instead, claiming it would soothe your nerves and prevent you trying to bind yourself in your sleep.

it did not work, but your maid, alice, was loyal to the governess. tied your stays in the back, much too tight for you to undo once she'd left you alone. even now the boning digs at you, chest still heaving from your foolish endeavor. you settle on your back, try to keep your shoulders set back to encourage deep breathing and watch the shadows play about the room, curtains billowing with each icy gust. there's still too much smoke in the room, lingering up near your ceiling where it swirls about, never quite low enough to escape when the curtains ebb in a back draft. you hope you won't be stuck with the window open all night. already, fine dustings of snow slip past, tip toe up your bed to catch your covers and set your legs shivering.

the blankets twist about you again when you turn to your side, but for once you don't mind, your own body weight keeping them tucked firmly in place so the wind can't steal your heat away again. your breath evens as you finally begin to relax, body forming to the mattress just as much as it forms to you. sleep finds you slowly, lulls you into it with deep sighs, your breath matching that of the house itself. you time idly, watching the curtains in the cloudy mirror of your vanity - the only concession to your residence in the whole room. a gift from some minor lady who'd once hoped to sway your favor toward her son - only to have him elope a month later with a merchant's daughter -, the piece stands out singularly in the dark, masculine room. gilded framework and ivory inlay, it catches the moonlight beautifully, pearlescent in the chill. you let yourself be entranced by the vision it makes, orpheus overtaking you, settling over you like a calming, physical weight which shifts, presses a knee between your own -

it feels like the chill has taken your blood when your eyes tear open, body frozen in place as you watch your reflection stir, pushed slightly further onto your belly while the blankets move seemingly of their own accord. you tell yourself it's the wind tugging at them again, but the way the flatten against the mattress makes no sense - and it's the not the wind that whispers your name in your ear.

still trapped in the bedding, you thrash uselessly before you're able to escape its clutches, only realizing you're screaming when the breath is knocked out of you as you thud to the floor. help comes to lift you to your feet before you are able to do it yourself, alice's hands surprisingly firm when they dig under your arms and lift. you can't even manage to thank her, breaths stuttering out high and thin as you stare at your bed in wide-eyed shock: two distinct impressions of bodies, one curled around the other, yet completely empty. smoke curls above it, oddly thinner than that what still lingers around your ceiling. it breaks up on the next gust of wind, shatters around you with a cloyingly sweet scent.

---

your governess is cross to say the least.

the next day is spent in the kitchens, working away your transgressions into a particularly hard dough batch. she is unsympathetic to the terror that had overtaken you just before they'd rushed in to help. says she's certain they'd only heard your fresh coughing, although you try to point out that the cigar was already gone by then.

"don't be clever," she warns, an adage you've heard many times over the years. What man wants a clever wife?

she has the humidor emptied, says it should have been done long ago. you say nothing because probably, she's right.

alice isn't your friend, but sometimes she can be friendly. unlike your governess, she at least seems to have noticed your distress from the night before, simply nods in agreement when you ask her to warm your bed after she's done helping you dress that evening. perhaps she still sees it, the fear. she hums at you like she thinks you need at, at least, and maybe you do because it works quickly, your body exhausted after so much hard work and such little sleep.

---

despite your exhaustion, you do not sleep soundly. the midnight hour finds you fretful, though you're careful to remain still so as not to wake alice. you breathe in sync with her in an attempt to soothe yourself until you realize it's not her that moves but the house itself, curtains billowing in a breeze that shouldn't exist, windows locked tight for the night. strangely, the realization does not frighten you - not even when you turn to find alice staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes glossed over and vacant. skin leeched pale in the moonlight. you roll over to her, curious, and her eyes track over you uncomprehendingly, focus on a point at the far side of the room.

there's no decision to sit up, you simply do - chest rising first as if an anchor knot is rooted in your sternum, woven between the hollows of your ribs. the world tilts for a moment, and then rights itself, as if alighting with you on this new level. you observe the room much as it had been the night before, cold light filtering through whorls of smoke, though there's more of it now - thin trails of oily residue curling all around the room. it seems to ebb about the edges. even with the window locked tight, the room still seems to contract and compress, pressure increasing rhythmically before expanding again, fresh smoke rushing to fill it. you track the trail back to its source, a pin point ember which builds and gutters with swell, bobbing along on a tide. it takes a minute for your eyes to adjust but you make out the hand that holds it first, long fingers painted warm in the low light. it's the only bit of skin you can make out, the body attached to it settled so far back into the shadow it appears only as one itself - darker, deeper. barely distinguishable.

by its immense stature, you reason it is a man sat at your secretary. like alice's composure, there is a part of you that knows this realization should frighten you, but you're much too tired and curious to care, crawling to the foot of the bed so you can get a better look, continuing on over the edge and onto the floor when you still can't make out his features. your palms scratch against the worn wood, bearing too much weight in your awkward crawl, and room stills when you feel blood on the heel of your hand, the heat of it almost shocking in the cold air.

you only make it another stretch closer before the man recovers, the ember of his cigar flaring and popping as he takes a long drag, leans forward in his seat until you can make out a broad, stubbled jaw, two perfect white streaks glowing in the moonlight revealed when he finally drops his hand. his lips are wine-dark when they part, reveal a neat row of pearly teeth. he's impolite, blows his smoke directly at you. cloyingly sweet licorice and heady tobacco. you do not cough this time, though it's a near-miss. it seems to please him, lips tugging into a cruel smile as the smoke grows denser, begins to pour from his mouth in a thick, black cloud. it stains his chin, his teeth a black tar-like oil that smells too pungent. rotted.

you startle when alice screams, overcorrecting when you turn to her because she's there beside you, not behind, both of you still lying in bed.

"alice?" you start, trying to wake her, but your hand slips across her chest, slick with something dark and hot, and you freeze, unable to do anything as she continues to sieze and shriek beside you.

the governess comes, and then a doctor. in the confusion, you're shuttled off to the chair across the room. you're already settled into it by the time you realize it's where the man had sat, and you briefly take inventory of it, as if perhaps you could feel the traces of his body heat lingering. but the only thing of note is the trace whisps of dark sweets, easily explained away by your own mishap the night before.

they clean alice's wound and find a neat ring of teeth marks, your own good name saved by virtue of the doctor recognizing that they'd had time to heal - must have happened some other night, that alice must have been picking at them in her sleep. your governess's obvious distaste stills your tongue, unwilling to face her wrath if she believes you sympathetic to some street hussy. so you say nothing, even as alice shrieks about a man, about being accosted. even as they call her hysteric and pack her off. instead you sit silently, picking off the blood the that had dried to your hand when you'd gone to wake her. never mentioning the scrape you find beneath it and the congealed line of your own blood; the cut from when you'd flopped out of bed to crawl to his feet. because you can still smell it, the stomach-turning sweetness, and the heavy scent it had given way to, and you know what it was now, staining his handsome chin just as much as alice's breast.

and it's not fear, or even pity that settles low in your belly, simmers hotter than that ember which had sparked to life, woken you to his call.

you follow them when they walk her out, a small team of men needed to keep her restrained. she fights to be heard, but a part of you worries she fights to stay as well, the claws she sinks into the door frame intended to keep herself put for him. you feel ugly and selfish when you traipse back to your room, but you do anyway, stopping only long enough to smell the beautiful bouquet of dark winter roses you pass on the sideboard. they're lovely and sweet, though you can't help noticing no one has bothered to cut the thorns off. careless. you wonder who got them.

---

it's not the only life taking root in the house.

despite the grueling winter, you notice sunshine in the halls, dust motes dancing in the pale light. sconces you've not seen lit in years keep the shadows of night at bay. spices find their way into your meals, a small luxury you've been missing greatly. you can see your governess watching the staff suspiciously, but don't dare ask if she has her theories.

---

there are cigars in the humidor. or maybe they aren't cigars, much thinner than the ones you're used to seeing. you've no idea how they got there, but neither do you know who to ask. who you can trust to believe you, even just long enough to look, see the proof for themselves.

but then, you're not sure you want anyone else to know.

they smell like his. dark and heavy, sickeningly sweet. it makes your stomach turn but you fish out the lighter anyway, throwing the windows open decisively. fresh air pours in around you, chases cobwebs from the corners. the sconses gutter before flaring back to life, leaving the room brighter than it's been in months, cleaner than it' felt in ages.

you hardly notice, too busy fighting the cough that builds in your throat as you take your first drag. you don't manage it, smoke sputtering sputtering from your mouth in fits and starts as you heave your way through a coughing fit, stomach turning with an unexpected wave of nausea. face turned to the cool relief of the window, you've got your cheek leaned up against the side of the pane when the smoke begins to waft away. it takes you a moment to make sense of the image revealed, inverted and near as it is. fear grips you before you even manage it, some fine-tuned instinct recognizing the viper at your feet and turning to run before you're even sure what you've seen.

but this is no viper, and the reaction warranted when faced with the immense silhouette of a man hanging inverted in your window, mere inches from your face, is to go still as a deer in the hunters' sights, evidently, and play the docile little pray.

he turns properly toward you, the shaggy hair dangling around his face catching in the wind. your cigar flares with it, wan light revealing pale skin and dark eyes which seem to glint in amusement when you stumble away, the whole of the picture revealed to you just as long fingers wrap over the top of the casement and pry it open, hinges groaning as they overextend to let his broad shoulders pass. he pours through the sill like butter from the pan, pools on your ceiling with a strong grip on your curtain rod. except, when he drops from it, he sinks from the rafters like a feather, none of the might his huge frame suggested anywhere to be found.

still reeling, your hip catches the edge of your wardrobe and you slip past it, put your back to the wall as quiet cries spill from your lips, pleas incomprehensible.

he greets you by name in a thick russian accent, and somehow, impossibly, you know, but you ask anyway, voice trembling. "who are you?"

a step closer, movements so fluid you can barely discern them. when did the candles go out? "your cleverer than that."

strange compulsion, you can't stop yourself before reciting, "men don't want clever wives."

"is that what you think i want? a wife?" amusement curls around the words, turns his accent lilting.

"i don't know what you want," you whisper, and he grunts - edging closer to irritation.

"and is that what you think i am, then? a man?"

"no…" the truth shocks you, has you casting about for an anchor. you only find confirmation when you catch sight of your vanity, the man in your room leaving no reflection. your cleverer than that. "you were here that night, weren't you? on the bed with me?"

"well, what's a man to do when he returns home to find a pretty young lady in his bed?"

"you're my father." it's not a question. you're not even certain you mean it as a chastisement. it is simple fact, roiling in your stomach like the nausea that lingers.

a fact he ignores, slipping closer and trailing cold digits over the inside of your wrist before taking the slim cigar from between your fingers. you weren't even aware you'd still had it. it glows back to life when he takes a deep drag, smoke spilling from his mouth when he speaks again, "do you like this one better than that other? they're very popular in paris."

you latch onto the wrong part of the question. "is that where you've been?"

"there," he shrugs. "everywhere."

more nausea, sinuses prickling with the added smoke. "anywhere but here?"

he doesn't seem to like this question, either, a stillness overtaking him. "i was… called away."

but if he can be angry, so can you. "for twenty four years?" you snap, voice ragged and sharp as it had been after your first inhale.

his stillness snaps, exasperation turning him away from you. he paces to the window and finally you can see more of his features - the high peaks of his hairline, the heavy brow and the broad nose. he's an older man, you know, and yet - he doesn't really look it, fine lines of his forehead no worse than a man ten, twenty years his younger. his voice is gruff when he speaks again. quiet. "a man can't help being needed -."

"you were needed hear!" you shriek, a reservoir of emotion you didn't know you'd kept dammed breaking free.

when he turns on his heel the candles flare again, and you gasp, shocked to find him suddenly before you, the wool of his overcoat scratchy even through your shift. he waits for you to settle, for your chest to stop heaving against his and your pulse to stop hammering so loud in your ears that you can't hear what he says when his lips move, tongue darting out to wet them. "am i no longer needed, then?" he finally asks, and you wilt against him.

"of course you are," you sob, trying not to notice his own breaths never come.

---

there's no precedent telling you what to call him. his name is improper, but 'father' leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. you plead of him 'my lord!' when his kisses linger too long and he groans, pleased.

you're not sure if you like him when he's pleased.

he frightens you, takes too much. he's a man of appetite as you should have known by the marks he'd left on alice, but you'd foolishly thought yourself untouchable, too gently borne to suffer such indignities. of course, the station of your birth matters little to your own father - if it indeed ever would have mattered to anyone at all.

but it's hard to refuse him when he's your father, and so huge, besides. his broad frame corrals you easily back toward the bed. he doesn't let you sink onto it until his kisses have trailed to the hinge of your jaw, cold nose nuzzling behind your ear. when he does breathe, his chest eclipses your own, tries to turn you concave, carve a space within you. his exhale stinks like his cigar, pressed into the corner of your lip.

it's improper. leaves you teetering between disgust and a guilty sort of pleasure, which only serves to repulse you further. your stomach turns, guilt eating its way up your throat. acrid with smoke.

the hand splayed over the column of your throat tightens minutely, long fingers threatening to pluck the tendons which flex when you gag. he misunderstands. "not supposed to inhale, you know?"

your head spins, the only relief from your mounting sickness found in the the cold relief of his hands against your cheek. "i didn't… i don't..?"

"shh. that's alright. papa will teach you. take this, it will help you feel better."

and your mouth when he does. wide, mimicking. eager for some tincture to help soothe your nerves. a strong dose to put you under, perhaps. he grins when you show him your teeth and a finger finds his own, long claw catching minutely on his lip when he drags the pad of his first two fingers over his canine. you're shocked when it comes away bloody - more so when he coos, eases them into your own mouth to stroke against your tongue. for a moment you're too shocked to respond, but then the heavy taste of blood coats your mouth and you thrash about under him, swatting and biting.

it only seems to encourage him, voice too thick with hunger and approval to be as soothing as he intends it when he tries to gentle you beneath him.

he gives up trying when his blood overflows your mouth, spilling over your cheeks as you continue trying to shake him off. he mutters something about a waste and then his other hand is pinching your nose, cutting off your air supply fully. you gurgle, trying to clear your mouth and he snarls, shoves his fingers deeper.

you're forced to swallow your mouthful when your vision begins to tunnel. he sighs in relief when you do, breath nearly as heavy as yours when you gasp and wheeze. he has the decency to drag his fingers down your chin as you struggle, staining all down your throat as he traces the path of the load you've swallowed.

"not so hard, was it?" he mutters, still painting your skin. you glare at him when you can finally manage it and he just chuckles, forces his fingers behind your bottom teeth again. even still the taste revolts you, tongue crowding to the back of you mouth to try and escape the cold copper, the thick licorice. if he notices, he is undeterred. makes you take even more when he pries your jaw open and spits in your mouth.

the vulgarity makes you heave, but his weight fights even that. keeps you in place when he shoves his fingers back until the webbing nestles against the corner of your mouth and his fingernails scrape against your throat. he feels when it constricts around him reflexively and his free hand smooths the hair back from your sweaty forehead, cold breath against your temple as he tells you to relax, voice fragmenting - somehow both soft, ethereal, and a very real rumble in your ear.

it's that quiet one that gets you, webs its way through your nerves until you're limp with it, energy sapped along with your will to disobey. his fingers pull back minutely, give you enough space to swallow the blood that's gathered at the back of your throat. when they push back in, he bids you suckle them in that same distorted voice and you do. easily, gratefully, and this time, the blood pools in your belly like an antidote. it soothes your nausea, leaves you hungry for more. he doesn't hesitate to provide it, fingers pumping in and out of your mouth as you begin to suckle at them, entreating him to stay nestled in the heat of your mouth each time he starts to pull away.

you're unsure how long he feeds you. long enough you that you feel sated and sleepy when he withdraws entirely. a strand of saliva follows him, snaps back to fall down your chest when he licks his own fingers after, thick tongue wiping clean what mess remains. his skin comes back whole and healed, a prospect that should surely frighten you, but there is no fear when you grow bold, pull him closer by a strong grip on the long strands of hair at his nape. his tongue is slick when it slides against yours, chasing the taste of himself. he follows it down your chin, panting against the column of your neck as his hands work up your chest, the pressure of them on your waist having been having gone unnoticed through your corset. his nails scrape your skin when he catches the hem of your dressing gown and finally, some base instinct flares back to life, tries to stay his hands with your own, fingers scrabbling against his. he just hushes you again, voice echoing softly between your ears. this time, when your fingers wrap around his wrists, it is simply an anchor for you, body feeling as though you may simply drift away under his care.

when his mouth finds your breast, you arch into him, bucking hard enough that he groans, lays his body flat over you to keep you in place as he feasts. even his weight is decadent, a relief from the way you feel untethered. he pinches your nipple between too-sharp teeth, soaks the fabric of your shift in saliva just to soothe you after. his mouth offers no heat, no balm for the frigid breaths he ghosts over the wet material. you beg for it anyway, fingers threading through his hair to keep him close. an instinct that will do you no good here, the man at your breast inhuman and cold.

it's a fact you can't escape from, not with his cold blood in your belly and his will in your head. not with his lupine teeth spreading wide over your heart, or the ecstatic relief when he finally bites down. your breath steams in the air as you pant beneath him, chest heaving into his mouth even as you try pulling him impossibly closer, and here, finally, is the heat - the bloom of blood that soaks your shift and warms your skin, even as you grow colder with the loss of it. he's insatiable, a man of appetite as you knew, and yet you give yourself freely, even as your breath grows stilted and shallow and your fingers twitch in his hair. he only surfaces when your vision grows cloudy, looms above you in a grisly mask of death turned two-tone with the moonlight and your fading vision. jaw stained dark, it appears an endless maw from which he speaks, demands to know if you'll join him in eternity.

and what girl could ever live without her papa?

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/adornedwithlight