#I need to work on getting better at tagging...

[l1tw1ck]

okay hear me out, monster male reader ambushing Mydei and Phainon and taking turn fucking each one while the other is tied up watching.

you have been heard

The Cub and the Puppy

Bottom!Mydei + Bottom!FTM Phainon x Top!Male Reader

☆ Word Count: 2,656 ☆

AFAB Language Used

tag: @abrielletargaryen

CW: Non-Con, Womb Fucking, Oral Sex, Humiliation, Fingering, Cum Swallowing, Bondage-ish, Monster Fucking, Size Difference, Nipple Play, Sexual Overstimulation, Squirting, Orgasm Denial, Anal + Vaginal Sex, Double Penetration, Pussy Slapping, Creampie, Corruption

“You’ll pay for this.” Mydei growls. His clothes have been torn apart and he's been forced onto his knees. You laugh in his face, further wounding his ego.

He knows how ridiculous he sounds, still trying to fight you despite the situation he's in. If you could win against the two of them and get them into a weakened state like this, there's no hope. You barely even grazed them. They have a couple injuries but you easily broke down their strength with your mysterious power. If they didn't try to fight you, you could've weakened them without hurting them at all. You're in pristine condition while Mydei feels hungover and dizzy.

Phainon, meanwhile, fell unconscious after one of your attacks. He's naked and strung up in the air like a spider’s prey.

“At least…let him go.” Mydei coughs up blood. Its shimmery golden color stands out in your greyscale cave.

“If you want me to do that, you need to prove that you're good enough to fill in for him.”

Mydei’s eyes widen as your cock slaps him in the face, you're not even standing all that close to him. How is he supposed to take this? He's never even had sex before and you want him to have that monster in his mouth? In his ass?

“Come on, hero, show me how you suck cock.”

He takes a deep breath. As long as Phainon can escape. As long as he doesn't have to go through this, he can do it. Mydei closes his eyes and slowly engulfs your length. He prays he can be good enough to protect Phainon. His mouth hurts but he continues to envelop you. If he can barely go past a couple inches, how much worse is it going to be when it enters his ass?

“You're so small.”

He's sure the last time anyone said something like that to him was when he was a baby. He's always been larger than his peers, but in comparison to you, small is definitely the correct word.

“You're less like a lion and more like a little cub without claws.” You're thoroughly enjoying his struggle. “Use your tongue, kitty.”

Mydei, trying his best to please you, separates his mouth from your cock and drags his tongue along it. He moves back to the tip and makes short head bobs while his tongue swirls around it. He even uses his hand to stroke the rest of your girth. He looks up at you for approval.

“You're getting better but at this rate...” You shake your head and pull him off of you. “Let me show you how it feels to be sucked off properly.” You grab him by his waist and bring his crotch to your face, then his cock into your mouth. Mydei squirms around in your hold. He hates that it feels so good…he's already lost his dignity but he's not sure he can take another hit.

“Let– let me try again~” He subconsciously thrusts upwards. “Stop– stop-!” He's gonna come.

You remove his length from your mouth. “You wanna suck my cock that bad?” You drag your tongue up his shaft while maintaining eye contact.

Mydei isn't sure if giving you an answer is better or worse than having an orgasm.

“Answer me.” Your claws dig into his skin.

“I…wanna suck…your…your cock..” His whole body is burning hot.

“Good kitty.” You drop him onto the ground like a broken toy, reinforcing the reality of his situation. He gasps in pain. One of the rocks almost hit his weak spot. He weakly moves his body away from it. You smile at his pathetic body language. “We can work on your blowjob skills later. Sit down and spread your legs.”

He reluctantly and very shakily follows your command. He turns his head to the small approaching tentacle-like entity. He's seen a few of them in previous battles with you, some of them are keeping Phainon tied up. They can change their forms according to your will and from what he knows, there's no limit to the amount you can create. He's seen them as swords and hands but this time, this little tentacle is just that. It doesn't look threatening. He assumes it won't hurt him, at least not in this state.

Although, it's not like that really matters. It'd be more like a droplet of water in an overflowing pool of pain.

He watches silently as it heads towards his ass. It secretes a cold fluid over his rim, acting as lube.

“Finger yourself.” You command.

Mydei’s face turns bright red. This is so humiliating for him. He collects the lube and prods two of his fingers against his hole. “I…” He struggles to penetrate himself. He's trying to get it over with as fast as possible so he hasn't really thought it through. Trying to put two in at once is too much for a first-timer.

“You’ve never fingered yourself before? Have you ever even had sex at all?”

Mydei shakes his head shamefully.

“No wonder you're so bad at blowjobs.” You laugh. “Maybe I should see if Phainon can do a better job.”

“Please.” He has to abandon his pride. “Teach me.”

“How humble.”

Phainon's eyes flicker open to the scenery before him while his vision slowly becomes less blurry. He takes a deep breath and analyzes his current position. His hearing returns to him late as finally processes the sound of groans and borderline erotic noises. He looks down, Mydei and you are…

Mydei huffs, his hands pressed firmly on the ground and his head hanging low. "Bh- bastard-" He grits his teeth as a tentacle slithers around his cock and jerks him off while using its aphrodisiac lubricant to do so smoothly. His ass is slowly getting worked open by your two very large fingers. You use your unoccupied hand to spank him in retaliation to his insult.

Upon seeing this, Phainon finally understands the situation the two of them are in. He's going to be next. He attempts to call out to Mydei but only manages to let out a hoarse noise. Mydei lifts his head. His eyes are droopy.

Phainon shudders as he suddenly feels the strange tentacles around his body moving, as if they're acknowledging that he's awake. His legs are forced to spread.

“You—! You said you’d leave him alone!” Mydei gets interrupted by you spanking him again.

“You're such a naive little cub. I’d never turn down the chance to play around with the illustrious deliverer.” You grab his hair and force him to look at the man above him. “Watch.”

One of the tentacles extends to Phainon’s t-dick and touches it teasingly while secreting the translucent substance. He throws his head back as his body becomes more sensitive. Tears quickly form in his eyes in response to its sadistic teasing.

"Fuck!" Mydei cries out, ropes of cum spurting out of him as the tip of your massive cock suddenly penetrates him. Phainon briefly turns his attention to him. Mydei's cheeks burn red with humiliation. How is he supposed to look Phainon in the eye after this? He extends his hand in an attempt to crawl away but you stop him with your firm hands.

“Don't get cold feet now, kitty.” You dig your nails into his skin.

“My- Mydei~” Phainon breathes out. “I won't give in!”

Mydei’s back arches as your cock sinks deeper into his cunt and as blood spills from his skin. Drool dribbles down from his mouth as the aphrodisiac’s effect gets stronger. He can't handle this. He's literally gone through hell and back but he can't handle this.

Phainon squirms around, trying desperately not to lose himself. “It- it's okay, Mydei, I’ll get us out—” He gasps at the sudden cold slap to his cunt, courtesy of one of the thicker tentacles. It's around the size of your cock. He holds his breath in anticipation then it forcefully leaves his mouth as another, harsher slap hits him. It keeps going. Again and again.

Just as he's about to come, it stops. Phainon clenches his fists. He focuses back on Mydei. His cunt is throbbing as he sees you drilling into him. You're ‘fully’ inside him and yet there's still plenty of inches that can't fully experience Mydei’s warmth. The sight triggers a previously unknown kink. He likes it big. His body is tingling with need, desire, and envy.

He subconsciously thrusts his hips, begging for stimulation and release. He can't stop the rapid change in his brain. He doesn't even realize that he's losing himself. His mind is weaker than he thought.

After waiting and jealously watching Mydei, the tentacle eventually returns to continue slapping his pussy.

“You're disgusting!” Mydei is trying to close his eyes for Phainon’s sake but your constant spanks and the way you're firmly gripping his hair is making it impossible.

“Cuh- come- I wanna come~” Phainon mutters.

“Deliverer! Don't give– mmh~!” His words are interrupted by a thick tentacle, separate from the one focused on Phainon, forcefully entering his mouth.

“Me–” He wriggles around. “Fuck me too~!” Phainon moans as the other thick tentacle returns to him from behind, it slides in between his thighs and gives his pussy a place to sit. His hip thrusts become more aggressive. “Yes! Oh gods, yes!” He rubs his pussy all over it. You're glad you ignored Mydei’s begging, you’d be missing out on this amazing scene otherwise.

Mydei shivers at the sound. We lost, he thinks, another spurt of cum leaving his dick. He looks completely and utterly blissed out as you fuck him. It feels good and he knows it. You're breaking him.

Phainon squirts on the tentacle with a dumb smile on his face and grins wider as it begins to penetrate his ass. Mydei continues to observe willingly this time. He feels another wave of arousal washing over him as he watches the blue haired male's ass stretch itself for the tentacle and as his wet ‘empty’ pussy throbs with the greedy desire to be filled too.

It slowly but surely slides deeper inside him and a sudden burst of the aphrodisiac liquid fills Phainon’s ass and both of Mydei’s holes at the same time, causing him to realize the liquid from your tentacles and the seed from your cock are one in the same. Their bodies shake aggressively as they reach the height of their orgasms and their brains turn to mush. Phainon’s squirt reaches Mydei’s face and hair. He doesn't seem to hate it.

The tentacle in Mydei’s mouth pulls away and allows him to properly swallow its spend. His hair is messy and his face is dripping with sweat. Phainon shivers, thinking about how good you must be fucking Mydei to get him in this state and praying you fuck him like that too.

You flip Mydei onto his back while one of the smaller tentacles returns to stimulate Phainon’s t-dick. Mydei grins as you roughly grip his waist and thrust inside him. He even cranes his head so you can shower his neck with kisses and bites. Just like his mind, his body is getting corrupted by you.

He tried so hard to remain strong, but here he is. Happily letting his body be used by the monster who defeated him and allowing you to use the body of the very man he tried to protect. The last conscious part of him hopes Aglaea isn't watching and that none of the other heirs find him like this.

Spurts of cum erupt from his cock as your teeth gently clamp down on his nipple. His body jitters and jolts as you play with his chest. Phainon’s raging jealousy is only slightly satiated by one of the tentacles turning into a tongue and licking his cunt, turning it into an even sloppier and wetter mess.

“More~” Phainon’s eyelids flutter. “Please!”

Phainon whines when the tentacle leaves his ass. He watches you pull out of Mydei and starts to smile once he realizes he’s next. You bring Phainon over to you and have him lay on top of Mydei, his sopping wet pussy stimulating the Kremnoan’s cock. Mydei happily allows the tentacles to approach him, turning his head and opening his mouth wide while two thick tentacles enter his mouth and ass respectively. Phainon rubs himself aggressively against the other man’s sex, quickly growing more impatient and jealous.

Phainon’s vision blurs as he witnesses Mydei’s mouth getting filled with your fluid. He’s so turned on he can barely see straight. “Fuck me~! Come in me too~!” He begs.

You chuckle at his desperation and pick him up. You sit down on a smooth rock and place him on your lap, mere inches from your cock. “Work for it just like he did.”

Surprisingly, Phainon decides to suck you off first. He drags his tongue up and down your shaft to taste it before wrapping his lips around it. He recognizes his limits and doesn't try to go too deep, he sucks the inches he's able to and strokes the rest with his hand.

“Good boy.” You grin.

Phainon blushes and starts to move more aggressively. Whenever he can, he looks at you for validation.

“You want me to come in your mouth, puppy?”

Phainon briefly parts from your dick, making sure to continue jerking you off. He nods rapidly then begins to suckle on your cockhead while keeping eye contact with you. You grab his hair and push him further down. An erotic expression grows on his face as you pump your seed into his mouth. He swallows almost every drop despite the massive amount you’re releasing. Once he's done, he licks up all the excess.

He grabs your shoulders and adjusts himself to hover over your length. The fact that you're still hard is making him dizzy. His pussy makes contact with your cock and tries its best to make room for it. His eyes roll to the back of his head. “Fuck.” He gasps.

You allow him to take his time in favor of watching his stomach slowly bulge as he sinks further down. “You're so big~” He starts drooling. It feels so good to finally have you inside him. He bites down on his lip and reaches for his t-cock. “Can- can I touch myself?” He asks breathlessly.

How can he be so perfect? “Of course.” You have your tentacles aim for his nipples. Phainon’s body reacts extremely positively to all the stimulation. His back arches as he squirts.

“So good—” He jolts in surprise at the feeling of your dick against his cervix. He looks down, noticing the significant amount of uncharted territory between him and your length. You're not fully inside. “Deeper..” He mumbles, frowning.

You grab his waist and raise him up before brutally slamming him downwards. Phainon shrieks with pleasure as you enter his womb, allowing him to fully embrace your size. Mydei is too cock drunk to react to the noise, he’s on the edge of passing out.

Phainon grins widely and starts to bounce, somehow mustering enough energy to do so. He quickens his thrusts and makes a steady rhythm. “Yes, yes, yes–” He breathes out. He's so full. “Come…come inside~” He begs with a whiny voice.

You’ve deprived it from him for far too long. He's been a good boy, he deserves it.

You take over for Phainon and roughly drag him up and down your cock until you come. He lets out a breathy moan as you fill his womb. His eyelids start to droop.

Before he knows it, he's fast asleep.

Neither of them will be able to go back to their lives after this. You’ve ruined them.

Maybe the other Chrysos Heirs can figure something out without them.

[satsugo]

୨୧ you mention a coworker being “sweet.” gojo doesn’t like that. later that night, he shows you what happens when someone else touches what’s his. mlist

yandere!gojo gets extra mean when he’s jealous — but don’t worry, he kisses it better after. sry I've been stuck in a yandere x reader mood! hope you enjoyed the chaos, sweetness ♡ reblogs and screams in the tags are always welcome.

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences. contains the following: yandere behavior, hand-tying (with a blindfold), oral (fem receiving), rough possessive language, overstimulation, mild threat kink, praise kink, soft aftercare.

It started as a joke.

You were curled up on the couch beside him, laughing about your day, sipping wine, legs draped across his lap. He was loose-limbed and quiet, eyes half-lidded, lips curled into a lazy smile.

“He’s actually really sweet,” you said. “Like… surprisingly nice. Not weird or flirty. Just normal. Which is rare at work.”

Gojo’s fingers stilled on your calf.

You didn’t notice.

“He brought me a coffee this morning,” you added. “Exactly how I like it. No cream.”

He hummed — not a happy sound.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb over your ankle. “Just… wondering how he knows how you like your coffee.”

You shrugged. “I talk about it all the time. Probably overheard.”

His jaw flexed.

“Did you thank him?”

“Well… yeah?”

Gojo didn’t respond. Just leaned back, silent. Thoughtful.

You didn’t realize the shift until later.

You woke up to soft sheets and quiet tension. Hands above your head. Tied — not tightly, but firm enough. Gojo’s silk blindfold wrapped around your wrists.

“Satoru?”

He didn’t answer right away.

You felt him before you saw him — warm breath at your neck, one knee pushing between your thighs, bare skin pressing into yours.

“Was he sweet like this?” he murmured against your collarbone. “Did he make you feel special?”

You squirmed. “What—”

“I’ve let you off easy,” he whispered, tongue grazing your pulse. “Let you laugh, let you talk. But you don’t get to smile about other men. You don’t get to call them sweet.”

His hand slid between your legs — warm, confident, claiming.

“That’s mine.”

You whimpered as his fingers teased your slit, already soaked. He chuckled darkly.

“You say one thing,” he said, biting your earlobe, “but your body says another.”

“I wasn’t flirting—”

“I know.” His voice dipped, almost gentle. “But he thought about it. Bet he imagined what you sound like when you come.”

You tried to pull your hands free — instinct — but the blindfold held firm.

“Shh,” he murmured. “You don’t need those.”

Then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Starving.

He spread your thighs wide, tongue dragging through your folds, groaning like the taste alone was enough to anchor him.

“You don’t even get it,” he panted between licks. “You don’t see how good you are. How fuckin’ lucky I am.”

You gasped, hips rising.

He gripped your thighs tighter.

“No. Stay still.”

His tongue circled your clit, slow and intentional, then sucked — just once, hard enough to make you cry out.

“He’ll never see you like this,” Gojo growled. “Never get to hear these sounds. Never get this messy for him.”

Your orgasm hit like a wave, legs shaking, breath hitching as he kept licking through it.

He let you come down, slowly, gently. Pressed kisses up your stomach, over your breasts, to your throat.

You couldn’t see him. Could only feel the weight of his stare.

“Only I get this,” he whispered. “Say it.”

“Only you,” you breathed. “Only you.”

He kissed your lips then — deep and slow, like the fury had drained and left only reverence.

“Good girl.”

Later, your hands freed, you curled into his chest. His fingers ran through your hair, light and soothing.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just… don’t like sharing.”

You smiled against his skin. “You never have.”

“You’re mine,” he whispered again. “That won’t change.”

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[ruesol]

BIND YOUR TEETH | daydreaming

PLOT:

Nanami struggles to grasp the fact that his new assistant is also his omega (who also happens to have a shitty sense of smell).

tags and cw: fem/afab reader, ooc nanami, suggestive

series masterlist

.

Everything is too perfect. Varicose veins bulge on Nanami’s triceps as he grips the leather arms of his chair with great restraint.

Even the way you sit at your work desk is prim; spine straight, knees stuck together as your legs rest at an angle on the ground. You wear detachable heels for utmost efficiency and professionalism. There’s not a hair out of place and your suit has evidently been crisply ironed in the morning because it refuses to crease even though you’ve been wearing it for hours now.

He wants—no, needs an excuse to talk to you, but you haven’t given him an in. All the things he needs are on his desk. From the files he needs to read to the pens that have been restocked in the bottom drawer of his desk. Even the desk lamp had been adjusted for optimum brightness, not too bright for his eyes to hurt, and not too dim for the letters to blend into his shadow that falls on the paper.

Your efficiency is stellar (better than Ijichi’s, dare he say it). If you were any other person, he’d have no problem staying cooped up in his office the entire day, not needing to constantly call his assistant for little things.

But that’s the problem. You’re so good at your job that he doesn’t need to talk to you every minute of the day, and that infuriates his inner beast.

Everything in office has traces of your scent, from the desk to the walls.

Skin running hot, he digs his nails into his thighs as he tries to think about anything else.

Gojo Satoru’s face.

Your lips part as you stare up at him from between his thighs. Eyes dewy, as warmth creeps up Nanami’s neck.

Ijichi’s wife personally calling him and yelling at him in the middle of the night for having her husband work on his birthday.

You palm his bulge with unsteady hands, licking your lips and gulping, clearly intimidated at the size. “Like this?” you softly whisper, going cross-eyed when Nanami groans.

Scorching hot soup spilling onto his lap during lunch.

You unzip his pants, feeble fingers finding the waistband of his boxers. “Go on,” he mumbles, voice laced with heat. “You’re doing just fine.” You nod, pulling his boxers down and—

The sudden knock on the glass door of his office yanks him out of his daydream.

It’s you. Of course.

Your eyes hold that timid look he had seen with in his dreams. He licks his lips before taking a big gulp of water, and nods to acknowledge you.

The room is instantly perfumed with your scent. Sweet honey and cinnamon. He thinks about how much he’d love to smell that first thing in the morning, entangled in his sheets, as he spreads your legs and sinks into you to knot your cunt.

He can smell the nervousness on you before you can even walk over to his desk. Must be a non-work related request.

You chew the inside of your cheek, as you set down some papers across him. “These are the records of a few changes we’ve made at the new restaurant chain we just acquired. You just need to acknowledge them by signing the papers.”

You’re a foal, eager to learn about the world, but still nervous about the consequences of knowing too much. It would seem aggravating to deal with had it been anyone else, but with you it’s endearing.

He nods, not saying much. He’s afraid of expressing something that’ll definitely drive you away. You already struggle to sense the fact that he’s your compatible alpha.

“Also…” you nervously begin. He immediately looks up, his mind laser-focused on your next word. “I need a couple hours off. HR has this new rule that I can’t just self report that I’m an omega and that I’ll need to get a check-up just for verification’s sake.”

“Approved,” Nanami replies without missing a beat. Of course, he would. As wrong as it was for someone of his position, he had suggested a new rule all so he could know everything that he needed to about you. The sooner you come back with your reports, the sooner he knows what’s wrong with your senses.

[uceyliyahh]

PRESSURE

summary: she got build up pressure from her folks, her friends and her peers around her asking that million dollar question. ‘When will you get back together with Jimmy?’ It would always annoy Serenity hearing that from them when her folks knew her and Jimmy’s past. Her folks believe that they were going to get back together eventually until she found someone new hoping that she could heal those scars that Jimmy had left until that one night it changed everything.

warnings contain: explicit content, self-harming, withdrawals, depression, a lot of build up pressure, cheating, suicidal.

sooo mdni

Jimmy Uso x Serenity

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

TAGS 🏷️ lmk if you want to be tagged @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @trippiexlove @wisteria-bae

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @bookuce @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @cafeluvs @myleelovesfood @shes2real

CAST

face claim: Antonia Gentry as Serenity Cooper aka Serene

bartender

Jimmy’s ex-girlfriend (broke up with him because he cheated.)

dating Darren

best friends with Kehlani

isolates herself from her family

self harm

Instagram: serenitysdairy

iMessage - serene🤍

“I can’t do this anymore Jimmy, you’re ruining me.”

Jonathan Solofa Fatu aka Jimmy, Big Jim, Jon

professional wrestler

Serenity’s ex-boyfriend (still wants to be with her.)

toxic

possessive

jealous of serenity’s new relationship

Instagram: jonathanfatu

iMessage - J💔

“lemme’ keep ruining you until you become mine again, that fool ain’t like me Serene and you know it.”

India amarteifio as Ciara Cooper aka Cece

serenity’s older sister

actor

cool with Jey and Jimmy

single

Instagram: cecesworld

iMessage - cece💞

“It’s not my place to say sis but you and Jimmy need to work things out.”

Darren Hilton aka D

basketball player

charming

loyal

dating Serenity

Instagram: d1arren

iMessage - lova💖

“how long have you been fucking him behind my back serene?”

Joshua Samuel Fatu aka Josh or Jey

professional wrestler

married with two kids

loyal

believes that serenity and his brother will get back together

Instagram: uceyjucey

IMessage - Joshua🙄

“Serene you know he still crazy about you after you broke things off with him.”

Trinity Fatu aka Trin

professional wrestler

male centered

mess around with Jimmy a couple of times while being on the road.

single

toxic

Instagram: trinity_fatu

IMessage - Trin🍑

“Babygirl don’t be mad at me be at ya nigga, he wanted some of this and you probably wasn’t doing your job right.”

a/n: let’s hop right in shall we?

chapter one

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (8)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. 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 love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

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. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You find a dress to wear. Plain. Blue. Not much shape. You put a denim jacket over it and grab a pair of flats. 

You go out into the living room. You hear your mother, see her head over the back of the couch. She turns her head, sensing you, and quickly covers her scalp with a scarf. She doesn’t like to show it. A barb of guilt pokes at your heart. 

You cough and near the corner of the sofa. 

“Hey, um, mom, are you hungry? You want some tea?” You offer. 

“Mmm, maybe in a bit.” She mutters. “Oh pie, you look nice.” 

“Um, yeah?” You look down. “Well... they don’t have a uniform at this new job.” 

“Oh, that’s so good. I always hated wearing the ones down at the...” she pauses and yawns. “post office.” 

“Uh, yeah. Er. Did you take your morning pills?” 

“Did I?” She asks. “Aren’t they sorted?” 

“I’ll check,” you assure her. 

You go to the bookshelf where you keep the large container. You have her pills sorted by day, each separate compartment for a time of day; morning, noon, evening. You set timers on her phone for her just in case. Her morning pills are there. 

You shake them out into your hand and bring the rest of the long day container to her. You place it on the table. “They’re here.” 

“Thank you, pie.” 

She sounds tired. Another spike jabs your chest. You slept half the previous evening away and left her all alone here. No matter what S said, you might be tired, but you’re sure she’s more so. 

“I’ll get you some water,” you say as you put the pills in her palm. She closes her fingers and smiles weakly. You can tell it’s empty. 

You go to get her a glass of water. You fill her insulated cup with ice first. She likes it very cold. She says it’s soothing. You go back to the front room. 

“So... my admirals hatched. Two of them. I thought we might go out and release them.” 

She sighs. She takes the glass of water and slurps. She throws back the tablets and looks down. “Sweetie, I don’t feel up to it today. I’m... I’m sorry.” 

You nod. You can’t be upset. She’s gone through a lot. She’s still going through a lot. 

“Mom,” your stomach churns. “Um, I was going to talk to you about something. About... yesterday.” 

“I called the insurance company myself,” she sniffs and leans back, cradling the cup over her lap. “They won’t cover it.” 

You understand now. You look down. How do you tell her S can? That he will? How do you tell her without telling her. 

Lie. 

“Mom, um, yeah, I uh... I could ask my insurance. At work. My new work...” you fidget. It’s too soon. She’ll never believe that a couple days in, you got full clearance for six figure coverage. “I was talking to my coworkers and they said that’s it’s a pretty good plan.” 

“Oh, pie. I love you and you’ve done so much. You’re trying but...” her shoulders slump. “Don’t get your hopes up, okay?” 

You chew your lip. You want to say it. You want to tell her that everything is going to be alright. This sickness has turned her into a cynic and she’ll see right through you. Not yet. But soon. Treatment needs to be soon. 

For now, you can let the doctors know. Your mom can wait. It will be like a surprise. 

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” You ask again. 

“I can make tea. And toast.” She says. “You relax. That new job sure keeps you late. I don’t wanna get in the way.” 

“You’re not... in the way,” you argue. “Mom,” you bend and touch her hand. “I love you. I want to be here for you. I want to help--” 

“But I won’t let you do that at the expense of your own happiness. Please.” She slides her hand out from under yours. “I’m going to lay down.” 

You draw away and back up. You watch her lift her legs up gingerly and stretch them down the length of the couch. She lowers her shoulders and drops back onto the pillows. She closes her eyes. 

“Okay, mom.” 

You go to your room but leave the door open. You sit on your bed and stare at the wall. The fluttering wings draw your attention to the hamper. You look at it and stand. You pace back and forth. You have to let them go before they die. 

You go to grab it but stop yourself. You turn and take your phone instead. You look at the screen. No service. You still can’t pay. No wifi either. 

You go back out to the living room. “I’ll be right back, mom. Alright?” 

She grumbles. You look at her. She has her arm slung over her face. You deflate and drag your feet out into the hall. 

You go down to the cafe but don’t go inside. You’re close enough for the signal. It’s just after nine. Maybe too early. You send the message. You’ll give it ten minutes then go home. 

It doesn’t take that long. S replies within a minute. 

‘Be there shortly’. 

Thumbs up and you’re on your way back. You hurry up the front steps and through the hallways of the building. You don’t say a word as you enter the apartment. Your mom doesn’t move. You don’t want to disturb her. 

You grab the hamper and carry it out. You head downstairs and sit on the curb. You watch the neighbourhood as you wait. It’s so sunny but to you, so dull. 

“Hey,” S’s deep voice draws your eyes from the glare above. Your name follows the abrupt greeting as he crosses the street. You stand to meet him. 

“Hi, you didn’t have to hurry over.” 

“You said the butteflies hatched,” he sounds genuinely excited. “So I’m here.” 

He smiles. You look at him. He smiles. His blond hair is parted and combed, he wears a button-up with short sleeves in a soft shade of peach, and a golden chain peeks out above his broad chest. He’s handsome. Almost too perfect to believe, just like everything he’s promised you. 

“Sure, uh... do you wanna get some pictures?” 

“Yeah, okay,” he takes out his phone. He flicks the screen up and aims it at you. You give the lens a surprised look. 

“Of the butterflies!” You exclaim. 

“Oh, uh,” he looks above the phone, his cheek dimpling. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you look down at the hamper. “Let’s take it away from the street though.” 

“You know what you’re doing. Clearly, I don’t,” he chuckles. 

You lift the hamper and carry it gently back to the building. You bring it to the bench near the hedges to one side of the steps. He stops beside you. 

“Alright, I’ll show you how to take them out, so I...” you lift the edge of the towel. “Just reach in. Cup your hand. See, there he is.” You bend to look through the mesh. He leans in and does the same. Usually, they’ll just fly around a bit. If you can get them to land, they won’t fly away too quick.” 

You feel the flutter then the small legs. The male lands on your hand. Slowly, you angle your arm out past the towel. You raise your hand. He points the phone at you and taps. 

“Wow,” he utters lowly. “Beautiful.” 

“Isn’t he?” You smile and admire the wings. It’s so peaceful. So light. You wish you could just be a butterfly. 

You shift your hand around as you marvel. It flicks its wings then all once, flaps away. S aims the lens after the butterfly until he’s gone. 

S turns to you. You look down at the hamper. “Wanna try the next one?” 

“Really?” 

“Sure.” You shrug. 

“I... my hands are pretty big. You don’t think I’ll crush it?” 

“Just cup it, like this.” You show him. 

He nods then holds out his phone, “you wanna do the pictures?” 

“Okay.” You accept it. It’s nice. A newer model than yours. You turn it around so you can see the screen and aim the camera. 

He cups his hand, like you did. You nod. He considers the towel then lifts it. He puts his hand in. You see the tension in his forearm and neck. 

“Hey, calm. They can feel it.” You gird. 

Your eyes are drawn back to the screen as a notification pops up. ‘When are you back?’ The message disappears before you can see the name. It’s none of your business. 

He swallows and bends his neck. He waits, leaning to see through the mesh. His cheek twitches as the butterfly lands on his thumb. You hold your breath as you watch. 

Carefully, he pulls his hand out. You only get one photo before it flutters off. He hums in disappointment. 

“Sorry,” his mouth slants. 

“Some do that,” you assure him. “They see the sun, they want to explore.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” he drops his hands. “So, what about you? Ready to explore?” 

“Explore?” You repeat, the word starting to lose meaning. You hand his phone back. 

“Ah, not exactly that. I’m not too sure what to do, honestly. I made us a lunch reservation so if you have suggestions...” 

“Hm, well, I gotta put this back. There’s still some not hatched yet. And check on mom.” 

“How is she?” He asks abruptly. 

“Um, she’s... she’s okay. Tired.” You lift the hamper. 

“Yeah? Did you tell her the good news?” 

“Well, I’m trying to figure out how. She’ll... She asks a lot of questions.” You stare past him evasively. “I’ll just run and put this away.” 

“Mm, alright. I’ll wait here, I guess.” He turns and sits on the bench. He looks big on it but it’s ready to break on a good day. 

You set off inside and into the apartment. Your mom’s where she was before. You put the hamper in your room. You stand behind the couch and look down at her. 

“Everything okay?” She asks. 

“Um, yeah. Gonna head in early for work.” 

“Pie, you work too hard,” her voice is muffled under her arm. 

“No, mom. It’s a desk job,” you assure her. “I’ll see ya later, okay?” You reach to touch the scarf around her head. “Love you.” 

“Love you, honey,” she croaks. 

Reluctantly, you draw away. You put your phone in your purse and lock up on your way out. You linger by the door. 

What would your mom say if you did tell her? S is a really nice guy. He’s going to help us. Mom, please, you don’t have to worry. 

No, she would worry. She worries about you and it’s your turn to worry about her. You have to do this. You’re taking care of her. Steve is taking care of you now. 

Right? 

You trudge down the hall and down the stairs. You go outside and shield your eyes from the sunlight. You glance over as S stands. 

“I forgot. I got a surprise for you. It’s in the car.” He approaches. “You wanna see?” 

“Sure,” you answer. 

He walks beside you, a hand over your lower back as he takes you across the street. He guides you to the car and opens the door. You get inside. He shuts the door and you fidget as you watch him walk in front of the hood. 

Your eyes wander around the interior as he sits in the driver’s seat. Everything is so nice. It’s just a rental, he said, but it’s expensive. A touch screen, AC, buttons on the steering wheel. 

“It’s uh, right here,” he reaches over and pops open the glove box. The door drops open and he slides out a shiny lilac shape. He holds it out as he sits up. “All yours.” 

You gape at the phone. Slim, in a metallic purple case with a little butterfly grip on the back. You tilt your head. 

“Well, take it,” he jerks it toward you. 

You raise your hand slowly and wrap your fingers around it. You take it and turn it over. You put it in your lap and rub your thumbs up the sides. 

“It’s expensive.” 

“You need it.” 

“I have a phone--” 

“With no plan. We’re going to need to stay in touch.” He says. 

“Right, er, but...” 

“It’s part of the deal.” He insists. “And you know, anything else you need. Or want. Just ask.” 

You squirm restlessly. It’s so strange not worrying about the price tag. Almost impossible. 

“You like the colour, sweetheart?” He scares you as he claps his hand onto your shoulder. His thumb caresses you as you lift your head. You blink at him dumbly and nod. 

“Pretty,” you say. 

“Not as pretty as you, sweetheart,” he grins and leans in. 

You keep from shifting away. You let him kiss you. It’s not that you don’t want him to; you’re not sure one way or the other. It’s all just so new. You’re getting used to it. Will you ever? Does this bubbly feeling ever go away? 

[lathbora-virann]

I was just going to put this in the tags and then it got too long lol but I literally actually called this months ago???? Like in December??

I think it was just in the tags on a random post, but I straight up said that I thought the darkspawn were actually 'working' for the Titans the entire time. They're connected to the collective maddened Titan dream hivemind—consciously/deliberately working to free them, while unconsciously being physical manifestations of their madness, rage and vengeance.

I'd love to know the specifics of how the very first ones came to be and if the Titans chose to make them or if it was something like a number of ancient dwarves somehow getting blighted and reconnected to those mad dreams? But the darkspawn have been essentially functioning as replacement dwarves, but probably without the level of intelligence and strategy needed to break into the Fade—at least in the beginning. We know from how they were presented in Origins that they did display intelligence and and signs of culture, but they also needed leadership and direction to be able to organise effectively #joinyourunion

So the Titans then went to the early humans because they could only communicate through dreams while trapped in the Fade, and the dwarves were cut off from theirs. I assume the elves would have been seen as the 'enemy' and the kossith/qunari wouldn't have been in Thedas at that point, so neither were a feasible option for the Titans. They were able to use the dragons who became the Archdemons as conduits to communicate, which leads to a thousand other questions.

Both the dragons and the Titans have been referred to as “the blood of the world”, with so much of everything ultimately coming back to lyrium and dragon blood—and we do see here in the art and screenshots that both the Titans and dragons were literally being used as power sources by the Evanuris. Some of the other newly released concept art shows a lot of dragons flying around inside a Titan at “the centre of Thedas”, so at one point we were clearly supposed to explore what the hell the connection is between the two.

There seems to be enough evidence to suggest that at some point in the worldbuilding the Archdemons were originally ancient dragons connected to different Titans, but as guardians? Allies? Enemies? More children somehow? Maybe there was something in the whole shared blood of the world connection that was needed to free the Titans' trapped souls and reconnect them with their physical forms?

That idea could still work with those ancient dragons ending up being conquered and bound by the Evanuris as part of their war with the Titans, so Solas wouldn't be lying—just omitting massive pieces of information which is his usual MO. And speculating wildly, but maybe when the spirits were first becoming the ancient elves, they did initially view the Titans as primordial gods.

I'll end by adding that it felt to me like once the Evanuris became blighted it acted like a parasite or that zombie fungus that takes over ants and moves them to stand where the fungus can spread its spores over the rest of the colony and infect them all. So ironically, once they were blighted, the Evanuris were being manipulated to want what the Titans wanted and do what the Titans needed (i.e. freeing themselves by ripping open the Veil and blighting the world), while unable to see it themselves, believing that they were genuinely creating a beautiful and better world (i.e. another glorious empire for them to rule over again).

Matt Rhodes posted the final concept art of the Black Codex. But the most interesting thing is the notes that go with it.

The false gods decide to release the full power of the titan souls, which have become twisted with madness in their captivity. Solas tries to stop them.

Unable to stop them, Solas instead creates a Veil between the physical world and the magical. He binds the Veil to the blood of the false gods, turning them into the locks on their own prison.

Early humans discover the ruins of the elven empire. Using knowledge scavenged from the ruins, Tevinter spreads across Thedas as a crude copy of the elven empire.

From their prison in the Veil, the spirits of the titans lure power-hungry Tevinter magisters into the Fade to release them. Instead of a city of gold, they find a Black City. The first Blight is released.

So the magisters were originally lured to the Black City not by the evanuris, but by the spirits of titans?

Because this version is different from what Solas told Rook.

[sknymnnie]

The Fitting Room Doesn’t Lie

The lighting in the dressing room was cruel. Fluorescent, cold, and merciless — the kind that made you see every fold, every crease, every insecurity you were already trying to hide.

You stood there in front of the mirror last year, arms stiff at your sides, 143 pounds and uncomfortable in your own skin. The jeans clung too tight at the waist, the crop top your friend handed you barely grazed your belly button. You didn’t want to come shopping. But she insisted.

“It’ll be fun!” she said brightly. “You just need to get out of the house.”

You thought she meant to help. But then came the comments.

“You know, I think this would flatter me more than you.” “Ugh, don’t worry, I can’t wear stuff like that either… when I’m bloated.” “It’s just genetics, you know? Some of us are built to be lean.”

She wasn’t trying to help. She was trying to look better standing next to you.

Every outfit was a trap. Every compliment had claws. And every smile she gave in the mirror seemed just a bit wider when you stepped out of the stall looking defeated.

You swallowed the embarrassment. Laughed it off. Went home and stared at yourself in the mirror for too long.

That night, something shifted. Not rage. Not revenge.

Resolve.

It started with small choices. Water instead of soda. Saying no to that extra plate. Walks that turned into workouts. Binging that slowly turned into control.

Month after month. Bite by bite. You peeled yourself out of the version of you she loved standing beside.

And by the time the next winter rolled around?

50 pounds gone. Down to 90.

Tiny waist. Slim arms. Subtle ribs beneath soft knit sweaters. Hip bones gently curved beneath fitted jeans. Collarbone sharp and high.

You didn’t just look different.

You moved different.

So when she texted you again — “Let’s do another shopping day like old times!” — you said yes.

But this time, you were ready.

She met you outside the mall, holding two lattes and wearing a familiar smirk. She scanned you once — top to bottom — and tried to hide the shock behind her lashes.

“You’ve… really lost weight.”

“Yeah,” you said simply. “Been taking care of myself.”

She blinked. Didn’t know what to say. So she handed you your latte and tried to lead like she always did.

But when you stepped into the first store and reached for a hanger, she hesitated.

“Oh… that’s an extra small,” she said casually. “They run really tight here.”

You turned the tag in your hand, then smiled.

“Good. That’s my size now.”

In the fitting room, the same cruel lighting hit differently. Now it caught the smooth outline of your arms, the flatness of your stomach, the soft shadows between your ribs. The skirt hugged your hips and stopped at the perfect spot on your thigh. The crop top actually skimmed your waist instead of clinging to it.

You stepped out. She was already outside, pulling at her waistband.

She looked up. Froze.

“Oh. Wow.”

And that was all she said. Because that was all she could say.

You turned slightly to check the back in the mirror — long hair falling just above the small of your back, waist cinched, sleeves loose at the wrist. You didn’t tug or adjust anything.

Everything fit.

And it fit you — the new you.

She tried to keep up. Grabbed a tighter dress, asked for a smaller size, even changed her makeup in the store mirror. But her energy shifted. There was no hiding the discomfort now.

You were the one people glanced at. You were the one who turned heads. She was just… there.

At checkout, the cashier smiled warmly at you.

“You should model,” they said, folding your outfit gently. “You look amazing in everything you tried on.”

You smiled back, soft and knowing.

“Thank you. I’ve been working on that.”

You didn’t look at your friend — didn’t need to.

She was already looking at you.

And this time?

She wasn’t standing next to you to shine.

She was standing there, realizing you’d outgrown the role she kept trying to keep you in.

This is for me simply because I can't find the other shopping one that I used to read all the time, so I felt a new one was in order.

[mntozakii]

politician!jaemin x secretary!reader

tags: infidelity, power abuse, slight insane jaemin, illusion of filming during sex

oops this is unedited… this has been sitting in my drafts for months and i might write a full fic of it tbh 🧃 lmk what u think lovelies, sorry i’ve been away for almost a year 🤫

politician jaemin who has special relationship with his secretary. behind his professional career, he enjoys getting intertwined with another man’s wife.

“when are you going to sign the paper? jaemin murmurs against your shoulder as he tenderly fondle with your thigh. he hates to think about your absent husband who can’t provide for you, jaemin is a much better man.

“i can’t do it now, he needs me” jaemin instantly regrets asking about the divorce as he watches you remove yourself from his arms. he should’ve known better to not mention that topic if he wanted you to stay over for the night.

“baby, my lawyer will do everything for you, mmhm? all you have to do is sign the divorce paper and everything will be okay” jaemin caresses your cheek then notices the tinge of sadness in your eyes. his lips forced into a smile yet his eyes remain cold, he is well aware that you still harbour deep feelings for your husband.

he just don’t understand why you choose to stay in the marriage, your husband is a struggling filmmaker who barely makes a penny. he rarely stay at home and works under several directors to make a name for himself. it hurts jaemin to see you working hard to financially support your husband’s dream.

“i am sorry baby, you don’t have to rush anything. i will wait for you” he reassures you as he kisses the top of your head. the kind hearted jaemin always apologise for mentioning about the divorce.

so when jaemin sees your resignation letter on his table, he was beyond infuriated. it doesn’t help when his lawyer updates to him that you have been reconnecting with that bastard again. apparently, your husband secured a solid position at a filming company in japan.

great, you left him without any closure and started a new life with your husband. although, it doesn’t take a long time for jaemin to find you. when he gets short vacation from his campaign, he makes it a mission to get the job done.

you woke up in the middle of the night when you hears a muffled scream, there is nothing that could prepare you to the sight of your husband being tied on a chair with a camera on his left hand. jaemin feels proud doing his final touch as he gags the guy with random clothes, he doesn’t want to hear his voice.

“i miss you so much” he smiles brightly as he walks closer to you. you look so frightened and adorable, he stares at you with amusement before pushing the strand of hair on your forehead.

“jaemin, please don’t do this— can we discuss about it?” you desperately grip his hands, begging for him to not humiliate your husband. you can’t help but to cry seeing him, there’s no way jaemin is going to do that.

“i’ve been too soft on you, my baby doesn’t respect me anymore” his gaze darkens seeing how easily you cry for your husband, you never do that for him. jaemin pulls you to his lap and faces the camera, the red light blinking as your husband hand shakes in anger.

“let’s put on a show for him, he needs to see how amazing his wife is, right baby?”

[interact-if]

Pride Month Feature #1: Grey Swan Birds of a Rose

As part of Pride Month, interact-IF will be interviewing LGBTQ+ authors and featuring their games! We are planning a line-up of approximately ~10 interviews, kickstarted by our first author, @reinekes-fox!

Game: Grey Swan — Birds of a Rose (Play Demo)

Tags: dark academia, drama, angst

Synopsis: Born and raised in a cult there is not much but the norm to follow, when outsiders are allowed in and bring with them such weird concepts like "bisexuality" and "mental illness", will you stay in the golden cage of the Divine Flock or break free?

Author: Aaron (@reinekes-fox)

About me: Been writing since I am 12 and… somehow never stopped! I put a big focus on platonic routes, the struggle in a world focused on romance (and in the cult setting on traditional gender roles as well) , since I am aroace :)

Read on for an awesome interview about the hydra-like nature of branching IFs, friendships being given just as much importance as romance routes, and a really intriguing pride month book rec!

Big thanks again to Aaron for taking time to do this. Read on for the interview!

Tell me more about yourself!

So I write since pretty much my entire life. But the first time I had to write something for school, Irefused. Funnily enough, it was about a talking bird trying to convince a child to let them out of a cage. I am currently also writing a traditional book!

2. Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction?

My main focus is on the first entry of my Grey Swan series: Birds of a Rose! I stumbled upon Choice of Games a couple years back (I still remember Choice of the Dragon without scrolling down), and finally decided to write out of the best reason: spite. Because the WIPs I liked kept being abandoned so I told myself I would do better! To this day, two years later, I am proud that I achieved that.

3. What are some of the most rewarding or challenging aspects of writing Interactive Fiction for you?

My most rewarding and challenging aspect is the branching, I describe it like a Hydra. It is easily the most challenging aspect (I have an entire file for it, just so that I don't forget any of that) and the most rewarding as I love to see my story grow in ways that don't feel forced.

4. How do you go about portraying queer characters, queer experiences, or queer storylines in your IF?

Now my story is very, very dark and even cishet people in it do get a fair amount of angst and drama, so most routes do focus on: finding a place in society, trying to either break down who you are to fit in or to look for a more accepting place elsewhere (even if it means leaving most you knew and loved behind)!

Otherwise I simply portray them as characters with needs and wants first, before they are queer. I also put a special focus on friendships (aro and ace routes counting towards that), since so often those are seen as lesser than romantic routes!

5. Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?

Now, this also fits the pride month! The book Songbirds of Valnon by L.S. Baird.

It is so beautiful I had to stop and almost cry multiple times. It literally changed how I approach worldbuilding and I will always add a bit of it in all of my works. I can only recommend it, it is very much the opposite of my stories (it isn't nearly as dark for example), so if you want: badass disability rep, choir boys with magic, holy soldiers and a really awesome world, check it out! (She has also written other books, but, turns out writing yourself limits the time one can spend reading which is a shame!)

6. If you were to say one thing to your readers, other authors, and/or the interactive fiction community: what would it be?

Give feedback. Most often IF authors work full time, study full time, have an actual private life. I sacrifice most of my free time since two years to work on BoaR, and while I don’t regret it, it can feel very disheartening to not receive feedback for my work (on top of my actual work) and (like any creative person) it makes me immensely happy seeing it recognised.

---- Stay tuned for Pride Month Interview Feature #2 and #3 coming up this weekend!

[esmedelacroix]

08 - Hurt People²

synopsis ! he’s an american football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night . she’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life . they lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room .

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse, angst

fic radio ! I Didn't Change My Number by Billie Eilish

Out of spite and because there was literally no work to be done, you took Gojo up on his offer to attend his game and the after-party. You wore your best pair of jean shorts and a bikini top. Over it, you put on one of Toji's jerseys that Gojo stole for you. Everyone wore jerseys with the players' names on them. But that was merchandise that could be bought. There was a difference between the merch that could be purchased and the actual jerseys. They got new jerseys junior year, so you were wearing his old one that was considered vintage.

Suguru entered your room as you did your finishing touches on your makeup. “You’re doing a little more than usual tonight. Making someone jealous?” he hummed as he watched you apply your fragrance to your hot spots.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, as you looked at your reflection.

"But seriously, who does beach party themed functions in fucking fall?" you ask inbetween swipes of mascara.

"Sounds dumb to me, but Pi Alpha Kappa isn't known for brains. They just lie and pick their themes solely on how much skin they're going to see from the girls," Suguru shrugged.

Little did he know, the reason their average GPA was strangely high(3.0) was not because they paid or lied, it was because of Sukuna. And his big annoying fucking brain. A smart guy like him calling you a bitch when your grades were sipping was probably completely justified. He was the one doing better than anyone incluidng you in math, and soon he would be better than you in your own specialty.

You had to hurt him, though. You couldn't just let him name-call you to other frat brothers behind your back scott free. After being called a bitch so much for simplycaring about your grades and your future, you couldn't let this slide. You needed revenge, and you knew just how to get it. The dream plan would be to get with his best friend, Toji. Though you had never done anything of the sort, your only real obstacle was his ex-girlfriend, Delilah. You didn't blame him for going back to her; she was a stunner. You just had to pray that they were broken up for the eighth time this month.

The game, to no one's surprise, went very well. Sukuna played very intensely and got an odd amount of contact for a quarterback. You were sitting in the best seats in the house again, thanks to Gojo, meaning that you could see the sidelines and they could see you. Sukuna stared again when he saw you, but this one was different. He looked a bit irritated. Guess he really doesn't like me. Then why did he pretend? Toji also saw your jersey. You didn't exactly plan ahead on how you would respond to his reaction, but to your luck, he just smirked and shook his head, exchanging some words with Gojo while they drank from their Gatorade bottles.

After the game, you, Suguru, and Shoko hung out before heading to the party because why would you be on time for a frat party? When the three of you got to the house, you had already changed your top, and Todo's eyes were on you immediately. "Woah, you look good. All this for Toji and not the nation's best linebacker?" grinned, stepping aside to let you in.

"What are you on about?" you asked.

"You wore his jersey to the game. School gossip page took a photo. Said you were making a public statement. Delilah's pissed. She's probably getting tag teamed at Wang's," he gossiped.

You rolled your eyes, walked in, mentally thanking Todo for the information. You had the best chance to piss Sukuna off and you were going to seize it and take on your final bitch form.

You stepped into the kitchen after seeing who was around and spotted Sukuna with a solo cup in hand in the corner, surprisingly out of his room. You turned away when the two of you made eye contact. You drained whatever drink Suguru passed you before walking around to find Toji. "Who you lookin' for?" you heard a deep, gravely voice ask in a sing-singy tone in your ear. You whipped around to see none other than Toji towering over you with a confident smirk.

"No one," you smiled.

"Ryo?" he guessed.

"Nope."

"Me?" he hummed, pointing to himself with a little smile.

"Maybe," you smiled.

"What 'r you playin' at, firecracker?" he grinned, getting so close to your face you could feel his breath fanning on you. You looked up at him with your best doe eyes and lied, "If you’re talking about the jersey, it was all Satoru could find.”

“Bullshit, that narcissistic freak has too many of his own. You could have worn one of his. But you wore mine,” he chuckled, “You’re trying to get back at Ryo, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“Is it cause he called you a bitch?” he laughed.

“God fuck, I forgot you tell each other everything,” he cursed rolling your eyes.

“Well, I don’t really care. You’re hot. Im hot. We both have people to piss off,” he shrugged.

He grabbed your hand and led you through the crowd. The usual rotation of frat party songs were playing, but the song switched to some sexy rnb tune. Toji’s large hands wrapped around your waist as he started swaying in time with you. His mouth found your flushed ears and whispered, “You look cute with your little bikini on.”

You grinded against him, and you felt Toji’s hips roll into yours. You had only heard stories of how dirty he was when he danced, and now you were experiencing it. Meanwhile, Sukuna stared daggers into his best friend’s back, he knew Toji could feel. Maybe I deserve this for being such a fucking asswipe, Sukuna thought.

He hated how much of his dad he was seeing in himself. Sukuna called a classmate a bitch in his second year of hisghschol. The english teacher that took a part in changing his life taught him about what it really meant to call a women a bitch. Since then, he had never done it. Until now. He was like his father. Rude to women, terrible with his emotions, and a coward.

So though he stood in the corner pretending to give a fuck about what Choso was saying, too ashamed and nervous, there was nothing he could do about the fact that he lost you before he could have you the way he wanted. And his best friend was a fucking jackass.

You received his notebook with the notes and shit, so why were you doing this? You were taking his apology and throwing it away. So he did the only reasonable thing he could do. He struck up a conversation with that random girl he wasn't interested in to hurt you back. He was almost sure that the two of you shared some brief kind of connection, but he was so painfully wrong, seeing that you were currently dry humping his best friend on the dance floor.

Now he was on the dance floor with a different girl, but he was staring at you the whole time. The girl's eyes followed his, looking at you, and she knew that no matter how well she acted, he wasn't here for her tonight. He wasn't picking up the lonely girl who yearned for him, glued to the party walls. He was here for you. The girl who wore his friend's jersey to the game. The girl who was now dancing with Toji Fushiguro like she'd wake up in his bed the next morning.

When you and Toji spun around together, his warm hands that rested on your waist ventured lower, giving you a squeeze. "Looks like we've given him a show," he whispered in your ear looking directly into Sukuna's eyes, smirking.

"Then our job here is done," you replied in his ear, turning to face him. You nodded to him with a smile taking his hand and bringing him outside to the pool. People were making out poolside and chugging kegs. No one was actually in the pool at the pool party hence the fucking insane weather and could've sworn you saw people fucking behind a bush. Let's just say, they weren't fully concealed by the bush, and you were seeing cheeks for days.

Toji led you to a vacant table, offering you a beer from the cooler. You put up your hand to stop him. "I've had enough."

"Enough of what? The alcohol? The party? Me? Pretending this is what you want to be doing right now?" Toji asked.

"Just," sigh, "Everything. I don't know ... not to sound super depressing but I don't even know why I'm here. I should be studying right now and I'm no longer number one. That sucks," you admitted.

"You study all the damn time though," he chuckled.

"Well, it's obviously not enough because I'm not doing well."

"No, you're doing even more than well. There's just nobody out there doing weller than you," he said.

"Better," you smiled. He hummed in question.

"Better. People do better not weller," you corrected on instinct, to which he laughed.

"You do too much," he commented.

"Well apparently Im not doing enough."

"Have you ever thought that you were maybe doing too much, and that's what's sabotaging you?" he suggested.

"Um, no? The person who studies the most always does weller than the one that studies less thats how it works," you lectured.

"Better," Toji smirked.

"What?"

"You meant better. And I think it would be weller for your happiness and your math grade, if you talked to Sukuna," he advised.

"Why should I talk to him? I might be too bitchy for him," you said sourly.

"Okay now you're really being a bitch 'cause your lil' friends didn't let him into your room which he predicted so he wrote an apology on the last page of the notebook, that was pretty damn thoughtful and he doesn't do shit liek taht ever," he sighed.

"I'm sorry what? There was an apolgy?" you questioned.

"Yeah ... he said he put it in the back because he knows that you don't have yer conversions and shit memorized so you flip to the back of the notebook a whole lot," he shrugged.

You shoulders slumped, mouth fell slightly open, and eyes softened. "He did that?"

Toji took in your almost guilty and lovestruck expression and smiled to himself. "Yeah, Ryo did that," he almost whispered.

"I need to go," you suddenly said, standing up. You were about to rush to your dorm from the backyard when you felt Toji's large hand envelop your wrist. "Hold on, it's fuckin' freezing and you're wearin' a bikini top. Take this," he said, offering his Carhartt to you. You thankfully grabbed it. Immediately putting it on

"Also, you should probably go out through the front door. You don't really have the frat eye, but there's more than just that one couple getting down and dirty over there. It's like a game of whack-a-mole," he chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. The music got louder as you stepped back into the house. You walk through the party with Toji's hand protectively hovering behind your back. He led you to the front door and bid you farewell. "I would walk you home, but I can't risk being seen by Delilah. She's at the house over. But you're a big girl, you can handle yourself," he smiled, waving.

You walked with purpose, planning on marching right to your door and ripping that notebook open and consuming his words. The ones you thought never received. You should have looked. You should have just accepted the help when you first got it instead of being bitter.

Meanwhile, Toji closed the door behind him, and he was met with Sukuna right away. "She may be a big girl," sukuna air quoted, "And be able to handle herslef, but you don't let a woman walk home alone at fucking night during pary you weekend just 'cause you wat to save face and not adress the fact that Delilah doesn't love you but you still love her and she's hurt you so much that you like it and you can't stop fucking going back. You goddamn idiot," Sukuna spat.

So sure, he projected a little bit, but Toji needed to hear it. He grabbed his almost identical Carhartt of the coat rack and rushed out of the door, leaving Toji with his hevay feelings that had just been thrown at his face raw. You didn't realize that you were being followed to your dorm, of course, you didn't. This is why Sukuna had to do this. Who knew what kind of people you could be lurking at this hour? He watched you walk into your building and just stared at the door, hoping that maybe you would come down because you somehow forgot something and would see him there waiting for you.

You never walk out. But you sat in your room. Picked up the notebook you discarded. Flipped through the carefully crafted notes. He got all the way to module five. You smiled at the spaces he left because he knew you liked to doodle while reading. You then flipped to the last page. Your eyes flickered to the foreign, familiar conversion and equation table, then to "the apology." It wasn't long. All it read was:

I'm sorry about the bitch thing. I didn't want people associating you with me. I'm a mess and a broke fatherless loser who's only god qualities are football, brains, and my dad's face. I don't want your perfect, caefully crafted reputation tarnished 'cause every one secretly knows I'm a fuck up and just assumes I'm dumb as fuck. I'm sorry I was trying to protect you, but maybe I should've gone about that better. Can you forgive me? P.S. I need help with my essay.

You chuckled at the last part, staring over the careful writing. You tidied up your hair on a new high. You would text him later, you thought to yourself as you got on your online database and opened up the notebook to the first page and started studying.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows @sukubusss @r33m-world @pelicanpizza @mykuronekome @linny-bloggs @your-mum3000 @jayathelostdragon @userr152536367474 @veras-fanfic-reblogs @yuaisen @k0taaaa @nina-from-317 @sukunasrealgf @sukunana12 @synthesame @kyo-kyo1 @chloe022r @detredoomy @lanaleanne @kunascutie

comment to be added to the taglist !

[junkuna]

°❀.ೃ࿔* ink me like one of your french girls - sukuna x reader

chapter 1 - outside the lines ˎˊ˗

────────────────────

࿔ pairing - tattooartist!sukuna x tattooartist!fem!reader

│summary - your ‘minimalist’ tattoo studio was supposed to be your fresh start—clean lines, clean reputation. but then he opened up shop across the street. him, with his street-style chaos, skull-ring fingers, and a god complex to match. you hated him the second he walked in with that smug grin and said, “Cute shop. Looks like an IKEA showroom. You selling tattoos or scented candles?”. now it’s war. passive-aggressive signs in the windows. stolen clients. weekly parking disputes. and a whole lot of glaring. until one industry party, a few too many drinks, and a stolen tattoo gun in a bathroom stall changes everything.

࿔ warnings - none for this chapter, he’s just annoying

࿔ fic tags - they’re both idiots so 0 communication, DEFO gets frustrating at times / shameless smut, mostly vanilla though for the chapters i’ve already written / megumi is ur apprentice which is cute / sukuna + yuji r BROTHERS / mahito is an asshole, mentions of attempted sexual assault. / enemies (ish?) to lovers / trying 2 go 4 a slow burn but i fear it’s not as slow as i wanted it to be. will add more as we progress probably bc i suck at describing my work

࿔ wc - 2.4k

—— enjoy !

═════════════════════════

Your tattoo studio sits on the corner of a street that always smells like smoke and rain. It’s not the flashiest part of the city, but it’s yours. Clean white walls, black metal shelves, plants you keep forgetting to water. Your art lines the space like quiet confessions—fine linework, delicate shading, soft realism. It’s intimate, intentional. People come to you for stories, not trends.

Across the street, right under the flickering red glow of a neon skull, is his shop.

Ryoumen Ink.

Loud music, dark walls, hellish graffiti all over the storefront. Sukuna doesn’t care about subtlety. His work is bold—almost aggressive. Heavy blackwork, thick tribal designs, demonic motifs that somehow still draw crowds. His clients adore him. You don’t get it.

And him? He thinks your studio looks like a dentist’s office.

You never planned for this. Being the new tattoo artist on the block was supposed to be a clean slate. No drama, no competition. But of course, the universe handed you Sukuna—a walking, talking middle finger to everything you stood for. His shop, Ryoumen Ink, was across the street when you first opened, and everything about him rubbed you the wrong way from the start.

He had the kind of presence that made your customers look over their shoulders when they walked out. The kind of reputation that followed him like a shadow. There was no subtlety in anything he did, no finesse, just raw, unchecked confidence that practically dared you to call him out. You hated that he didn’t care about rules. You hated how his tattoos made people feel something, even if it wasn’t artful. They were bold, reckless. And that was the exact opposite of what you stood for. Your shop? Minimalist, sleek. Clean lines, delicate details. People came to you for the refined, the sophisticated. He came to your street to ruin it.

Every day, you watched from your window as his shop buzzed with activity, his regulars crowding the front door. They didn’t even need an appointment—just a place in line, and a fistful of cash.

The thing was, you didn’t even know why it bothered you this much. Maybe it was his smug, superior attitude. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you every time you saw him, like you were a child pretending to play with the grown-ups. You were sick of it.

So when the invitation to the annual Tattoo Industry Event came in, you rolled your eyes and threw it in the trash. You weren’t one for these ego-driven get-togethers. The “artists” who saw this as an opportunity to flex their muscles and talk about how much better they were than everyone else. But then it hit you—Sukuna would be there.

Your first instinct was to skip it, but then something darker sparked in you. You could show him. You could be seen with the big names, the clients that mattered, and maybe—just maybe—you could make him eat his words. So, reluctantly, you accepted the invite.

And now you were here.

The event was held at a lavish rooftop venue downtown, all glass walls and twinkling city lights. The kind of place that made you feel out of place, with your carefully curated art and your stubborn refusal to play the popularity game. But it didn’t matter. The crowd was there for the spectacle, the networking, the boasting. People who wanted to show off their tattoos more than their skill. People who thrived in an environment where ego ruled.

Of course, Sukuna was there, standing tall among the crowd like he owned the place. He was exactly what you expected: dark clothes, tattoos snaking up his neck, and a presence that demanded attention. You hated that he didn’t even have to try. The crowd parted for him as if it was an unspoken rule.

You stood off to the side, nursing a drink and doing your best to avoid his glare. Of course, he spotted you immediately.

And that’s when it started.

⸻

Sukuna’s eyes found you across the room—too easy, really. You were trying to disappear into the background, but no amount of careful posture could hide you from his gaze. He leaned against the bar, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Princess, still pretending you don’t need this scene?” he called over the crowd, his voice laced with that mocking tone you couldn’t stand.

Your stomach turned, but you forced yourself to ignore it. “Didn’t realize the circus was in town,” you retorted, keeping your voice just cool enough to mask the irritation.

He wasn’t done with you, though. He pushed off the bar, crossing the floor with a swagger that looked as natural as breathing. Your pulse quickened despite yourself, and you resisted the urge to look away.

“So, what is it this time, huh?” He leaned in, voice low. “Did you come here to finally admit you can’t keep up with me? You’re the one across my street, aren’t you?”

His street?

That gut-deep irritation flared in your chest, like a flame waiting to burst. You wanted to snap back, tell him to go to hell, but there was something about his eyes—the challenge, the way he’d always look at you like he was daring you to fight back—something that stopped you.

Instead, you just gave him a cold smile. “I’m just here to see how many people you insult before the night’s over.”

He chuckled darkly, circling around you. “That’s rich coming from you, princess. At least I’m real about who I am. You, on the other hand, keep pretending to be someone you’re not.”

His words stung, but you refused to let him see it. “And you’re as transparent as they come. I’m sure everyone here’s just dying to see what new tattoo you’ll put on your latest victim.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, just enough to make your skin prickle. “Still playing the part of the good girl? It’s cute. You know I’d be willing to teach you a few things about real art.”

Your lips curled into a tight smile. “Keep dreaming, Sukuna. I’m sure you’re the expert at screwing everything up.”

He leaned back, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I think you’re just jealous you don’t have the guts to do something truly dangerous.”

Before you could retort, a waiter passed by with a tray of shots. Without thinking, you grabbed two, handing one to him.

Sukuna looked at it like you had handed him a loaded gun. “You sure about this?”

You swallowed the burn of your own shot, and then a slow, mocking smile spread across your face. “You talk a lot of crap for someone who’s ‘not afraid to show their true self’, Sukuna.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you might have finally hit a nerve.

But instead, he took the shot. “Cheers, princess,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s see if you can handle more than just your little art show.”

You didn’t let him see how much that hit. Instead, you grinned, ready to make him regret ever crossing your path.

The evening was just getting started.

⸻

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!”

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not in this bathroom. Not with him. Not tipsy and flushed and laughing a little too loudly for someone who spent the last three years plotting his professional downfall.

But here you are. The mirror’s fogged with city heat and the haze of whatever shitty whiskey they were handing out at the bar. Your shoulder presses against the grimy tile as you clutch a stolen tattoo machine, hands shaking just enough to remind you that you have been drinking.

And sitting across from you on the closed lid of the toilet, shirt sleeve rolled up, grinning like the devil himself—Sukuna.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he warns, voice gravelly with amusement. “Wouldn’t want you leaving your shitty little signature on my body forever.”

You snort. “You’re the one who begged for it.”

“Begged?” he barks out a laugh, head tilting back. “You were the one who said you could do it with your eyes closed. What was it? ‘Minimalism takes restraint’? Sounded like a damn TED Talk.”

You try to bite back the grin, but it slips out anyway. It’s stupid—he’s stupid. You hate him. You do. But his laugh is warm, and your cheeks are hot, and for the first time, the weight of competition isn’t crushing your lungs.

“Shut up,” you murmur, tugging his arm into your lap. “I’m making it small. Something you’ll forget you have—just like your talent.”

“Ohh, there she is.” He shifts, muscle flexing beneath your fingers. “Back to the claws.”

You pretend not to notice the way his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You pretend not to notice anything, really, except the familiar hum of the machine and the way your fingers steady once you start. The world narrows to a single point: skin, ink, line.

You give him something clean. Bare. A tiny flower near the inside of his bicep—thin, controlled. Your style.

When it’s done, he cranes his neck to look at it. There’s a flicker of something in his expression that isn’t mockery. Not quite admiration—but close enough.

“Huh,” he says. “Guess you do know what you’re doing.”

You click off the machine, rolling your eyes. “Don’t cry.”

He smirks. “Your turn.”

The words hit your chest like a spark. You blink at him, and for a second, you forget where you are. Forget the rivalry, the tension, the years of sharp-edged glares. You’re in a bathroom, tipsy, breathless, with a man who’s nothing but wrong for you—and now you’re pulling up your shirt.

“You’re not putting anything stupid,” you warn, half-laughing, half-serious. “I swear to god, if you draw a skull with a dick—”

He leans in, mouth brushing dangerously close to your ear. “Relax, princess. I got you.”

You shiver again.

You feel the cold snap of his glove against your skin as he guides you to turn, one hand firm on your waist. The air hits your lower back. Your pulse skips.

“Stay still,” he says.

The buzz of the needle fills the room again, drowning out everything but your own breathing. His touch is heavier than yours—his style rougher, bolder. You can’t see what he’s drawing, and that should terrify you, but instead… you giggle.

It bubbles up, surprising even you.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” you mutter into your arm.

He huffs out a laugh behind you. “That’s the idea.”

The silence that follows is warm. Not comfortable—never that—but charged. Your heart races with every pass of the needle, every brush of his fingers. The moment is longer than it should be. Intimate. Wrong.

When he finally stops, you hear the machine click off. The tension breaks.

“There,” he says. “My masterpiece.”

“Did you give me a fucking tramp stamp?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re joking.”

You scramble for the mirror, twisting to catch a glimpse. It’s his style—aggressive, sketchy lines that still somehow work. A stylized serpent coiled in a jagged loop, inked just above the curve of your ass. Somehow, it fits. It shouldn’t. But it does.

You look up at him, stunned. “It’s not… that ugly, I guess.”

He smirks, leaning back against the wall like he didn’t just tattoo his signature chaos onto your skin. “You’re welcome.”

And then, for one strange, quiet second, the two of you just… stare.

You’re both drunk. You’re both stupid.

And something feels weird.

But neither of you say it.

Instead, Sukuna glances at the door and mutters, “We should probably get out of here before someone thinks we’re fucking in here.”

You roll your eyes, heart thudding in your chest.

“Like I’d ever.”

He grins. “Sure thing, princess.”

[camficdiner]

Red lines

Jack Hughes x You x Quinn Hughes x Luke Hughes – ft. Charles Leclerc)

Word count: ~6.9k

Tags: Slow Burn · Sports PR · Forbidden Desire · Group Tension · Emotional Cheating · Filthy Flirting · Smut

!! NSFW BELOW CUT MDNI !!

You should’ve said no to this assignment.

You tell yourself that every time you glance across the conference table and meet his eyes — Jack’s. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. Just sits there in a black tee stretched across his chest, jaw clenched like you walked in and ruined his day.

Maybe you did.

You’re the PR handler for Team USA’s core players at the Fanatic FanFest in NYC. You’re also Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend. Publicly. Still.

And privately?

Privately, Jack Hughes knows your body better than Charles ever will.

You adjust your blazer, refocus on the media presentation, and pretend your skin isn’t burning under Jack’s gaze. Quinn leans forward beside him, ever the tactician. Luke lounges half-asleep in his chair. But Jack?

Jack watches you like you owe him something.

Your phone buzzes on the table.

Charles 💛

You slide it under your palm, discreet. Open the text.

Tu vas bien, mon cœur? You haven’t answered since this morning.

I’m not jealous, I swear. But please call me.

You inhale slowly. The room is mid-discussion, so you stand and slip into the hallway, heels echoing on polished concrete. You call him.

“Mon cœur,” he sighs. “Are you okay?”

“Oui,” you whisper. “It’s just busy. I told you—it’s only work.”

“But with them?” His voice is soft, unsure. “With… Jack?”

You hesitate. “He’s just a client.”

“You don’t lie well,” Charles says, heartbreak in his accent.

“I’m not lying,” you say. “I’m trying.”

And it’s true. You are.

You hang up gently.

When you walk back in, Jack’s leaning back in his chair, one brow raised. “Tell him I say hi?”

The others snicker. You sit down, composed.

Quinn murmurs, “Rough call?”

“Mind your business,” you reply.

Luke stretches. “This weekend’s gonna be fun.”

Jack doesn’t say a word. But he doesn’t stop looking at you either.

The stadium is packed. Fans screaming, lights flashing. You’re backstage with the Hart—the Hughes brothers, checking mic levels and keeping your hands from shaking.

Jack’s changed into his jersey. It still fits like a second skin.

“Ready?” you ask, clipboard clutched.

Quinn nods. Luke spins in place like a bored kid. Jack lingers by the edge of the curtain.

“I said,” you repeat, “ready?”

Jack turns to you. “What about you?”

You blink. “What?”

“You ready to pretend we don’t know what the other sounds like in bed?”

You freeze.

Quinn chokes on a laugh. “Jesus.”

Luke hums, amused. “Still bitter, huh?”

You pull Jack aside. “Don’t do this here.”

He leans close, whispering into your ear. “Then when? You gonna let your boyfriend take you home tonight and pretend I never existed?”

You push past him. The fans roar as the brothers step onto stage.

You stay in the wings, heart pounding harder than the bass under your heels.

⸻

After the panel, you’re cornered by fans.

“You’re so pretty!”

“Are you dating one of them?”

You smile, tight. “No comment.”

From the other side of the room, Jack watches every interaction. His eyes flicker as you pose for photos, shake hands, laugh.

He texts you.

You fake it well.

Bet you still get wet thinking about me though.

You delete it. But not before glancing over. He smirks. He knows.

——

The suite is dim, high above Manhattan. You take off your blazer and collapse onto the bed. It’s almost midnight. Charles hasn’t texted again.

You hear the knock once.

You know who it is before you open it.

Jack’s standing there. No jacket. Damp hair. Dangerous.

“You know why I’m here,” he says.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to.

The door clicks shut behind him. And then your mouths crash.

It’s teeth. Tongues. Clothes ripped. Moans swallowed. You fall back onto the bed, his body on yours, hands everywhere. He knows where to touch. Where to bite. How to make you melt.

“You never stopped wanting this,” he growls, burying himself inside you.

You cry out—his name, not Charles’.

He fucks you like he owns you. Like he never let you go.

And maybe he never did.

⸻

You’re half-asleep, tangled in sheets and sweat, when you hear the second knock.

You reach for your robe. Jack stays shirtless, smug.

Quinn’s voice. “You decent?”

“Not really,” Jack calls out.

Quinn walks in anyway. Luke behind him.

You freeze. “What are you—”

“Jack said you needed help relaxing,” Luke shrugs.

Your heart stutters.

Quinn closes the door behind him. “You do trust us, don’t you?”

You swallow. “I—”

Jack smirks. “She does.”

Quinn’s hands are warm on your thighs. Luke’s lips find your neck. Jack kisses your mouth like he owns it, even as his brothers start exploring.

You should say no. You should stop this.

But instead, you moan.

⸻

They don’t rush.

Quinn is slow. Methodical. His fingers inside you while Jack kisses your mouth and Luke kneels between your legs. Their rhythm is deliberate—coordinated. They’re used to working together.

“Fuck,” you pant, arching against all of them.

Jack growls into your ear. “Let us ruin you.”

You let them.

Hands. Tongues. Teeth. Fingers.

Quinn makes you come first—with his mouth and hand. Then Luke takes over, deep and slow. Jack finishes it: rough, raw, possessive.

You come again. And again. And again.

They don’t stop until you’re wrecked and boneless and breathless between them.

Jack kisses your throat. “Still thinking about Charles?”

You shake your head. “Only you.”

“No,” Quinn murmurs, lips on your breast. “Us.”

Luke chuckles. “Yeah, she’s definitely not going back.”

⸻

You wake up hours later, skin sticky, muscles sore, heart pounding.

Jack’s arm is around your waist. Luke’s curled against your back. Quinn’s hand rests between your thighs, lazy.

You’re not sorry.

Not one bit.

Hi! hope you like it, even if its a little different from usual, just lyk that request are open!

[dailygriandoodles]

Day 133

More of the AU from yesterday that I'm still cookin :3c

So for the record this is still a SUPER bare bones AU, there's a lot that needs work and fleshing out. So if anyone wants to take it at this point and run feel free!!! I will not lay claim to anything this early on haha that can wait until I've started making AU specific designs lol

For now I'm just gonna call it the Untitled AU (slippery slope watch that'll end up being the official name) but at least it gives me something to tag it with

The bare bones basics of it is Grian struggling with self isolation due to his Watcher abilities, pulling away from Scar and Mumbo as his closest friends and grappling with emotions and problems bigger than he can handle on his own.

(more rambling under cut)

The hanahaki comes in play by essentially forcing Grian to go back to his friends. When he's alone and isolates, it gets worse. When he reaches out for help and companionship, it gets better. It's almost like...Reverse of what normal hanahaki is? Like hanahaki is normally abt unrequited or un-voiced love. Grian loves his friends and they know it. That's certainly well known. But when he pulls away he does the very thing he's terrified of; hurts them. So when he's isolating himself, he's being forced to think of them through the flowers he coughs up.

if u cant tell that im projecting lol...

There's like specific words I have for the how and why this works but I'm struggling to find them. Anyway it's like when he's isolating he's essentially being given a life line by the universe, like hey, go back to your friends, quit doing this to yourself. You need them and they need you. That kinda deal.

And the Watcher stuff all comes into play bc Grian is scared of his powers and is worried they'll hurt his friends. And because I LOVE causing my blorbos pain and suffering I do want a point where his powers do Exactly That. Maybe he wasn't scared of them at first, maybe he used them freely and openly. But something happened, people felt hurt by it, and it sends Grian into a spiral.

SCHEMING scheming and thinking

And if y'all have any ideas for the AU feel free to throw em at me! And like I said at this point in the AU I feel it's super super bare bones and essentially free game, go ham :3 I'll keep working on it myself too and we'll all just go from there! :D

And ofc feel free to throw questions at me bc thats the easiest way for me to flesh things out, just answering questions hAH

[asficdiary]

⋆｡°✩ didn't not say it \\ fernando alonso ✩°｡⋆

✩Pairing✩

↳Fernando Alonso X Lawyer!reader

✩Warning and Tags✩

↳ Nothing but Fluff. AFAB!Reader written, no descriptions used. Long Distance. Mustache!Fernando

✩Summary✩

↳ Long Distance is hard, but Video Calls sometimes ease the pain. Especially when your boyfriend has a new facial feature.

✩Word Count✩

↳ 1.1K

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↳ No

You stare at yourself through the camera of your laptop waiting for Fernando to pick up the video call. It had been on of the busiest months of your life having transitioned into your new role as Junior partner for the law firm you had worked at for over ten years. It had been a hard transition, taking on a lot more responsibility and becoming the main manager of all the associates in the firm. It had been tough and you hadn't seen Fernando in just over two weeks.

It was strange how much you had fallen for him. You used to take pride in being single, you never wanted nor needed a relationship. Had always thought of them as distractions, but a chance meeting at the casino bar after meeting a client had lead to one of the best nights of your life, and an even better relationship. You knew F1 through a client you had helped in your first year as a junior associate, but didn't actively watch it. Then came along the racer with that stunning smile, cheeky looks and dirty mouth and suddenly you had found yourself watching every race, sometimes in person, when your job would allow it.

The call connects with a soft chime, and for a moment, your screen is black. Then, there he is. Slightly pixelated, grainy from bad hotel WIFI, but unmistakably him.

“Sorry, Cariño,” Fernando says, already smiling. “Media day ran late. Just got to the hotel, walking up to my room now.” His voice, gravelly and low, washes over you like warmth. Your heart ached at the sound. You watched him enter his hotel room and drop things down before the screen cleared even more as he switched to his personal data.

You settle back into the couch, blanket pulled over your legs. “You look tired.”

He chuckles, rubbing a hand over his jaw, and that’s when you notice. You squint. “Wait. Is that? Did you grow that?”

His brow lifts as he leans closer to the screen. “Grow what?”

You point at your own upper lip. “The mustache.”

A lazy grin pulls at his lips. “Ah. That.”

“Fernando,” you say, half-laughing, “You didn’t have that last time we called.”

“I did,” he says smugly. “You just didn’t notice.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe.” He shifts in his chair, stretching just slightly so the hotel room lights hit his face better. “I did it this morning, felt like I needed a change. Do you like it?”

You tilt your head, inspecting it. “It’s… new.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t hate it.”

He smirks. “So you like it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” he says, now fully leaning into the game. “Come on. You love it, just like you love me.”

You try to keep a straight face, but fail. “You look like someone who drives vintage cars and says things like ‘They don’t make 'em like they used to.’”

“That’s because I am that person.”

You laugh, Lifting your palm to your mouth.

He’s watching you with that soft sort of affection now. The same one that creeps into his gaze when he forgets the world outside of this little bubble exists. When his face goes quiet, eyes lingering like he’s memorizing you.

“I miss you,” he says softly.

You blink, softening “I miss you too.”

His fingers tap lightly against the table. “You’d like it more in person.”

You smile. “The mustache?”

“The mustache,” he confirms, with a self-satisfied little nod.

“Okay,” you say, playing along, “so when do I get the in-person version?”

He sighs. “I'm planning to come back to Monaco a week before Austria. So two weeks.”

“That’s so far away.”

“It’ll go fast.”

You want to believe that, but you know better. You’ve both done this dance long enough to understand time moves slowly when your apart. Your sad, disappointed even, but He was leaving Canada for England on Monday. He'd spend a week there before coming home, and you'd join him in Austria. It would be okay, you knew that, but it didn't stop you from missing him.

“Hey,” Fernando says gently. “We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Just miss you.”

“I know, cariño.” He adjusts the camera slightly, bringing you closer. “When you see me, you can touch the mustache.” He says in a sing song voice.

You laugh and roll your eyes. “What a treat.”

“You said you didn’t hate it.”

“And now you won’t let me live it down.”

“I won’t,” he says, grinning. “Because you like it.”

You hide your smile behind your sleeve. “You’re unbearable.”

“You like it,” he sing-songs under his breath.

You laugh again and shake your head. "Maybe it's the man that wears it that I like, and not the mustache itself?" You offer and he smirks.

"Oh? So you like me?" He smirks and you laugh again.

You roll your eyes with a fond sigh. “Unfortunately.”

He leans back in the hotel chair, arms crossed like he’s just won something. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m in love. It makes me dramatic.”

Your heart skips ever so slightly, even though it’s not the first time he’s said it. Still, the words always land somewhere deep, low in your stomach, somewhere under your ribs.

You glance at him through the screen. He’s lounging now, face propped up by one hand, that stupid mustache pulling your focus even though you try to ignore it.

“You should see how many pictures of us I look at when I can’t sleep.” He says softly, almost afraid to admit it. The air changes. It’s not flirty anymore, not entirely.

You swallow. “You never told me that.”

He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Didn’t want you to think I was soft.”

“You are soft.”

“Only for you.”

You hate how much you miss him. You hate that it’s only been two weeks and it already feels like too long. You hate that there's still another week without him. But even though you hate the circumstances, you love the man even more.

✩Author's Note✩

↳ Another day, another StacheLonso Fic. I am possibly never getting over this mustache and you know what? I am completely fine with that. I'm not super proud of this, it feels like a lot of dialogue but I hope you guys like it regardless.

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[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone, would you believe it's wednesday again? Thank you to @umbracirrus @lady-iizsil and @theoneandonlysemla for the tags, lovely to see your wips <3

No pressure tagging:@pocket-vvardvark @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer @sunsettemplar @firefly-factory @chiqita @labskeever @sanzas-reverie @captain-of-silvenar

@thequeenofthewinter @hircines-hunter @sulphuricgrin @scholarlyhermit @lucien-lachance @sunlightpassingthroughthewater @heavy-metal-dick

This week I have two wips, a snippet from Chapter 7 of Changing Tides (My Maormer OC x OC continuous story) and a little Parents! Theomar fic I need the motivation to work on. Up first is Theomar, specifically Dadmer <3 And then poor Odile waking up and not remembering fully what happened the day before </3

“Love, I know you are frustrated he isn’t going to the lessons, but have you considered he doesn’t want to? Maybe he’s not enjoying them.”

“It’s not a matter of what he wants,” the tone he speaks in is more forceful than he anticipated.  “There are obligations he has, as an Altmer, as a member of this family…” As my son, that part goes unspoken as uttering it aloud does not sit well with him. “He should not be ignorant to this half of himself.” Instead of continuing their delicate massage, Theodora’s hands abruptly stop as she clutches the sides of his face. Moving his gaze from the floor to her, craning his neck and he can see right away she is displeased at him. 

They were not the type to argue, a remarkable feat all things considered and one that would stay that way as he was not about to upset her further. 

“Do you hear yourself, Ondolemar?” Ouch. Not my love or my husband, but his name: cold and clear. “It’s not a matter of what he wants. That is rich coming from you.” Carefully, he tries to soothe the situation.

 “I am just concerned as we are here now and he shows no interest in learning about the Homeland.” Since he first laid eyes on him, the tiny baby he had not even known existed until he came to that craggy island, Ondolemar had wanted to show him their ancestral homeland. Do all the things he felt his own father neglected, be better, be present. 

“Your homeland.” That's what she says next. “It is your homeland, not his.” Theodora goes to walk away and he can’t help but reach out for her arm, trying to keep her nearby with a gentle touch. “Have you ever thought he might not feel welcomed here?” 

“Of course I have, that is why we have been thoroughly screening their instructors.” As well as the cooks, cleaners, gardeners. Anyone who would be in their space was ruthlessly screened in order to keep those with specific beliefs about those of mixed ancestry firmly away. As much as they could but, he’d be a fool to think they’d protected them entirely.

Changing Tides

It may be her being naive, both to the ways of the world and also to him. They barely knew each other, whose to say something hadn’t happened, even if she did not want it to. Her breath catches in her throat at the thought and the sleeping mer grunts in his sleep, his eyes blinking slowly as he awakens. Moving the arm across her pillow, he does a large stretch, seemingly paying her no mind; as if he is not surprised to find her there. The small inn room echos the sound of his knuckles cracking, then moving on to his arms and shoulders. After a quick crack of his neck, one that does make her wince a bit at how loud the sound was, he addresses her first, much to her surprise. 

“You sleep?” And she nods. 

“Did you sleep well?” He moves from the blanket to now be standing, and she is relieved to see he is in fact not naked, the armoured piece still around his waist. It must be uncomfortable to sleep in, she makes a mental note to prioritize getting him at least sleeping clothes. 

“Yes.” A soft smile dons her face and Odile can’t help but be happy to hear he slept well. The past day she never hesitated to reiterate to him how important it was, it was good to see he’d gotten some. 

“Take your time, we leave when you wish.” What?

Would it be anyone else, his words spoken through the mouth of one she would believe such kindness in, they would not have aroused suspicion. If anything, that net was cast wide as the Breton knew she was overly trusting, most were given more than the benefit of the doubt in her eyes. But him, him. The grumpy mer she’d known for not even two days at this point, who’d only been short with her, even rude on more than one occasion. Kynearth forgive me, she prays. But I just can’t believe this from him. So far he’d been so insistent on traveling as quickly as possible; save for getting a ride with Baelyn as apparently seeing someone else in charge of a boat was against his moral code. Good to know he has one I suppose. Everything else had been quick, must go, no need for rest even though she could see he was still in pain. For a moment, she hesitates to think it’s not like him, how can she know that in the limited time they’ve spent together. Yet, reflecting on her initial reaction, instantly hearing how bizarre it was to not have to fight with him, she decides it does not seem like him at all. Did he get a head injury? While she doesn’t mean to, the thought is spoken aloud. 

“Did you get a head injury?” Immediately her eyes are stuck at the ground, looking at the simple pattern that covered the area rug of their room. Crimson with ash-coloured floral motifs, quite lovely in her opinion. 

“What?” A sigh of relief. His question presents her with the chance to redeem herself, asking the intent in a better way. 

“Sorry, it’s just well, you’re being nice…” To me. That part goes unsaid. “I don’t mean to offend you but it’s a bit strange, I would have expected you to demand we leave now.” Thankfully, it does not appear that she’s hurt his feelings, instead the mer responses in a similar calm tone.

“Yesterday a lot, a lot was. I think you might be not… good.” What? What happened yesterday? What does he mean? The empty memories being to come back, only barely as she recalls something new. The face she had been at the bar with… it wasn’t him…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running To You 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, 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.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You’re rescued by a man who you don’t even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve’s beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he’s not at his best.

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. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The door hits the frame, waking you from a fraught slumber painted with dreams of sludgy shadows. You sit up and the cot rocks slightly, knocking on the wall as you steady it. Your heart races before you recognise Steve and the night before comes flooding in. The smell of jasmine is still overwhelming.

Steve sighs and jiggles the handle. He keeps trying to make the door stick. You rub your eyes as you turn your legs over the edge of the cot.

"Is it broken?" You ask.

"Looks like. Didn't even notice last night," he lets it go and faces you. "With everything else... good thing I stayed."

"Um, yeah. Thanks," you scratch your shoulder. "Sorry you had to sleep on the floor."

"No problem. Like I said, could be worse. You could be seriously hurt."

"Uh, I guess," you stand up. Your shorts stick and you tug the legs free from between your thighs. You should put on real clothes. "I'll call the landlord."

"You said it took him a while before to fix it." He tuts.

"Sure but, this is worse, I'm sure he'll come right away," you shrug. "You've done enough. Really. I feel bad."

His eyes wander around and his forehead creases. "I can fix the door. I'd rather make sure it's done."

"Steve--"

"It's easy. Won't take much."

"Well, er, Steve, I appreciate that but I have some stuff to do."

"Oh yeah? I can help," he offers.

You sigh. "No, you shouldn't. I-- I already feel awful waking you up--"

"You'd feel worse if you didn't," he insists. He grips his hips as he stares you down. "I still mean what I said last night. This place isn't safe for you."

"There's people worse off."

"I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you."

You shrug. He's impossible to argue with but you know he means well. You appreciate that he worries yet you feel bad for the same thing.

"I gotta take these packages down to the post office." You change the subject.

"Great, I'll go with you," he says.

You look at him. "If you want. I'll get dressed."

"Mind if I try to freshen up in the bathroom?" He asks.

"Erm, sure."

You open the small set of drawers next to your cot. You take out a pair of denim capris and a square neck tee. The bathroom door clicks and you check to make sure he's gone. You quickly change then look around.

Your phone. Last night, you never went to find it. It fell out in the hall during your struggle with Mike. You chew your thumb as you look at the door. You're nervous at the thought of seeing him again.

You grab your purse instead and check your wallet. There's that at least. You take out your rolling cart and focus on filling it with the small packages.

Steve emerges. "Your turn."

"Oh, yeah," you smile and cross the apartment. "Thanks."

You flit past him into the bathroom. You wash your face, brush your teeth, moisturize. You tidy your hair and skip the mascara, only smearing on a layer of gloss.

As you come out, Steve stands at the small kitchenette. He shuts the mostly empty cupboard. You cringe.

"You looking for something?" You ask.

"I was going to try to make you breakfast," he turns and leans on the short counter.

"Oh don't worry about that."

"Clearly you're not. There's a can of beans and half a bag of rice in there." He rebukes.

You wince, "Steve, I'm fine. I don't eat breakfast."

"And is that a choice or a necessity?"

You huff and hug yourself. "You're making me feel bad."

"I'm not meaning to. I'm concerned." He once more frames his hips in disapproval.

"It's nice that you care, really. It's just food."

"How much does it cost to do all this? You breaking even on that pine soap?" He wonders.

"I do okay. I keep the lights on," you march to the cart and shoulder your purse. "I have to get this in the mail or I won't get paid."

He sucks his teeth but doesn't argue further. He nears and puts his hand on the cart handle next to yours. "At least let me get this."

"Uh, okay," you crinkle your nose. The smell of jasmine is starting to really bother you. It almost smells like burning plastic.

You go out into the hall. You glance around but don't see our phone. If it wasn't smashed, it was probably snatched. Steve rolls the cart out and turns to the door. He uses one of the mixing sticks you use to jam it shut.

"It will have to do. There a hardware store near here? I'll grab the lock while we're out."

"Sure. On the way back," you say.

He follows you outside. The cart rattles loudly. Your nerves too.

You're embarrassed. He's seen more of your life than anyone has. He just doesn't get it. You'd rather scrape by on your own then go back to before. The idea of another boss breathing down your neck, feeling up your skirt-- No, that's not going to happen.

"You okay?" He asks, startling you out of your gloom.

"Oh, yeah. Thinking."

"About last night? Mike?" He suggests.

"A little. More about the candles I wanna make with the beeswax I ordered." You drone. "Oh, and reusable food wrap."

"Huh," he clucks. "You got a lot of ideas."

"I like making things. It's peaceful."

"Fair. I always enjoyed drawing." He says. "Before... well, it's been a while."

"Really? You draw?"

"Novice at best," he snorts.

"Hey, Rogers, how's it goin', guy?" A man passes by and salutes. Steve offers him a tense smile and his throat bobs.

You look back as the man struts on. That was strange.

"You know him?" You ask.

He shakes his head, "can't remember from where."

"Oh, yeah, that's always awkward."

You continue down the block and make your way to the post office. You hold the door as Steve pulls in the cart. He brings it to the counter and helps you unload the labeled parcels. The employee behind the counter scans them.

"New customs policy, there's an amount owing, miss," the clerk stands at the till. "Two-hundred and seventy three."

"What? I paid online? How can they change?" You squeak.

"I don't make the prices," he shrugs.

"Oh..." you blink. You don't have that much money. You don't even have two dollars and seventy three cents."

"No problem," Steve reaches into his back pocket. "American Express?"

"Yes, sir," the clerk stares at Steve before he points to the swipe machine.

"No, Steve--"

Too late. The machine chirps as his payment goes through. He slides the card away and tucks his wallet into his pocket.

"Receipt?" The clerk asks.

"Sure," Steve waits then takes the slip. "Have a good day."

"You too, Cap."

The reply tugs at your brain. Cap? That's an odd epithet.

You leave the post office, stewing in a new boil of humiliation. He just had to do that. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously.

"Thanks for that. I'll pay you back."

"Oh, you will. And I know exactly how," he declares. "You are going to eat a proper breakfast."

He points across the street to the small diner on the corner.

"No, that's not--"

"That's what I want. Fair trade."

"You must think I'm a real loser," you murmur.

"I don't. I think you're in hard times but a little help isn't a bad thing," he counters. "Besides, I'm trying to show you I'm listening. You want this business to work so I'm making an investment. Because I trust you." He reaches up with his free hand and touches his beard. "And I know you make quality stuff."

🩷

You walk out of the diner with leftovers. Breakfast was much more than you expected and you hate to waste food. Steve drags the cart with no uneaten bounty of his own. A man his size could easily clear at least another plate.

"Thanks, Steve. That was really good," you preen.

"I like the local places. You can tell they use real ingredients."

"Oh, yeah," you agree. If only he knew the amount of ramen you eat...

"Coffee's decent too. That's what really gives it away," he continues on. "Oh, the hardware store, where was that?"

"Not far," you assure him.

You guide him to the small shop with a bunch of plants outside and a spinning rack of seeds. You go inside, single file as the narrow aisles crowd Steve's large figure. He finds the right section and browses intently. He grabs a handle and a deadbolt. You mull the price tags. That's another line in the ledger.

He pays. Again. You don't even try to pretend you can. He's probably already figured you out.

Back on the street, you're hit with the stench of smoke. You scrunch up your face and look at Steve. He lifts his nose.

"Fire," he says.

"Oh... no." Sirens blast by you as a fire truck honks. Traffic honks back, inconvenienced by the emergency. You watch the big red engine turn the corner, toward you building. "Must be close by."

"Must be," he says as you cross the street.

The cart bounces, empty so it jars over each crack. As you come in sight of your building, your heart plummets. The fire engine is right in front of the apartment. The thick grey smoke billows up from the windows, curling around the brick walls.

"No," you gasp and hurry forward. "It can't be."

"Hey, sweetheart, don't get too close," Steve grabs your arm. "Smoke inhalation is dangerous."

"My apartment! My stuff!" You squeal and drop the container, fighting him to no end. He's strong. Inhumanly so. You look at his hand. "Steve, let me go."

"I can't. You'll get hurt."

"I'm not going to go inside. I'm not stupid."

"Let them work. They're the only ones who can do anything," he argues. "You'll just be in the way."

You pout. He's right. That doesn't make this any easier.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he clings to you.

You shake your head and gape up as flames lick outside and furl around the brick. You stagger and press your palms to your cheeks. Even if they do put out the fire, it's too late. After last night, you just can't believe this. Why does everything have to go so wrong?

🩷

"They'll have to keep investigating. That much damage, they can't permit entrance," Steve explains from your vantage.

You stay clear of the other residents, crowded around the firemen and other emergency personnel. They're a hoard, raging at the innocent. You're upset but not angry.

"It's a structural hazard. Same as you need a permit and inspections according to the building code," he continues on. "These things..." he sighs.

You drop your head. You stare at your shoes. You almost laugh. What a waste of time. The profit you make from those packages won't make a dent in surviving this. If you hadn't been so adamant about getting them shipped, you might have been able to save your apartment, or at least a few things.

"I got room. You can crash with me."

"Steve..." you utter.

"Well? Unless you got somewhere else?"

"No," you confess weakly. "I don't."

He's quiet for a moment. "Sorry. I know how that feels and that's not what I meant. But you got me now, doll. Not everything is lost, right?"

"Cap?" A fireman approaches. "Hey, you here about the fire? You hear something?"

Steve's jaw ticks and he looks over tersely at the man in his heavy helmet. "No, I--"

"This isn't some terrorist stuff, is it?" The fireman asks. "I mean, why else they sending you?"

"I was passing by," Steve twitches. "I'm not working right now."

"Ah, gee, I'm sorry. I just figured..." the man looks between you. "Sorry for bothering."

Steve purses his lips and rolls his eyes. He's irritated. You fidget next to him.

"Sorry, about that--" he begins.

"Are you a fireman?"

He shakes his head as his mouth slants. "Not exactly. I... I deal with emergencies though."

"Right..." You think. There's something you're missing and it feels so obvious.

"Mama," a child's voice trickles through. "It's Captain America."

You peek over to a young child points in your direction. You look back at Steve as he rubs the back of his neck. He smiles sheepishly.

"Really, I'm just Steve," he says.