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threeacttragedy · 1 month ago

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Entry 12: The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy

I realized the other day that, even though I like to bounce around from place to place in the Lukola timeline, I probably needed to start tightening things up on the ship if I ever wanted to get to the end of the story. And, yes, dammit, this story better have a finale at some point because there’s nothing more annoying than an open-ended ending, particularly in the romance genre.

Today we’re going to take a quick jaunt over to Italy because –

NO! Not because Luke is allegedly filming there. If you’re into real-time stalking, you’re in the wrong blog. But, I’m sure there’s a Discord for that.

It’s because I’ve had several people ask for my opinion about the change in behavior between Luke and Nicola during their Day 1 interviews there. Wait – people are interested in my thoughts? Wow, that’s actually kind of nice. Thank you! Okay, back to what I was saying –

Was there a change in behavior when Luke and Nicola reached Italy? Yeah, actually, there kind of was.

By May 9, we had been gifted with a slew of material from Luke, Nicola, and the Bridgerton cast and, I must admit, those early interviews are some of the most entertaining of the tour. In the very beginning, Nicola appeared as the utmost professional – charming, intelligent, and witty at the right moments – and Luke played her likeable counterpart to “Book Colin” perfection – bouncing between being awkwardly boyish and wickedly roguish, all while looking at Nicola like she had just served him homemade peanut butter crumble.

The two of them together, playing off each other, in my opinion, was better than Bridgerton Season 3 (you cannot beat the World Tour being 99% Luke and Nicola, with only a few random side characters taking up screentime). There was some major “Electric Love” radiating from those two throughout the tour, but it seemed very much heightened in the beginning (probably because they hadn’t yet answered the same question 67 times). By the way, if you haven’t heard that song by Børns, go have a listen. It will, at the very least – hopefully – put you in an upbeat mood for the day.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes – was there a change in behavior between Luke and Nicola when they reached Italy?

Absolutely.

Do I know why?

Absolutely not.

Perhaps Luke was bent because someone spilled his coffee, or Nicola was upset because her stylist made her to wear that little silver bow in her hair. In my opinion, the most intriguing part of Day 1 of the Italy press junket was that Luke and Nicola struggled with answering the question, “What is love?” I swear they both babbled on like two kids in debate class who hadn’t bothered to read the material given to them before taking their respective podiums. They finally seemed to settle on Luke’s “Maybe it’s, like, connection.” Well, they seemed to be missing the “connection” that day.

Honestly, no one can explain their “don’t stand so close to me” vibe during those first day interviews except Luke and Nicola. But, we can at least have some fun and speculate about it with a bird’s eye view. At this point, you should know that I love spreading the puzzle pieces out and seeing how they might all connect. Most people – when putting a puzzle together – start with the side pieces, right? You’ll get my joke in a moment (I hope).

In March 2024 – I don’t know the specific date because my timeline is rather murky going back that far (I was unaware Lukola even existed!) – Luke traveled to Los Angeles for a photo spread with InStyle magazine. I’ve heard two versions of this story. The first being that Luke traveled to Los Angeles with Antonia alone; the second being that he traveled to Los Angeles with his friend group, which included Antonia. I couldn’t tell you which is true, and it really doesn’t matter because it doesn’t necessarily add or take away from today’s story.

Before I get started, I wanted to give a “hurrah” to The-One-Whose-Group-Chat-Fills-in-Lots-of-Missing-Bits-for-Me-Including-the-Part-Where-Video-Footage-of-Antonia-in-Los-Angeles-Seemed-to-Indicate-a-Celebrity-Was-Not-the-Videographer-and-There-Were-So-Many-British-Accents-in-the-Background-One-Would-Fancy-a-Guess-She-was-Traveling-with-a-Group.

Moving along…

On April 7, 2024, Antonia posted a series of photographs and clips to her Instagram grid indicating she had been in Los Angeles, including one where she was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory and one where she was sitting at a table marked with the number “95.” On April 14, she posted a second set of photographs, tagging her location as Beverly Hills, California and using “End of Beginning” as her audio (yes, I side-eyed this choice of music so don’t feel bad if you did as well). The second photo dump included her lounging on a rooftop.

I’m not going to delve into posts made by Luke and Nicola during that timeframe. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s comment, “’Friends’…sure Jan,” on Luke’s April 11 reshared post about Bridgerton Season 3 was only meant to be applicable to Polin. And, if Luke wanted to use yellow and black hearts to represent the colors Nicola and he were wearing in his April 12 post, that’s cool, too. And, I am definitely not going to speculate on Nicola’s April 15 post (for Big Mood) that Luke liked, and she captioned, “I will bite off anything that dangles.”

By April 21, Luke and Nicola were in Australia at the World Premiere of Bridgerton. I am only going to provide a quick overview of Australia instead of a full-fledged recital because, at some point, I will almost certainly dedicate an entry to this country. Let’s start with Luke pulling off the hottest walk-up in Netflix human history (I mean, have you watched it in slow motion?). Then, we had the hard launch of the handholding business (because why again?). And, we had Luke tripping over his words, “We’re very, like, giving…I’m not talking about those scenes…” Oh, and Nicola telling an interviewer that, “[y]ou can’t keep a good girl down,” and, in response, Luke’s lips curling into a wicked-ass Cheshire cat's. We had them in the garden, with Nicola bending down to hug Luke after she had scratched/hit/petted his head. Perhaps I should not mention the possibility of a man’s shirt being visible on a bed behind Nicola (I said possibility not that it was). And, Nicola telling Luke, “You’re the funnier one,” when he was concerned that perhaps Benedict was funnier than Colin. Then we had the “Nicola-in-the-green-dress” day where, as they were going down the steps, Luke seemed to instinctively reach for Nicola’s hand, but she played it cool and took his arm instead. Oh, and that entire “green dress” day in general (I mean, there was so much shit going on that day). And, best we do not forget Nicola saying, “the best foundation for love is friendship,” which mirrored the bracelet “someone…in Australia” gave Luke that read, “Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?” Because that’s not suspicious at all. Alright, let’s get the fuck out of Australia – but not before I mention Nicola commenting on Luke’s April 27 Instagram post with “Ready for the next?” and Luke replying, “Absolutely.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, their shenanigans in Australia expanded the USS Lukola tenfold.

Oh, also, let me throw this in here because, if you are a “ring truther,” this fact plays a significant role in the Lukola timeline. If you do not know what a “ring truther” is, that’s perfectly fine. You can catch up by reading Entry 6 (The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad) of my blog. I mentioned in Entry 6 that some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches of the Claddagh ring uploaded by Chupi indicate they were done as early as April 26. In other words, it means the Claddagh was likely commissioned between Australia and Italy. In fact, if we are to believe Chupi when it said it took four weeks to make the ring, then it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024, at the latest. Oh, lookie there, that’s Day 1 of the Italy interviews.

But, before we get to May 9, let’s pause on April 29. That was the day Luke’s InStyle spread was published – yes, the one I mentioned earlier. Luke has pictures from this photoshoot still on his Instagram grid – in fact, Nicola commented, “Yess dude!!” on them – but those aren’t the pictures I want to talk about. No, I want to talk about the pictures InStyle posted on its Instagram grid that day. These photographs came directly from Luke, which was confirmed by the InStyle article when it said, “…the actor delighted the InStyle team by delivering the polaroid photos he’d taken for this story tucked oh-so-carefully in a little brown bag for safekeeping.” The pictures Luke provided, among others, included one where he was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles; one where he was sitting at a table marked with the number “95;” and one where he is sitting in a lounge chair on a rooftop. If you want to see the pictures, InStyle still has them available – you just need to go through hundreds of posts to find them. Luke did not like this InStyle post, which was kind of odd because he was tagged in it, and they were reportedly his pictures.

Why did these InStyle polaroids seem so familiar?

Oh, that’s right, because they were.

Remember that April 7 post of Antonia’s I mentioned a bit ago? Yeah, the one where Antonia posted a bunch of random pictures from Los Angeles and – only after InStyle posted Luke’s polaroids – fans realized Antonia had preemptively posted her version of some of Luke’s polaroids.

I am not going to speculate too much about these pictures or their implications in this blog post, but these pictures may resurface in future posts because I find myself side-eyeing the fact they even exist. And, we should probably accept that Luke was aware of them before his pictures came out on April 29 because he threw a like on Antonia’s April 7 post. Could it have been a “blind” like? Sure, I guess, but the logical side of my brain says he probably looked through them at the time she posted. Let’s not worry too much about it right now, though.

After trying to write out my “general” opinion about the pictures several times, I finally decided that the best way I could articulate my thoughts was through the conversation I had with my father. Yes, Dear Dad returns again for another insightful Q&A.

I started by showing Luke and Antonia’s three “matchy” pictures to my dad and then asked him to compare them. To be clear, the pictures were their respective Griffith Observatory, Table 95, and Rooftop Lounging pictures.

Me: “So what do you think?”

Dad: “About what?”

Me: “Ugh! Why did Antonia take those pictures?”

Dad: “Well, to show she’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. The only reason I can see them being taken is if she was going to put them on the Internet.”

Me: “Uhh, as a matter of fact, she did put them on the Internet! Approximately three weeks before Luke’s were published.”

Dad: “See! I’m not as dumb as you think.”

Me: “Whatever. So, you really believe that? She took them to show people that she was, like, there?”

Dad: “Yeah. Why else would she take them? They’re not the kind of photos you’d take normally. What’s she going to do, put them in an album and show her friends in five years and say, ‘Look, I sat in Luke’s chair?’ Who does that? Nobody. Plus, Luke’s pictures look like they were taken with a polaroid camera and Antonia took hers with, I guess, a phone. Why use two different cameras? Again, it doesn’t make sense. Seems to me like she knew what pictures he was taking, and she was trying to copy them so she could put them on the Internet.”

Thanks, Dad.

You do not have to accept my father’s thoughts on the photographs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, I think we can meet in the middle and opine that, at a minimum, Antonia’s pictures caused the weak Lukolas to jump overboard; at most, they gave some people stalker vibes; and somewhere in between, they introduced Antonia's negative influence over the fandom and what some may consider trolling behavior (even if it wasn’t recognized then).

Now, before we land in Italy on May 9, let’s summarize what has happened during the preceding two months.

First, we had Luke traveling to Los Angeles in March with Antonia, either alone or as part of a friend group. Luke had pictures of himself taken while there.

Second, we had Antonia posting pictures in early April that would be linked directly to Luke’s pictures by the end of the month.

Third, throughout the month of April, we had Luke and Nicola traveling together for the World Tour. We have all seen these interviews, and we have all formed independent opinions about them.

Fourth, based on Chupi’s own words, we know the Claddagh ring must have been commissioned no later than May 9.

Okay, now we’ve reached May 9, Day 1 of the Italy press junket.

Besides the press interviews, what happened on that day?

Well, Antonia reposted Luke singing Coldplay’s “Yellow” to her TikTok account.

Uhh… Huh. Interesting.

I mean, it’s possible that this was just a coincidence and she just liked Luke’s version of it. Or, it’s possible Antonia knew that “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song and she anticipated trolling Nicola and/or the fandom with it. But, if we believe she knew “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song, that means either Luke told her, or someone with that knowledge told her (i.e., someone from Luke’s team or family/friend group). We also know that Luke mentioned this song in the May 16, 2022 Netflix Tudum article when Nicola and he were asked about their song choices for Season 3. Luke stated his frontrunner was “Yellow” by Coldplay “because of Penelope’s dresses.” Regardless of why Antonia posted the song, I find it hard to imagine Netflix, Bridgerton, Shondaland, Nicola, or Luke were too impressed by Antonia resharing it on TikTok. I mean, at this point, Netflix & Co. would surely have been aware that Antonia’s “copycat post” went over with the fandom like a wet blanket in December in Canada. I imagine some questions were being asked and Luke may very well have received a hand slap from Corporate – and maybe even from Nicola.

But, that’s not the only thing that happened on May 9.

Luke posted his Homme magazine spread to his Instagram grid on that day, too. He captioned the post, “Chatting through all things S3 with @hommeplusmag [o]ut next week x.” Nicola commented, “Yessss,” and Luke tagged his post with the location of Hackney, London. That last part – about Luke tagging the location in Hackney – apparently sent the fandom into a deep-dive of…Nicola’s backyard. Why? Because Nicola lives in Hackney (Nicola herself confirmed she lived in Hackney in a March 18, 2024 interview with Derry Now), and rumors started to circulate that Luke’s pictures were taken at her home.

Hmm, I didn’t realize May 9 was such a busy day, did you?

So, which came first – the chicken or the egg? Did Antonia repost “Yellow” to her TikTok before Luke posted his Homme in Hackney images to Instagram, or vice versa? I’m sure someone out there has this information. The answer might help shine some light as to why Luke and Nicola seemed “off” in the early part of their Day 1 Italy interviews. But, then again, does the order really matter? Regardless of who posted first, it would seem to me that “Yellow” was a very possible culprit for the different energy on set that day.

That, or Luke really was peeved over someone spilling his coffee.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only

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pedgito · 2 months ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something.

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit.

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously.

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise.

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly.

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess.

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman.

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident?

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity.

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?”

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role.

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

“Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat.

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings.

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action.

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave?

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him.

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll.

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on.

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation.

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself.

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue.

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along.

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t.

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree.

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose.

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires.

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context.

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?”

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#lucien flores #lucien de leon #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien de leon x reader #lucien de leon x you #lucien flores smut #the uninvited #the uninvited fic #lucien de leon smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #my writing

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kkuzushi · 1 month ago

Note

May I request a Popular kid Scaramouche x Nerd reader (basically a power bottom scaramouche)

Also can I be 🐀anon

“ 𝐀 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 ”

✦ characters: powerbottom!Scaramouche x amab!reader

✦ cw: no nut November, college setting, academic rivals (sort of), handjob (receiving & giving), slight praising but mostly humiliation, riding

✦ word count: 2.549k

✦ notes: I’m inexperienced with writing power bottoms so this took some time, I hope I did it right despite being more used to sub-bottom characters. Welcome to my blog as well, 🐀 anon! <3

You sat cross-legged on the couch, your laptop opened and displaying an earlier announcement. The debate competition you had joined was held today and your opponent? It was no other than the confident and quick-witted Scaramouche. However he was no match to you as always—when it comes to academics, you were simply 1% better, and that’s on being humble.

In your dorm, there was another competition being held. A staring contest between you and Scaramouche, both engulfed in silence. He glared at you, most likely sulking in his defeat.

“Fine.” Scaramouche sighed, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “You won, enjoy while it lasts.” His voice was laced with irritation and amusement. It’s not like he’ll deny that you did good but he won’t admit you were better.

You smirked, crossing your arms, “I plan to.” You looked away once the silent staring ended, taking your laptop and switching to your spreadsheet. There’s still a lot to do before the day ends and you intend to be productive.

You pushed up your glasses to the bridge of your nose, getting ready to continue on your day. Working’s about to be more fun, after all, it’s not everyday you crush someone who’s so sure they’re better than you.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, seeing you ignore his presence easily in turn of concentrating to your works again. “We’re not done, you know,” He says, pushing himself off the wooden chair he was sitting on.

You glance at him, with a raised eyebrow you replied, “We are, unless you want the principal to reannounce the winner.” Scaramouche glared at your smug smile, he decides to push it aside, this is just one of your few wins over him, no big deal.

He walks closer to you, getting too close for comfort. “Don’t get too cocky now or you might lose this one.”

You blink, “Lose what?”

Scaramouche grinned and quickly plucks your glasses off your face. “Scara–” You warned, your arm extending to take it back from his grasp but he was quicker, keeping it out of your reach.

“Since you made me lose–”

“I didn’t make you lose,” you interrupted.

He rolled his eyes, “Okay, let me rephrase that.” Scaramouche cleared his throat, “Since you won the debate, it’s only fair I win something, right?” He grinned, the curve of his lips reminding you of a mischievous cat.

You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms, “You’re not making sense.” Before you could even add more to your statement, Scaramouche walked closer and pressed a hand on the cushions behind you, trapping you on the couch.

“A fair trade,” He muttered, “You win the debate, I win this.” To emphasize his point, his free hand pushed your laptop to the side as he straddled your lap. Your legs uncrossed out of instinct despite being caught off guard by his actions.

You moved back against the cushion, feeling rather awkward with the sudden proximity. “A seat on my lap, really?” You joked, but the glint in his eyes tells you there’s more to this.

Scaramouche’s grin widens, his legs closing in on you to further trap your body in between them. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve heard of this little challenge you’re participating.. NNN, was it?” He drawls, his hands tracing your chest.

Is he kidding? There’s no way a childish challenge like that was enough for him to feel satisfied.. I mean, it’s not like you’re taking it seriously, right?

“You don’t dare–”

“Oh but I do.”

Scaramouche chuckles, his hips starting to grind against your crotch. His movements were slow but precise, intended to tease you to your limits.

Your hands gripped his waist, forcing him to pause for a moment. “Stop that.. I have better things to do right now,” You breathed out, a clear sign of warning in your eyes.

Scaramouche almost considered your words but he just smirked, carrying on with his movements. “You expect me to believe that?” His face leans in closer, “You’re getting hard awfully fast.” Without waiting for a reply, he closed the distance and captured your lips in a deep kiss.

He can feel your arousal building right beneath him with every roll of his hips, just the mere thought of turning you on was enough to turn him on. Amidst the kiss, Scaramouche was already thinking of ways he can easily make you lose this no nutting game, and he got just the right idea for it.

The both of you pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. The atmosphere in the room isn’t helping you at all, but then again, making out with Scaramouche means you’re already fucked.

The indigo haired brat was quick to get into action, his movements sharp as if he was determined to either make you lose or get to the real thing. Or both. In a blink of an eye, your pants were pulled to the floor, and next would be your garment which he was already fumbling with.

You gripped his wrists firmly, attempting to push him away. “You can't actually be going through with this,” you protested, voice sharp with disbelief.

But Scaramouche only laughed, the sound low and smug, his mischievous eyes glinting with confidence. Before you could protest any further, he twisted his wrists around to escape your grip. The realization hits you too late—he was completely serious about this.

And just like that, the tables turned, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath Scaramouche. Your cock stood rigid, thankfully not yet leaking precum—after all, that would be quite the embarrassing sight for you, wouldn’t it? But the man before you is nothing if not stubborn, and there’s no chance he plans on taking it easy.

Scaramouche slowly wraps a hand on the base, stroking you to full erection. You bit your bottom lip, suppressing the noise of arousal that’s threatening to escape. You can’t let him win right at the beginning, it’ll inflate his insufferable ego.

His violet eyes observed you intensely, as if daring you to slip up, while his movements grew more deliberate. The room felt warmer with every second, your self-control being pushed to its limits under his relentless teasing. You couldn’t give in, not now—not with that smug grin of his silently declaring his impending victory.

Concealing your noises wasn’t enough to hide the evidence of your arousal, though, as a slick warmth began to drip down to his fingers. The sensation only served to spur Scaramouche on, his movements becoming smoother, aided by the telltale fluid that betrayed your resistance.

“Well, would you look at that..” He murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted against your ears. The obscene sounds filled the air, wet squelches echoing louder than your restrained breaths. “Seems like all that fight of yours is slipping away,” he taunted, his thumb brushing over the angry tip of your cock.

Scaramouche props himself, nimble fingers working to unfasten his pants. Even with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face, it was impossible to miss the way his breaths had grown shallow, his eyes tainted with want despite the composed facade he’s been putting up.

“I’m not the only one turned on, huh?” You muttered, a teasing edge to your voice as your eyes glanced up to his. His smirk faltered, eyebrows furrowing as he shoved his pants off.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m still in control here.” Scaramouche scoffed as he continued to strip himself. Finally, his own dick springs free from its confinements, hard and almost begging for attention. You stared for a while, temptation waring in your mind. Maybe you can turn the tables if you teased him enough.

As your gaze lingers on him, Scaramouche’s smirk deepens. The obvious look of hesitation and temptation in your eyes was another opportunity for him. “Careful, your stare might melt me,” he teased, his voice dripping with a playfulness.

He shifted, lowering his body to yours, the head of your cock resting in between his ass. “Touch it,” He grinned, grinding himself against your weeping dick. “You want to, don't you?” He adds, there was no mistaking that Scaramouche wasn’t exactly asking; he was commanding.

There goes your chance of regaining control. Your hand trembled slightly, the tension in the room thick as you fought the urge to give in. But Scaramouche wasn’t making it easy. His body was so close, his scent intoxicating, and the way he was looking at you made it hard to think straight.

Once your hand makes contact with his shaft, you feel the man twitch a little. With a quiet gulp, you start to stroke him like he did to you. He continues to grind himself against you, movement in sync with your palm.

Scaramouche’s grin widens as you obey his words, his breath becoming uneven with every passing second. His hands rested firmly on your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Just like that,” he praised, his voice breathless yet undeniably smug, as if he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Were you actually into this? The thought crossed your mind as Scaramouche’s commands and praises echoed in your ears. Pondering over it, the man above can feel your hand faltering, contemplation filling your face.

Scaramouche took the opportunity to lean in, his lips brushing softly against your ear. “Don’t stop now,” he whispered, his voice almost a challenge, one that made your pulse spike. “Unless you’re starting to want more?”

“I don’t–” He was quicker than your protest, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel something tight constrict your length. Scaramouche groaned as he lowered himself further on your cock, precum lubing his insides.

“Fuck– Scara, wait–”

“Gonna cum already?”

“No! That’s not–..”

It felt as though you could dissolve completely under the sheer heat of his inner walls, the tight warmth clinging to your cock already making you see stars. Despite teasing you, Scaramouche had his face buried in your neck and hands gripping your shoulders, hot breath hitting your skin as he adjusts to the intrusion inside him.

After a few moments of silence, Scaramouche began to move, riding you with slow precision. Wet, obscene sounds filling the room in an instant. Every glide of your cock inside him has you moaning, while he was watching you with a smirk.

The brat could see the subtle shifts in your expression—the way your body responded, betraying the calm front you forced to keep. He was in complete control of the situation now as he watched you squirm under his attention, every little shift sending a ripple of satisfaction through him.

“Don’t forget that NNN challenge of yours,” Scaramouche grinned above you. You almost forgot about that, the only thing you can focus on is his weight pressing down on you, tight entrance swallowing you whole.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower, teasing you further, “Or perhaps you’re losing already?” He continued as your face flushed even deeper. “You’re halfway there, aren’t you?”

You looked him straight in the eye, lips barely moving as you gritted your teeth. “Fuck off,” You muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice betrayed the slight tremor of frustration. Your hips start to move with a mind of its own, shallowly thrusting up to Scaramouche, movements small yet evident to the man receiving it.

Scaramouche didn’t miss a thing, of course. Even the slightest twitch of your muscles told him everything he needed to know. You weren’t as composed as your earlier facade tried to show.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “How cute,” he purred. “You can’t stop moving. You’re just giving in without even realizing it, aren’t you?”

Every part of you screamed to resist, to regain some semblance of control, but Scaramouche’s inner walls clung to your shaft, forbidding you to pull away or stop the rise and fall of his hips.

The indigo haired brat’s hands tightened their grip on your shoulders, his smirk never faltering as he tilted his head down to meet your gaze. “Are you finally enjoying this?” He drawled, enjoying his control over you.

He leaned in, lips brushing close to your ear. “How humiliating for you,” he added, his breath warm against your skin. His tone was laced with mockery, but the way he moved left no doubt that he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

Your thrusts were just helping him get his impending victory, but you couldn’t help it any longer. He was clenching around your cock on purpose, making sure you were losing your control without any fight.

Your hands gripped his waist as soon as he picked up the pace, “You’re twitching already?” He teased, voice dripping with condescension. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he whispered, voice soft but full of mocking intent, “Can’t take it anymore, can you?”

Precum starts to dribble out of his hole, the evidence of your crumbling resolve bringing him satisfaction. “Poor thing,” He added, a chuckle slipping through his lips, “and here I thought you’d have more restraint.”

Scaramouche’s chuckles quickly change into breathy sounds of pleasure as your cock hits his prostate dead on. His fingers tightened on your shoulders, grounding himself from the unexpected pleasure.

“So desperate..mnhh♡–” He managed to murmur between breaths, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his earlier dominance, the sensation overwhelming him, leaving him as lost in the moment as you were.

His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as another gasp broke through his control. “You’rengh–still pathetic..” He whispered, though the shiver in his tone made it clear he was no better.

“Hmn–ironic.” He glared at you for that. Your patience was wearing thin, and despite everything, your body couldn't stop reacting, your movements becoming more desperate. Consequences be damned, you’re teetering over the edge already. November comes around every year anyway, but coming inside Scaramouche might just be a once in a lifetime activity.

You were already where he wanted you to be right from the start, and for the last time, he smirked before losing himself in the overwhelming pleasure. A knot draws up in your abdomen, your thrusts growing erratic as you chase your climax.

"Don’t stop..hAngh–♡" Scaramouche gasped, voice breaking as you pushed your body into his, meeting his every move with urgency. “F-Faster–go faster!” he stammered, but the need for more was clear in his frantic pace.

With one final thrust, you released yourself inside him, ropes of cum spurting out as he came on your stomach at the same time.

The two of you collapsed into each other’s arms, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breaths after everything that transpired.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, reality sank in like a cruel reminder. Shame and irritation bubbled in your mind as the thought hit you—you really lost No Nut November because Scaramouche rode you.

“This was.. so lame.” You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

Scaramouche heard your muttered complaint loud and clear, a raspy chuckle escaping his lips as he tilted his head to look at you. “Seeing you lose made it worth it.” But amidst his relentless teasing, you can feel him grinding on your cock, pushing your cum deeper inside him.

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erika-xero · 2 years ago

Text

Beware, the long post incoming. Pro tips for artists who work on commissions!

DISCLAIMER: I do not have, like, a HUGE online following and can’t be called a popular or viral artist, but I do have some experience and I’ve been working as a freelance artist for more that five years, so I could share a few tips on how to work with clients with my fellow artists. Scroll down for the short summary!

First of all, you always need to have your Terms of Service written down in a document that is accessible for your potential clients. And by terms of service I don’t mean a set of rules like “I don’t draw mecha, anthro and N/S/F/W”. There is much more into it, than you may think when you first start drawing commissions.

You’ll need to understand how copyright law/author’s rights in your country works (for example, US copyright or Russian author’s rights, be sure to check your local resources). There are a bunch of sites where you can actually read some legal documents (. I know it might be boring, but TRUST me, you WILL need this knowledge if you choose this career path.

Russia, for example, is plagued with shops selling anime merchandise. The merchandise is usually printed somewhere in the basement of the shop and the shop owners literally rip off other people’s intellectual property. If the artist ask them to remove their IP from the shop the owners usually try to fool them with lies about how the IP works. They will tell you, that you have to register copyright on every single drawing and if you don’t do it anyone can reproduce and sell your artwork. In reality, copyright law in most countries simply doesn’t work this way. Once you create an original work and fix it, take a photograph, write a song or blog entry, paint an artwork, you already are the author and the owner. Yes, there are certain procedures of copyright registration, which is only a step to enhance the protection, but you become an author the very moment you create a piece of art, and no one have a right to take your creation from you. Knowing your rights is essential.

Some of your commissioners may try to scam you too, but most of them might simply not be aware of how copyright law works. I literally had people asking me questions whether or not the character I am commissioned to draw becomes MY intellectual property. I literally had to convince the person (who was legit scared, since the commissioned piece was going to be a first image of his character ever created) otherwise. If you have an idea of the character written down or fixed in any other form such as a collage, a sketch, or a concept art -- the character is yours. Artist may have rights to the image they create, but not the character itself. Your potential commissioner must acknowledge that their characters, settings and etc. is still theirs, while your artwork is yours, if your contract doesn’t state otherwise. You can sell the property rights on your artwork to your commissioner if you want, but it is unnecessary for non-commercial commissions. And I strongly advice you to distinguish the non-commercial commissions from commercial ones and set the different pricing for them. Even if you sell ownership of your artwork to your commissioner, you can not sell the authorship. You will always remain an author of your artwork, thus you still have all the author’s rights stated in the legal documents.

Another thing that is absolutely necessary to be stated in your terms of service is information whether (and when) it is possible to get a refund from you. You absolutely have to write it down: no. refunds. for finished. artworks.

You have already invested time and effort to finish an artwork. The job is done and the money is yours. I’ve heard stories of commissioners demanding refund a few months later after the commission was finished and approved by the commissioners, because, quote “I do not want it anymore”. Commissioning an artist doesn’t work this way, artwork is not an item purchased on shein or aliexpress that can be sent back to the seller. It is not a mass production. It is a unique piece of art. Example: My friend once drew a non-commercial commission for a client who tried to use it commercially later on. She contacted him and reminded of the Terms of Service he agreed with, offering him to pay a fee for commercializing the piece instead of taking him to the court or starting a drama. He declined and suddenly demanded a full refund for that commission via Paypal services. My friend contacted the supports and showed them the entire correspondence with that client. She also stated that the invoice he paid included a link to the Terms and Service he had to agree with if he pays that invoid. The money were returned to her.

However, partial refund can be possible at the certain stage of work. For example, the sketch is done, but something goes horribly wrong. Either the client appeared to be a toxic person, or an artist does not have a required skill to finish the job. I suggest you keep the money for the sketch, but refund the rest of the sum. It might be 50/50 like I suggested to my clients before (when I still could work with Paypal), but it really depends on your choise. I suggest not doing a full refund though for many reasons: not only you make yourself vulnerable, but you also might normalize a practice harmful to other artists this way.

The main reason why full refund when the sketch/line-art are done must not be an option is that some clients may commission other artists with lower prices to finish the job. This brings us to the next important point: you absolutely need to forbid your clients from altering, coloring or overpainting your creation or commission other artists to do so. This also protects your artwork from being cropped, changed with Instagram filters or even being edited into a N/S/F/W image. Speaking of which. If you create adult content, you absolutely need to state that to request such a commission, your commissioner must at least be 18/21 years old (depending on your country). And as for the SFW commissions you also have to state that if someone underage commissions an artwork from you it is automatically supposed that they have a parental concern.

There is also a popular way to scam artist via some payment systems, called I-did-not-receive-a-package. Most of the payment systems automatically suppose that you sell goods which have to be physically delivered via postal services. This is why it is important to state (both in the Terms of Service and the payment invoice itself) that what commissioner is about to receive is a digital good.

And the last, but not the least: don’t forget about alterations and changes the commissioner might want to make on the way. Some people do not understand how difficult it may be to make a major change in the artwork when it is almost finished. Always let your commissioners know that all the major changes are only acceptable at early stages: sketch, line-art, basic coloring. Later on, it is only possible to make the minor ones. I prefer to give my commissioner’s this info in private emails along with the WIPs I send, but you can totally state it in your Terms of Service. I do not limit the changes to five or three per commission, but I really do appreciate it when I get all the necessary feedback in time.

To sum this post up, the info essential for your Terms of Service doc is:

- The information on whether or not your commissions are commercial or non-commercial. If they are non-commercial, is there a way to commercialize them? At what cost?

- The information on author’s and commissioner’s rights;

- The information on whether (and when) refunds are possible;

- The prohibition of coloring, cropping, overpainting and other alterations;

- The information on whether or not you provide the commissioner with some physical goods or with digital goods only;

- Don’t forget about your commissioner’s age! If you work with client who is a minor, a parental consern is required. And no n/s/f/w for underage people!

- You may also want to include that you can refuse to work on the commission without explanation in case you encounter a toxic client or feel like it might be some sort of scam.

- I also strongly suggest you work with prepay, either full or 50% of total sum, it usually scares off the scammers. I take my prepay after me and my client agree on a rough doodle of an overall composition.

- I also include the black list of the themes: everyting offensive imaginable (sexism, homophobia, transfobia, racism, for N/S/F/W artists it also might be some certain fetishes and etc). Keep your reputation clean!

- Ban N/F/T and blacklist the commissioners who turn your artworks into them anywayss, don’t be shy <3

These are the things that are absolutely necessary but are so rarely seen in artists’ Terms of Service that it makes me sad. Some of these tips really helped me to avoid scams and misunderstandings. I really hope it helps you all!

#artist's terms of service #terms of service #tips for artists #useful info #useful for artists #art #artist #artworks #artists for hire

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bc-jpeg · 2 months ago

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Thoughts on Grumbo?

I would kill for them. I think they might be the biggest hyperfixation ship in my life, I don't remember this level of insanity with any other fandom before.

I guess it’s not that visible from me, because I prefer to keep my socials blogs kinda clean from rebloging stuff*, AND I don’t draw them so often because I have so much projects on me and no time, it’s kinda sad.

honestly, if I had started, there would have been a huge lecture about grumbo, they have had so much going on for several years, and all the details fit so perfectly into an incredibly interesting dynamic that includes not only the interaction between the two of them, but also the essence of each of them, some character traits, daily habits, traumas and etc.

I'm going to say something that really upsets me. the problem of grumbo's non-popularity is very much based on the fact that their ship does not lie on the surface. it’s not as accessible as other popular ships in this fandom, and this is extremely painful, considering what their history really is.

grumbo are built on much bigger things than just silly interactions between characters that you might notice in episodes, even bigger than scripted lore moments on hermitcraft and life series. everything goes from their very first collabs to this day for several years already, and some micro fragments/clips from their videos are simply NOTHING compared to the context of the whole story. and just a disclaimer: I'm talking about the characters here, not about real people, the whole story only falls on their characters.

I often see that people may not understand grumbo’s ship dynamic at all simply because they watch only one pov (mostly grian). in this case, I beg you to watch both povs, you miss a lot if you watch only one person. in general, you can also watch third-party people with them! last life grumbo are also built on martyn's pov, for example.

I am so happy that their story started spinning again at the end of the hc s9 due to mumbo’s return, now in hc s10 + WHATEVER IS GOING ON in life series (especially in life series, because mumbo has NEVER had such possessive moments about grian before).

“forget the cactus ring, the desert i'm stuck in is sahara”

* I often reblog things from @mwapollo because he can put everything into right words MUCH better than me, especially when we discussing it all on a daily basis together, so we literally have the same vision about grumbo. I just really want all of his thoughts to be seen in this fandom. ykw I would turn it into shout-out, GO TO @mwapollo’s blog I DARE you. if you’re a grumbo fan, his blog is my first recommendation to go to.

#grumbo #hermitshipping #grian #mumbo jumbo #bc meowed

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the-s1lly-corner · 9 months ago

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Jumping onto the menstruation station, may I request Jason Brahms and Michael x reader on their period? Reader doesn't have to be a woman ^^

May I be 🦊 anon please?

Various slashers x reader on their period

Yes yes you can be fox anon! I'm still new to emoji anons so I dont.. know what all it is.. is it just a means for an anon to ID themselves without giving away their blog, or is there more to it?/genq

First time writing for Michael I think! Woo! Hope it's okay since i dont read much stuff for him and it's been a minute since I've seen the halloween movies <\3

Characters: Jason, Brahms, Michael Myers (OG/2018)

Notes: reader is GN but AFAB

CWs: mentions of canon typical violence

Jason

Oh he definitely does not know what a period is, do you really thing Pam ever told him? If anything he might have heard mentions from campers while he was.. sizing them up before his attack.. but even then that's being generous! Very anxious the first time you have your cycle around him, but he seems to calm down significantly when you explain. It's not so much that its blood, it's the fact that it's coming from you and he doesnt understand why. Very caring, wont let you do anything around the cabin. Takes you out for fresh air, he doesnt mind carrying you! He feels so so helpless if he cant take your cramps away.. generally hes an angel with how he treats you, even with the learning curve!

Michael

Between the three hes the most.. normal about it. Nonchalant, even. Hes not at all phased by blood, that much is obvious thanks to the occasional nights where he comes back home covered in the stuff. Hes a little.. uncaring.. when it comes to helping you. Is that the correct word? He will silently grab you a blanket or some pain killers if you need it- but hes not going to cuddle with you on the floor.. comfort is not Michael's field of expertise, either... though it's not like this behavior is new from him

Brahms

Similar to Jason he probably doesn't know what a period is, or at least not a lot of the details. He's probably heard of it but other than that hes clueless. Pesters you when you start getting down, whether emotionally or physically- it's his own way of seeing if you're sick. Explain to him what's going on because otherwise hes going to bother you about your chores.. oh.. you're hurting and bleeding? You dont.. need to see a doctor, right? No? He does some of the duties around the house- cooking, cleaning, things like that. Hes not totally helpless, though his cooking... could use some work. Tries his hand at making your favorite meals.. fails miserably because hes always had his meals cooked for him.. watching someone cook can only teach you so much, especially when you're watching from the walls

#slasher imagine #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slashers x you #slashers x reader #slashers imagine #jason vorhees x reader #jason vorhees imagine #jason voorhees x reader #jason x reader #jason voorhees imagine #michael myers x you #michael myers imagine #michael myers x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms imagine #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms x reader #brahms x you

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kissmetwicekissmedeadly · 5 months ago

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MIDNIGHT CINDERELLA MEMORIAL POST

The Midnight Cinderella app will be closed on Monday August 26th, 2024 (5 PM JST). The English version was actively updated from 2014 to 2021 when Cybird announced the ceasing of operations for MidCin, but the app remained accessible until today. I'm sure I'm not the only one who mourns the loss of it even after all these years of discontinuation, so I wanted to put together a post to properly say goodbye to it. Trying my best not to make it all too sappy - I'd rather look at it as a show that reached its final episode. Some things might be left unresolved but in the end, you remember the cast and the emotions they made you feel more than the actual plot. Nowadays there arguably may be better titles by Cybird out there, but for me, the simplicity of MidCin was what made the details so memorable.

1. VIDEO - POV: You're playing Midnight Cinderella (for 10 minutes)

The 10-minute version (without sound) is accessible via the link above (opens in Google Docs) This one I was really excited about recording! It's just your normal day playing midcin, I'm sure many will find it nostalgic and comforting. You log in, claim your daily bonus (I used the chance to do a present box reveal, 90+ items, many of which you might recognize from route grace checks), play the garden gacha (in my case, I used up all the points I had accumulated, 7800 which equals 39 solos), do your princess lessons, change your avatar, greet your friends, read 1/5 of today's free story parts, check the ranking and your stats, look at your memories directory. The video has no sound, as the game wouldn't let me turn it on (you will see me try to do so throughout the video...) but later on I got it to work so I recorded a one-minute video (the one imported above) of me replenishing stamina just for those iconic sound effects that you either loved or absolutely couldn't stand the volume of, haha.

2. A Midnight Cinderella playlist (spotify link)

While I wasn't there for the early days of midcin, the songs I associated with the game almost always captured this very specifically nostalgic 90s-10s period, you'll see what I mean. Many of those are taken from 8track playlists dedicated to Midnight Cinderella, and if I'm not mistaken you can still look at what is left of them if you search them up. Others are just my very random interpretations of the route stories and the characters.

3. Fic recommendations

We have a lovely community of creatives and there are still so many works left behind which you can check out on the tags! But especially for fics I wanted to list some that truly touched me during the years (all links open in ao3) -

i'm on fire and its NSFW bonus scene bloodstream by a deleted user - words are not enough for this one. It's like it meant more than Nico's whole route for me at one point, and the songs are forever in my heart as Nico songs...

MidCin Works by DBMidCin (SoftSen) - ALL of these. This is my go-to collection of writings for midcin when I start to miss the game, it has a little bit of everything. The headcanon of Giles teaching his girls French for instance is one of the things I still remember reading like it was yesterday!

Bedroom Etiquette (NSFW) by RubyLeeRay - Because this is the dream. Doing something forbidden with your tutor Giles is the ultimate fantasy, I swear. I just love it.

And of course, many, many more. There are currently 166 works on the midcin tag in Ao3, and I'm sure there are a lot of hidden gems here on tumblr as well! Reminder that writers LOVE it when you interact with their old works, it's not weird, you shouldn't hesitate doing so if you find yourself enjoying any of them! <3

4. My own humble collection of MidCin writings on my writing blog @xxsycamore!

Maid, Butler, Chamberlain (NSFW) - Nico x MC with Giles joining them

Grabbles: 💋 Demand for a kiss, right here, right now (GILES); 👔 Stealing their clothes to cuddle when you miss them (BYRON); more coming soon as there are still some in my askbox and I plan on including midcin in future short writings request openings too.

Shared Moments (NSFW) - Nico x Reader - Secret relationship

Ice-cold heat (NSFW) - Byron x Reader - Temperature play

Double the Surprise - Alyn and Leo birthday fic

Leo Crawford having a misadventure with a cat (ao3 link) - crack fic featuring most of the suitors

5. Out of context Midnight Cinderella screenshots

This is a sideblog of mine dedicated to posting out-of-context funny screenshots that I took while playing the routes - @oocmidcin . If you have some of your own that are not on there, you're free to submit them and add to the archive!

6. The perfect MidCin song - The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives

When I first discovered this song back in 2020 I dreamed of making it into a midcin music video with simplistic art and animations... It ended up being just something you daydream in detail about while in the car, but that's alright. I could at least share my vision with you! Disclaimer, this is just an interpretation and obviously it can't fit all characters ideally - In the brackets, I explain how the lyric is related to them and usually it reveals their backstories. Some of the details I've already forgotten, sorry if it's inaccurate.)

Tell me once again

I could have been anyone, anyone else

Before you made the choice for me

(Giles - his family making the choice for him since birth and later disowning him once he failed to become a knight due to his illness)

My feet knew the path

We walked in the dark, in the dark

I never gave a single thought to where it might lead

(Nico - wandering the streets with his mother once they were thrown out of Stein castle because she was a commoner having an affair with Byron's father, the King)

All those empty rooms

We could have been anywhere, anywhere else

Instead I made a bed with apathy

(Robert - the empty rooms of the once flourishing palace of the country that Robert ruled and led to demise, nowadays becoming a mere court painter)

My heart knew the weight

Ten years' worth of dust and neglect

We made our peace with weariness and let it be

(Leo - the years in which Alyn didn't speak to him, after the death of their parents)

The moon will sing a song for me

I loved you like the sun

Bore the shadows that you made

With no light of my own

(Albert - loyally standing in king Byron's shadow)

Name your courage now

We could have had anything, anything else

Instead you hoarded all that's left of me

(Sid - his relationship with his fiance that he agreed upon just to find out more about his parents by getting close to her father)

Swallowing your doubt

Like swords to the pit of my belly

I want to feel the fire that you kept from me

(Alyn - searching for answers about the murder of his family and the fire that burnt down their home)

I shine only with the light you gave me

(I could have been anyone, anyone)

(Louis - being a nobody and MC being his sun)

7. It goes on

I went to read what I could of chapter 4 of Rayvis' route, using my last two chapter tickets as well, thinking it won't make me cry. And then I'm hit with those familiar things.

So let's close this with a word about the things that never change in the universe of Midnight Cinderella.

Stumbling down the grand staircase and right into the arms of somebody. Escaping the palace at midnight with Nico's help. Sitting at breakfast with Giles giving you your schedule for the day. Nico's teasing little smile as he accompanies you everywhere and listens to your relationship troubles. The way he's just a little suspicious at times. Finding Robert painting in the garden of Wysteria palace. Going to the room of your chosen suitor for the first time and meeting a pet there. Leo teaching you history and politics in his office. Dance lessons with Louis. Needing those dance lessons because King Byron is coming to Wysteria and a ball is going to take place. The bureaucrats being unhappy with you as a princess elect, no matter what. Galloping on a horse with Alyn who just protected you from an enemy attack. Getting information from a certain flirty merchant at a bar. Albert bickering with Nico, Sid teasing Louis. Being introduced to Archduke Herneit at Stein castle. King Byron appreciating the night sky. The sight of your yellow and orange princess elect room where on the large bed with its blue bedframe and tall see-through canopy you lie awake and think about the events of the day and how would a wise future Queen of Wysteria deal with the current situation. But ultimately you fall asleep, hearing the melancholically beautiful sounds of a violin coming from somewhere deep within your dream, and leave it all to the following day.

Thank you for everything, Midnight Cinderella!

08/26/2024

#midnight cinderella #midcin #midnight cinderella giles #midnight cinderella byron #midnight cinderella sid #cybird #otome #otome games #midnight cinderella nico #midnight cinderella alyn #midnight cinderella leo #midnight cinderella albert #midnight cinderella robert #midnight cinderella rayvis #Spotify

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angelwishess · 2 months ago

Text

You have been invited to the Fairytale Soiree! ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔

Angel’s 100+ followers event!

a/n: Hi hi everyone! I’d like to thank everyone so, so so very much for 160 followers!! When I first started this blog about a month ago, I genuinely did NOT expect to get this much love and attention. It was such a surprise, but I’m so very thankful nonetheless! During my short time running this blog I have met so many wonderful, talented, charming, amazing people, and I appreciate all of you so much! Thank you once again for supporting me until now! ♡

Story:

Every 100 years, a group of fae gather together to host a grand party to celebrate the beginning of a new century. And tonight, once the clock hits 12 it will be the genesis of a new era once more. The stars seemed to shine brighter than usual on this evening, and magic swirled around as the faeries gathered to sing, dance, feast and party the night away.

But of course, there was one more thing they had to do. Every Soiree, the three hosting faeries summon a group of humans, beastmen and merfolk alike to join them on this joyous occasion! Once every one hundered years, it truly would be a waste not to share the joys of tonight.

It just so happened that this time, a group of students seem to be the ones that were chosen! Waking up in an unfamiliar palace-like building, lush with gorgeous flora and hues of pinks, blues and purples. Although skeptical at first, they soon joined the fae with their grand soiree.

That was, until they swiftly picked out Kyra from the crowd. Declaring her as the “Dreamer of Tonight”. They explained, that at the end of every soiree, just before the clock hits 12, all of the fae come together to grant one wish. Whether it be riches that overflow into mountains of gold, power beyond imagination, or knowledge of the unknown— whatever it is, they grant it. And it may even shape the course of the next century.

Kyra pondered this for a moment, sitting upon an elegant throne-like chair as she looked at the faces of all her friends. She frowned, and the faeries were curious. That was until she asked,

“Could I share my wish with my friends?”

Taken aback, the faeries asked why she wanted to do such a thing.

“Well… It just seems kind of unfair. They all deserve to have their wishes granted, too.”

An air of silence filled the room. Only to be broken by a rampaging laughter from all of the fae. They laughed, and laughed, until tears prickled in the corners of their eyes. No one had ever asked for something so ridiculous. The very first time anyone had asked for such a thing!

Amused, the fae agreed to let her share the wish— but with only one person. Now, its up to the rest of the group to decide whether they want to convince Kyra to share the wish with her, or simply just enjoy the party. But they better hurry up, because the clock is ticking! Either way, the faeries are expecting a good show out of tonight’s soiree.

Why, it might just be the most exciting one yet!

“Share this wish with me!”

Dress Code:

There isn’t a really stict dresscode— but of course the characters will all be wearing clothing suited for an extravagant ball!

And, if the name wasn’t obvious enough, this event is very Fairytale themed! So I suggest taking inspiration from fairytales! Whether it be characters, tropes, or items in the fairytale! Go crazy!!!

Theres not really a certain colorscheme either, Id rather you use the colors you think fit the characters you choose the most !!

Featured Characters:

Kyra Lovelace SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Floyd Leech SR (Fairytale Attire)

Ace Trappola SR (Fairytale Attire)

Vil Schoenheit SR (Fairytale Attire)

Azul Ashengrotto SR (Fairytale Attire)

Leona Kingscholar SR (Fairytale Attire)

Jamil Viper SR (Fairytale Attire)

Sebek Zigvolt R (Fairytale Attire)

Jamil Viper R (Fairytale Attire)

Jack Howl R (Fairytale Attire)

OCs:

Victor Sanderson SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yuuel “El” Mirume SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yurena Lovelace SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yuubeni Choga SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Joseph Akaba SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yuki SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Dranav Taryn SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Ame SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Rory Queens SR (Fairytale Attire)

Shuu SR (Fairytale Attire)

Rayven Ludwig SR (Fairytale Attire)

Arlo Wake SR (Fairytale Attire)

Erice Ainsbourg SR (Fairytale Attire)

Delilah Koshkin SR (Fairytale Attire)

Kaiia Haunt SR (Fairytale Attire)

Yumi Yozakura SR (Fairytale Attire)

Reyu Carrera SR (Fairytale Attire)

Caspian Ashengrotto SR (Fairytale Attire)

Philosophy Freay R (Fairytale Attire)

Yuhua Wei (Fairytale Attire)

Asher (Fairytale Attire)

AJ (Fairytale Attire)

RULES!!!:

- Despite this being a follower milestone event, everyone is welcome to participate! ♡

- You can use any kind of character to enter into the - event! OCs, Yuusonas, and canon characters that haven’t been listed in the participants! All characters are very much welcomed !!!

- Any kind of entry is also welcomed! Art, edits, fics, ect.

- Please tag me in your post and use the tag #Fairytale Soiree! In your posts!

Strictly no NSFW or proshipping.

There is no clear deadline nor winner, this is honestly just for fun so go crazy!!

Theres no real limit on the amount of SSR cards either, so feel free to do whatever you’d like, whether you choose to make an SSR, SR or R card !

Feel free to dm me if you have any questions :3

Once again, Thank you all so very much for supporting me thus far!! (Reblogs are appreciated :3)

#Fairytale Soiree!#fan event #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst fan event #🎀🕊️! kyra

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she-who-fights-and-writes · 5 months ago

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Hi! Firstly, thank you for creating this blog and helping all of us out! Secondly, and sorry if this is such a silly question, but how do you write an engaging summary?

I find my own fic summaries are so… lackluster… and not even I’m interested in reading it — so how I can I expect others to be? Even if I like my story, when I write the summary in the start of my fic/in my masterlist, I’m like “Wow… this is not even remotely interesting! 😭”

So yeah, I was wondering if you had any tips/advice for that? 😭 Totally fine if not, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks and have a great day/night! 😘

HOW TO WRITE AN ENGAGING FIC SUMMARY THAT WILL DRAW IN AUDIENCES

Summaries are the bane of many writers’ existences, including my own. It’s already hard enough to get the words down on paper for the actual story, and now people want you to convince them to read it with something more than “I WORKED REALLY HARD ON IT PLEASE IT’S GOOD I PROMISE!!!!”

Squishing a ton of context into a small blurb seems impossible, but I promise it can be done!

Obviously everyone goes about things differently, and a lot of these tips may not work for everyone, but nevertheless, here are some tricks on how to write an engaging summary!

Here’s a simple template I like to use, which will be the focus of this post:

Hook (Draw the reader in!)

Context (What are the core elements of your story?)

Cliffhanger (Introduce a question/scenario that the reader will want to click to know more about!)

1. Start With a Hook

Just like with the first sentence of a story, the first sentence of your summary should immediately spark the reader’s interest.

A bold statement! A good (short) quote from your fic! A shocking discovery! A cool word definition/the definition of your title!

I always like to put the hook of the story on its own line/paragraph, just to emphasize it.

Examples of a hook (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "It all started when Character A puked on their Uber driver." - "War was inevitable." - "Character A would be dead by sunrise. That’s what Character B vowed." - "By the time they got to the city, it was too late."

Your hook is probably the most important part of your summary; someone will know within milliseconds whether or not they will continue reading.

Once you’re past that initial hump, it’ll be easier to convince a potential reader to skim the rest of the summary. Giving something that jumps out at them will set your story apart from others and ensure it gets that click you deserve!

2. Give Some Context

For shorter one-shots, sometimes a single hook is enough! But if your fic is longer, with a bit more moving parts, you might want to choose a few highlights. Get the essence of your story on paper.

This can be super hard, so don’t feel discouraged if you feel like you’re not getting it. I’d suggest keeping your context to about 1-3 sentences depending on the length of your story, so make sure they count.

Buzzwords are a key factor in getting the main points across. Use ones that relate to your main plot to your advantage!

For example, if I were to make a short summary of Game of Thrones for someone who has never watched it before, I would definitely include some of these buzzwords: - Dragons - Conquest - Succession - Revenge - Slaughter - Betrayal

Using powerful words (i.e. slaughtered instead of killed) can help draw in your audience!

I can't dictate exactly how you should write your context, since every fic is different and shouldn't be brought under an umbrella of the same rules, so it might help to find inspiration from other people’s summaries.

3. Pose a Question the Reader Will Want the Answer To

The biggest point of a summary is the “so what?” factor. You have all of these tags, but how does the fic make use of them?

A summary shouldn’t be giving all of the answers, but it should still leave crumbs for the reader’s imagination! This doesn’t mean that you literally need to put a question in the summary, but rather pose an unresolved scenario/problem that the reader will want to click to know the solution to.

Here are some example sentence templates that pose an indirect question, often put at the end of a summary to spark interest (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "Everything changes the moment Character A makes a choice they can't take back." (What is that choice? How does it affect the other characters?) - "As the truth comes to light, nothing will ever be the same." (What is the truth? How does it change things?) - "A dangerous game begins, and only one can emerge unscathed." (Who will be that person?) - “It’s the first time they meet, but it won’t be the last” (What will be these next instances? How do their worlds collide?)

4. Some General Advice

If you don't think the above format works well with your fic, here's just some general advice that can help you out!

DON'T MAKE IT TOO LONG

The biggest mistake I see writers making when posting their work is having a giant four-paragraph summary for their story that takes up half of the feed.

Unfortunately, in an age of fast swiping and instant gratification, a reader may skip over a super long summary simply because they don’t feel like reading all of it.

(The reason why long summaries work for books is because people are more patient when they intend on paying to read something; they’ll take more time considering investments than they would with a free read, since they want to make sure it's worth their money. It’s not fair, but that’s kind of how it goes.)

In my opinion, a fic summary should be no more than one short paragraph, two or three sentences max for a one-shot and maybe five sentences for a long fic.

This isn't exact. It really depends on the length and complexity of the sentence, because no matter the how many you use, if there are enough words to make folks comprehend it as a big block of text, then they’re going to be more likely to skip it.

People looking for long fics will be more patient (since they’re making an investment with their time, rather than money) but if you want to appeal to a wider audience that may be casually browsing and stumble across your fic, definitely consider a more brief route.

PROOFREADING MATTERS!

Because summaries are often an afterthought, many writers don’t put as much effort into it as they would the rest of their story.

I wouldn’t recommend this; people are basing their ENTIRE initial opinion of your fic on this small blurb.

If you rush it and make spelling or grammar errors, people will assume that the rest of your fic is also riddled with errors and scroll past!

Make sure to proofread!

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writeblr #booklr #creative writing #fic #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic #fic summary #summary #writing summaries

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gatorbites-imagines · 9 months ago

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Heyy!! I love your blog and writing sm!!! I was wonderomg if you'd write somethjng with top/dom reader where the reader gets godly aftercare as well.. we need to normalize giving doms aftercare!! and your writing is my greatest comfort, finally someone writes for other than petite fem readers <333

Nanami Kento x male reader

Headcanons

You never specified which character you wanted me to write for, so I just picked one I felt would give amazing aftercare. Also cuz I don’t think many people realize I write for jjk.

Sorry ive been gone for a bit, but to no one’s surprise, classes are exhausting.

There are different kinds of aftercare, so it all really depends on what kind of dynamic you and Nanami have, and what you are in need of after. Nanami being as aware and loving as he is, would have an easy time figuring out what you need.

There might be times where all you need afterwards if to be held or to hold him, to know that he’s there and that Nanami still loves you and that he liked it very much. He is also the kind of person to have set up the different snacks or drinks you could need afterwards.

Knowing Nanami, he would probably even have some kind of small fridge to keep the drinks in, if it’s a cold drink you need to help center yourself after a rougher scene. If it’s a hot drink you need, he would make sure you were alright before going to get it.

Nanami is an efficient man, so it wouldn’t take long before he’s back again, your favorite mug in one hand, and the latest book he has been reading. Sometimes its enough to just sit together as he reads and you sip on whatever drink it is you need, and other times you need to just be held. Luckily for you, Nanami is a big guy, so that can also be done with no issue.

If its been a rougher scene and you need more than just some cuddles and a snack, Nanami would also be very on top of that. There is no way he would let the love of his life feel inadequate or gross about yourself.

There might be times where you think you are a horrible person because of the scenes you two do, or because of how rough you were, which could result in you pulling away or even having dom drop. But Nanami won’t let you sink too far, always pulling you back out of that dark pit before it gets to swallow you whole.

If you needed to cry, there would be no judgement from your lover, and if you just need to be alone, he would let you do that too. But hes gonna be setting up a nice shower or bath for when you are feeling better again.

Nanami has also always been a very honest guy, and believes strongly in communication in a relationship. So if what you needed was verbal reassurance, or to know how he felt, what you did right and what you did wrong, he would give it to you.

Communication wouldn’t just be for you though, since he himself also enjoys talking it over, to make sure you guys are both on the same wavelength and enjoyed it an equal amount. Sometimes talking about it in a more strategic manner could help center you both, and stop any spiraling thoughts or feelings.

It also wouldn’t be beneath Nanami to want to give you a rubdown if you were feeling a bit sore and exhausted. Sometimes its as much for him as it is for you, since it gives him a sense of peace to know that you are there, and that you are comfortable.

He probably has a whole routine he goes through if you are feeling too drained to move, or if you are feeling under the weather. Like wiping you both down before you get into the bath together, where Nanami would lovingly wash your hair and then his own. This is also where he would make sure you both are fine physically, just in case.

Nanami would get out of the bath first, letting you just vege out for a bit, as he goes to clean up the bedroom and get some new sheets and pillows on the bed, and getting out some clean sleep wear for you both.

You may have been the dom/top, but that doesn’t stop Nanami from taking care of you, as its something he loves to do on any day of the week, and if you need it after you guys have spent the night together you won’t hear any complaints.

After getting everything ready, Nanami would go back to help you out of the water, dry you off, and get you into the clothes you are comfortable in, before you two shuffle back to your room. And of course, he’s put the good sheets on the bed.

You’ll get a nice soft blush from him if you compliment him and thank him for all his hard work. He loves taking care of you the most, but that doesn’t mean Nanami doesn’t enjoy being praised and loved on by you too.

All in all, Nanami would know multiple ways to do aftercare, and is perspective enough to figure out what you need before you do. He would also never judge you for any kind of care you might need, as making you comfortable and happy always makes his heart flutter.

#male reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento x male reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento imagine #nanami kento headcanon #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen headcanon #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jjk headcanon #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader #aftercare #dom male reader #top male reader

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writers-potion · 8 months ago

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Ethics, Conflicts and Secrecy of Magic in Your Novel

Ethics

Modern day magician would consider it unethical to use magic to harm others, but in history, curses and destructive magic was big business.

Some magicians would consider it unethical to interfere with a person's free will, while others might not

Some will never work under the influence of a substance (drug, alcohol), while for others it may be common

How a magician practice magic can vary depending on their principle profession (if they have a day job). A social worker and a drug dealer will have every different ideas about what magic should and should not do.

Make your magician morally gray. What are the consequences?

Challenge your magicians ethical standards. Would they still stick to the same rules even if their family/friend/livelihood is in danger?

Villainous Ethics

"never torture someone on Thursdays"

"perform harmful spells only when the moon is full"

"don't interfere with someones free will...unless the client pays in gold."

"never hurt an animal."

"never hurt someone over the age of seventy" (come before their birthday, please!)

"never attack another magician" (go for his wife instead)

"never harm a virgin"

etc., etc. just have fun with loopholes and loose interpretations of the rules you give your magicians.

The Wiccan Rede

The most widely followed principle is: "An it harm none, do what ye will", which is the Wiccan Rede. There are contentions about what this might actually entail.

This principle is an old one, one that was passed down orally before it was recorded. This means that "an" can be many things - it may be "because" or "since" or "if" or just gibberish.

You can have your magician character interprete this age-old rule in their own way, doing things that border between right and wrong.

Secrecy

In periods like the Middle Ages, magic was strictly banned and anyone who practices it (or is accused of doing so) prosecuted. The execution method varied: hanged, burned at the stake, etc.

Religious magic is problematic if it is not the predominant religion of the region or state.

Your character may be from a group of people who have been conquered or historically persecuted for a long time.

Languages in which the magic is conducted can be banned/outlawed.

If your magicians only work in secret:

Think of ways they use to hide their identities

Raise the stakes - what happens if they are discovered?

What if the magician thinks they're acting in secret but everyone actually knows?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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chaos-in-deepspace · 7 months ago

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L&DS Zayne: Sugar Zaddy | 18+ Headcanons

So I didn't write this. You heard me right, this was not written by me. Instead my discord kitten, my lil meow meow, wrote it. Well...kinda. We were discussing something that happened earlier and she was like "Consider a Sugar Daddy though..." And then went off on Discord. She's too shy to actually post this herself, so she gave me permission to. The green text is my contributions on discord that she included in the doc. Small note: This is an 18+ post, however the first part is mainly SFW (except for one bullet in particular that warns with NSFW beforehand). The more raunchy ones are under the "NSFW" part. So again, this is 18+ but the first part isn't as bad.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ Warnings: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Spanking, Begging, Possessive Behavior (Hot), Zaddy /ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ Pairings: Zayne x Reader

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

Daddy Zayne , to whom if you ask him to cut your food for you because you feel like having a butler or doing something so you won't get your hands or nails messy, would do it immediately - He would peel and cut an apple for you, feed you an orange, just doing everything for you if you ask.

Zaddy Zayne who, sometimes when you beg enough or have been behaving well enough, would let you show him off - But he might tease you while doing so.

Zaddy who would feel bad if he picked out the wrong gift for you, because he's like, "Nah, my Jimmy Neutron brain really thought this was a good idea?"

Zaddy who grips your thighs when sitting together, even at restaurants.

Zaddy , as usual, Zayne doesn't like risk like public.

Clothing wise, would he let you dress him up to match with you? We’re not talking about him dressing us up because DUH, IT'S Zaddy . It depends on what you’d be wearing to be honest. If it’s something too flashy, then no, but if it’s something classy, he would definitely match with you. Not to mention that means when you’re out in public, if for some ungodly reason you leave his side and someone tries flirting with you, he just walks up next and you can just TELL y’all are together with your outfits.

It depends on what you’d be wearing tbh. If it’s something too flashy then no, but if it’s something classy? He would definitely match with you. Not to mention that means when you’re out in public, if for some ungodly reason you leave his side and someone tries flirting with you, he just walks up next and you can just TELL y’all are together with your outfits

Zaddy who, when someone mocks you, just pulls you closer subtly showing off. If you seem upset, he buys you double the things he usually buys for you.

Zaddy who uses his busy schedule against you and in your favor. Sure, he may take off some activities to spend time with you, pampering you, but he also uses it against you when you're most needy, suddenly taking over Dr. Grayson's next surgery just because he is a "kind soul." This man likes and loves hearing you beg, and it gets worse if you try to backfire it on him. Trying to make him jealous or sending him a naughty picture will just make him take even longer, but not enough to make you cry of frustration or simply just get turned off, just the right amount because after all, he knows you like the back of his hand and knows how to keep his pretty princess behaved and happy.

Zaddy who would give you another copy of his credit card.

You wanna live in another place? Sure, as long as it's not too far from him

Moving into the apartment under his.

NSFW: You wanna travel? Gotta squirt five times to make him consider it and make up for lost time…time which will also be taken back when you come back.

Zaddy who buys you a present wherever he goes out, going out of his way to buy something for you after surgery before going back to the airport.

Zayne who dislikes you talking back.

Zaddy who cooks for you.

Zaddy who (this is more based on me, I dunno you) pampers you triple when you bake for him.

Zaddy who, if you practice any kind of sport, isn't the kind of pervert to just watch to get off, but maybe occasionally, depending on the mood, if you're doing yoga in such a position, will not need to bend you down since you already do it for him.

Zaddy who occasionally starts the act if you say you're not in the mood, will give you tons of kisses just so you don't feel bad.

Zaddy who loves when, during shopping sprees, you make a quick stop by the pastry shop for a sugary treat or ice cream.

Zaddy who is the silent jealous type but is a gentleman and would not take it out on you.

Zaddy who thinks it's just established how your relationship with him works and if you ever doubt it, he will make you learn it word by word.

And if you say, "Heck nah, get away," he will understand your wish and get away.

Zaddy who has nurses and girls after him, and he gives them the cold treatment.

Zaddy who, depending on his mood, sticks to you, gives you the side eye if it's a dumb jealousy, makes you suck it up or indirectly humiliates the other person.

Now, would Zaddy brag about you? Like comparing you with others (you on top, of course, you're his pretty princess). He knows you're the best so he doesn't need to brag or compare. He may compare to make you feel better if you're sad though. It's literally the phrase, "if you need to talk about power then you don't have it." I think dating Zayne would be 90% of your relationship, married life comes later, after all, he's just like your husband the day he started pampering you.

Zayne who, when he has a crush on you, gives you mixed gifts, some little cheap things and some very expensive, to see your reactions and study your reactions to win your heart.

Zaddy wouldn't let his money do all the work though; this man will rizz you up HARD.

Zaddy who does his skincare with you 💋.

Zaddy who, if you ask him to or if you're tired, will do your skincare for you.

Zaddy who cuddles you the first night even if he did or didn't rail you before sleep.

Zaddy who, if you're a gamer ass, as long as you keep him happy, will buy you the best PC or consoles.

Zaddy who isn't interested in video games but if it's a cozy one and you ask him to play, he will and will surprise you with little things in the game.

NSFW

Sugar daddy Zayne who gives you sweet kisses when you cry while he's pounding you ❤️ - Telling you how good you are for being able to take him. Telling you how it’s fine if you can’t walk tomorrow, he’ll carry you wherever you need to go.

Zaddy with both cock warming kink and breeding kink.

Zaddy who wants to beg for you to try and come back and tried just one time against his ego to get you back with gifts, and if it works, he's going to hold himself back until you finally have sex with him starting it.

Zaddy who, if you catch him not in the mood, will keep it in mind later to give you what you need and make up for it.

Zaddy who, duh, loves edging you; it's Zayne .

Zaddy who, if he's desperate, would have masturbating sessions with you over the phone.

Zaddy who has a secret folder on his phone for your intimate photos.

Zaddy who, of course, loves seeing you in lingerie.

Zaddy , the panty stealer, when work hits too hard.

Zaddy , the mother who nudges you to go out by going shopping if you've been in too long and fucks you to keep you inside if you've been out too much.

Zaddy who would tie your hands and have you sit on his face while he eats you out *

This guy has all the cake he ever needs so he doesn't need yours for anything other than spanking..

Zaddy who, if you spanked his butt like in the bongo headcanons, would, depending on his mood, have you lay down on your lap and slap your ass or would just give you the side eye and retrieve the gift he was going to give you, making you beg for it. And if you're masochistic, make you beg (optional, depends on horniness).

Zaddy who seems to be the most horny one but in reality is not. Zaddy , that has you start reaching for his cock.

Zaddy who reeducates your bad habits by edging you or making you cum twice the amount you messed up.

So there it is! All written out and lovely! Thanks again to my dear friend who just went feral over this idea. She gave me permission to let y'all know who she is so it's @nati-cutie-patootie she did such a good job, ya? I think she did.

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Zayne Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Zayne #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #zayne x reader #l&ds #l&ds zayne #l&ds zayne x reader #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads zayne x reader #rabid rabbit hours

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cheapshrimpysheep · 1 month ago

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Hi! Can you do Lilia,Silver,Riddle and Sebek with a famous cook reader, ? Like she always cooks for them, always do delicious lunch box for them when they get away and when they meet she always brought pastries specially for them that she cooked herself. Have a nice day ! I love your blog btw !

(I'm sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, English is not my first language.)

COMMENTS: HI! Thank you! ❤️ Don't worry, I think I understand your request. 😉 The only problem was that I myself barely know how to cook. 😅 but that was no impediment. Since the reader's gender ends up not being relevant in this context, I made it gender neutral.

Hope you and all enjoy it. 🍽️

CHARACTERS: Lilia Vanrouge / Silver / Riddle Rosehearts / Sebek Zigvolt

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Headcanons; Can be read platonically

WORD COUNT: An average of 250 words per character

Lilia loves everything you do and is constantly praising you. “Oh! Another one of your cooking? You really make me the luckiest fae in Twisted Wonderland. Khee hee.”

He always brags to everyone about you cooking for him. And he will show other people pictures of everything you cooked for him and that he remembered to take a picture of before eating. “Look what they cooked for me! Aren't they so talented?”

If he has a lunch box that you prepared, he will invite whoever is with him and has never tried your food to try a bite. If they already know and like your cooking, he will mess with them by not inviting them to eat, but continuing to boast about having someone like you cooking such delicious things for him.

Every time he remembers to take a picture of your dishes he will publish it on Magicam with descriptions like: ‘Feast your eyes’; ‘Favorite meal of the day’; ‘Brunch vibes and good times’ or even ‘Food is my love language’

Whenever you cook something with his favorite food: Tomato juice, he will be simply radiant. “Is today a special day?”, “To what do I owe this wonderful treat?”, “Did you feel inclined to spoil me today?”

Problem: The more you cook for him, the more he will want to cook for you in return. He feels selfish always receiving, he wants to give you the same kind of love that you give him.

He gets sad and even sulks whenever you refuse his help or the food he has prepared.

No matter what you try to teach him, he will always want to do things his way. He wants to surprise you, so doing something you already know and in the way you know wouldn't be funny.

You are now the biggest target of his cookings and you may have to work together with the Diasomnia boys to save yourself.

Silver really likes it when you cook for him, but he noticed that his lack of facial expression confuses you and makes you a little sad. So he started training just so that whenever you offer him a new dish or sweet he doesn't forget to smile.

He knows it could be something a little mean, but he asked you to try to hide from Lilia the true amount of times you cook for him. Because if not, he might get a little jealous and start cooking even more for you two.

He wants to reciprocate the delicious meals you make for him, so he asks you to teach him. He listens to you and follows your instructions like he does with any other teacher or tutor.

Whenever you cook his favorite dish: Mushroom Risotto, he will ask you: “Is today a special day that I have forgotten about? If so, I'm so sorry... Hm? It's not?” He smiles. “Thank you. I will strive to make your favorite dish perfectly too.”

He doesn't brag about the lunch boxes you make for him. But whenever someone sees the lunch box and asks about it, he ends up indirectly complimenting you. “Ah, yes. (Y/N) usually makes them for me. They are an amazing cook. I am very fortunate for everything they do for me.”

Riddle smiles tenderly whenever you offer him something you've cooked, whether it's a full meal, sweets, or just a handful of appetizers. He is always grateful for everything you do for him.

However, he feels slightly frustrated that he can't repay you with the same cooking skills. But that doesn't stop him from asking you for help to teach him how to cook.

He won't depend solely on you. When you can't help him he'll ask Trey, read books on the subjects, try to practice on his own, etc.

Although he recognizes the (probably glaring) difference in culinary skills, he won't be shy about asking you for opinions and feedback. And he would like you to be as strict with him as he would be in your place, no being nice if it's not genuine.

He will never give up after a failure and will always smile proudly when you tell him he did a good job.

Whenever you cook something with his favorite food: Strawberry Tart, his eyes will shine and he will smile like a lovely child. But then he'll try to hold back a bit. “Thank you so much, (Y/N).” He says still smiling. “I can't help but feel spoiled whenever you do this for me. So, even though I am always grateful for your gesture, this must not become a habit. Understand?” He likes to keep his diet balanced, but your cooking is always a big temptation.

Sebek is always torn between praising you or being annoyed that you do something so much better than him that he has difficulty reciprocating.

When you're not around and he has one of the lunch boxes you made for him, he'll brag about it to EVERYONE. “BEHOLD! One of the masterpieces of human cuisine! For a human, (Y/N) is incredibly talented, and I had the privilege of being chosen as one of their tasters. Hm? You would like to taste a little and see if my praisings are true? Well, if that's the purpose then I'll allow you to try it. GO AHEAD!”

However, when you are present, his praise is more restrained. “Excellent, human. Incredible as always.” And a strangely competitive side emerges. “These gestures cannot go unrewarded. You'll see! One day I'll be able to surprise you with my cooking techniques as well! Just you wait!”

He will NOT ask you to teach him how to cook. On one hand, he wants to surprise you. On the other hand, he doesn't want you to see or know about his mistakes in the process. His pride is too strong here.

Whenever you cook his favorite dish: Salmon Carpaccio, his eyes will shine and he will gasp. “And to what do I owe this thoughtful gesture today?” He smiles smugly. “Is there something you wanted to thank me for? Whatever it is, I am extremely grateful for your generosity, (Y/N).”

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#3K followers #3K followers milestone #Twisted Wonderland #twst #twst headcanons #twst fluff #twst requests #Twisted Wonderland requests #requests #Riddle Rosehearts #Silver #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge

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misasimagines · 4 months ago

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bathtime w/ Jiro (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: Jiro (Yuri visits, but is not the focus)

rating: SFW but suggestive. Reader is Lustful.

warnings: reader is lustful but respectful. Jiro is naked. GN reader. Reader and Yuri are not necessarily besties.

First Tokyo Debunker fic after being a dead blog for months :thumbsup:

He looked worse than he normally did. It was hard to determine his state on appearance alone, given that he normally had dark circles, a pallid tone to his skin, an empty stare, and hair that was several nights past simple bed head. However, you were familiar enough with his movements by now, how calculated and deliberate they usually were, to tell when something was different, and today they were definitely different. You had positioned yourself in Mortkranken to keep an eye on him under the not untrue guise of hiding out from Romeo and Jin, both of whom were demanding your presence for various tasks you had no responsibility to complete. Your phone lit up constantly while Romeo sent you increasingly deranged threats for not answering him. You flipped it over, screen side down.

Jiro stood at the desk in the back of the room preparing Yuri’s tea. He had a teapot in front of him and a few small canisters of tea leaves he was mixing from. You'd watched him do this plenty of times before, his actions, the sounds, even the smell of the tea was like some kind of elevated ASMR video. Today though, instead of relaxation, you felt a grating sense of wrongness. He moved slower, like through something viscous and dense, and took several seconds to decide on what teas to use when it normally seemed arbitrary he was so decisive and instant. And then it happened. He did something you'd never seen him do before. He spilled tea leaves all over the floor.

You let out a soft gasp and sat up instinctively.

He stared, expression unreadable, down at the mess and you felt a little sharp prick in your heart at how absolutely exhausted he seemed. There was no way of knowing what he was thinking, but there was a universal sense of disappointment in that sidelong stare he gave the wasted tea leaves. He stood for a second more and then lumbered across the room for the broom.

“Let me help,” you offered, hopping up from your seat and hurrying over to him.

“Why? It's not your mess,” he responded in that monotone voice of his, grabbing the broom and turning back to clean up.

“Right. I don't have to help you anymore than you have to make Yuri tea every day,” you reached for the broom and grasped the handle, not quite prepared to wrestle it from the man you regularly saw hauling corpses to the morgue over one of his broad shoulders, but threatening nonetheless.

He stared down at you, his glasses sliding down his nose. “He'll complain if I don't. It's a hassle. I won't complain if you don't clean up after me.”

You frowned at his succinct, pragmatic answer. “Maybe I just want to help you because I care about you, then.” You tugged at the broom. To anyone else, you might have felt embarrassed being so forthright, but Jiro’s bluntness rubbed off on you in his presence. Besides, it didn't feel like a great revelation to share. You did care about him, and by this point, he'd have to be in serious denial to not notice it.

Jiro stared at you a few more seconds, then relinquished the broom. “I'll get the dustpan then.” He acquiesced in a way only Jiro could acquiesce.

You scoffed quietly and started sweeping the mess into a neat pile while he shuffled back across the room to retrieve the dust pan. He returned and crouched down to hold it so you could sweep up the tea and a fair amount of dust. Looking down at him, you saw just how, dare you say, fucked up, his hair was. It was a bona fide rat's nest, there may have been rats living in it currently, and you weren't sure if the slight discoloration on his bangs was dirt or blood.

Without thinking, you reached out and plucked a little piece of fuzz from his head and flicked it into the dustpan below. He stared up at you, utterly silent. You stared back. Seconds passed as you processed what you just did and he seemed to understand it no more than you did. “When was the last time you bathed?” You finally broke the silence. There was no point in beating around the bush with him, he surely wouldn't with you.

“Hmm,” he stood up and trekked over to a trash can to dump out the pan. “Before we autopsied that anomaly with 5 heads.”

“That was on Monday.”

“Yes.”

“It's Friday.”

He turned to look at you, “Oh. It's been four days.”

Did he not know the date?? You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to calm yourself. “And sleep? When did you last do that?” You pressed.

Jiro blinked slowly at you.

You were going to kill Yuri, but that was for another time. This time, you had a giant, dirty, and sleep deprived Jiro to take care of. “You HAVE to take a bath and get some sleep.”

He considered this long enough to give you time to take another deep breath and prepare to nag him. “Okay,” he turned and started shuffling towards the bathroom, only to stop suddenly and put his hand against the wall to steady himself.

Rushing over, you put a hand on his arm in case he collapsed. “Jiro!”

He blinked away the dizziness, nausea, lightheadedness, whatever he was feeling in that barely reanimated body of his, and barely straightened up. He seemed to have the intention to respond to you in some way, but the energy to do so was missing. He shuffled another step forward and you went with him. If this was how it was going to be, you clenched your jaw, this was how it was going to be.

He regained enough strength on the way to the bath that you felt confident he'd be able to survive cleaning up at least. You rushed in and around getting the water up to a warm temperature, grabbing a towel, and pushing him the last few steps towards the tub.

“It would be faster to take a shower,” he commented, kicking off his shoes.

“Do you think you have it in you to stand in a shower long enough to get clean?” You retorted with a raised eyebrow. You lifted the glasses from his face and set them carefully next to the sink.

He let you take his glasses with the familiarity of having had you done it a hundred times before. A hundred times might have been a bit off, but you'd maneuvered them off his head a few times when he was nearly passed out over an operating table and when he had blood all over his hands and couldn't wipe them off himself. It was an action not unusual for you two, which is why the tilt of his head came so naturally when you reached for them. Lifting back up, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “Maybe not. I could also faint and drown in the tub.”

“That’s why I'll stand guard to check on you every few minutes to make sure you haven't inhaled lungfuls of bathwater,” you promised, avoiding looking too closely at his scarred back as he shrugged out of his shirt. You grabbed it up before it hit the ground and set it aside on the counter.

“Because you care about me?” He asked.

If a person could turn to sand and crumble away or deflate like a balloon and fly around the room making a pitiful little whining sound, you'd have done either. It was one thing to say it yourself to nag and scold him for his poor self care practices. It was another to have it thrown back at you in a way where you couldn't tell if he was teasing you or just earnestly asking. Face flushed an deep red, you turned around to give him privacy (and hide your blush) and stood at the door. “Because I care about you,” you agreed, regardless of the embarrassment.

A minute or two passed and you heard the sound of the water sloshing as he got into the tub.

You held his towel in your folded arms, facing the door intently. “Just make a noise or something every few seconds so I know you're not drowning, okay?”

He was quiet.

“Any sound,” you insisted, drumming your fingertips over your arms.

He was quiet, the water was not sloshing.

“Jiro?” You called behind you, suddenly very tense.

He didn't respond and all you could hear was your own heart hammering in your ears. He'd passed out and was currently breathing in water and soap. You'd have to haul him out of the tub and try to perform CPR, but would that work? What if you broke his sternum, could he survive that level of damage when he was already so weak? A million visions of Jiro’s untimely death flashed in your head and made your chest tighten.

You spun around, already halfway towards him before you realized he was fine.

He was resting his head on the back of the tub, looking at you with the smallest curve to his lips, his eyes shut slightly in contented amusement. He might have let out a rare bit of laughter if only he weren't so drained.

Your chest tightened and you considered a few choice words to call him for scaring you like that, but they all caught in your throat. As sweet as he looked, that barely there smile on his face, he looked so worn out and fragile sitting in that tub that could barely even fit him. You took a few steps toward him and set the towel down on the counter. “You scared me,” you admit.

“Sorry.” He responded, his smile had started vanishing, less because his amusement faded and more because the urge to sleep was becoming too strong.

You watched him for a second more and he made no move to start scrubbing himself down or washing his hair. With a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and crouched up on your knees next to the tub. You had filled it with an absolutely absurd amount of soap and bubbles, so there was no chance of seeing much more than the top of his chest and his knees that poked out over the water. “I'll wash your hair, so take care of the rest of yourself, alright?” You pushed.

He nodded.

You filled your palm with a bit of shampoo and foamed it up between your hands before diving into his mess of knotted hair. You had seen dolls at second hand shops with fewer knots and less tangled hair, and some of those had gone through the dryer or maybe a wind tunnel. You took your time, scrubbing down to his scalp with your fingers as tenderly but insistently as you could.

Jiro relaxed into your touch, slumped so fully into the bath that you had to gently lift his head to reach the back of it. He let out a quiet hum of satisfaction when you raked your fingers up the nape of his neck. His eyes were fully closed now, his eyelashes thick and dark and brushing the tops of his cheeks. Without his mask hanging down around his chin, you could see the cute little beauty mark under his mouth. Droplets of water rolled down his neck, over the little star shaped scars, down his chest and-

His eyes opened slowly and he looked up at you. It wasn't particularly different from how he usually looked at you, and maybe that's why it felt so much more intimate than you were used to. If you let yourself get caught in these thoughts, it would recontextualize everything between you and nothing would make sense anymore. You felt paralyzed by him, by your thoughts, by your hands in his hair, by the slow rise and fall of chest and the shifting of bubbles. “You stopped,” he announced, his voice not betraying any real tone of displeasure, but you felt it nonetheless.

“Oh!” You got back to scrubbing, carefully working through the knots, carefully controlling your breathing. “Sorry,” you mumbled. You rinsed out the shampoo, dumping little rinse cups of water over his head, your hand over his eyes now both to hide his near unblinking watch and to prevent soap from getting into them.

You rushed through conditioner, getting as much of his hair as saturated as possible (you had no clue when he'd use it again, after all), and pulled your hand back to stand up. “Okay. Just finish cleaning up and then rinse that out and you'll be right as rain,” you lectured as robotically as you could. The bubbles had started to pop and dissipate and any glances down at him were revealing more that you thought appropriate to see at the moment.

He wrapped his fingers around your hand as you retracted it. His hands were wet and his fingers slightly wrinkled from being under the water for so long. He pulled your hand inward just slightly, enough to indicate he was asking you to come back, but not enough to force you or pull you down.

You settled back on your knees in front of him. He looked pitiful, in the cutest way possible. His hair dripped water down his cheeks, his entire body barely fit into this tub and still he was cramped down into it, reaching up for you like he could pull you in with him.

His lips parted slightly and the pins and needles feeling in your calves erupted.

“Jiro- AAARGG!”

You shot up, Jiro's hand slipping from yours as you turned to see Yuri pointing at and screaming at you.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!” Yuri demanded, expression crazed with suspicion.

“I was washing his hair!” You insisted, guilt tinging your tone, and then realized you weren't at fault here. He was the culprit. Plus, he'd interrupted whatever moment you were about to have with Jiro. His second major offense. You clenched your hands into fists. “Which he hasn't done in four days since you never give him any time to take care of himself!” You snapped.

Yuri withdrew in indignation, “How dare you speak to me that way, worm!” His hand pressed to his chest, over his heart. “Jiro has 24/7 care from the world's best doctor and foremost researcher on anomalous medicine. He should be grateful!”

You were ready to throw hands when Jiro spoke up. “Yuri, I'll finish up here in a few minutes and bring you tea after.” If only he knew the amount of blood he just prevented from being spilled.

Yuri bristled and rearranged his lab coat. “You do that. I'll be in the lab and you,” he pointed at you again with distaste, “will be going anywhere but here!”

Waving an annoyed hand at him, you retorted, “Let me just wash my hands and I'll be on my way.”

Yuri glowered at you and opened the door to leave, “Don't forget my tea,” he commanded, slamming the door behind him

You positively steamed while washing your hands in the slightly cool water of the sink. You couldn't even ask “who does he think he is” because he had to announce it every five minutes. Dr. Yuri Isami, genius and visionary. Best doctor ever, blah blah blah. Distracted with frustration, you almost forgot Jiro was soaking in the tub behind you until you turned to dry your hands and leave and caught him sitting up and staring at you again.

He was running a washcloth down his shoulder and arm when he spoke, “I'll let you help me again.”

You snorted. It seemed so flippant a conclusion, and yet… you weren't ready to walk away without one last question. “You're capable of doing this yourself. Why would you let me help you?”

He considered this, wringing the washcloth out over his chest, sending a cascade of soap bubbles and water down his skin that you watched with nothing more than scholarly interest. He didn't even look at you when he answered, his voice as cool and apathetic as always, “It must be because I care about you.”

#tokyo debunker #tdb #tokyo debunker x reader #tdb x reader #tokyo debunker fluff #jiro tdb #jiro tokyo debunker #jiro x reader #jiro kirisaki

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