#it barely even feels real like i just made it all up

[samah-h]

A Confession from the Heart of Suffering: An Unbearable Reality

I hope you read my confession, and thank you. This is the reality of all the people of Gaza.

Whenever I think of the life we used to have before the genocide, I have to struggle to hold my tears so I don't cause my children more pain than what they already feel. Our life, then, was neither easy nor perfect but it was full of warmth and the simple joy of being together under one roof .

We have never felt completely free because we have always been under a siege that has only gotten worse during this war but at least we felt somewhat safe and we had quite a decent life with the means that we were allowed.What kept us going was our belief that the future might be brighter one day.

Unfortunately, there seems to be no better tomorrow for us anymore. Nothing remains of our previous lives but rubble and memories, and the future is so bleak and full of uncertainties.It's not just the walls of our house that were turned into ruins, it's our hopes and dreams that were reduced to ashes. Now, we only dream of things that might seem so trivial to other people around the world like being able to sleep in and wake up in a comfortable bed or having a meal without standing for it in line for hours.

We dream of having enough clean drinking water so we don't have to worry about dying of thirst. We dream of the days we had a home with a regular kitchen and stove, the days we could celebrate special occasions with family in peace. Above all, we dream of not losing the people we love in a split second and of living safely and with dignity.

Instead, we have been wrongfully sentenced to a life of fear, displacement, and humiliation beyond belief. It is a living nightmare here now. Everything needed to ensure the bare minimum of decency and normalcy is denied to us. As you well know, there is no safe place in Gaza anymore and We are deprived of simple rights like having having a roof over our heads or enjoying some peace of mind for even one single day. The airstrikes and the buzzing of drones almost never stop. We live with a very real sense of impending doom day and night.

The water and food scarcity are only getting worse with time. Even regular chores like cooking or doing the laundry have become true challenges. I cannot propely bathe my children because the little water we get is polluted and their sensitive baby skin keeps getting irritated.

Before the war, my nine- year-old daughter was so picky about which outfits to wear; it made me laugh that she acted that way at her age but now we don't even have enough warm clothes for the winter. It kills me each time she says she doesn't need fancy clothes anymore and only wants to feel warm and go back to school. What makes it worse is our tent has recently been flooded by rain.

The whole camp turned into a swamp overnight. The children woke up soaked, shivering and terrified. It was almost impossible to calm them down as the rain kept pouring. We are doing our best but even if we succeed in finding the treatment, it's going to cost almost a fortune. This is why we need your support even more now.

All we do now is fight for survival every day. I never imagined,even in my darkest nightmares, that I would be searching high and low to put food in my children's mouths and keep them warm or that I would be begging the world to literally save their lives but I have no other choice now.

Despite the unbearable suffering we're daily going through, I still believe in humanity. please keep us in your prayers and help us anyway you can. Donate if you're able to,reblog and share our story as widely as you can.We are grateful to each and every one of you

Vetted by @bilal-salah0

7,464$ / 10,000$

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

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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

[pickingupmymercedes]

Ageless wonder - Lewis Hamilton

warnings: mentions of alcohol, Toto being an ass (himself)

genre: fluff and teasy Lewis

wordcount: +1k

a/n: I had to, 'shelf life' my ass

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Waking up with a hangover wasn’t new to me, Lewis was the one non-alcoholic Tequila master in the relationship after all. But waking up feeling like my skull is auditioning for the lead role in Crash: The Musical, though? That’s special.

My tongue feels like I licked an old battery, my hair probably looks like I got electrocuted, and the sun streaming through the window is public enemy number one.

And still somewhere through the haze of pain, I catch a whiff of something heavenly: Lewis’s cologne.

Thank God. Home.

There’s a low chuckle near me, and the bed dips slightly. “Morning, superstar.”

I pry one eye open. Lewis is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a grin that’s somewhere between amusement and concern, though he’s annoyingly chipper, like he hasn’t just watched me drag myself through hell disguised as a bottle of – real – tequila.

“Why are you so loud?” I croak, turning over to bury my face in the pillow.

“I’m not loud; you’re sensitive” he shoots back, that stupid chuckle rumbling again. “Rough night”

I flip him off without looking, which only makes him laugh harder. “Rough week actually.”

And it has been rough.

Toto, king of ominous sound bites, had suggested, in the newly launched Mercedes book, that Lewis might’ve been near his “shelf life.”

As if Lewis wasn’t out there fighting the excuse of a car they couldn’t understand how to work around, pulling phenomenal races from P10, setting twelve fastest laps, lapping four-tenths faster than his own teammate at some points.

And if there’d been more laps? Well, Toto might’ve had to eat his words on a very public stage.

I’d been at the race, of course. Watching from the garage, headphones clamped tight over my ears, my hands clasped together until they ached. I’d barely breathed until he crossed the line in P2, the garage erupting around me.

The relief was immediate, but it didn’t last.

I caught the frustration in his shoulders as he climbed out of the car, the way it clung to him during the cooldown drive to the podium interview and those mandatory interviews.

He’d wanted more.

He hadn’t said anything directly to me, of course—he never does when the sting is fresh. But I know the weight when I see it.

It’s in the way he’s still tense even as he waves to the fans, in the measured, overly polite answers he gives in interviews.

Watching him absorb the quiet digs, I wanted to storm the press room and defend him, consequences be damned. But what good would it do? Still, the knot in my chest wouldn’t loosen until I saw him smile again.

And then Toto had gone and made it worse. Of course. Lewis’s teammate was “from another planet,” while Lewis was just working with a “super strong car.”

I’d had to sit there and smile politely, even though every part of me wanted to grab Toto by the collar and shake him.

It wasn’t my fight, though—not really. It was Lewis’s. And Lewis, being Lewis, handled it like a pro. Calm. Measured.

Acknowledging his own faults while subtly calling out the micro-aggressions of all sorts he’s dealt with his whole career.

That’s my man. Too classy for this world.

But let’s be real: the post-race party in Vegas? That was for me. Not that I’d ever admit outside of our bedroom, but seeing him relaxed, smiling, surrounded by people who adore him? That was the real victory.

And the price for that? Me, nursing the world’s worst hangover and Lewis, laughing at my expense. Classic.

His voice broke through my thoughts. “You really went for it last night. Celebrating like you won something.”

“I did win something,” I mumble into the pillow.

“Oh yeah?” His tone is teasing, and I can feel his grin without even looking.

I finally roll onto my back, squinting at him like he’s the sun itself. “Bragging rights,” I said. “Because you…” I pointed vaguely in his direction, “…are a goddamn force of nature. And because everyone who said otherwise is a dumbass.”

He shakes his head, amused, but there’s a softness in his eyes now.

“And,” I add, smirking despite the pounding in my head, “I won tequila shots with Miles. That’s also worth celebrating.”

“Clearly.” He gestures vaguely at my disheveled state, and I kick at him weakly with one foot.

He dodges easily, then leans back, holding his phone up with a sly smile.

“Pot, meet kettle,” I muttered, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in the pillow. Except that pillow smelled like him, which was entirely too distracting.

“What’s got you so chirpy this morning anyway?” I mumbled into the pillowcase, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

He had an uncanny ability to bounce back after days like these, his body apparently immune to exhaustion. I would’ve hated him for it if I didn’t love him so much.

“Just enjoying the comments on your last post,” he said nonchalantly.

That got my attention. I lifted my head to look at him. “What post?”

Lewis didn’t answer. Instead, he smirked and held up his phone, just out of my reach.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, dragging myself upright. My head protested the movement, but curiosity outweighed the pain. “What did I do?”

“You don’t remember?” His grin widened. “It’s good. Really good.”

“Lewis.” I reached for his phone, but he leaned back, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“I think it’s fair to say the caption was… pointed,” he said, drawing the word out.

“Pointed at what?” My patience was wearing thin, and my curiosity was spiraling into mild panic.

He finally handed me the phone, and the moment I saw the screen, the haze of my hangover lifted just enough to make room for a new emotion: horror.

The photo was innocent enough—just me and Lewis at some ridiculous Vegas afterparty, his arm slung around my shoulders, both of us grinning like idiots. But the caption. Oh, the caption.

“All in on ageless wonder”

And my jaw drops. “Oh my God.”

Lewis is laughing now, low and warm and entirely too entertained. “You went all in, babe.”

I scroll through the comments, and my stomach flips. Hundreds of thousands of likes. Thousands of comments. Most are supportive—#GoatHamilton is trending, apparently—but a few are... less so.

I can’t help it but laugh. “Drunk me is bold.”

“Drunk you is sincere” he corrects, taking the phone back and locking the screen.

“Toto kinda deserves it.” I sit up, wincing as the motion sends my head spinning. “How long can I leave it up before PR calls me personally to tell me I’m banned from every Mercedes garage on Earth?”

Lewis checked his watch like he was genuinely considering it. “I’d say we’ve got a couple hours before the panic sets in. Maybe three if I keep ignoring my phone.”

I grin at him. “Reckless. I like it.”

He grins back, and for a moment, it’s just us. No hangovers, no drama, no shelf-life bullshit. Just Lewis and me, in sync as always.

He kissed me then, and for a moment, the lingering fog of tequila and regret melted away. All that mattered was him—his warmth, his steadiness, his love that he didn’t have to put into words because it was always there, in everything he did.

Lewis always had a way of grounding me, of silencing the noise in my head with something as simple as a kiss. It wasn’t just the feel of his lips—it was the way his hands cupped my face, anchoring me to him, the unspoken reassurance in the way he held me.

He didn’t need words to remind me that we were a team, that no matter how loud the world got, we’d always have this.

And I knew—I’d burn through a thousand hangovers just to feel this peace

“How much trouble are you when Toto sees that post?” I ask after a few moments of us studying each other.

He smirks. “Don’t worry.”

“Remind me to confiscate my phone next time I drink.” I lean back against the headboard, closing my eyes again.

“Not a chance,” he says, and there’s so much affection in his voice it makes my chest ache.

I peek at him through one eye. “You like chaos too much.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, still grinning. “Or maybe I just like you.”

Damn him.

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling now, the pain in my head fading to the background. Lewis has that effect on me. He always has.

And as much as I want to give him hell for waking me up, for teasing me, for letting me post that caption in the first place, I can’t bring myself to care.

Because at the end of the day, Lewis is Lewis. And he doesn’t need anyone to tell him who he is.

Although I’ll keep on shouting it from the rooftops if I have to.

Shelf life, my ass.

_____________________________________________________________

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[requiemforthepoets]

broadway darling 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x sainz!reader

SUMMARY: you and lando never met each other in person despite him being best friends with your brother, but when carlos had dragged him to your opening night, he hated to admit it but he was charmed by you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n in the narrations, photo do not belong to me and all photos are taken from pinterest, inconsistencies of photos, use of y/n on the smau, not proofread, magui, profanities, mean comments, and typos

WORD COUNT: 696

FACE CLAIMS: taken from pinterest

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i missed writing for lando 😭 i made this one shot/smau to appease my broadway x f1 racer agenda in my mind, and since i’m a big fan of les miz and hamilton. though let me know if you want part 2 lol i hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it! this one’s for all the theatre girlies out there (i hope i did you justice 🥹)

It was an unspoken rule that opening nights were sacred in your family. The excitement, nerves, and anticipation of the curtain rising for the first time in Melbourne—it was all part of the magic you had fallen in love with since your broadway debut at sixteen. Tonight was no different, the backstage bustle surrounded you, but you remained calm, dressed in your costume for Fantine, the tragic heroine of Les Misérables.

The makeup team finished their final touches, ensuring every detail conveyed the pain and hope of the character. You took a deep breath, whispering a quiet prayer as the stage manager gave the fifteen-minute warning.

In the plush velvet seats of the packed theater, your family had taken their places. Carlos was flanked by your parents on one side and, to your surprise, his best friend, Lando Norris, by his side. You had heard of Lando countless times through Carlos’ stories, seen him in the occasional instagram post or race weekend interview, but never met him in person. Lando was not exactly the type you imagined sitting through a three-hour musical, but there he was, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, looking slightly out of place but undeniably intrigued.

“I still don’t understand why you brought me with you.” Lando murmured to Carlos as they flipped through the program.

“Because you need culture in your life,” Carlos teased, his voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Besides, it’s my sister. I’m always there to support her.”

Lando just nodded, unsure what to really expect. He had heard of you, of course, Carlos never stopped talking about his little sister’s accomplishments, but he had never seen you perform. Lando wasn’t even sure how someone who belted out ballads for a living would compare to the thrill of racing, but as the curtains rose and you stepped onto the stage, he felt something shift.

When you sang I Dreamed a Dream, the theatre fell silent, and Lando forgot to breathe. He didn’t know much about broadways and musicals, but even he could tell this was something special. There was a rawness in your voice, an honesty that made him feel like you were baring your soul to every person in the audience, him included.

“You good?” Carlos asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Lando blinked and sat up straighter. “She's…really good.”

“Told you,” Carlos smirked, “she’s a broadway darling for a reason.”

Lando did not respond, his eyes fixed on you as you poured your heart into the performance, and by the time the curtain fell and the audience erupted into applause, he was on his feet, clapping so hard his palms stung. Carlos laughed as he nudged him.

“I think you liked it more than me, mate.” Carlos chuckled.

“She’s, uh, really talented.” Lando flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. Carlos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Backstage, you were surrounded by castmates and well-wishers when Carlos arrived, with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“You killed it out there!” He said, pulling you into a bear hug. “Mamá and Papá are so proud, they couldn’t even stop crying.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, wiping a bit of makeup from your cheek. “It felt good tonight.” You admitted, though your eyes flicked curiously to the familiar figure a few steps behind Carlos.

Carlos caught your glance and stepped aside. “Oh, right, this is Lando. You know him, my best friend.”

“Hello.” You said warmly, extending a hand.

Lando stared at you for a second too long before quickly shaking your hand. “Hey, uh, you were amazing. Like, really amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at his slightly awkward demeanor. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it. I never pegged you for a theatre type.”

Carlos snorted. “Oh, he’s not. He didn’t even know who Fantine was before tonight.”

“Hey, I know now.” Lando muttered as he shot Carlos a look, which made you laugh.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Lando,” you said. “Thank you for coming.”

As you turned your attention back to Carlos to discuss dinner plans, Lando just stood there, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, feeling like he had just been hit by a train.

ynsainz

liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, lesmizofficial, iamrebeccad, landonorris and 456,736 others

tagged: lesmizofficial

ynsainz do you hear the people sing? 🇫🇷❤️

opening night of les misérables in melbourne was nothing short of magical. i’m so grateful for the chance to bring fantine’s story to life again and share it with the people i love the most. a night that i’ll never forget! ❤️✨

view 78,837 comments below

carlossainz55 incredible, hermanita! Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it ❤️

ynsainz AAAAAHHH LOVE YOU 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad you.are.amazing! GIRL THOSE PIPES YOU HAVE!!

ynsainz rebeccaaa, thank you so much!! i’m glad that you were able to come 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad of course! wouldn’t miss it for the world!!! 🥰

landonorris amazing show last night! first theatre experience and definitely won’t be the last 👏🏻🙌🏻

ynsainz thank you lando! glad that les miz was your first theatre experience. well, hoping to see you again soon! 😆

lesmizofficial opening night couldn’t have been more better, it was unforgettable! you’ve brought fantine to life in a way that will resonate for years to come. the team couldn’t be prouder of you! ❤️

ynsainz thank you, les misérables! 🥺❤️

username1 PERFECTION PERFECTION PERFECTION

username2 carlos wasn’t lying when he said he’s sister a star 🥹 i came for the sainz connection and left absolutely blown away by your TALENT!!!!

username3 an icon, a legend, a queen!!!!!!

username4 I STILL CANT BELIEVE THAT I WATCHED YOU LIVE 😭😭😭😭

username4 I NEED TO SEE YOU ON LES MIZ TOUR I CANT LET THIS PASS BY 😭😭😭

username5 THE MEMES 😭😭😭

username6 THEATRE KIDS UNITE!!!

twitter posts

f1gossip

liked by username1, username2, username3, username4 and 20,837 others

tagged: ynsainz, carlossainz55, landonorris

f1gossip is there something more than just racing between lando norris and the sainz family?

spotted: lando norris attending the opening night of les miserables in melbourne with none other than carlos sainz and his family just days before the aussie grand prix weekend.

the mclaren driver, who’s usually more focused on the track than the theatre, seemed to be all flirty and smiles as he mingled with carlos’ little sister, ynsainz—the broadway darling herself! rumors have been swirling around ever since lando was seen front and center at the opening night, and now, it’s got us wondering…is there something between the two off-track?

while lando’s always kept his private life under the wraps, this cozy night with the sainz fam is raising some eyebrows. could les miserables be just the beginning? are we seeing a new f1 power couple in the making?

drop your thoughts below! ❤️

view all 18,636 comments below

username7 okay, but if lando is really into her, can we talk about what an upgrade this is from his usual dating rumors? she’s a literal goddess. broadway, west end, and disney??? ma’am.

username8 so lando’s in attendance at les miz in melbourne? okay, that’s cool, but is it bad that i care more about her perfomance than this so-called gossip? priorities, people!

username9 not at all!! everyone here in the comsec acting like they personally know lando or y/n lmao what a bunch of losers

username10 this is a bit of stretch, don’t you guys think? maybe he’s genuinely wanted to be there for support. he’s literally best friends with carlos and close with the sainz, is it now bad to support a best friend’s family member? not every guy and girl showing support or hanging out equates to dating.

username9 SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

username1 finally, someone saying relevant here for once!!!

username11 can we please stop making everything a love story? maybe she’s just being nice and lando’s just being lando

username12 oh you are so sick for tagging the people involved in your nonsense gossip!!! leave them alone!!!!

username13 now why us, broadway fans, suddenly being dragged into an f1 drama? can we just stay away from this and focus on supporting her and appreciating her talent? we don’t need this kind of drama

username14 lol lando is just tagging along with carlos like they usually do! NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE A SHIP NOR A DATING RUMOR!

username15 she’s just probably using him for clout lmfao

username16 i don’t ship it, but if carlos approves, i guess it’s fine

username2 ????? weirdo

username17 she’s been killing it on broadway since she was young. why do people always have to reduce talented women to ‘who they’re dating/involved’ with? do better people, you all are really embarrassing

username18 honestly, i don’t really care who she’s dating. just give me tickets to see her next performance 😭

username3 oh you’re so really for this

username4 why do broadway tickets have to be so expensive 😭😭😭

username5 bank heist plan meeting at my house at 8pm, pull up

username6 time to sell feet pics 😔💔

username19 she’s just gonna use lando for fame just like *coughs* magui *coughs* and besides, she wouldn’t be famous if it weren’t for carlos LMAO what a nepo baby

username7 DON’T YOU EVER COMPARED THAT VILE AND WRETCHED WOMAN TO Y/N! THE BLANTANT DISRESPECT. SHES BEEN SELLING OUT THEATRE BEFORE YOU COULD SPELL BROADWAY. CARLOS MAY BE HER BROTHER BUT HER TALENT GOT WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW. SIT THE FUCK DOWN. I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON THAT COUGH OF YOURS.

username8 username7 SLAYED, ATE, DEVOURED, LEFT NO CRUMBS

username20 yeah, i don’t really trust her. she’s probs only interested in lando bc of the clout that comes with being an f1 wag

username9 you DISGUST me. clout? clout??? mary, she’s the one with standing ovations every night. meanwhile, you’re hating from your couch. maybe try again.

username21 LANDO IN SPECS 😭😭😭 HES SO DREAMY 🥺🥺🥺

username10 people out here are tearing each other apart and so close in inciting civil war, while you’re out here commenting lando looks good in specs is so REAL 😭😭😭

username11 the vibe i bring to the function:

username22 the whole comsec got me laughing my ass off 😭 y’all are really bursting your nerves over this gossip that is completely baseless 😭😭😭 it’s NORMAL for him to hang out with carlos’ family and show support to carlos’ family member. like what the other commenter said, not everything has to be a dating rumor 😭😭😭

username12 EXACTLY.

username22 these people need to unclench their asshole. like omfg relax, brenda!

username23 if this is true, i don’t like it. lando needs someone who understands his world, not some theatre diva who’s only there for the spotlight

username13 ???? theatre diva ???? she’s literally been called the voice of this generation, a generational talent. she DOESNT need lando or his world, she has her own. stay bitter, though

username24 why are people so mean? she’s insanely talented and gorgeous.

username14 some people are just really fucking opinionated, like they know lando personally and that their opinions would matter. well news flash, lando wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at you nor date you all. fucking weirdos

username25 welp, this isn’t the comment section that i was expecting at all 🧍🏻‍♀️

username26 is this a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans? 😭😭😭😭

username27 vroom vroom kids vs. theatre kids

username28 this post alone had incited a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans 😭

[band--psycho]

Vander x Reader - In Another Life (Part 1)

SPOILERS FROM ACT 3 - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Vander Masterlist / Arcane Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Thank you to everyone who's sent in a request so far! I'm absolutely loving the ideas you guys are sharing and will get to work on them soon! 💛

Requests are still open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

The way I sobbed during this first episode when I saw Vander again!

I just had to write this afterwards - I hope you all enjoy this!

You woke with a start, your heart beating at a rapid pace as a light bead of sweat formed on your forehead. 

You stayed like that for a minute, just sitting upright in the bed as you began to catch your breath; your eyes focusing on the environment around you. 

You weren’t in your bedroom. 

In fact, you didn’t really know where you were…it was weird, although this place seemed so different to you, it felt oddly familiar at the same time.

The last thing you could remember was being in the room with the hexcore in it. 

Ekko…Heimerdinger…Jayce…where were they?

Thoughts were running around in your mind faster than you could keep up with them; you’d barely finished one thought before another one took over, as you tried to work out what the hell happened and where the hell you were. 

‘Am I dead?’ you thought to yourself, running your hands over your face. 

But all your thoughts were halted when you heard the door to your side creek open; followed by a voice that confirmed you must’ve been dead, or just completely losing your mind.

Vanders voice….

“Good morning, sleepyhead, or should I say afternoon,” he chuckled; a sound that made your heart ache, and yet at the same time, made you feel all warm and fuzzy. 

It was a sound that you never thought you’d hear again… 

A sound that had made you feel safe; regardless of what was going on, even now when you had no idea what was going on. 

You heard his footsteps getting closer to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

Not even for a second, just in case this was just your mind playing a foul trick on you. 

It wasn’t long before the sounds of his footsteps stopped and the bed that you were sitting on dipped as Vander sat in front of you.  

He lifted his hand to your face, tilting your chin up with his thumb, “You okay, sweetheart?”

His touch; it felt so real, so real that it made you sure it wasn’t your mind deceiving you. 

It couldn’t have been. 

Vander quite often occupied your dreams, and in every single one of them, his touch had never felt as real as it did in this very moment. 

“Am I dead?” The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, coming out in a small whisper.

Your eyes met Vanders gray ones, that’s when you noticed the worry that was slowly building inside them as he stared at you. 

“No, darl,” he cooed, wrapping his other hand around your waist, lifting you out of the bed momentarily before placing you in his lap, “you're safe.”

Safe.

You hadn’t been safe in a long time. 

And yet, here you were feeling safer then you had in years, with a man who should’ve been dead.

Your man. 

The love of your life. 

He was here. 

He was alive. 

You could hear his heart beating as you snuggled into his chest, savoring the all too familiar scent of Vander….smoke, fire and alcohol, mixing together with a small amount of cologne he loved to wear. 

“You’re alive…” you breathed, tentatively reaching out to touch his cheek. 

He seemed different. 

But in a good way.

The dark circles that were once under his eyes were pretty much all but gone; and his eyes seemed happier than when you knew him, as though he was free from all the stress that once plagued him. 

“Course I am, darl,” he assured you with a small smile; before pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head, hoping that his small action would be able to ease your mind. 

It didn’t. Not really at least. 

You were so confused. 

You didn't understand what was happening.

You tried to blink back the tears that were forming in your eyes, tried to keep yourself together so you could figure out what was happening. 

So you could think logically. 

But there was nothing logical about any of this…the arcane….magic…it wasn’t something that was logical. 

But now, being wrapped up in Vanders arms again, made you want to throw logic to the wind and just stay like this with him for as long as you possible could, not knowing how long this could last.

You didn’t know what was happening, or how, or why; all you knew was that Vander was here. 

That was all that mattered.

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @barbersjoy @conretewings @the-lone-librarian @cass-brightwood @fortune-fool02 @arielpanda1 @mothratic @simping-ella @stickyrice5096 @levis-butterfingers @lesbianinyourarea @eternallyvenus @trixiex2 @nagislemontea @dazecrea @littlejoyfullthing

[yamumsyadadd]

Las Blancas v Barca

teresa abelleira x barca!leon reader

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

It wasn’t supposed to be a secret, or to come crashing down in the way it did. 

Tere wasn’t that much older than you, just four years. It was less than AMC and Mapi’s age gap but to your big sister, Tere was ancient. 

You officially met Tere when you were called up to the Spanish squad after the Las 15, at barely 18 years old it felt like a huge responsibility, and it was. Mapi had resigned from the team, as had fourteen other players. It look a lot of difficult conversations with Mapi, your parents, and Irene before you accepted. Even though Mapi had she she didn’t want to hold you back or hinder your career in anyway, you could tell there was a part of her that was disappointed. Not in you, but in the RFEF. 

It was the beginning of the rift between the two of you and that’s why your relationship with the Las Blancas player was kept a secret. From everyone. 

“Hi! I’m Tere, you’re Mapi’s little sister right?” 

“Yeah, y/n. Nice to officially meet you.” We shook hands in the lobby of the RFEF accommodation quarters. 

“Vilda asked me to show you around.” You walked around for a while, Tere showing you the lounge area, the cafeteria and the kitchen room. “It’ll be good to get to know you when we aren’t battling against each other on the field!” She laughed and you knew then you were in trouble. 

Ever since that first day at camp, you were in deep. The curly haired, freckled face girl forced her way into your heart. No matter how hard you tried, she was always in your head, even when you were back in Barcelona and she was in Madrid. 

It was in Australia after the World Cup final when all the feelings came out. 

“Tere! We are world champions! World fucking champions!” The alcohol was coursing through your veins at the point, slightly aware of what you were thinking but the ability to stop yourself wasn’t there. 

“We are! And there’s no one else I’d rather do it with.” The skin under her hands made you tingle.

“You’re so beautiful.” It was meant to be a whisper but it was the complete opposite. 

Her lips came crashing down onto yours. It took a few seconds for your mind to register that this was a real thing and not just one of your many frequent dreams. Those few seconds was all it took for Tere to pull back, looking slightly horrified. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sor-“ it was your lips that shut her up. The only way you could describe the feeling of kissing her was like coming home. You both got carried away before she gently stopped. 

“Go on a date with me?” You agreed embarrassing fast. 

The dates were hard to navigate once you were back in Spain but you made it work and now, almost a year later, you were happy in your relationship even if it was a secret. 

It was the first camp back after the disappointing loss that followed the Olympics. Spains first, and potentially last. Finishing fourth and losing the bronze medal game was heartbreaking, for all those involved. There were photos that showed you and Tere looking a little more than teammates but not enough for anyone to truly say anything. But that didn’t apply to Jenni. 

As much as you loved her, she irritated you more than anyone else. Her reasoning was that she was just as much your sister as Mapi was and since Mapi wasn’t there to give you shit, she did it on her behalf. 

It was meant to be just gentle teasing, all in good nature. But after a while it got to you. Instead of being mature and actually discussing it with your girlfriend, you just completely ignored her. 

“Y/n!” Her footsteps were getting closer so you started walking faster, “amor!” She caught up to you easily, grabbing your wrist to spin you around, “why are you ignoring me? What’s wrong?” 

“I can’t deal with it anymore!” 

“With what?” 

“The-the teasing, the jokes, everything! At first it was whatever but now? Now they kept saying how much Mapi would hate it, ‘Barça v Real on the field but lovers in the bedroom’, not everything is about fucking sex.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I can ask Jenni to stop?”

“No, god no. Then she’ll know it’s true.” Tere dropped your hand, a look of hurt flashing across her face. 

“Is that really so bad? People knowing that you’re my girlfriend?” 

“Tere we both agreed, we wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Are you ashamed of me? Is that it? I know that Barça and Real have a huge rivalry but I didn’t realise you would be so ashamed to be seen with me.” 

“Tere wait!” It was no use, she was already gone, “that wasn’t even what I meant.” 

Begrudgingly, you decided to join the dinosaurs in the rec room. Jenni and Misa were playing pool and Alexia and Irene were on the couch. You forced yourself between your two captains, head following onto Alexia’s shoulder. 

“You okay nena?” Irene poked your cheek. 

“No I messed things up.” Both girls gave you a curious look, encouraging you to carry on, “I may have said something that I shouldn’t have to someone and it hurt their feelings but my feelings were hurt first and now they are mad at me.” 

“Is this person someone who is important to you?” 

“Very. I love her, so much and I want everyone to know how much but it’s hard.” 

“There’s a difference between private and a secret. Which one does this girl fall under?” 

“A secret.” You mumbled out, knowing that chastising you were going to receive. 

“I’m going to take a wild stab in the dark here and say that you and this mystery girl agreed to keep your relationship a secret during the World Cup but now she wants to tell people?” Irene gave you a knowing smile, all you could do is nod your head. 

“I think you’re overdue for a proper conversation with Tere.” Your head shot up at Alexia’s words, eyes wide as if you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, “she’s a good person. I would say great but she plays for Real. Go talk to her.” 

You shot up on your feet, quickly hugging and kissing both their cheeks and then you were off. It took a lot of grovelling and the promise to slowly start telling people. 

There was a plan in place, it had been throughly discussed and agreed upon but that all turned to shit as soon as you entered the locker room after the first El Classico game of the season. 

Everyone was extremely happy, as usual. Standing there, at the door way, you just blurted it out. 

“I’m in love with Teresa Abelleria and we have been dating for a year.” The entire room fell silent, everyone slowly turning to look at you, but all you could do was stand there like a deer in headlights. That was definitely not the plan. 

“What?” It was your sister’s voice that cut through the silence. 

“I, um-“ 

“A year? An entire fucking year and you kept this from me?” Mapi had started to make her way towards you, fury filled her face. 

“I was planning on telling you. I was. But I needed time to figure it out myself and not have anyone butt in with their unwanted opinions.” 

“My opinion doesn’t matter to you? That’s a bit rough. Your opinion matters to me, y/n.”

“Mapi that’s not what I meant and you know that!” 

“Then what did you mean! Use your fucking words!” She yelled. Everyone in the locker room was just watching it unfold. 

“Ever since I got called up to the senior team you’ve been disappointed in me! After every single game you always tell me what I need to do better, never once have you said ‘you played well today’ it’s always critical! So I’m sorry that I didn’t want to give you something else to criticise me for.” You turned and slammed the door open. 

After mindless walking, you found the Real Madrid locker room, you knocked before you entered, not wanting to walk in on anyone naked or worse, a useless pep talk. Tere noticed the dry tears straight away, pulling you into her chest and whispering reassurances in your ear. It took a while before you calmed down. 

“Talk to her amor. Listen to her and talk to her. I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?” She kissed your cheek and squeezed your hand before leaving. 

The bus ride was tense. Mapi and Ingrid were talking in hushed voices, occasionally glancing over towards you but you never noticed, too far in your own head. 

“Y/n can we please talk?” Mapi asked nervously after you’d all gotten off the bus. 

“I guess.” You shrugged your shoulders, following her line of sight to see Alexia and Ingrid looking over. 

“I was mad at you for keeping a secret but that wasn’t fair of me. You have every right to keep your relationships private and not tell me.” 

“Okay, good night.” 

“No! Wait! You said, you said I have been disappointed in you since you were called up but that’s not true. Absolutely not true, I am so proud. I’m just scared, scared that they will treat you like they treated me and the others.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “you have always been the biggest light. You are so pure, so full of sunshine and I didn’t want them to take it away from you but in being scared, I didn’t realise I would be the reason that you lost your light. So I’m sorry, so incredibly sorry and I’ll spend everyday making it up to you.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah. Tomorrow Tere and I are going out for breakfast. Do you and Ingrid want to come?” 

“YES!” Mapi shouted, jumping onto you and wrapping her limbs around. 

Breakfast the following morning was tense. Mapi looked angry, Ingrid just ignored her and continued to ask Tere questions to get to know her, actually caring about her answers. 

“Mapi, I need to apologise to you.” Tere said nervously. 

“What?” Mapi looked taken aback. 

“Throughout the whole Las 15 issues I didn’t stand by you. I did things and said things that I regret. I am so sorry for that, if I could I would go back and change everything. Stand by all of you from day one. The club- they wouldn’t let us. It was them or you and I didn’t want to lose my position on the team.” You gave her hand a squeeze for reassurance. It was a conversation that you had both many times. 

“Thanks for apologising. It hurt to know that my own national teammates didn’t have my back. Truly, I wish you all the best but I will never return. I hope you’re looking after my little sister when she’s there.” 

“Of course!” 

“Good because if you hurt her, I will ruin you.” She said it with a big smile on her face and Tere audibly gulped. 

“Maria!” 

It definitely took some time for Mapi to see you as a grown up in a relationship and there were some arguments about the age difference but all in all everything went smoothly. On camp, Mapi made the dinosaurs watch over the both of you. Never allowed to have time alone with Tere. The dinosaurs took her under their wing, just like they had with you. 

[k0mmari]

Okay people, I need to talk about IDOL!Shen Yuan AU before I explode (aka slight Aggretsuko inspired office au…..)

I’ll try to make this short for once jdvfhbjdhbvdf, but basically SY has been (forcefully) made to work for his brother(SJ) in the family company, after SJ decided enough was enough, and SY was going to do something with his life besides rotting away in his bed whether he liked it or not. The thing is, he wasn’t (just) rotting in bed reading atrocious novels, but he also took some time to experiment with music as a hobby, and over time, he grew a small following.

Though, after he was dragged to work at SJ’s side, the ever boring of dealing with paperwork and staring at white walls was eating at him. It’s not like he struggled doing his job, in fact, he was quite good at it, but he wasted no effort to make it very clear that he did not like that he was there in the first place. So, in an act of rebellion and to just do SOMETHING other than feel every passing second of the day in a cubicle, he decided to work even harder in his music hobby. It eventually led to SJ finding out and sparing no words to say that SY needed to focus on his real job, which only made SY brat out even harder, even managing to find an alternative music club and booking a few performances.

It went great! More people showed up than he expected, and all went great, but since his health was still not the best, after that he basically spent a whole month crashed out, not being able to do any more performances and barely able to go to the office once a week.

Anyways, it all led to SY thinking he had proved SJ right that he couldn’t continue this life style, and even thinking about quitting it, but one day while he was scrolling on the comments on one of his MVs (aka a Fancy Lyric Video), one of the comments mentioned that SY was one of the most important influences for that person, and that it inspired them to start pursuing music. It was the first time he had received a comment of that nature, and it lit the fire of his motivation back up.

Some 2 years passed, SJ still kept SY at the office, but SY had reached a nice balance on his online music work and performances on that club, and as his popularity grew, his performances at that one club had almost turned into a whole event for his most dedicated fans. So, enter Luo Binghe:

He was that comment that SY had read, and he did want to try music after being a fan of SY’s for almost three years now, but due to his financial situation he desperately needed some other source of income first. Now, at his last year of college, he managed to get an internship onto the Shen family’s company, which was a huge step forward towards his dreams, unfortunately he just had to go under SJ, which as we all know, was never kind to Binghe, instead acting as if the boy should just give up the internship entirely. And Binghe did think about it, but it seemed as if the stars had aligned for Binghe at least once, and SJ, after getting a sudden influx of work, delegated Binghe to SY.

They got on quite well, and Binghe even grew to have a little crush on SY, but it was all going fine and great until one fateful day. The office was as boring as ever, and after SY let Binghe know they wouldn’t have to entertain any clients for the day, Binghe decided to work on his part while listening to some music of his favorite artist.

Binghe has an awful habit of listening to music worryingly loud, so when SY went to get him to explain his new task, he ended up listening to what Binghe was hearing: his own music, in fact, his newest song. He pondered telling Binghe about the coincidence, but decided that maybe would be overstepping some professional boundary, and instead told Binghe about his one music club SY had heard about…

Binghe, excited to get to know more places around the area (and maybe understanding what SY did in his free time), decided to go to the club the next week after work, and did not even think about checking who would be performing in the day he would visit. Imagine his surprise when he gets to the door of the music club and hears some awfully famíliar music, and after rushing to be as close to the stage as possible, besides being blinded by his favorite artist’s greatness, also noticed that, hey, the artist looked an awful lot like a certain coworker of his….

Anyways, shenanigans ensue, Binghe starts his own investigation on SY possibly being the artist, SY juggling his office life, music career, and SJ perhaps coming to accept his brother’s career, and even maybe revealing a bit about his own past with music performances.

That’s all I had for today, just wanted to release this into the world! If anyone wants to expand on this, or try their on take on it, feel more than free to! Here are some more doodles of the usual day at the office :)

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hello!! I was reading some of your Yandere Dick and Starfire and I was wondering if you could do something where mc was a brainwashed black widow assassin from Marvel? Essentially black widows are little girls who were human trafficked and brutally trained to be assassins by a man named Dracov? Like they know what they’re doing and are fully conscious but don’t have a choice because of the brainwashing?

Extra points if Yandere Dick and Starfire never knew about the training and abuse until it was revealed

Yandere Nightwing x reader x yandere Starfire

The Tower was quiet, save for the faint hum of the training room’s lights. Nightwing and Starfire had just finished a light sparring session when they found you. At first, you had been distant, stiff, and cold, never truly letting them in. There was something about the way you moved, the way your eyes flickered over everything in the room as if scanning for threats, that unsettled them. Yet, they pushed it aside, chalking it up to your mysterious past.

They didn’t know about the black-and-red tattoos on your inner wrist, symbols etched into your skin like a constant reminder of your past life as a trained weapon. They didn’t know that every time they held you, their touch made you flinch, a deep-rooted fear ingrained in your muscle memory from years of abuse. They didn’t know that, deep down, you never truly felt free, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself.

It wasn’t until one evening when you tried to slip away in the middle of the night that everything unraveled. Your attempt was subtle, a trained movement learned over years of escape. But Nightwing had been watching you, his gaze trained on your every move since he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He followed you, and Starfire had done the same when she realized something was off.

The sound of your soft gasps echoed in the hall as you tried to push through the door. "Where do you think you're going?" Dick's voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. Your breath caught in your throat, body going rigid as the instinct to flee screamed through you.

"I... I don't want to hurt anyone," you whispered, voice hoarse, raw with emotion you couldn't fully express. You weren’t sure if you were even allowed to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the panic from surging. "I can’t—"

Starfire appeared behind him, her green eyes wide with concern. "What is it you do not want to do, dear one? You are not alone here. You are safe."

You froze. Your heart was pounding in your chest as old programming kicked in. A mission. A target. Your fingers twitched, aching to grab your weapons that you didn’t carry anymore, but the fear of failure paralyzed you. "I’m not safe," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I was never safe."

It was then that they saw it—the crack in the armor that had kept you distant from them. The fear, the betrayal, the vulnerability hidden so carefully under layers of emotional control. Dick's breath hitched as he moved closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you want to turn away.

"Who hurt you?" Dick asked softly, voice trembling with barely contained fury. His hands hovered near you but didn't touch—he had learned that much. You flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

The truth came out in pieces, in fragmented thoughts that didn’t quite make sense. You told them about Dracov. About how you and the other girls like you were torn from your families, forced into training to become tools of violence. You spoke of the endless nights of abuse, of never being allowed to have a real childhood. The truth was so ugly, so horrifying, that neither Dick nor Starfire could comprehend it all at once.

Starfire knelt before you, her eyes full of empathy and something darker—something protective. "We will help you," she said gently, her voice unwavering as she reached for your hand, "no one will hurt you again."

Dick’s eyes, though, were darker with rage, but not at you. "We’ll make sure you’re never alone again," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, and full of a possessive warmth you had never known. "Not anymore."

But as they moved to comfort you, as their hands brushed yours, something shifted in you. You didn’t want to be touched. You didn’t want to be loved. It wasn’t that you didn’t crave it, but you had been taught to push it away, to keep people at a distance. The only choice you had ever known was to obey, to fight, to survive. To let yourself fall into their arms would mean relinquishing control, something you weren’t sure you could ever do.

Starfire and Dick noticed the hesitation, the way you held back, even when they spoke softly of a future where you could be free. They had never known the extent of your brainwashing, and now that they did, it only fed the fire of their obsession.

They were going to "help" you, but their version of help would never be what you needed.

As Nightwing pulled you into his arms, the same instinct that had saved you so many times before kicked in. You didn’t fight it, not fully, but the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. You were trapped—your body, your mind, your heart—all of it had already been claimed, and now they were here, claiming you, too.

You didn’t know how to stop it. You didn’t know how to say no when you were all too aware of the unspoken promise in their eyes: they would never let you go.

(A/n: I have no idea of who character u r talking about yet😔 so correct me if I'm wrong because I just researched black widow for like a glance hehe)

[sweatyracoon]

Hey:) can you please do a part 2 of Tell me and make it smut

A/n: This is part two to a story I made a while ago, but can be read separately. Enjoy! Thanks anon for the ask! Feel free to suggest more.

Warnings: smut, obviously. Vampire Felix, biting, blood?, pinv, unprotected sex, dom felix, pet names, let me know if I missed anything

It had been nearly a month since you and Felix had the heart to heart, and things seemed to be going smoothly.

His features matured in ways you would have never thought.

He switched back to his natural blonde about a week ago, and you almost felt relief.

Although you didn't mind the black, you had noticed that it affected you in ways you shouldn't be by your best friend.

He was hot.

The black made him look mysterious and sexy. It nearly killed you to look at him, much less be near him.

Today was one of your mandatory hang nights, more specifically, a movie night.

You had found out that he no longer had the same needs as normal people. He doesn't sleep, but can force himself to for a short period of time.

He doesn't eat like he used to. He found that yes, he needs blood, but not often. And when he eats, he takes a few bites before feeling full. He can walk in the light, but it makes him a bit weak, like muscle aches.

It had been surprisingly easy to accommodate these new discoveries. And he had been so grateful to you for being so accepting.

He was sitting on the couch, his blonde hair peaking from above the head rest. You smiled as you walked around to join him, a bowl of popcorn in your hand.

"Ready?"

He grinned at you, his eyes shimmering from the blue light.

"Yep!" He barked, snuggling against you after you got comfortable.

You pressed play, watching the beginning with interest.

The movie was barely forty minutes in when you felt Felix tense against you. He felt colder than normal all of sudden, even under the blankets.

"Felix?" You turned to look at him, seeing that he was avoiding your gaze.

"Lix, what's wrong?" You went to reach for him, but he flinched, making you stop.

"Don't." His voice was deeper than usual, rough around the edges.

It almost sounded like a threat.

"Felix what's wrong? Remember, you promised you wouldn't shut me out," you whispered, unsure of what was wrong all of the sudden.

He sighed before drooping his shoulders, still not looking at you.

"I lied the other day. I-" His voice cracked. "I wasn't able to feed on Thursday."

Your eyes widened, your blood running cold. Wasn't that needed for him to stay sane or something? You weren't entirely sure what would happen if he didn't feed, and he wasn't either.

It was still entirely new.

"So what's wrong now? Are you hungry?" You asked, turning your whole body to him. He had your full attention, even if the movie was still playing.

"Yes, but that's not all," he gulped, looking at you finally.

You gasped, seeing the bright red hue in his eyes. They almost seemed to be pulsing, as if they glowed in the dark.

"I felt the blood going through your arm...when I was laying on you. It was weird." He frowned, wanting to look back to the tv.

Suddenly an idea popped in your head, thinking you might be able to help the poor guy out.

"Have you fed from a human?" You asked.

His eyes blew up. "Uh...Kinda? Bang Chan, he's like me, and he let me bite him. But other than that, just animals," He cleared his throat, his eyes getting brighter by the second.

"Do you want to feed from me? Do you know when to stop?" You tilt your head, watching him freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

"What? No! I don't want to hurt you,"

You blinked. You didn't think about that.

"It hurts?" You couldn't stop the words from leaving you. You cringed.

"Well, Chan said it felt really good when he bite people, but it doesn't have the same effect on him."

"Bite me then," you giggle, shoving your wrist to his face, making him recoil.

"I've never fed from a person. I can go out real quick so we can still have movie night-" he was stuttering at this point and you just wanted him to stop and breathe.

As you listened to him, you brought your nail you where your shoulder and neck meet, scratching just hard enough to break the skin.

Even though it didn't breach your skin yet, the sudden smell of the iron liquid reached Felix's nostrils, igniting something within him he didn't even know was there. His eyes darkened, and before he could stop himself, he was on you in seconds.

You let out a yelp of surprise, now on your back with Felix straddling your hips, locking you in place.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, and you heard him breathe in deeply, wanting to burn your scent in his memory.

You heard his jaw clenching beside your chin, and you took a deep breath.

"It's okay, Felix. I want it," you breathed. You didn't know entirely what it is you wanted, but he got the idea, latching his teeth into your pulse point.

It hurt at first, the pierce through the skin, his sharp teeth cutting through the many layers of skin. But once he got deep enough, it turned into a cooling heat that then turned into a flame, one that burned hotter with each passing moment.

The shock ignited the pooling arousal in your abdomen, and you let out a moan into his ear.

He growled as he knawed at your neck, squirming above you. You could feel his hardening cock through his sweats, your mind reeling at the thought of him inside you.

He groaned, finally pulling away from your neck to look at you.

His eyes had gone back to their natural color, and his face was flushed. His breathing was heavy, and his lips stained red with your blood.

He looked like an angel.

"You okay?" He asked softly, bringing a hand to rest on your face.

You nodded, unable to speak all of the sudden.

Your gaze blurred, your mind fuzzy.

He seemed to have caught on, hearing the small whimpers emitting from your throat.

"Whats the matter, honey? Can't talk? Did it feel that good?" He cooed at you with a grin, rubbing circles on your cheek.

You sniffled, nodding in response, nuzzling into his touch.

"Can I, y/n? Can I touch you?" He whispered, staring into your eyes deeply.

His free hand rested on your waistband, gently messing with a stray thread.

"Please, lixie," you mutter, suddenly hotter.

You lifted your hip gently, the skin of your torso meeting his cold fingers. You sighed at the contact, tilting your head back slightly.

He watched in awe as he pushed his fingers under your clothing, his index and middle finger playing with your folds before flicking your clit. You groaned, your arms coming to grasp at any part of him that you can. Your left hand found purchase on his forearm, your grip tight. The other fisted the fabric of the couch, scratching roughly on your skin.

“More, lix. Please…” you breathed, loving the way he touched you.

He said nothing, but showed that he heard you by shoving two fingers deep within your sopping cunt, pushing at a fast pace. Though his hands looked small, they seemed to be finding your g-spot immediately, grinning as he abused that sacred spot,watching as you let out louder moans. He forced himself down to catch your lips in his, sucking the air out of you as he continued to finger you, curling his fingers every other thrust. He brought his other hand to rub roughly at your clothed nipples, feeling them harden under the fabric.

“Want me to fuck you, y/n? Just tell me the word and I’ll take care of you, love. Let me take care of you,” he all but begged, sounding fucked out before even undressing.

He loved the way you clenched around his fingers, pulling him in, not wanting him to leave. If Felix had it his way, he’d never let his fingers leave from you. And if you wanted it to be his cock instead, who was he to deny you?

“Yes! Please Felix!” You moaned, your stomach doing somersaults as it begged for release. You whined as h pulled his fingers from you rather quickly, and watched as he fumbled with his sweats. He rushed to pull them off, nearly falling from the couch in the process, making you giggle at him. It quickly died down once you saw him.

He sprung out of his pants, a loud thud emitting rom where his cock hit his stomach. You nearly let yourself drool at the sight of him.

No other guy has made you feel this way about his cock, but boy was Felix beautiful. What he lacked in length, he made up for in girth, almost looking like the stretch would be painful. But you’d take it. You needed it. Almost as much as he wanted it.

He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, bringing it up to bite, showing of his abs. You moaned just from the sight of them.

“You sure you want this? We can stop…” he mumbled with the tee between his teeth. His eyes shimmered in the dim lighting, looking as if he held stars in his eyes.

“Yes I’m sure, lix. I just have one question…” you smiled at him. “Could you…bite me again?”

His eyes widened at first, but he felt himself twitching at the thought. Your blood was certainly way better than that of an animal. Yours was more fresh and almost electric with the way your adrenaline spiked. It was almost like his own alcohol just walking around in the apartment. He was head over heels for your taste, plus his long term crush on you.

He relaxed before placing himself at your entrance.

“Of course, baby,” he pushed in slowly, watching your back arch off the sofa.

He quickly came down to latch onto your neck, sucking, hoping to ease the pain with the pleasure of the bite.

It seemed to calm you down, because shortly after that, with each draw he took from you, your moans became louder. He started to move, cursing himself suddenly. Drinking from you was enough to make him finish, but he didn’t want to finish before you. He pulled his mouth back, looking you in the eyes as he picked up the pace.

Once again, his lips were stained with your blood, the amount a lot more than previously, making droplets form, and threatened to fall with each thrust. He hit deeper, pushing harder against you causing slapping sounds to echo the room. You both grunted with one another as each of you closed in on your high.

You felt the knot forming in the pit of your stomach, watching as his eyes fluttered shut as he rammed into you as if he never would have sex again. He wanted to make it last. He found that he was struggling just to not cum from staring at you. He loved how helpless you looked right now.

You finally felt the knot snap, your high washing over you like a ton of bricks. You shivered as he continued, your walls clenching around him desperately, wanting to absorb his delicious cum.

One droplet of blood finally parted from his lips, landing onto your own. He watched as you stuck your tongue out to taste yourself, moaning at the flavor. The sight of you tasting your blood finally made him snap. His cum shot out in spurts inside you, riding out his high until he was shaking from overstimulation. He collapsed onto you for a few seconds before pulling out, making you whine. He grinned, pulling his shirt of all the way.

“One second,” he muttered, cleaning you both before pulling the blanket over you both once more. “How are you feeling? Did I take too much?” He nuzzled into you, trying to make sour you weren’t uncomfortable.

“No, I’m okay. I don’t feel any different,” you responded with a yawn. Your shoulder aches slightly, but you deemed it worth it.

“You might not feel that way later, though!” He whined, pawing at your hands.

You giggled as you saw the ending credits to the movie you were supposed to watch.

“Good thing I took the next two days off!”

[tightjeansjavi]

I’m back from seeing gladiator 2 and honestly, I’m gonna be so real with y’all rn…I expected way more 😔 like was it entertaining, yes? Would I pay to see it again? No.

don’t read further if you don’t want spoilers

Okay, so here is my honest review that no one asked for

The intro and opening credits were absolutely STUNNING & the soundtrack of course

Costumes? Absolutely SLAYED.

Acacius…listen, I love Pedro, he’s a fantastic actor and he bodies every single role, but justice for Acacius bc he should have had WAY more scenes. Like yes, we get the vibe that he is not like the emperors and has a different outlook for Rome and he doesn’t want to continue to serve tyranny, but we barely got to soak in his character before he was [redacted]

And yes, you get the vibe that he is dedicated to Lucilla at all costs, but every interview and article about them and their relationship was not portrayed in the film. Sorry

Geta and Caracalla: I’m obsessed with these two ginger-haired twinks and everytime they left a scene, I was disappointed because I wanted more. There were moments where you could tell that there was some deep sibling rivalry, and while yes they were tyrants and villains, I ended up feeling sorry for them in the end 😭

Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger carried sorry not sorry and I would watch an entire movie about Geta and Caracalla. I would be SAT

(Hot take. But Geta’s severed head was laughable. What the fuck was that?? You have a huge ass budget for a movie of this scale and you can’t even get a realistic prosthetic head?)

HOT HOT take, but Macrinus was just okay. He was entertaining to watch but I also just like couldn’t really get into his character but it felt like he was the only one who actually had a motive and a real plan so that was cool

Lucius…this was another like I was expecting more but he was alright? Like there were moments where I was like feeling the energy but then it just fell flat

I think each character deserves justice and a better script. There! I said it!

And please remember these are just my opinions and not to take them seriously

*the sharks in the navel battle made me want to walk out that was so stupid

* the trailers and spoiler content we got had me so hyped for this movie and then it just…died

* Justice for May Calamawy

[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Small Talk (Jason Todd x Reader, Pt 2 of 3)

(Pt 1)

Premise: Jason worries that you're just putting up with him out of a misguided sense of pity.

Jason seems about ready to dip into fight or flight mode. Though you’d be surprised if flight mode even exists in his dictionary, perhaps it only applies to the dangers of expressing emotions rather than actual physical threats.

“Okay…” you begin slowly, mulling over your words so as to not spook him off, “Well to start off. No, I don’t pity you”.

He only frowns at that, crossing his arms around his torso tighter in response. Alright, can’t say you were all too surprised by that. Trust doesn’t seem to come naturally to the guy.

You take a breath before looking him in the eye, “Jason, I like you. I like spending time with you. I like what we have… is that so hard to believe?”

Jason averts his gaze in response, seemingly unable to face you. “I-I don’t know” he grumbles, a frustrated exhale escaping his lips.

“I don’t know what you see in me. I guess I'd rather tear down whatever halo effect you’ve got going on right now, rather than waiting for you to realise what you're getting yourself into, and walking out at a later point”. At least the former offers him some false sense of control, he gets to strip down the facade and push you away on his terms.

“So you think I’m going to just up and leave the day I see the ‘real’ you?” you have to bite back a scoff at his reasoning, but insecurities can take any form, and the fear of abandonment always seems to be the front runner in his case.

You shake your head as you counter him, “Jason respectfully, there was no point at which I thought you were putting up a prince charming act, you’ve never really made much effort to hide your broodiness”.

In fact, you've always appreciated how he never put up a front, his frank personality being one of the first traits that drew you in.

He bristles at your comment, but you can see some of the tension leaving his body as he uncrosses his arms.

“Hey! I can turn up the charm when I want to”.

You raise an eyebrow in response, that’s a shoddy defense at best.

You decide against bringing up the time he set the fire alarm off attempting to cook spaghetti for the two of you, or that other time he picked up flowers for you only to get into a scuffle on the way home, leaving you with five broken stems (but 3 petals stubbornly clung on, so they still counted as flowers according to him). No, now’s not the time to bruise his ego.

You sigh, deciding to try a more direct approach instead.

“What’s this really about Jason? Have I said or done something to make you feel this way?”

The genuine question coupled with the gentle tone of your voice further disarms him. He huffs a breath as he looks away.

“No…I just- I don’t know why you put up with me at times”.

You could feel the weight of his words even though they were spoken under his breath. Put up with what exactly? His sudden disappearances? His injuries? The bouts of sour moods? He doesn’t even know. But he can only imagine the combination to be unpleasant.

You reach for his hand, which is currently bunched up into a fist by his side before continuing “Jason… I love what we have. I mean, I know you’ve got your bad days, but you’ve never taken them out on me...”

You take a deep breath feeling somewhat hesitant about your next words, but knowing they need to be said.

“Look, I don’t know much about your past, and frankly I don’t need to, I enjoy what we have right now… But it seems like you’ve been let down plenty of times before, and those fears are being projected onto us".

He stiffens, confronted with the truth he barely lets himself think about. Instead of facing it head on, he chooses to deflect.

“That doesn’t seem like enough of a reason for you to stick around”

He may be trying to sidetrack the conversation, but you’re done beating around the bush. You need him to know he’s enough, more than enough. That you’re happy with him and not just putting up with him for the sake of it.

“Does it bother you? That I like you just the way you are?” 

He hunches over at your words, choosing to face the muted television screen instead of you.

“Not bother… I guess it’s a bit hard to believe. I mean I know I’m quite the looker and have a wicked sense of humour” he says dryly, though you don’t miss his attempt at biting back a snicker, “But man do I come with a lot of baggage” he concludes with a self depreciating groan.

You shake your head as you scoot closer to him on the couch, “Will you give yourself some grace for once? It doesn't seem like you were dealt the best hand in life” you retort, feeling defensive on his behalf.

“You’re trying to make sense of it all, you’re trying to do what’s right. Shouldn't that count for something? Don’t discount your efforts” 

He shakes his head as he turns to face you, conflict colouring his features.

“But isn’t it exhausting to keep up with (Name)? I can’t exactly offer stability- Hell, I can’t even say trouble finds me, I actively go seek it... I mean, I don’t even know what my future’s gonna look like, let alone what our future will look like”. 

Why stay when you can go seek out something more secure, more certain?

That question remained unsaid. Maybe he was being a coward, but part of him didn’t want to probe for answers he was not ready to hear.

“Jason, I’m not going give up what we have now because of a pessimistic ‘what if’ future that may never come to be… You make me happy. You’re so good to me. I wish you could see that”.

Feelings of sadness and frustration settle within you at his incessant attempts to downplay himself. Downplay what he means to you.

You spend a moment wracking your brain, trying to conjure up the magic words that will get through to him. Considering which memories you can point to as evidence for your case, what traits of his you can highlight in your defence. But so many moments flit through your mind, warm memories playing over like a cinema reel, you don’t even know which to choose from. 

That itself is enough proof that’s there’s plenty of reason to stay right here, by his side.

Now it was just a matter of getting him to see the same.

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

Initially thought of writing this in 2 parts but 1am big brain energy has given me enough ideas for a pt 3.

[yumekoii]

⋆˙⟡ — "are we still friends?"

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖🕊️ ft. sunday + f!reader ✦⋆♡ wc. 697 ˚₊‧ ♱ tw. one-sided crush, reader is very oblivious, ooc sunday, angst w/ no comfort :(

a/n. i love sunday, i promise !!! but i'm feeling a little angsty 2nite

you and sunday are best friends, but he loves you more than a friend and you so oblivious to his love for you.

so imagine the heartbreak sunday has when you introduce him to your new boyfriend. the first time he met him, your boyfriend was everything you could have wanted. smart, kind, and funny in the way you liked. the chemistry was obvious, and you were happy. but sunday… he wasn’t.

he couldn’t hate your boyfriend; that would have been easy. but he didn’t. he didn’t even have a real reason to dislike him. your boyfriend was, objectively, a good guy. but that didn’t change the fact that sunday was in love with you, and watching you so happy with someone else hurt more than he could have anticipated.

he tries to be supportive, but he just can't. he was supposed to be the one making you laugh, the one to dry your tears, the one to hold your hand. not him.

as the days passed, sunday’s silence grew louder. his smiles, the ones he always gave you, felt forced. when you talked about your boyfriend, there was an edge to his tone—something sharp hidden beneath his usual calm. but you never noticed.

he was good at hiding it.

so when you invited your boyfriend to another picnic, with sunday sitting just across from you, his unease was palpable. robin noticed first. she could read him like an open book, and this time, she saw the tension in his posture, the clench of his jaw. she gently nudged him, concern flashing in her eyes.

"are you okay?" she whispered.

sunday didn’t answer immediately. instead, he watched as your boyfriend casually wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. the sight made his stomach twist, a mix of frustration and jealousy pooling in his chest. he could hear you laughing at something your boyfriend said, the sound filling the air in a way it never had when sunday was the one who made you laugh.

"i’m fine," sunday muttered, though his voice betrayed him. there was nothing fine about this. nothing at all.

hours have passed and the sun began to set. you guys decided to pack up everything, sunday’s stomach churned with an ache that wouldn’t go away. he kept his distance from you, pretending to busy himself with the blanket, folding it in neat little squares.

your boyfriend was with you, his voice light, but there was an edge to it. acertain possessiveness that rubbed sunday the wrong way, even though he knew it wasn’t malicious. he was just… trying to hold on to you.

“see you later, sunday,” you called, smiling brightly, unaware of the turmoil you had stirred inside him.

he barely met your eyes when he replied. “yeah… see you.”

it was the smallest of exchanges, but in that moment, it was enough to remind him that things had changed. you had changed.

as the sound of your laughter faded into the distance, sunday’s shoulders sagged. he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

you had moved on, and he was still here, stuck in the same place he’d always been, caught in a web of unspoken words and silent regrets.

.....

today, you and sunday decided to have a day just for the two of you. it felt nice, to finally be with you without the presence of your boyfriend.

"are we still friends?" you asked, the words coming out of nowhere. because maybe, just maybe, sunday couldn’t be your best friend anymore.

his heart skipped a beat. he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked at you, truly looked at you for the first time in a long while. there was something in your eyes—something familiar, something real.

for a brief moment, he thought he saw the glimmer of concern. the glimmer of something more than just a casual friendship. but then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“of course,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. he gave you his warm smile that always comforted you.

but inside, the truth was louder than ever. no, we’re not. not anymore.

[mangora]

Something I think about a lot is the people who went to school or lived in the same neighborhood as the ROTI cast seeing them on TV. Everyone in Cameron’s neighborhood knew that a kid lived in that house but they never knew or even really saw him; and now they get to know him for the first time, and they feel this weird mix of pride for him, as well as melancholy or even anger at the fact that he was kept inside his whole life. Lightning was a star in his community and everyone thought he had an idyllic life, until they saw the finale and found out how much pressure he’d been under all those years, and they can’t see him the same way when he comes back. Zoey was an outcast at her high school and was ignored or even picked on by most of her peers, and they only realized how much of an impact that had on her when they watched her struggle to make connections over and over again until she lost her first real friend and snapped. No one liked Scott, everyone thought he was an asshole and knew he only got by via cheating and lying— but seeing him near catatonic after that shark attack, they can’t help but feel horrified on a deep personal level, and remember some of the good or just pitiful things Scott did, and wonder if he really deserved something that terrible. Jo was bullied but never seemed intimidated or effected by it; when everyone sees her struggle with her body image, or worry about the things she hasn’t done yet, or slip up and smile or help someone out, it both makes them realize that she’s weaker than they thought and also that they’re wrong for being happy about that. Similarly, Mike was widely treated as a freak and a delinquent, and had barely if any friends; seeing him open up about his DID on TV and learning where DID comes from created this sense of crushing guilt and horror for everyone who’d ever picked on him or written him off or spread rumors behind his back. Anne Maria was beloved by people at her school and in her neighborhood, and seeing how people like Zoey treated her and watching her lose was devastating. Brick was always known to have a heart of gold, and while seeing that on TV was inspiring for some of his friends and peers at boot camp, it made him a new target for other kids and commanders, who saw him as soft and effete and not worth wasting time on. Sam never had many friends due to his nerdy interests and social awkwardness, and after seeing how kind he was on the show, everyone wishes they’d given him a chance. Seeing Dawn properly mad at Scott during her elimination is super uncanny to everyone who knew her as the calm and collected local cryptid, and it reminds them that she’s human (or at least humanoid) and makes them take her more seriously. B’s community was rooting for them, since everyone knew how smart and thoughtful they were; seeing him get deadnamed by Chris and then get taken down by Scott made them genuinely mad on their behalf. Watching Dakota’s last moments as a normal human girl was horrifying for everyone who knew her, especially because after the episode aired there was nothing they could do about it. Staci went on the show as the annoying girl who lied for attention, and she left the same way; no glory, no gold, just humiliation.

And this isn’t even mentioning what their families felt watching the show, whether that be fear or pride or disappointment or anger— either at Chris and the show or even at their own child, in some cases. Like, could you imagine coming back home to your family, your friends, your neighbors, your teachers, your coworkers, after they’d seen you at your worst or most vulnerable on international television— after everyone who’d ever scrutinized or believed in you watched you lose big time. The horror and/or tragedy of ROTI doesn’t end or even really start with the radioactive island; the things that led them there and the things they returned to could be dismal or scary in their own ways.

Anyways I’m so normal about them rghhhhhh

[bontentrio]

questions about love

yunho x gn reader (short)

tw: angst no fluff + situationships + cheesy? maybe

a/n: pretty self indulgent lol also my picking for the member is simply because yunho is my bias (with wooyoung, but i’ve seen enough of him in this role sadly) but you can imagine this with whoever you like since i didn’t specify his characteristics besides being tall !! + not proofread

masterlist

what exactly is love?

is it to just feel loved and cherished by the one you care the most about?

or can it be found in the most random places?

in hand holding?

in lingering touches?

in soft gazes and shy smiles?

if so, then why does it hurt so much when all of that disappears?

if you closed your eyes and focused hard enough, you could still feel his perfume invading your senses, his touch on your skin, the sound of his laugh echoing in the room as he told you one of his stories about the many adventures with his friends. what a world so different than mine, you thought to yourself each time.

yunho has always been a hard working man, you knew that from the very beginning of your… relationship. kind of.

but he still made time for you at least once every week. and those nights felt magical for you, making you wonder if they were even real once you woke up the next day.

“one last kiss and i’ll let you go” he would say, holding your face in his hands as his thumbs caressed your cheeks. you would laugh, as it always happened.

“you’ve been saying that for the last hour!” you would say, making yunho bite his lip before leaning in once again. “it’s not my fault you’re so addicting”

it happened every time. and each time you would feel yourself falling a little more in love with the tall man in front of you. a little more addicted to the way his lips would feel against yours. and a little more comfortable when his hands would leave your face and go lower and lower down your waist.

it felt perfect, like you were both meant to be for each other. you could be yourself around him, and yunho would stop being “yunho from ateez”, only to become just yunho. your yunho. the one who giggles softly at the nostalgia some stories bring him. the one who would look at you like you were the one that painted the sky orange and golden, when the sun came up after a long night of talking about the secrets of life, among other things. the one who would kiss you like he had never kissed anyone else before.

so really, if love normally feels this way, so golden, so pure and unique, how can it be torn so quickly?

was it something you said?

was it something you did?

too slow? too fast?

too perfect?

what is love, then?

it surely can’t be being ignored for days. and definitely not asking a question, only to stop typing mid way and change the subject after an hour of not replying.

love isn’t supposed to induce anxiety

love isn’t supposed to be scary

or is it?

it is scary to get hurt, specially by the one you trust. but that fear is supposed to be nullified by that person. what happens when they don’t?

“hi” you texted him once.

no reply.

“can we talk?” you asked him later that day, after hours of not getting an answer. in fact, he has barely texted you twice in a week.

still no reply.

if it’s not love, then why is your heart hurting so much? you can feel it dying little by little, each minute that goes by without a single peep from him.

normally you wouldn’t even feel this way, even less for a man like him. but yunho quickly made his way into your heart, learning about the things you like and dislike, making you laugh effortlessly and blush with a single touch of his hand on your cheek. normally… no, scratch that. the connection you had wasn’t normal. friends don’t do all that. or maybe it was different for him?

how was he feeling about you?

did he feel the connection too?

was he scared? or did he trust you to not break his heart?

was he missing you the same way you did?

too many questions that probably would remain unanswered plagued your mind, day and night, no matter what you were doing. every buzz of your phone would make you immediately drop everything you were doing at the moment, just to see if it was from him. only to be left disappointed and sad when it wasn’t.

how can something so pure become so rotten, so quickly? what was once golden, now it’s painted in black and brown, as if it’s rusted and burnt.

maybe that is what love really is.

or is it not?

[i2rizz]

505

Fandom: Blue lock

Characters: Chigiri x reader

------------‐---------------------------------------

The evening was heavy, the kind of night that carried a quiet tension in the air. The clock ticked on the wall of your dimly lit apartment, an unwelcome reminder of how long it had been since you last saw Chigiri. He wasn’t supposed to leave like he did—no warning, no explanation, just the slam of a door that echoed louder than any words could have.

But you knew better. You knew him better. Chigiri always ran when things got too complicated. And yet, here you were, waiting for the sound of his knock, just as you always did.

He was already speeding down the empty highway. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white as he pushed the car faster, the roar of the engine drowning out his own thoughts. It didn’t matter how far he had to go, or how long it took—he needed to see you.

"If it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive…”

The lyrics played softly on the car radio, eerily matching his resolve. He smirked bitterly at the coincidence, his crimson hair falling over his eyes as he shifted gears.

His mind flickered back to the last time he saw you, lying on your side in bed, your body tucked into his as if you were made to fit there. He could almost feel the warmth of your hand resting against his thigh, a casual gesture that still sent shivers through him whenever he thought about it.

You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The memories of him were suffocating tonight. The way he looked at you, the way his voice softened when he called you by your name, the way his touch lingered just a second too long—it was all too much.

"Stop and wait a sec…"

Your mind drifted to the way he always looked at you before he spoke, as if weighing his words carefully. It was a look that could cut through every wall you’d built around yourself. And the way he smiled, crooked and teasing—it always left you feeling like the air had been knocked out of your lungs.

But it wasn’t just his looks, or the way he made you feel. It was the way he left. Always leaving. Always running before things could get messy, before they could get real.

You turned onto your side, burying your face in your hands. "Why do I even wait for him?” you whispered to no one.

"The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start…"

Chigiri’s thoughts were spiraling. He didn’t mean to hurt you, not again. But he’d panicked, the idea of being vulnerable enough to love you fully both thrilling and terrifying.

He thought of the way you looked at him when you were mad, your eyes blazing with a fire that matched his own. It was a look that made him want to stay and fight, but also run as fast as he could.

And yet, here he was, racing back to you.

The knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts. Your heart leaped, knowing exactly who it was. You hesitated for a moment before walking over, your hand trembling as you unlocked it.

Chigiri stood there, rain dripping from his hair, his face a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. He looked like he’d run through hell to get here, and maybe he had.

“Hyoma…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I screwed up again. I ran when I should’ve stayed. I know.”

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it as you crossed your arms. “Then why are you here now?”

He looked at you, his crimson eyes softening. “Because I can’t stay away. No matter how much I try, I always end up back here.”

His words hit you like a wave, all the anger and frustration melting into something warmer, something heavier. You didn’t say anything, just stared at him as he stepped closer, his hands hesitating before cupping your face.

“You’re my 505,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “No matter how far I go, I always end up coming back to you.”

You sat together on the couch, the silence between you more comforting than words. His hand rested on your thigh, his touch grounding you as the storm outside raged on.

“But I crumble completely when you cry…”

The words played softly from your speakers, and you couldn’t help but glance at him. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed as he listened. You reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers.

“Hyoma,” you began, but he opened his eyes and shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. I don’t deserve you, not after all the times I’ve left. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned into him, letting the weight of his presence soothe the ache in your chest.

As the hours ticked by, the rain outside slowed to a gentle patter. The world seemed to settle, the chaos of the night giving way to a quiet stillness.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me,” he whispered into your hair, his arms tightening around you.

You smiled softly, your eyes drifting shut as the sound of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep. For the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

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IM GOING BACK TO 505 IF ITS A SEVEN HOUR FLIGHT OR A FOURTY FIVE MINUTE DRIVE

[applebuttercringe]

Arcane episode 8 immediate thoughts

-NGL this is not the direction I thought Mel was going in.

-cool that she is a magical girl though, and made of gold.

-oh it’s the girl her mom killed.

-Mel’s outfit is very fan service

-Leblanc

-this is a lot to introduce in the second to last episode

-Well that didn’t take a lot of convincing…

-Richters funeral

-Time for Viktors T-shot

-Is Ambessa gonna lecture him into living?

-Viktor Machine Herald voice!

-No Viktor you are anti war.

-Oh, so Sky is her own will, disturbed by his actions.

-Do we not see Caitlyn’s reaction to Jayce.

-Ah she thought Loris was Vander

-Caitlyn’s haircut is hot.

-Is she still with Maddie?

-Maddie knows she is about to be cheated on

-Jinx isn’t eating, she is suicidal.

-the hair down

-The Jinx pain train is brutal, this is a lot even for Arcane.

-The Jayce Mel reunion?

-If Mel is untwined with the Arcane then Jayce’s mission will be to end her as well.

-Excuse me what?

-Viktor achieved the ultimate tenderness form? Mannequin.

-Why not come as Huck?

-Well, the Polycule is back together again. This time it is a three way breakup.

-Mel knows how to do the magic at will now?

-Why not explain what you saw? It might not change anything, but he didn’t even try.

-Viktor wants his evil BF back

-Aw man. Villain Viktor. That idea sucks.

-Once again Jayce rushes to Mel lol.

-Is Viktor gonna get broken up with on the astral plane?

-Jinx is finally hearing and seeing Silco hallucinations.

-Killing is a cycle and yet in Ep 7 Vi dying ended the cycle and healed its wound?

-Doesn’t the metaphor not work for Zaun? How do they walk away. They are trapped in the mines working forced labor and banned from Piltover institutions. Is the moral to become passive? Cease to care? How do you forgive and walk away when the crimes are ongoing and inescapable?

-The hug is good

-IS JINX GOMNA KILL HERSELF?

-That’s her resolution?

-Jayce’s self made leg brace perfectly fixing his untreated wound is bullshit.

-The shoulder armor is a CHOICE Jayce.

-How did he manage to get them together? They hate each other? His proposals for peace don’t work but he can get them talking and civil from off screen? Arcane is really abandoning the Zaun v Piltover thing. Like, straight up pretending it was never happening.

-Caitlyn gasses these people like a month ago.

-Yeah, start treating the Undercity as people so you can draft them. Whatever.

-Why the emphasis on the pianist

-I knew they were gonna abandon it but this is unreal to watch.

-Sassing your gf during her mental breakdown is insane

-Caitvi sex scene in a prison cell lol

-Maybe care that this is cheating

-Freaky~

-Damn

-The Tumblrinas are gonna love this

-The Medea’s scene is good

-She can touch embers with her bare hands

-Ambessa you’ve been trying to use Hextech for magic, TF do you mean you hate magic.

-Is there a delay on Viktor saying stuff and the clones saying it? Cause that happened a while ago.

-The song. So this was real Sky all along. She just really wanted him to use the Arcane this way. If this was the intention she should have had more S1 screentime to build up their relationship.

-He is letting them kill her again

-He’s gonna become Warwick?! That is a twist

-EW THE FEET SHOT

-He’s kindred? It isn’t a mask? It’s his head?

Ok so thought: This is a fumble for me. It feels like they are abandoning all the pre established plot and just rewriting the characters into new plots and then rushing those new plots to hell and back. They aren’t finishing what they started. The Jinx pain train is disappointing. Like, more Jinx being self loathing and suicidal, cool. Likely she will have a turn around in this last episode but. IDK. Did I like the time I spent with Arcane? Yes. Is it peak anymore? No. Sorry.