#taking breaks from your feelings is also good

[with-my-calamitous-love]

bodyguard! katsuki, who stares daggers at anyone who looks at you the wrong way. whose been breaking hearts a long time, toying with girls before finally taking on this job. who, suddenly, doesn’t have the time to go on dates or even to talk to other people, and who says its because of his job.

bodyguard! katsuki, who is unsurprisingly amazing at his job. nothing gets past him. he’s focused on ensuring your safety at all times, without question. and he insists that includes staying by your side for most of your day.

bodyguard! katsuki, who you make sure accompanies you when you go out at night. who has an iron grip on your drink and waits outside the washroom for you. who downs a shot of vodka before dealing with whatever creeps try to come onto you. who isn’t afraid to rough around and swing at someone if they don’t comply. some might say he’s “gone too far this time.” but who can blame him?

bodyguard! katsuki, is also respectful. who will stand in front of you while you adjust your top. who will put one firm hand on your waist, ushering you into the car while holding the door open for you. who very calmly adjusts his cufflinks after barking at some guy for trying to take photos of you. who makes you lose your mind with how sexy he looks angry.

bodyguard! katsuki, who you slowly learn more and more about. who at first protects you because its his job, but learns to do it because he wants to protect you. who watches over you with a smile on his face, proud, watching you in the spotlight where you belong. who learns he doesn’t always need to be the hero and save you- sometimes, you just need someone to talk to.

bodyguard! katsuki, who sometimes can be insane with how protective he is, but he’s yours. who’s love can be poison ivy or daisy, depending on his mood. who grips your hand a little tighter when he’s walking through the streets with you. who, for you, would do anything. who’d fall from grace and walk into hell to keep a smile on your face. who is a good bodyguard because its him, and because its for you.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

f! reader for nsfw

bodyguard! katsuki, who first spends the night with you when you’re drunk. who doesn’t even think about touching you, because he knows how wrong it would be. who gently tucks you into bed, removes your makeup and shoes for you and sleeps on the couch. who leaves a glass of water and painkillers for you in the morning.

bodyguard! katsuki, who you suddenly want in your home more and more. who you have so much tension with you could cut through it with a knife. who it slowly builds up with: shoulders brushing together, taking unbuttoning his shirt because its hot, watching you take your hair down, his arms moving to your waist.

bodyguard! katsuki, who finally snaps when you tell him you want him. who doesn’t waist a second, throwing you over his shoulder and onto the bed. whose muscles you can see through the white fabric. whose cock you can already see straining against his slacks.

bodyguard! katsuki, who you have to remind you aren’t made of glass. who, after some encouragement, rips your clothes off and bites down on your breast, the pleasure melting with the pain. you’re sure he’ll leave a mark, and you love it.

bodyguard! katsuki, who has a thing about leaving marks- bites, bruises, hickeys- he makes sure every part of your skin has been under his touch. who grips thighs so hard when he’s going down on you, leaving angry red hand prints while his tongue swirls around your clit. who doesn’t stop until your screaming.

bodyguard! katsuki, who knows he’s breaking many, many rules by doing this, but forgets about it the moment his cock slides into you. who fits in you perfectly, stretching you out so good you could cum right then and there. who waits until your comfortable before beginning to thrust.

bodyguard! katsuki, who groans words of encouragement into your ear. “you take me so well, yeah? fuck, you feel so good.” who can’t help but try a little harder when he thinks about all the people who will see you the next day. who knows you’re famous during the day, but wants you to be his tonight.

bodyguard! katsuki, who lasts for hours. who doesn’t stop until you can’t speak, until you’re absolutely stuffed to the brim with him alone. who can’t help but take one of your nipples in his mouth while he’s fucking you, wanting every part of your to mend with him, red eyes watching your hips arch and your head throw back into the pillows.

bodyguard! katsuki, who gets your permission first before cumming in you. who makes a mental note to get you plan b in the morning, but who first can only focus on the sensation of filling you up. who groans and curses when he feels you clench around him, taking every last bit of him in. who takes a few minutes before pulling out. who uses his fingers to make sure it stays inside of you.

bodyguard! katsuki, who places a kiss on your forehead before getting you some water and a warm cloth. who tends to all your bruises after, though you tell him you’re okay. who is just as confused as you are as to what this means, but you who isn’t too concerned about it. who makes sure you want to spend the night with him first, before falling asleep after placing a kiss to your shoulder. who’s there when you wake up, holding you. who knows he’s got you for as long as you’ll have him.

bodyguard! katsuki, who laughs to himself in the background of an interview when fans ask if you were attacked by some wild animal.

@crushmeeren 🫧🫧

inspired by dont blame me 🤍

[ere-the-sun-rises]

Okay, I'm sorry again Medieval and Biblical Latinists, but this post popped up in my notifs again and the more I look at it, the more revolted I become. Wheelock's love for Republican and legible Latin is possessing me from beyond the grave, so let's go.

"Pro Jupiter, puer, ecce bibendum!" Where the fuck do I even start. The sentence is straight up an incoherent collection of words. The literal translation is "Before Jupiter, boy, lo! about to be drank." What the fuck were you even trying to type??? Were YOU drunk doing this? I thought the Vatican was supposed to be full of monks with nothing better to do. You're shaming your 9th century copyist predecessors.

"Pro" is used wrong. It usually takes an ablative, because "before" is temporal, not spacial - it doesn't usually mean "in front of [object]" so much it means "[in the period of time] before [event]". If you're looking to say something like "by god", then a more natural invocation would in vocative or ablative of agent - "O Jupiter" or ""Ab Jove".

"Ecce" is bizarrely out of place. It should be at the beginning of a sentence because it's not actually a word, it's an exclamation. You wouldn't place "behold!" or "huzzah!" in the middle of a sentence, you heathen.

"Bibendum"? Bibendum??? You can't have a participle in a complete sentence without a normal verb. Participles can't ever stand on their own. If you're using this as a substantive ... why??? Just use the word for whatever this liquid is. Even as a substantive it barely makes sense. It's the equivalent of holding out a cup and saying "liquid" with no further context. Why are you making this so hard and ugly to read???

I don't think the sentence is even salvagable because I cannot figure out what the fuck it was even trying to say. If I had a gun with one bullet in it, I would use it to shoot this sentence. Hang the translator by the nipples unless they're into that.

I can't read most of the second panel, but the last phrase "dubito quin sciat" is clearly meant to stand on its own by the way the punctuation is placed. And that is a damn shame because it's horrific. It reads "I doubt why he would know."

Students, please note that "quin" is an interrogative adverb meaning "why?" The question mark is non-optional. It's literally only a question word - why is it in a passage that does not contain a question???

"Sciat" is weird here. Subjunctives can be used as a clause verb, but scio in particular usually takes an accusative noun to make sense. The word means "to perceive with the senses" but can also be used as shorthand for "to see/to know/to understand".

The sentence would read better as "dubito ut illum sciret" or "I doubt that [he] would see this [thing]."

0/10, broke ass original construction. Lock the translator in a basement with Wheelock's textbook until one or the other breaks.

"Heu, Timothee, mater tua delapsa est ob cutem arienae et P. S. mortua est." Fine, this one isn't technically wrong, but it is brutally literal in a frankly uninspired way.

"Delapsa est"?? Have you no imagination? No creativity? No sense of good Latin prose? Delabor does mean "to fall/to descend" but it also means "to fall to ruin/to be destroyed". A much better (and funnier) word would have been "cado", which means "to fall [down]" too, but crucially also means "to be cut down/to be slaughtered/to die". It would be a way better play on words with the "mortua est" following after.

His name needs to be Romanized. Do you think the Romans had names like Vergilius for fun?? No! It was so the fucking thing could be declined. Fix Timothee's name.

I don't like "ob". It feels wrong, like a skinwalker. It's not meant to be here. It can technically mean "on account of", but it's more prominent meaning is "toward". It should probably be replaced by a dative or ablative of agent/means here instead.

"Cutem" should be cuto, to be dat./abl. of agent/means. An accusative doesn't look right when the sentence's main verbs are passive, since passives are reflexive.

"et P. S. mortua est." Ugly, disfiguring little addendum. Why is it in the same past tense as delapsa? Repetitio is only fashionable in poetry. This is prose - you need variatio. Cicero and I hate it here.

It would read better as "Tua mater, Timotheius, cuto arienae casura est, cepitque morti." - "Your mother, Timothee, fell [by means of] the skin of a banana, and [she] was seized by death."

These panels only get more offensive to the Latin language the longer I look at them. This translator would get roasted alive by any ancient or Medieval scholiast who read this and they would deserve it. Even poets would vomit.

today i found out that if you have library access through ur school, you almost definitely have a copy of the vatican’s latin translation of diary of a wimpy kid and i am currently reading Commentarii de Inepto Puero thank you

[savanir]

I found your missing cat

It had taken a lot of work but about a month ago Danny finally got deep enough into A.R.G.U.S to be allowed into its Black Room. and my, what a treasure trove it is.

In the following weeks Danny has spent a lot of time finding all the lost Infinite Realms artifacts he was supposed to locate and return, as was part of his kingly duties. The Observants had been constantly on his ass about this but now that the results of his efforts are actually visible they have finally shut up.

Today though something new has gotten brought in and he’s eager to take a proper look, he could feel the Tyrant king’s influence from a distance emanating from it after all.

While on his way he noticed one of his colleagues, Miss Barbara Minerva if he remembers correctly, talking to who looks to be Wonder Woman. Danny hasn’t had the chance to do so himself yet, he’d love to introduce himself properly but he’s also a little worried about all the knowledge he has on Amazons from Lady Pandora (which he very much shouldn’t have) coming out the moment he tries to have a proper conversation.

Still he hopes nothing bad comes from those two ladies being on friendly terms. Miss Barbara's vibes are all over the place, and most often nowhere good, but who knows, maybe her being around Wonder Woman more will fix that.

He gets to his little section in the compound with the big examination table all decked out and ready for whatever. Today he gets to look at one of Pariah's lost blades, the godslayer sword.

Danny is working on getting all the murderous enhancements off of it and depowering it into something nowhere near so dangerous and deadly when something perks up within the weapon. 

Sensing a kindred protection spirit it leaps up from the blade and into Danny, happily nestling around Danny's core and starts purring up a storm. 

Danny however is violently startled out of his work. It's hard not to notice the sudden claws he feels both on his hands and feet. The spotted fur that covers seemingly his whole body now, his shifted ears, eyes and nose. And the fact he's now sporting a tail of all things. 

The Cheetah may be pleased with this new development but Danny is certainly not. 

Footsteps thunder his way, followed by a shout, "what is wrong!? I heard sounds of distress and- oh!"

"Uuuhhmmm..." What does he say!? How is he supposed to explain all this to Wonder Woman!?

She marches forward and firmly grabs his clawed hands in her own, not worried in the slightest about his now razor sharp nails, "worry not, we shall break this beastly curse that has befallen you, you have my word" 

She gives him what he thinks must be a reassuring smile, "I am Diana of Themyscira and-"

Danny isn't really listening after that, she's probably just giving him more reassurances. It's nice but she's also pretty intense. And Danny is still freaking out a little. 

"- so no need to fret"

Danny blinks,"Uh thanks, I- I'm Danny Fenton" 

"It is most pleasant to meet you Danny Fenton, even if the circumstances are quite unfortunate"

"Yeah uhm, just Danny is fine"

"Very well you may call me Diana" She nods and lets go of his hands.

Diana then wishes to see the artifact that cursed him so, aka the blade (which didn’t curse him), Danny thankfully already fully depowered the damn thing safe for some minor traces of whatever Pariah saw fit to stuff in it. 

By now Steve as well as Barbara have come to take a look themselves and though they appear startled at his new catlike appearance they are mostly just worried once Diana tells them he's cursed. 

Which he's not, this isn't a curse at all. The big cat spirit still tightly curled around his core is clearly a blessing of some sort, that'll make dealing with it all so much more complicated...

But at least Danny got to meet wonder woman right? That's cool.

[aplaceinme]

“I’m just saying… there’s a reason why people say ‘three times it’s a charm’ Evan.”

“And I’m just saying I don’t want to risk it, Tommy,” Evan huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“C’mon, what could possibly happen?” Tommy insists. 

“Hmmm…let me think… oh, yeah, I got it! Given our track record, we break up for good,” Evan says exasperated. 

“That won’t happen again, Evan. We’ve talked things out. Everything has been laid out on the table. We are better than ever,” Tommy says softly, walking up to Evan and tenderly cupping his cheeks, “We are good! Nothing bad will happen, I promise.” 

Evan tries to resist, his pout really pronounced but he can’t fight the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Fine! Fine! We will go and have dinner at Miceli’s again,” Evan relents, throwing his arms up in the air. “But if things go south again, it will be all your fault, ok?” 

Tommy leans in and kisses him softly, letting the kiss linger a little. “Ok, if something happens, it will be my fault.”

Evan goes to his bedroom to change his clothes, all the while angrily muttering, “Thousand of places in L.A. to go but no! We have to go back to that place… all because the pizza is good… fuck that place.”

“Did you say something?” Tommy asks, trying not to laugh at Evan’s adorableness. 

“Nothing… except… We are not getting spumoni, Tommy!” Evan yells from his bedroom.

Head thrown back in laughter, Tommy sits down in one of the barstools to wait for him to be finished. “Fine but, again, everything will be alright, love.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that! But you know what else people say? Famous last words! That’s what they say,” Evan says before closing the bathroom room. 

Nodding, Tommy quietly says under his breath as if trying to convince himself, “It will be alright.” 

—

“Will you stop muttering? We are here, and everything has been ok so far, right?” 

“Yeah, so far,” Evan says stubbornly. At Tommy’s raised eyebrow, his shoulders relax. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right! Everything is fine. We are together and everything is fine.”

Tommy holds Evan’s hand across the table and intertwines their fingers. “Exactly.” 

“I’m just glad we aren’t going to the movies after this. I think they also bring bad luck to us,” Evan teases, though he also seems to be serious. 

Wanting to tease him back, Tommy says, “Actually, I saw that they are playing this movie that I wanted to check out…”

“Do not even think about it! Not tonight at least,” Evan points at Tommy seriously. 

“Alright, alright, no movies tonight,” Tommy laughs. “We will just go straight to my place then… find something else to entertain us with.” 

“I’m sure we will,” Evan says with a smirk. 

“Oh my God! I think he’s choking! Somebody help us!” 

Tommy and Evan look over at the table from where the scream came and, after sharing a small glance and a nod, they get up and run over. 

“Move over, make room, make room, we are firefighters,” Evan says loudly, reaching the patient first. 

As Evan starts doing the Heimlich maneuver, Tommy reassures the family and makes sure they give Evan room to work. 

After a couple of agonizing seconds, the man spits out the food and everyone at the restaurant releases a breath of relief and they start to clap.  

Tommy moves over and helps Evan to sit the man down as they start to assess him, asking him if he is feeling alright or if he would rather they call an ambulance. 

Once the man reassures them that he is ok and thanks Evan profusely, they start to walk back to their table. 

“Glad that turned out o-” Evan starts to say but a scream interrupts him. 

“What now?” Tommy asks. 

“Fire in the kitchen!” Someone screams. 

It takes two seconds for chaos to reign. People start to scream and run desperately, pushing tables, chairs, and everything out of their way. 

While Evan calls 911 and starts helping people out of the restaurant, Tommy runs up to the kitchen.

Grabbing a fire extinguisher, Tommy tries to put the fire out, but it’s not enough. The fire is spreading fast, so he just makes sure that no one else is inside the kitchen and then runs outside. 

“Tommy, Tommy,” Evan calls to him and hugs him as soon as he is within reach. 

“Everyone out?” Tommy asks him, quickly looking Evan over to make sure he isn’t hurt. 

“Yeah, I got everyone out and the firefighters should be here any minute now.” 

“Good, good, that’s good!” Tommy says in relief, his adrenaline starting to recede. 

—

Tommy and Evan are standing a few meters away from the restaurant, watching as station 56 put the fire out. The fire spread out so much that the restaurant is absolutely destroyed, Tommy doubts the owners could salvage anything from inside. 

“What is it? I can see you looking at me,” Tommy asks, turning to look at Evan. 

Evan gestures wildly at the restaurant and looks at him incredulously. 

“What?” Tommy plays dumb. 

“What? What?” Evan yelps. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe the fact that the restaurant is literally destroyed. Third’s time a charm, my ass!” 

“Technically, I was right, Evan.” 

“Wha- How?” Evan sputters. 

“Well, nothing bad happened to us. We are ok, there hasn’t been any misunderstanding, no one has confessed anything from their past… we are ok, just like I said we will be,” Tommy reasons.

Evan shakes his head and chuckles, “I can’t believe you! You’re so…” 

“Evan…” Tommy starts but gets interrupted. 

“I love you,” Evan says. 

Tommy does a double take, not expecting that. “What?”

“I love you,” Evan repeats, shrugging his shoulders. 

“This is the first time you’re saying that,” Tommy says, bewildered. 

“I know.” 

“I… I- I…” Tommy looks around them, in disbelief that Evan could love him. 

“You don’t have to say it if you do-”

“I love you too. Of course, I love you,” Tommy tells him quickly, not wanting Evan to doubt it for even one second. 

“Yeah?” Evan beams at him. 

“Yes,” Tommy nods and leans in to kiss him, not caring about the fire, firefighters, bystanders, or anything else. 

Once they part for air, Tommy asks him, “Should we get going? They seem to have everything under control.” 

Evan nods, and they slowly start to walk to where Tommy had parked his truck, with Tommy’s arm around Evan’s waist. 

“Since no one got hurt, I feel ok with admitting that I’m kinda happy that the restaurant went up in flames,” Evan whispers as if it is a secret. 

Tommy chuckles, “Yeah, me too.” 

When they are near the truck, Tommy jokes, “So, what about that movie then?” 

Evan playfully hits him on the shoulder but laughs. “I believe someone said something about finding something to entertained us with at their place?”

“Let’s go then,” Tommy says with a smirk, walking faster towards his truck. 

[chestersturniolo]

good cop , bad cop

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader x Chris Sturniolo

Summary; You have been a moody guts all day. Matt goes straight to comforting mode.. Chris, not so much

disclaimer; Chratt poly relationship dynamic! if you are not comfortable with this, do not read // suggestive // pet names // most likely a one shot.. based on this request

You flop onto the couch with an exaggerated huff, crossing your arms over your chest. Your irritation at an all time high for no real reason. It’s been one of those days, and it feels like nothing is going your way.

Matts attention is caught by your dramatics, he glances over from where he sat on the other side of the couch. “Hey-” he says softly “-what’s wrong sweetheart? You’ve been in a mood since this morning” his voiced concerned

You groan dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine.” you snap,

Matt frowns, “C’mon, talk to me. Did something happen? Did I do something?” His voice is still patient, gentle, but for some reason it only makes you more annoyed.

“Ugh, Matt can you not?-” you sass back. “-I said I’m fine. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

Before Matt can respond, Chris speaks up from the kitchen, his voice cutting through your tantrum “Alright, that’s enough” he says firmly, turning to face you. His blue eyes locking onto yours,. “What’s with the attitude, kid? You’ve been whinin’ n actin’ like a little brat all day”

Your eyebrows immediately raise, taken back by his tone.

“Chris!” Matt snaps, shooting him a disapproving look. “Don’t talk to her like that, she’s just—”

“She’s just what?” Chris interrupts, standing his ground. “Throwing a tantrum because she’s gotten herself all worked up for no reason? Don’t coddle her, Matt. It’s not helping.”

You glare at him, but Chris doesn’t waver. “look I get that you’re not in the best of moods today-” he says, his tone softening just a little “-but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us. We’re here to help you, not be your punching bags kid”

Matt sighs, running a hand through his hair “You didn’t have to put it like that” he mutters, clearly torn between defending you and acknowledging Chris has a point.

“Maybe not-“ Chris concedes, his gaze flicking back to you “-but she needed to hear it”

You shift in your seat with an subtle eye roll. Chris wasn’t wrong…you had been a little over the top today. But still, his bluntness stings.

Matt scoots over to you on the couch, his hand resting gently on your knee. “listen-” he says softly “-whenever something’s bothering you, just tell us, okay? We can talk anything out”

“Yeah-“ chris starts in agreement, making his way over to the couch “-we’ve got your back ma, next time lose the attitude, huh?” he says,crossing his arms as he stands infront of you

You sigh, the fight draining out of you as you mumble, “Okay, m’sorry” feeling slightly guilty

Matt smiles, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. Chris smirks, tossing a wink your way “There’s our girl”

Your lips instinctively curl upward at his coo..you’d always found it quite hard to stay mad at them for long periods of time. They had this way of breaking your attitude down, sometimes without even trying. You let out another small sigh, “i think i’ve just been a little stressed lately that’s all..” you say honestly, your eyes flickering between them both.

Matt clicks his tongue “ah baby, why didn’t you say so? i know just the thing for that..” he says before throwing a glance to chris with a smirk. They share a quick knowing look before Chris’ smirk forms also, knowing exactly what his brother is getting at.

Before you could process what was happening, Chris leans down, scooping you up off the couch. You let out a surprise squeal as he hoists you up and slings you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, before placing a firm smack to your ass as he starts walking off toward Matts room.

“Where are we going” you giggle,lifting your head slightly to see Matts figure following closely behind

“We’re going to relieve all that stress of yours baby-“ Matt mumbles, wetting his bottom lip, his hand coming down to unbuckle his belt as he walks “-jus’ relax, we’re gonna take good care of you hmm?”

MASTERLIST LINKED HERE

[sanriovin]

hear me out on this one y'all.

imagine yourself coming back home from a hard day at work, right? all overwhelmed, exhausted, annoyed at the world, and so on. as soon as you walk into your shared room though, you see a sight you weren't expecting in the least.

your husband, kento nanami, jerking himself off.

poor man, on his one day off, which were EXTREMELY rare for him, you, as luck had it, had to go to work :( and he was all needy and desperate for you, resorting to masturbating, which he never did often, even more so after the two of you became a couple.

his big, strong, calloused hand from the type of jobs he was involved in, wrapped nicely around his aching, pulsing cock, fisting himself, as pathetic, desperate groans and moans of your name and how good he was feeling left his lips, as his hips bucked up further into his hand from the pleasure he was feeling.

his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, head lolling back into the soft, welcoming pillows, dressed in a gentle linen pillowcase, undoubtedly not even realising that you had came home. the sight before you stirred something inside of you, making the exhaustion and annoyance from the day disappear completely, instead, replacing it with a feeling of your own neediness, and a sense of pride, seeing how your husband could fall apart. it gave you ideas. MANY ideas.

"Kento?" you spoke from your spot at the door, your eyes trailing down your husband's half-nude form; his trousers and boxers gone, his tie loosened, three tops buttons undone from the top.

hearing your voice breaking through the sounds of his ragged breathing, loud grunts of pleasure, and the occasional moan or two, his hand came to a stop, his eyes opened wide, looking at you, with shock, embarrassment, and shame. he couldn't even bring himself to hide his body, in a state of processing what had happened.

placing your bag down on the dresser near the door, you took one step, then another, then another, as you approached your shared bed, your eyes locked onto kento, not looking away for even a mere second, in fear that you would miss even the slightest reaction from your normally composed husband.

he swallowed harshly, audibly, slowly moving his hand away from where it was nicely wrapped around previously, placing it down on the linen clad duvet, averting eye contact with you, his cheeks flushed a soft pink, from either the embarrassment, or the physicality and feelings that masturbation brought, or both?

"I'm sorry, darling, I wasn't expecting you to be home so soon." he spoke a quiet apology, seeming genuine with it, but how could you even be mad at him? or how could he even think you would be mad at him?

shaking your head, you moved yourself down onto the bed, situating yourself in between his thighs, watching how his adam's apple bobbed with nervousness and excitement, how a dribble of precum ran down his dick with every tremor that ran down his body.

"You're sorry for what, Kento?" you asked, the question being more of a chastise for him even thinking that he needed to apologise for this, rather than an actual question. in all honesty, seeing your husband like this, undone into a puddle of desperation and lust, was something you would kill to see on a daily, so you were definitely not complaining.

taking a single finger, you trailed it down his thigh, inching closer and closer to the one spot that was the key to getting rid of all his frustrations and stress, even if just for a day. he let out a quiet sigh, watching you with eager eyes, silently pleading with you to do something, anything, to relieve the pulsing ache.

"Do you want me to help you, Kento?" you, once again, gave him a question. your voice was sweet, soft, as if lulling him into a sort of haze. your voice worked like a siren's, bringing him in and in, with only mere words. having him wrapped around your pinky. true, most of the time, nanami preferred to be the dominating one, the one in control, however, he also knew how to let himself be taken care of by others, specifically, you.

"Please, honey, please, I need you so badly." his voice was strained, barely managing to hold himself back; hold himself out for long enough for you to do something.

taking that as your sign to continue, you put a coy little smile on your face, lowering yourself to lay comfortably between his legs on the soft bed, before placing one, single, chaste kiss to his angry, red tip.

he let out a groan in response, head falling back, peeking at you from under his eyelashes, hands trembling slightly at the feeling. your kiss felt good, so good, but it wasn't near enough for what he wanted, no, needed.

"Darling you, fuck, tease..." he groaned out, situating himself to rest on his elbows, so he could see you better, and see what you were up to.

you would have teased him for longer, but the look on his face, one of love, neediness, pure eagerness and desire, was enough to pull you out of your teasing and cruel state, and you decided to help your beloved partner, help him release all the stress within him.

opening your lips, you slowly lowered yourself onto his aching, hardened cock, lowering yourself further and further, as you attempted to take him fully, with, as you soon found out, ended futilely on the first go, with uncovered space still left at his base. however, that alone was enough to cause nanami to let out a low moan, pressing his eyes shut again, letting the darkness consume him as he focused entirely on the pleasure he felt in the moment.

the scene was messy. your drool dribbling down nanami's sensitive cock, the tip of it pressed and poked against the back of your throat, trying to push further and further, however, it was stopped through the tightening of your throat, and the sounds of gags and chokes on his large size.

he gently moved one of his hands to rest on your head, not pushing, not pressing down, just trying to ground himself to reality from the immense pleasure he felt. "Sweetheart, it feels so good... You're doing so well..."

nanami kento has a way with words. a way that made you feel eager and excited to pleasure him, to satisfy him, in hopes of getting more and more praise.

trying to breathe through your nose, you slowly relaxed your throat, bobbing your head up and down, attempting to inch further and further down his large dick, holding onto his thighs with trembling hands, as your tongue swirled around his leaking tip, which resulted in a loud, higher pitched moan than before from nanami.

the moan was all you needed to proceed with your actions, desperately trying to bring your beloved to the edge of release, as you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking on his cock so well he could practically see stars in his eyes.

taking one of your hands, you gingerly brought it to his balls, beginning to slowly mess and play with them, testing new waters to see if it would have the desired effect on nanami.

and it did not fail.

in mere seconds, nanami was falling apart on the bed, his legs trembling pathetically, his hips jerking up to your mouth, his back on the bed, his arms having lost all strength to support himself. curses, moans, and groans of your name kept spilling from his mouth, as not once did he open his eyes. hot spurts of his cum landed in your mouth, on your tongue, as you began to taste the salty yet slightly bitter taste of it on your tongue.

letting him ride out high long-awaited orgasm, you took all that he gave you, only pulling off once you saw his body laying practically limp on the bed, regaining himself from the experience.

but, of course, he was a gentleman at heart. he wouldn't let such a favour go unrewarded, oh no, he couldn't have that.

"How about you let me pleasure you now, love? What do you say?"

(author's note: finished writing this after finishing AOT S3 - the ending hurt so bad that i couldn't even cry)

[theambitiouswoman]

You are not meant to just get by. You are meant to live fully.

Many of us spend our lives stuck in survival mode—constantly reacting, anxiety, defensiveness, triggered, blaming ourselves, overthinking & doing whatever it takes just to get through the day. It could feel like you’re holding everything together, but deep down you know this isn’t sustainable. Imagine waking up feeling peaceful instead of stressed. Imagine having the time and energy to enjoy life, instead of just surviving it. That reality is possible, but it starts with a choice: to step out of survival mode & into the life you were meant to live.

Survival mode is exhausting. You feel:

• Overwhelming anxiety that makes you question every decision

• Constant burnout from never giving yourself a real break

• A scarcity mindset, always fearing there’s not enough time, money, or love

• Numbing emotions, because feeling them seems too hard

But you don’t have to live this way. You deserve to thrive, not just survive.

Signs You’re in Survival Mode:

• You feel like life is happening to you, not for you.

• You focus only on what’s urgent, ignoring what’s important.

• You’ve stopped dreaming or setting long-term goals.

• Every day feels like a race you’re barely finishing.

How to Break Free from Survival Mode:

1. Pause and Reflect

Give yourself permission to stop and ask: What am I running from or avoiding? Awareness is the first step to change

2. Prioritize Your Energy

�� Sleep more

• Say “no” to things that drain you

• Focus on the few things that really matter

3. Heal the Root Cause

Often, survival mode is tied to past trauma or unhealed pain. Journaling, therapy, or even talking to a trusted friend can help release those emotions.

4. Shift Your Mindset

Practice abundance thinking. Replace “I can’t” with “How can I?” Gratitude journaling can also help rewire your brain to focus on the good.

5. Invest in Your Future

Start setting small goals, even if they feel impossible. Give yourself permission to dream again & build systems that support you instead of overwhelm you

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

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

[dissapointu]

can you do how arcane characters would react to seeing their partner dressed up in a very attractive Halloween costume??

Oh fuck yeah-

Jinx

Jinx’s eyes would light up the second she saw you in your costume, her usual chaotic energy intensifying. She’d let out a loud gasp and then immediately break into an excited, manic laugh. “You look SO awesome!” she’d shout, unable to contain herself. She’d likely run over to you, her hands all over you, admiring the details of your outfit, pulling at the fabric with excitement. “How’d you do that? Can I steal your look?!” She’d probably try to get you to show off for her, demanding that you do a little twirl or model the costume from different angles, all while giggling like a maniac. But under her craziness, there would be a look of absolute admiration—she’s so into you in that costume.

Vi

Vi would pause for a second, her jaw dropping slightly as she tries to take in just how stunning you look. Her usual tough, no-nonsense demeanor would falter, her face turning a little red as she stammers, “W-wow… you look… incredible.” She’d be awestruck but also very proud to have you on her arm, the protective streak in her coming out as she immediately takes a step closer, wanting to keep you to herself. Her eyes would constantly flicker over you, her mind not entirely focusing on anything else for the moment. “I—I mean, damn, you’re looking real good,” she’d murmur, though she’d be blushing the entire time.

Sevika

Sevika’s reaction would be more subtle, but no less intense. Her eyes would scan your costume slowly, and she’d give a low whistle. “Not bad, not bad at all.” She’d try to maintain her usual cool, aloof demeanor, but there would be a heat in her gaze, and her usual sarcastic smirk would soften into something more appreciative. “I could get used to seeing you like this,” she’d say, her voice low and husky. She’d likely pull you close to her, hands resting possessively on your waist. She may even get a little possessive, keeping you close and making sure no one else gets too close. “Just remember, you’re with me tonight.”

Silco

Silco would have a bit of a calculated reaction, but the desire and admiration in his eyes would be impossible to miss. He’d raise an eyebrow and observe you carefully, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he’d say in his usual low, smooth voice, his eyes dark with approval. He wouldn’t openly gush like Jinx, but his attention would be fixed solely on you, and he would make a point to remind you how incredible you look. “I hope you realize you’ve just made it impossible for anyone else to compare.” His words would carry a mix of appreciation and possessiveness, his arm quickly wrapping around your waist as he pulls you in for a kiss, marking you as his.

Vander

Vander would be the gentle, protective type who’s taken by surprise at how gorgeous you look. His eyes would widen for a brief second, but then he’d soften, a proud, almost fatherly smile forming on his face. “Well, don’t you look beautiful,” he’d say, his tone warm and sincere. He’d reach out to hold your hand, giving it a tender squeeze, making sure you feel cared for and appreciated. He’d be protective but in a way that was full of respect, as if he were holding onto a precious gem that he didn’t want to lose. “I’m lucky to have you,” he’d add quietly, his eyes full of love.

Ekko

Ekko would likely grin the second he saw you, his face lighting up with genuine excitement. “Damn, [Y/N], you’re lookin’ fire!” he’d say, his voice filled with admiration and a touch of disbelief. His hands would immediately reach out to pull you closer, eyes scanning every inch of your costume. “You know, you’re making it hard to focus on anything else when you look that good.” He’d probably tease you a little, playfully bumping his shoulder against yours. “You sure you can handle this much attention?” His excitement and affection would be clear, but he’d also be a bit shy about how stunning you look, maybe hiding a slight blush under his usually cool demeanor.

Jayce

Jayce would be all over the place, his usual charming self kicked into overdrive. His face would light up with a huge grin, and he’d immediately start complimenting you with unrestrained enthusiasm. “Well, I must say, I’m impressed,” he’d say, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “You look absolutely amazing.” His hands would hover around you, unsure if he should touch you or just admire from afar. “How did you even manage to look this good?” he’d ask, his voice almost in awe. His excitement would be contagious, and he’d definitely make sure you knew that you were the star of the show tonight.

Viktor

Viktor would take a more reserved approach, his eyes immediately locking on you as soon as you entered the room. His usually analytical mind would be momentarily overwhelmed by the sight of you in such an attractive costume. He’d take a slow, appreciative breath, unable to hide the slight smile tugging at his lips. “You’re… quite striking,” he’d say, his voice soft and sincere, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He’d try to keep his composure, but the way he kept glancing at you would betray his fascination. “It’s hard to concentrate on anything else when you look like this,” he’d admit, stepping a little closer, his hand gently reaching for yours.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would be the picture of elegance, but underneath her calm and composed exterior, she would definitely be stunned. She’d take a moment to collect herself before offering you a sincere smile. “You look absolutely radiant,” she’d say, her voice soft with affection. Her hands would reach out to touch you, a subtle sign of how much she appreciated the way you looked. She’d tease you a bit, a playful glint in her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind all the attention you’re about to get. You look too good to be ignored.” Her protective instincts would kick in, but it would come across as sweet, not possessive—she just wants to keep you all to herself.

Mel Medarda

Mel would observe you with a cool, composed gaze at first, but underneath her calculated demeanor, she would be very impressed. “You look stunning,” she’d say, her voice smooth and confident. She’d circle around you, eyes appraising every detail of your costume, and you could tell by the way her eyes lingered on you that she was enjoying what she saw. “You always know how to turn heads.” She’d pull you close, her lips curling into a small smile as she whispered, “And you’ll turn mine tonight, too.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would be unapologetically intense in her reaction. Her sharp eyes would flicker over you, assessing every inch of your costume with a predatory gaze that made your heart race. “You’re dangerous,” she’d say, her voice deep and commanding, as if your appearance had just elevated you to something beyond ordinary. She’d step closer, her presence almost overwhelming as she lightly grazed your cheek. “No one else will compare to you tonight,” she’d whisper, her tone full of possessive heat. She’d pull you in for a kiss that would leave you breathless, a silent promise of what the night would bring.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would immediately smile, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Wow, you look amazing,” she’d say, her voice warm and full of admiration. She’d instantly walk up to you, giving you a playful look. “You’re going to have to fend off all the other admirers now,” she’d tease, though it’s clear she only has eyes for you. She’d probably touch your arm or your waist, her hands lingering just enough to make you feel her affection. “Lucky for me, I’m the one who gets to be with you tonight.”

Lest

Lest’s reaction would be a mix of curiosity and delight. Her cat-like eyes would widen as she took in your costume, and her tail would flick with excitement. She’d approach you slowly, her hands almost instinctively reaching out to trace the fabric or any details of your costume. “Mmm, you’re quite the sight,” she’d purr, her voice soft and sensual. “I might have to be careful not to get too distracted by how irresistible you look.” She’d give you a playful wink, her feline nature making her extra touchy-feely as she leaned in, her nose brushing against yours in a gesture that felt more affectionate than anything.

[planetkiimchi-rbs]

i wish i didn't have to go to school today so i could curl up in my room and read all your fics like a christmas fic binge :(( but !! i'm so glad that it's FINALLY HERE (i've been waiting for this since june you don't even know)

full fic analysis under cut bc i rambled again :( but i finished reading this and i just. i love it so much??? the idea was so good and it was so well executed i can't imagine a better writer to write minghao this specific way. <33

For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

hell-O what happened to good morning ?? y/n really came into this fic like an ethereal being

"Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

this sentence set the stage for such a beautiful analogy of people being like flowers... also minghao's SO insightful ugh 😩😩

You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now.

aww that's so cute!! love how y/n slowly gets more comfortable w hao ☹️☹️

the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

people who stick their tongue out the side of their mouth when they concentrate >>> it's such a lovable trait

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

no why is this the PERFECT fic for hao and his patient, transcending calm???? 

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with.

THIS LINE !!

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

i love how he doesn't deny comparing people to flowers in general cuz somehow that is exactly what minghao is? like a guy who sometimes is a little on the sidelines simply because he enjoys perceiving other people a bit too much

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders

NOO THIS SENTENCE 😭😭 absolute poetry how do people even come up with these ??

I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

this is an amazing choice honestly the lotus is soo beautiful & strong (also i like the way lotus roots taste) and it's so minghao!!!

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

if someone said this to me i'd be folding on the spot bro like just confess already??

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

rania and her lovely writing style of putting unsaid words in italics in between 🤩🤩 i love how distinctive it makes your writing 

Minghao has picked flowers for funerals before. He's also seen people hold onto flowers that are long past their bloom, clinging to them as if their presence alone could bring someone back. He's been there too.

oh GOSH the sorrow? so beautifully portrayed

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning. "I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

this fic is my other roman empire (this and moni's "finger trapped (ripped to its seams)")

His arms catch you instinctively, gentle yet steady, embracing around you like flowers petals folding inward for protection. His warmth seeps into you as if he were the sun reaching a flower in the early hours of dawn, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you to press closer into his warmth.

this whole paragraph healed me.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

holy shit. this line touched a part of me so raw that i didn't even know existed

caught in bloom, caught on you | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you find yourself becoming a regular𑁋or perhaps more than that𑁋at minghao's flower shop. PAIRING. florist!xu minghao x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, a pinch of angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers WARNINGS. hao basically falls in love at first sight HAHA, mild cursing, implied that yn lost someone close to them, a lot of yearning n pining, kissing WORD COUNT. 8.3k

notes: wheeboo is NOT in their short-ish fic era anymore and is in their long-ish fic era rn 😭 anyway,, i didnt have a title for the fic until hao posted his song on his birthday so... I hope u all enjoy?? this might be one of my faves haha

Minghao likes these kinds of days.

Thin, irregular shapes of cotton drift lazily across the endless blue embrace of the skies. The afternoon sun carries warmth in its hands that he could feel right through the glass windows of his flower shop. It's almost as if the season of summer itself is breathing through his shop, softly encouraging his little garden to reach for the light.

Minghao runs his slender fingers through the cool edges of a hydrangea, its soft petals a deep shade of prismarine.

Ever since he was younger, his mother had told him that flowers weren't just things to be cared for. They were companions, your friends if you'd let them be, each blooming with all different kinds of personalities.

He likes how the flowers didn't ask for much; they simply needed patience and care, and in return, they gave him a sense of peace that he couldn't find anywhere else.

The sudden chime of the bell pulls him from his thoughts. He straightens up, wiping his hands on the apron tied loosely around his waist, and glances toward the door.

The figure the walks through the door is unfamiliar, yet it's easy to catch the way the sunlight highlights the edges of your silhouette, almost like a halo as you step inside the shop. For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

Your gaze circles around the shop, taking in the rows of flowers with a soft curiosity. There's some sort of quiet hesitation in your movements when you take a few more tentative steps inside, as if you're trying to find the right place to be in this space, just as much as you're trying to find the right flower.

Minghao finds himself clearing his throat, drawing a polite smile across his lips and catching your attention right away.

"Good afternoon," he greets calmly. "Can I help you with something today?"

You glance up at him, a slight surprise in your eyes before they soften.

"Hi, um... Yeah, I was actually looking to see if I could buy some flowers. The shop I went to before closed down, so I've been searching for a new place. It was a bit of a drive." Then you hesitate briefly, before continuing, "I'm not sure what to look for exactly, but something for a first date would be nice."

Minghao's heart stirs a bit disappointingly at that, though he quickly suppresses the feeling away. After all, it's just flowers, and you're simply here to buy them for someone else.

He nods thoughtfully, giving a soft, understanding look.

"Ah, well. Congratulations first of all on the date," he says calmly, though the nerves itches his fingers. "A first date is always special, isn't it?"

"They are," You reply sheepishly, and the hint of a blush to your cheeks nearly resembles the colour of the roses displayed near the window.

"Is there a specific kind of vibe you're going for?" Minghao asks. "I can help you pick something that feels right."

You pause for a moment, eyes lingering on a beautifully-painted vase. "Hmm, I think... something romantic, but not too traditional, if that makes sense? Not something too cliché, you know, but I also want it to feel special."

Minghao simply hums in response, his mind sifting through the variety of options he could think of. There's this odd sense of responsibility within him to make your choice is beyond perfect.

"Roses are always a classic," he begins. "but they're quite conventional, so..."

He can sense you following closely to him as he walks toward another part of the shop.

"These are tulips," Minghao explains, gesturing to a row of soft, voluminous blooms in shades of pale pink and coral. "They're not commonly picked like roses, but there's a nice charm about it. They're meant to represent long-lasting love."

You take a good look of the flowers, and you're amazed by how bright they appear.

"Wow, they're so beautiful." Then you take a small glance up at Minghao, before back down at the flowers. "You must really take care of these flowers to make them look this vibrant."

"I try my best," he mutters quietly, watching as you continue to take in their beauty. "Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

Your eyes flicker back up at him, and for a moment, there's a quiet stillness between you, as if the space between you two is holding its breath. Then you let out a warm, somewhat nervous chuckle.

"I think I understand," You say, taking a step closer towards the tulips  and carefully running a finger over its petals. "It's about giving them space to grow, right? Not forcing them to be something they're not."

There's something about the way you speak, something thoughtful, almost as if you also understand the language of patience he's grown so accustomed to.

"Exactly." He smiles faintly. "That's what I like about flowers𑁋they don't rush. They just exist, and somehow, they slowly become what they're meant to be."

You lift your gaze to meet his, and in your eyes, Minghao sees something more than just curiosity. There's a softness there, a sincerity that draws him in. At his sides, he feels his fingers twitch slightly, but he quickly smooths his hands down his apron.

It's strange how a simple conversation about flowers can make him feel so... connected to someone.

"I think these are perfect," You tell him, eyes brightening with confidence.

A wave of satisfaction washes over Minghao, who nods in agreement.

"Would you like me to wrap them up for you?" he asks.

"That would be great, thank you," You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now. The thought makes his heart flutter.

Minghao begins to wrap the delicate stems with some brown wrapping paper, carefully arranging them so they're secure. As he ties a ribbon around the bouquet, he can't help but sneak up a glance at you. You're wandering around the shop with your hands clasped in front of you, looking at the other arrangements on display, and he smiles to himself.

He finishes the bouquet and smooths out any remaining creases with his fingertips. When you make your way back over to him, he offers it to you.

"Do you want to write your name on a gift tag?" Minghao asks, holding up a small card and a pen. He doesn’t know why his heart's beating faster𑁋perhaps it's the subtle hopefulness in his voice that will make your name linger longer, even after you leave.

You glance at the pen in his hand, considering it for a moment before nodding.

"Sure, I'd love to," You tell him with a faint smile, snatching the pen from his grasp, giving it a quick click before writing something down, the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

When you finish, you hand the card back to him. He takes it from you carefully, inspecting your neat, intricate handwriting. It's simple, yet there's a certain elegance to it it. Minghao reads it under his breath: For someone special, who I hope feels the same - Y/N.

Y/N, he repeats in his mind.

"I'll finish it up for you now," he says, placing the card with the bouquet. He arranges the flowers once more, making sure everything is perfect before handing it to you.

You find yourself fishing into your bag for your wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

Minghao hesitates for a moment, his fingers hovering over the register, but there's something about the way your features soften and how your eyes meet his that makes him pause.

"It's on the house."

You stop your hands, peering back up at him with a surprised look. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course," he assures calmly. "It's the least I can do."

You just blink at him a few times, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

"Thank you," You let out sheepishly as you take the bouquet in your hands, the ribbon slipping through your fingers as you carefully adjust it. There's a split second that passes where you sneak a glance at the nametag on his chest. "I really appreciate it. I'm sure they'll love them."

Something in his chest tightens at that𑁋they'll love them. Minghao tries not to overthink it, tries to ignore the brief twinge of something unsettling in his chest.

But you're smiling, so he smiles back.

"I hope so," he replies gently, and with a polite bow of his head, he adds, "I'm sure they'll appreciate the thought behind it."

As you walk towards the exit, you take a final look around the shop, eyes lingering on the shelves of flowers, before turning back to Minghao.

"I'll be sure to come back," You say brightly, and the way the afternoon sunlight pours down all around you in the doorway makes you appear almost angelic. "Thank you for everything."

"I'll be here," Minghao responds, offering a small, timid wave of his hand. "Take care."

The chime of the bell above the door announces your departure, and a sigh leaves him.

It's just flowers, he tells himself again. Just flowers.

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

Minghao finds himself wiping away some spilled soil on the counter, the soft hum of piano music drifting throughout the quiet flower shop. He had just gotten done cleaning up after a busy morning of rearranging a few displays around the shop to tie into the slow seasonal changes that were beginning to take shape outside.

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with. Chrysanthemums, petunias, dahlias, and marigolds were beginning to make their way into the shop, taking their place next to the peonies and roses that had been so meticulously cared for.

When the last bits of soil are wiped away, Minghao steps back to admire the beauty of the shop around him, he takes in a deep inhale, letting in the earthy scent of the fresh blooms fill his lungs.

After storing away a few extra vases in the backroom, the chime of the door hits his ears, and Minghao finds himself straightening back up to greet whoever had come inside.

When looks up, however, he freezes for a moment. He catches you standing in the doorway, and Minghao has to blink a few times to make sure his mind wasn't playing any tricks on him.

"Hi, again," You're the first to greet this time, and then that grin spreads across your face once again, one that seems all-too familiar.

Minghao leans against the counter. "Back so soon?"

"I was just in the area, couldn't help myself, you know..." You drawl with a playful shrug. "I actually just officially moved into the city just last week, hopefully to be closer for this new job and well... The drive here isn't as long as before."

Minghao smiles softly. It's an unexpected but pleasant surprise for you to admit all that to him, and for some reason, it makes him feel a little lighter.

"That's great," he responds, pushing himself off the counter as he straightens up. "I imagine that must be a relief. How do you like it so far?"

You step further into the shop, your eyes eagerly scanning the new arrangements he's set up.

"It's been great, actually," You say with a relieved look. "Life has been... good, honestly. I think the city suits me. It's different, but in a positive way, and I'm already surrounded by a lot of nice people."

This warm and genuine feeling tugs at Minghao's lips as he listens to you, adjusting the stems of a vase full of a plethora of zinnias.

"I'm assuming that date from before went well then?"

His words makes the smile on your face flicker, and the change is subtle but noticeable enough for Minghao to catch it, even when he's not directly looking at you. You shift your weight between your two feet, and the way you glance around the shop seems almost like you're trying to distract yourself from something.

"The date didn't go well at all, actually."

Minghao's fingertips pause on the cold surface of the vase, brows furrowing in a bit of surprise.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he apologises gently, regretting for the sudden change in mood. "I didn't mean to bring up anything uncomfortable."

You let out a small, rueful chuckle, shaking your head. "No, no, it's okay. Really."

The air seems to thicken a little. You could only stand and watch for a few long moments as Minghao moves gracefully around, tending to all the flowers with his usual care.

After a long pause, you finally break the silence.

"It was good at first, I think, then it just became... awkward. Like really awkward. I thought I had everything planned out𑁋good place, nice flowers, all that jazz... but I guess it just didn't click. I think we both kind of felt it." You feel your shoulders deflate in a pit of defeat, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you run a hand through your hair. "I don't know why I just rambled all that. Sorry about that."

Minghao doesn't say anything at first, simply giving you some space, but he feels his heart tighten in his chest. He casts his eyes on you, also unsure why you're telling him this or why it feels important to him, but he knows it's a moment of vulnerability𑁋a rare one𑁋and he wants to handle it with care.

"No need to say sorry," he reaffirms, tone soothing. "Sometimes things don't go as expected, and that's okay. It doesn't mean it wasn't meaningful."

You glance towards him, catching the sincerity dripping down from his words. It catches you by surprise at how almost... comfortable it feels to be open right now, with him. The atmosphere here doesn't demand anything of you.

"As people, we try so hard to make things go right that we forget to just... let them unfold naturally," he says softly, as if thinking aloud. "I think sometimes things don't work out because we're not ready for them yet, or maybe they're not the right kind of flower at the right time. You can spend so much time trying to arrange them, placing them in the perfect spot, hoping they'll just fit… but sometimes they don't. And that's okay."

You can't help but quirk a playful lip at that, but you can't resist the way his words appear to tug right at your heartstrings. "Are you comparing me to a flower?"

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

The thought about being a flower𑁋in another life, perhaps𑁋is a bit silly. But you also wonder about other things too𑁋if you're being treated with the same care and attention that Minghao gives to his flowers, or if you're wilting like one that hasn't found the right light yet. And as you gaze around the shop, taking in the beauty of the blooms around you, you find yourself smiling.

"I think I'd like to try and take care of a flower," You announce, determination weaving around your voice and words. "I'm not sure if I'd be good at it, but I'd like to try."

Minghao crosses his arms together, letting out a thoughtful hum while studying you for a few seconds. "I think you'd do well."

For some reason, those few words were enough to send heat crawling up your body and into your face.

"Thank you," You breathe out sheepishly, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "Can you give me a few recommendations?"

Minghao just nods. "Sure."

From there, he leads you toward a small display near the front of the shop where a few different pots and seedlings are carefully arranged. He describes a few of them to you. You're immediately drawn to the passion dripping from his tone, and the way he appears to light up when he speaks.

"These might be a good start," he suggests, gesturing to a small seedling. "Marigolds are pretty low maintenance. They need light, of course, but they're easy to grow and care for."

You take a moment to study over the baby plant with sweet curiosity.

"I think I'll start with these, then," You say, glancing back at Minghao. "Something easy."

Minghao's eyes don't stray away from how you admire the tiny plant, how you cradle the pot in your hands to take a closer look at it as if you're already imagining yourself taking care of it.

"Taking care of them can be a good reminder to take care of yourself too," he points out. "They need patience, consistency… and a little bit of trust, just like people do."

You look up at him, a smile tugging at your lips once more, feeling something warm bloom in your chest. His words settle into you in a way that's hard to describe, but they feel right𑁋like they're exactly what you need to hear.

"That's true," You reply, the weight of the sentiment settling comfortably within you. "I guess I could use a reminder like that."

"Shall I wrap it up for you?" he offers.

"Yes, please. Thank you."

After mulling over some options, he chooses the perfect wrapping paper and adds a small note about caring for marigolds. You watch him, mesmerised by the ease in his movements, the care he pours into something so simple. For a moment, you forget about all the bustling noise outside the shop, and all that exists is Minghao and the flowers, his flowers.

As Minghao ties the final knot around the marigold pot, he hands it to you, and his fingertips briefly brush against yours.

"Thank you," You tell him softly. "For everything, really. It's very calming in here."

Minghao's smile widens, almost like he's heard those same words before, and perhaps he has; maybe many people find themselves drawn to his calm presence and the haven he's created in this little shop.

There's a strange warmth that spreads throughout your chest as you cradle the small plant in your hands. "I'll be sure to take good care of it."

A few moments of comfortable silence pass as you both stand there, your eyes drifting around the shop to take in the palette of autumn that colours the space. Yet it's almost instinctive in the way your gaze finds Minghao.

"I hope you won't mind me coming back, you know... to make sure I'm doing a good job with this little one." You gesture to the plant in your hands, a playful tone to your words.

Minghao chuckles, a sound as gentle as the petals surrounding him. "Of course. I'll be here."

"Do you mind if I take another look around with the place? It looks great, by the way."

"Take all the time you need."

And for the first time in a long while, Minghao felt like he wasn't just waiting for the next flower to bloom.

He was blooming, too.

"Do you have a favourite flower?"

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders while he waters a cluster of orchids in the back corner of the shop. You're hovering near him, aimlessly trudging your fingertips over, but instead lets the question settle in between the quiet moments.

"I imagine it's hard to pick as a florist, right?" You let out a meek laugh. "It's kind of like asking a painter to pick their favourite colour."

The corners of Minghao's lips curl up slightly, his eyes fixed on the glistening leaves under the faint droplets of water. You can tell he's contemplating the question from the quiet hums leaving his mouth, and for some reason, you find comfort in his patience.

"Not exactly," he says after a pause, his voice steady, thoughtful. "A painter might have a favourite colour, but they don't use it all the time. It's about balance. Knowing when to bring it forward and when to hold it back."

"Ah, so you do have a favourite flower," You tease lightly, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. "You just don't want to admit it."

The brief touch seems to linger in the air, a soft warmth that you both let pass without acknowledging. Minghao gently sets the watering can down and looks at you for a moment, his gaze a little deeper than before.

"In China, we have a lot of flowers that hold meaning," Minghao continues. "It's hard to pick one specifically, but... I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

You tilt your head as you take in his words. You already knew yourself that you didn't know much about flowers, but there's a certain curiosity that washes over you from how Minghao speaks so fondly about them. Even something as simple as a flower has layers of meaning for him.

"That's really beautiful, I..." You trail off, trying to find the right words. "I've always looked at things really surface-level, you know, like I've always found daisies beautiful because they're so simple and bright, but I never really thought much about their deeper meanings. It's kind of like... I never thought about why I liked them. It's just easy to see them and appreciate them, I guess."

Minghao blinks at you, before lowering his gaze down to the floor. "Daisies suit you."

You turn to him, dazed. "Really?"

Minghao takes a contemplative pause. "Well, they're not only... beautiful to look at, but they brighten up any space they're in."

You feel your feet seep into the floor, sinking deeper as your cheeks warm, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were standing next to him. And it's the way he acts like he didn't fucking say anything out of the ordinary almost makes you lose it.

"Are you flirting with me right now?"

However, Minghao doesn't seem fazed by the question. Instead, his lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and then a few seconds later, your phone rings.

Minghao just offers you a little wave of his soil-painted hand. "Have fun at work, Y/N."

"Minghao! Can you teach me how to wrap these flowers?"

Minghao casts his attention up from displaying a new set of hyacinths, catching you behind the counter with a bouquet in your hands, along with a small old lady on the other side with a cheerful grin.

There's a subtle tug at the corners of his mouth when he hears you holler for him again, and he brushes his hands against his apron, before marching his way toward you. He steps up to you, taking the flowers from your hand while you beam happily towards the old lady.

"What's the occasion for the flowers, ma'am?" You ask curiously. Th elderly woman lets out a soft laugh, resting her wrinkled hands on the counter.

"It's for my grandson! He's graduating from high school today. Time flies by, doesn't it?"

"Wow, that's such a milestone! Congratulations to him," You exclaim enthusiastically, softly clapping your hands together as Minghao deftly arranges the flowers within the wrapping paper, before sliding it over to you.

He leans in a bit more, almost too close you feel the way his arm brushes against yours and the way his breath fans against your skin.

"Fold the edges like this," Minghao instructs softly, his hands hovering right over yours. "Make sure the paper covers the stems. Too much pressure could break them; too loose could make them fall apart."

You watch as his hands follow yours while you nervously, yet carefully trace the frail edge of the paper, showing you how to make each fold with a care that's almost tender. His close proximity sends strange flutters to your stomach, but you do your best to ignore it.

"Okay, like this?" You question, pulling the paper slightly tighter around the bouquet.

Minghao hums approvingly, letting you hold the flowers while he circles a ribbon around it with ease. His hands brush against yours as he neatly ties it, and the two of you pull back to watch how it delicately falls over the bouquet.

The old lady glances between the two of you with a knowing smile.

"The two of you make such a cute couple! Do you run the shop together?"

You feel your face fire up at that, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Then you instinctively glance over at Minghao, who surprisingly doesn't seem as flustered as you are.

"Oh, um, we're not𑁋"

"They like to help out here once in a while," Minghao adds in smoothly, though you aren't sure if that entirely helps or not. However you know what he's saying is true, because whenever your break for work comes or on your free time, you find yourself naturally walking towards the flower shop to help out at times.

The lady just beams up even more, scooping up the bouquet in her grasp. "Well, it's nice to see young faces working together! You two sure do have a lot of chemistry."

You offer a wave of your hand. "I hope your grandson enjoys the flowers. Congratulations to him once again!"

With that, the old woman offers a small wink before turning to head out of the shop. "Thank you, dear! Take care, both of you." Her delighted steps echo off the walls as she exits the shop.

The shop grows quiet again. You let out a sigh, cracking your knuckles as you turn to Minghao, who was already wiping over the surface of the counter, making quick work of putting things back in order, and for some reason, it still doesn't wipe away the pit of awkwardness you're feeling. You wonder if he feels the same too.

"So," Minghao starts, still continuing to clean without batting a glance at you. "You're taking over my shop, it seems."

You let out a haughty scoff. "I just wanted to try wrapping some flowers for someone. Don't let it get to your head."

Minghao only chuckles lightly, though he keeps his focus on the counter, yet you could only focus on him. You can't help but admire the way his hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, the slight endearing tilt of his head as he works, and how his movements are so meticulously unique to only him. There's a certain aura he exudes that makes you feel strangely at peace, a magic that only seems to reside within the walls of the shop.

"Why didn't you say no?" You suddenly ask, the question slipping out before you could shut your mouth.

Minghao pauses mid-swipe, looking back up at you. "Say no to what?"

"To, uh... the lady back there," You stammer, feeling the heat creep back at your neck. "About us, you know... being a couple."

Minghao remains silent as he tosses the dirty wipe away. For a moment, he seems to be contemplating something𑁋whether the question, the idea, or something more.

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

Your mind goes completely blank at his question. Does it bother you? The simple truth is that you didn't expect him to answer so casually. You were expecting him to probably correct her humbly, in all honesty. After all, it was just a passing comment from a lady who didn't mean any harm behind it.

But... does it bother you?

"No, it... it doesn't bother me. Really," You respond after a pause, voice coming out a bit forced. Your heart is beating super fast right now. "I guess I just didn't expect you to go along with it since we're not𑁋"

"𑁋not a couple," Minghao finishes for you. "I know."

You feel like you're melting into a pile of goo, your thoughts scattering like ants running out of their pile.

"I'm sorry, I'm overthinking," You mumble out, trying to brush everything off with an airy laugh.

Minghao shakes his head. "I should be sorry. I made you uncomfortable."

"You-You didn't, trust me!" You wave your hands dismissively, albeit a bit dramatic. "I was just caught off-guard and didn't know how to respond."

This seems to relax Minghao's shoulders a bit, but not entirely.

"Okay," he says, and his voice is as light as a  wisp getting caught in the wind. "But you'd tell me if you were uncomfortable, right?"

You give him an easy nod, maybe even confident. "I would. I promise. And you'd... tell me too?"

Minghao meets your eyes with a steady gaze, his expression soft but thoughtful. For a moment, there's a subtle shift in the air, and you can feel the weight of his words before he speaks again.

"Yeah," he answers firmly, sincerely. "I would."

When you open your mouth to speak again, your phone dings in your pocket. You squint your eyes to read over the message in your notifications, before closing up your phone.

"My meeting got cancelled." Then you blink up towards Minghao, as if trying to convey an unspoken question to him.

As if the answer wasn't already obvious, Minghao gives you a small, almost teasing smile.

"I don't mind the company," he tells you, then quirks up a brow. "Unless you do."

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

Flowers bloom when the time is right. And you don't mind waiting for it.

When a flower dies, there's a certain routine that comes after it. Trim away the wilted petals, dispose of the stems, recycle them as compost, and plant the next set of blooms.

Minghao hates seeing flowers die.

The sound of crumbling petals tie a knot in his chest, the stillness that follows afterwards is almost deafening. But he knows it's an inevitable part of life. Every flower has its chance to bloom and thrive, and eventually, it will fade.

The flowers don't belong to him, after all𑁋they are simply passing through his care briefly before going to someone else or withering away, like everything else in life. Minghao knows it's unnecessary to hold onto these flowers so tightly, but after being surrounded by them his entire life, it's merely impossible to let go.

The bell chimes as he's composting a few camellias that had sadly wilted, and he gazes up to find a gust of snow following your footsteps as you step inside. A large, black fluffy coat hugs your body and a scarf is wrapped snugly around your neck. However this time, Minghao doesn't notice any ounce of a smile to your face.

He sets the compost bin down and wipes his hands on his apron.

"Y/N?"

There's a very subtle twitch to your expression when he calls out your name.

"Hey," You croak out, voice a bit strained. "Um... is it fine if I buy some flowers?"

Minghao feels something in his chest clench at your tone, but he pushes the feeling away with his usual calm composure, masking away any concern simmering on the surface.

"Sure," he replies, focusing on the shadows that plague over your features. "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

Your eyes drift away from to look around the flower shop, taking note of the bright, usual blooms that surround you, yet none of them appear are what you're looking for.

"Do you have, um..." You feel like you're already going to regret this. "...anything for a funeral?"

The words float in the air between you both. Minghao's expression falters for just a moment, the calmness that he usually carries slipping as his eyes soften toward you.

"Of course," he says softly. "I have a few options."

With that, he leads you to a particular spot in the shop, where it houses all sorts of flowers with muted colours𑁋white roses and lilies, pale chrysanthemums, and pink and purple orchids all arranged neatly. Minghao watches as you gaze over each flower, but he doesn't speak yet, simply allowing you the moment to breathe.

"These are the traditional flowers for a funeral," he explains finally. "White roses for remembrance, lilies for peace, chrysanthemums for mourning, and orchids for everlasting love."

Minghao has picked flowers for funerals before. He's also seen people hold onto flowers that are long past their bloom, clinging to them as if their presence alone could bring someone back. He's been there too.

It's bit a different when it's you though, and he doesn't exactly know how to explain it.

You plod slowly throughout the display, picking up a stem here and there, but each time, you set it back down as if it didn't feel right. But when you come across the orchids, you linger a little longer on them, tenderly caressing the petals as if you were scared to break them.

"I think I'll choose these ones. The orchids," You murmur, picking up a few stems and showing it to him.

Minghao just nods, taking the ones from your hands and grabbing a few more to finish the rest of the bouquet, moving with careful precision.

"I'll handle the rest, don't worry," he assures you as he gracefully works to arrange the orchids.

None of you choose to say anything more, only letting the diffident silence stretch. For some reason, the shop feels a little more cooler, the air heavier than usual. The only sound is the rustling of Minghao's hands moving carefully over the flowers, the quiet snap of a stem as he trims it with his shears. Outside, the snow continues to fall.

Minghao doesn't press for any details, yet even in the quiet, you have a feeling that he knows. Maybe that's why he's just letting his hands speak for him.

"Here you go." He offers you a neat bouquet of pale lavender orchids.

You step up to him to retrieve it from his grasp, bringing it close to your chest. "Thank you."

Minghao knows he shouldn't let his feelings get in the way, but as he takes note of the slight glassiness to your eyes and small tremble of your hands holding the bouquet, he isn't sure how much longer he can hold it in. He feels guilty when he lets his eyes drift down to your lips for a second, before averting it back up quickly.

The smile you give him is nothing short of fragile, faint, but it's there. And then, with a sudden leap, you find yourself leaning into Minghao's embrace without thinking, wrapping your arms around his body as if he was the only thing in the world that was preventing you from falling down. And in a way, he is.

His arms catch you instinctively, gentle yet steady, embracing around you like flowers petals folding inward for protection. His warmth seeps into you as if he were the sun reaching a flower in the early hours of dawn, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you to press closer into his warmth.

You don't cry𑁋not entirely. A single tear slips past your lashes, landing silently against his shoulder. He feels it, but he doesn't move, doesn't say anything, and just lets you... be.

"I'm sorry," You mumble into his shoulder. "I didn't mean to𑁋"

"Don't be," Minghao interrupts softly. "It's okay."

You pull away for a moment to look up at him. He's still holding you. His hands have fallen down to your sides, resting there as if he's held you like this before. The way you're looking at him has Minghao nearly forgetting how to breathe; it nearly urges to him to lean down and close the distance between the two of you.

His gaze lingers on your lips, and for a split second, Minghao almost allows himself to follow the instinct to lean in.

But then he stops himself.

He's not sure what this is, what the right thing to do is. His thoughts are tangled mess of roots𑁋he's always been careful with holding himself back, with promising to wait, yet something about the way you look at him makes it feel like the only right thing to do is to give in.

But he can't. Not yet. Not when you're so fragile and baring yourself raw to him.

Yet he sees the way your eyes flutter at him, the way a crease of question forms in between your brows as if you're also unsure of what this moment is, but there's a longing there too. It's almost pleading. And you lean in a little more towards him.

"Y/N," he breathes out your name, and it's the first time you ever heard his voice shake like that. "We... We shouldn't."

You don't say anything at first, your eyes searching his face like you're trying to read something. You open your mouth, close it, and then, with a slight exhale, you step back, only a little, but enough to let the cool air seep in between you.

"I'm sorry, I..." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, letting out a sniffle. "Fuck, I'm sorry..."

Minghao feels his chest tighten. "It's okay𑁋"

"I-I just wanted to feel something for a moment, you know? Everything is such a mess right now and the first person I thought of was you, because I like... the way you make me feel. I like it way more than I should. And that... that it's okay if you don't feel that way too."

Minghao's heart stutters at that, and perhaps the world even pauses too. All words that want to leave him become stuck in his throat, because he knows deep down𑁋from as far back as the moment you walked into the flower shop𑁋that he's felt the same way for far too long.

So, he settles with taking one hand from your side and slowly reaching up to trace your warm cheek with his thumb, his touch delicate as if he's afraid he might cause your petals to fall down. He brushes away a lingering tear that had been drying up on your skin and lets his hand stay there.

"You... deserve way more than just comfort in a moment like this," Minghao starts quietly. "But you're grieving right now, and I don't want to take advantage of that. I don't want to just be someone who's here for a moment, because... you mean so much to me more than that."

Your lips form into a tight, thin line, and you flicker your gaze towards the floor, the heaviness in the air still weighing down on your shoulders.

"Minghao..."

"And if I act on what I feel, it wouldn't be fair to you," Minghao continues, voice trembling slightly as he speaks. "I want it to be because you know what you want. And if you ever give me that chance, I promise I'll be here for you. Not just now, not just in this moment, but... for everything. When you're ready; when you're healed; when it feels right, I'll be here𑁋I always have been."

There's a lump in your throat that you swallow down. For a while, you could only simply stand there, feeling as if you're teetering on the edge of something you can't quite reach. But even as you stand in this stillness, there's something in his words that echoes off the walls of your mind𑁋it's understanding, and it's care, and it feels like a promise.

"I... I know. I just... I'm sorry for putting all this on you. I think I need space to... heal and think." Then you look back up at him, wonder tainting your features. "Will you wait for me?"

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning.

"I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

The chuckle that leaves you isn't forced; in fact, it's quite relieving. It feels like the start of something, and Minghao feels a flicker of hope at the sound.

You reluctantly separate yourself away from him, cradling the bouquet of orchids to your chest, and let out an exhale you hardly realise you were holding in.

"I'll be okay, you know," You tell him, even if it's a bit of lie, or half the truth. You can't tell which.

Minghao glances down to your hands, as if you're holding a piece of your heart wrapped up within the petals, before back up to your eyes.

"I know," is all he says.

The world doesn't stop for grief, but it's okay to pause for a little while.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

You haven't stepped foot in the flower shop in a while. At least, not as often as you used to come.

The absence is especially daunting, and Minghao can't help but feel it every time the bell chimes and it isn't you that walks through the door. On rare occasion you'd swing by to say hello during your breaks at work and sometimes, a pretty, shy smile from you before you disappear back into the world outside.

It's strange how easily your presence had come to be a part of the rhythm of his days. He used to wonder how someone like you would be drawn to the boring stillness of a flower shop. But now the place feels more emptier than before you came into his life, the petals around him somehow less vibrant, the air colder, even when the sun streams through the windows.

He tries not to dwell on it, but he can't help the nagging feeling that maybe you've drifted away, maybe things have changed. Maybe he was just a moment for you. And now, that moment has passed.

So he simply spends his days in the shop, moving between shelves of blossoms and arranging bouquets, but his thoughts always return to you. To the quiet moments when your voice would fill the space between the flowers, to the way you cared and tended the blooms even when you had no reason to.

It makes him think that if flowers could speak for us, then what might they say about you? Would they say you were someone who saw beauty in the smallest things? Minghao often found himself wishing that flowers could speak just so he can hear what they would say about you.

But flowers don't speak, of course. They just bloom and stretch toward the light, growing in places where they are tended to, and even in those that have been forgotten.

Maybe that's what Minghao was𑁋a forgotten flower of his own waiting to be seen, to be noticed.

Luckily, he was able to distract himself a bit today with a few deliveries for a couple of upcoming weddings and a new arrangement for the store he was preparing to do in the next few days, along with piles of orders for days. But it still wasn't enough.

As he flips the sign on the window to display Closed, he fumbles for his keys to lock the door. However, the sound of the bell rings through the shop, stopping him mid-motion. Minghao lifts a brow up, not expecting for anyone to show up right as he's about to close up.

And when he looks up, he freezes.

"I'm not late, aren't I?"

It's you.

The way your voice comes out all shaky like you're out of breath, yet soft has Minghao feeling as if he's sinking into quicksand. The sight of you standing at the doorway is a dream he never dares to wake up from.

"You're not," Minghao manages to say, somehow. "You're just in time."

Your lips tug into a small, relieved smile, and it's enough to make the air feel lighter in the shop. You take a few hesitant steps so that you're fully inside, letting the door shut behind you with a faint click.

Your lips tug into a small, relieved smile, and it's enough to make the air feel lighter in the shop. You take a few hesitant steps so that you're fully inside, letting the door shut behind you with a faint click. You take in the familiar, fresh scent of all the blooms and greenery around you, and it hits you in the heart just how much you've missed this place.

"I had, uh… a late shift at work," You explain unsurely. "so I thought about stopping by, but I wasn't sure if you'd still be here."

Minghao just shakes his head, watching as you brush your fingertips over some lilies and baby's breaths that were displayed on a small table near the window. Gosh, he'd do anything to flat out say how much he missed you, how much he'd been thinking about you, but he doesn't.

"Have you been busy?" You ask him.

"A little," he responds. "but manageable, I would say."

"Ah… that's good," You mumble, voice trailing off as you start to make your way in his direction, catching eye on a particular bouquet sitting on the counter behind him. "No-show again?"

Minghao lets out a sigh, and he feels you following behind as he walks towards the counter. He picks up the bouquet in his hand, letting his gaze fall over it.

"Mhm," he hums. "But it's alright, really. Happens more often than you think."

You quirk a brow as your eyes roam over the bouquet, and a particular, almost knowing look stretches across your lips.

"That's funny," You huff, taking the bouquet from his grasp. It held a colourful variety of hydrangeas. "It looks a lot like an order I placed a few days ago."

Minghao's heart skips a beat as he watches you carefully examine the bouquet, his breath caught in his throat.

"This… was yours?" he questions in surprise.

"Yeah, I…" You bite your lips sheepishly. "It was sort of an impulsive thing, I guess."

Minghao only continues to watch as you admire the bouquet, caressing over the delicate wrapping paper and the all-too familiar bow that he would tie all of his other arrangements.

"Impulsive, huh?" Minghao teases lightly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Well, you certainly picked a good one."

You look up at him, a small, tentative smile forming on your face. "I guess I just wanted to get something special. For someone."

Minghao feels his heart sink at that, a flutter of hope and uncertainty colliding in his chest. Someone.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words get caught in his throat, unsure if it's his place to ask, or if he even wants to hear the answer.

"I see," he says instead, trying to keep his tone relaxed, though there's a hint of sadness to his voice that he silently hopes you don't notice.

You take note of his unreadable expression, over the way his eyes appear downcast and a subtle tension to his posture.

However, this doesn't make you stop from gripping the bouquet tighter in your grasp, and then in the next moment, you're stepping closer and offering it over to him.

"I hope you like them," You state, holding out the bouquet thing as if was the most natural thing in the world.

Minghao glances at the bouquet quizzically, the same one he had just been holding, then back at you. His face shifts between a million different expressions𑁋confusion, surprise, hope, and everything in between𑁋before the tension in his chest eases just slightly as he finally registers what you're doing.

He's a florist, for crying out loud. He's usually the one to be giving flowers to people. Never in his years of practically living in the shop has anyone offered flowers to him. The gesture is practically foreign, yet in this moment, it feels so right.

His fingers graze against yours as he hesitantly takes it from your hands, but you fully let go. Instead, you cover his hand with yours, warmth spreading between you as you gently press your palm against his. His heart is beating in his throat, in his ears, everywhere in his body, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

"I missed you," You declare softly, yet a pinch of urgency behind your words. "I missed you so fucking much."

His chest tightens, and it's as if the weight of everything crushes him in the best possible way. All the time he had spent wondering if you had forgotten about him, if maybe you had moved on, it all melts away in an instant. Because you're here. And you're saying everything he's been craving to hear.

And gosh, does he want to kiss you right now.

This time, Minghao doesn't waste a second. He brings a hand up to cradle the side of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. It's perhaps a bit desperate first, making him swallow down a faint sigh you let out but it quickly settles into something softer, deeper, like two people who've been waiting for this moment for far too long.

He can feel the slight tremble in your breath as your lips move against his, and he pulls back slightly, just to make sure you were still with him.

Minghao lets his thumb lightly caress over your cheek as if trying to memorise the feeling of your skin under his touch, as if he'd been starved for this closeness.

"I missed you too," he whispers, a breath away from your lips. "The flowers did too."

A light, airy chuckle escapes from you. "Oh, did they?"

"Of course," Minghao murmurs, his lips curling upwards against your skin. "They've been waiting for you to come back."

"Well, I better not keep them waiting anymore then, right?" You jest playfully, leaning in back once again.

Minghao doesn't hesitate to meet you halfway. "Nope," he says firmly against your mouth. "I think they've waited long enough."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

@lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @ryuwonieebae @wonwooz1

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@svtficsarchive @lllucere @flipflopscrop

[madamechrissy]

Ice Cream

SFW-Satoru Gojo x Pregnant wifey reader drabble- fluff

"I look like a whale." You're sobbing as you walk into the living room, padding on your swollen ankles, Satoru looks up at you from his phone, setting it down, blue eyes narrowing.

"You look beautiful, what!? Stop being mean to my wife right now!" He stomps up to you, putting his hands on your round tummy, you're about eight months pregnant with his baby boy.

"S-Satoru..." Your tears keep falling, you're sniffling as you look at your handsome husband, who's holding you so gently with his big hands. "You're so gorgeous... and Imma whale."

He holds you to him now, sighing, you feel his cool breath against your cheek, your huge tummy pressing against him, baby kicking every which way. "You're no whale, maybe an Orca, they're cute!"

You're sobbing even more now, and he's sputtering, waving his limbs around as you do. "An Orca!?"

"Oh my god, but they're cute! Baby, stop, stop." He's brushing your hair back, his own white hair falling over his brow, pretty lips pouting. "You're beautiful, you're just carrying our son. He's gonna be all tall and lanky like his dad ha!"

"It's not f-funny. I'm a mess. Ow!" Your baby kicks your rib hard, making you inhale, and Satoru gets down on his knees now, lifting your shirt, kissing one of the new stretch marks. "They're ugly."

"They're pretty just like you. Hey baby..." He murmurs to your tummy, rubbing it up and down. "Give your mama a break for a few, I need to take her somewhere."

You're brushing his silky hair back, exhaling as your baby calms, and Satoru looks up at you under snowy lashes, so precious he breaks your heart. You take several breaths. "He listens to you already."

"He does." Satoru kisses your tummy, standing now. "Now you, missy, get on those sexy frog slippers, we're going to the store."

"I'll not wear those out!" You giggle now as he cups your face, stroking the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Your hands slide up his strong chest, around his neck as you tip toe precariously, pulling his face down. "Where are we going, Toru?"

"To get you ice cream, lots of it. Every flavor. Until your pretty face is smiling again." You're crying ridiculously now, but your lips do tremulously smile, as he kisses you gently.

"Ice cream huh? That sounds good." He swipes your tears, smirking down at you.

"I'll eat more than you!"

"Wanna bet?" He's laughing now, as he studies how cute you are, so round with his baby, he's helping you put on your shoes, pecking kisses on your tummy over and over.

"I love you, Toru." You whisper, as he's standing now, smiling down at you, his azure eyes glittering.

"I love both of you. My cute little orca." You glare now, and panic sets on his pretty face. "Oh, shit."

Aha just some fluff!! <3 Also I attempted to make a divider loll

[bugboi01]

The Family Omega

batfam x gn! reader imagine

Tw for grooming, sexual coercion, incest, some underage (Damian is 14 and not included in the sexual stuff but Tim and Reader are both 17)

Being a family full of alphas and betas is tough, especially during rut season. While Alfred and Dick did their best to help mediate any fights, the whole family was hoping Damian would be an omega despite the boy's feisty nature. Unfortunately for everyone, Damian woke up on his 14th birthday snarling and acting territorial over his room.

That's where you come in. Maybe you're a friend of Damian's from school, or you work as an intern for WE. Either way, you've piqued the family's interest, and they're desperate enough to make you theirs.

It would start off small, like offering to let you stay the night after a fight with your parents or lending you a jacket covered in one of the alphas' scents. You probably won't even notice how close you've gotten with the family until it's too late. All it takes is one spiked drink or drugged meal for you to go into an early heat.

Bruce would be first as the head of the family. If you try to struggle or protest, he'll simply coo at how cute you are before fucking you mercilessly until he knots your needy hole.

Dick would be next, eagerly eating you out and tasting his father's cum still dripping out of your hole. As a beta, Dick doesn't feel the overwhelming urge to mate with you, so he focuses on making you cum as many times as he can until your omega brain is turned to mush (though he'll definitely fuck you later).

Duke will get his turn after just coming off of patrol. He'll lazily thrust into you until he knots, whispering praises all the while.

Youll get a small break with Damian as the younger alpha will be more focused on scenting you and making sure your nest is up to his standards. You'll get some water and your favorite food from Alfred before it's back to being bred.

Jason is probably the most rough out of all the batboys, but he doesn't mean to be. He just loves the feeling of you so much that he can't help but lose control a little. He'd definitely have some sort of mommy/daddy kink. Will suck on your nipples while he waits for his knot to go down.

Finally, Tim. Tim is either really fucking energetic or a bit more tired and subdued like Duke depending on how much sleep he's had. If he's bored from working on a case or as ceo, he'll get all his energy out on you. If he's tired from patrol or staying up, he's more relaxed, maybe even making you ride him. I also think he rambles during sex, maybe about how good you feel or maybe just whatever hyperfixation he has at the moment.

(Omg that was a doozy. First time writing on tumblr btw! Feel free to leave requests if you want more or constructive criticism in my asks!)

[thef1diary]

omg dirtbag!daniel is so good I can’t stop thinking about it! also your writing style is to die for. Was wondering if there was any more fuel in the tank for more dirtbag!daniel?

thank you, nonnie! I always have more dirtbag!daniel thoughts 🤭 this is what’s been on my mind lately: spit kink, marking + a bit of bratty reader. it turned out longer than I initially intended. drop some thoughts and I’d love to chat

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Dirtbag!Daniel doesn’t own you. He never asked to, he never pretended to. But that didn’t stop him from treating you like you belonged to him, like your body existed solely for his amusement. Maybe it does, because no matter how filthy, how degrading his words get, you let him. You always come back for more.

Perhaps that’s why you were weaving your way through a packed bar, the dim lights flickering overhead and the bass of the music reverberating through your chest. The air is thick with humidity, the cloying scent of sweat and spilled beer clinging to every surface. It’s the kind of place where anonymity thrives—a place where you could disappear into the crowd if you wanted to.

But you didn’t come to disappear, no, you came because he called, and you were too far gone to resist.

You spot him almost immediately, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. One elbow rested lazily on the counter, a drink in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the class. His head is tilted slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room, but there’s no mistaking the moment he sees you.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and smug, and you feel the pull of it like a hook in your chest. It’s infuriating, that smirk. It always is. It’s the way he tells you—without words—he’s two steps ahead, already planning how to leave his mark on you, both physically and mentally.

The bar is too crowded for you to think clearly, the press of bodies around you amplifying your nerves. But as you approach him, the rest of the room blurs into the background. All you see is him, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shirt clings to his frame, and the glint in his eyes that promises trouble.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Daniel drawled, leaning in to speak to you over the din. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every inch of your body. It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel exposed without even touching you. Like he’s already imagined all the ways he’s going to break you tonight.

You force yourself to shrug, to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a clink. “Figured you had more self-respect,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The grin that followed is demeaning, the kind that made your stomach twist in equal parts anger and want. “Guess not,” he added.

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, the sharp edge of his insult cut deep—but not in the way they should. His insult only added to the simmering heat in your stomach, a twisted, shameful thrill curling low in your belly.

You hated how much you craved it—his mocking tone, the way he could peel you apart with a single look. But you won’t admit it. You opened your mouth to snap back, to tell him that you did have self-respect, thank you very much.

“I—”

But Daniel didn’t even give you the chance.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, interrupting without hesitation, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers brushed against your arm as he leaned in closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “I wasn’t looking for an argument, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his presence overwhelmed you, how his tone left no room for you to gain the upper hand. His smirk widened as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement, like this was all a game to him.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t craving something,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “And we both know exactly what that is.”

Daniel didn’t even wait for you to respond, his smirk widening before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer. Before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours, the kiss filthy and unapologetic. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue parting your lips with ease.

You melted into him, your resistance crumbling the moment he pulled you against his chest. The sheer force of his presence made your knees weak, and you hated how easily you gave in, how much you wanted this.

He almost chuckled into the kiss, the vibrations teasing against your lips, but he didn’t pull away. No, Daniel kissed you like he had something to prove, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue hot and insistent. It was consuming, like he wanted to claim every part of you here and now, and he didn’t give a damn who saw it.

You dimly registered the press of bodies around you, the muffled gasps and sidelong glances from strangers who couldn’t help but notice the spectacle he was making of you. But Daniel didn’t care, not even a little. If anything, the idea of an audience seemed to spur him on, his hand gripping your hip possessively, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead brushing against yours as he smirked down at you, his breath fanning over your lips. His gaze was molten, full of arrogance and something darker, something that made your stomach flip.

“See? You’re too easy,” he muttered, his tone low and mocking, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he loved every second of it. His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of his own claim on you, and you felt your cheeks heat under his scrutiny.

Daniel looked back, the smirk on his face growing as he signaled the bartender with two fingers. “Whiskey for me,” he said, his tone relaxed, almost bored, before his gaze slid back to you. “And for her…” He looked you up and down like he was appraising you, his lip curling slightly. “Something sweet. She needs it.”

You bristled at the condescension in his tone, but the bartender was already nodding, turning to make the drinks. Daniel’s attention shifted back to you, and he leaned his hip against the bar, his stance casual but his gaze piercing.

The drinks arrived moments later, and he slid it toward you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it over. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, the words laced with challenge. “Show me just how good you are at taking what I give you.”

Your fingers closed around the glass, but your grip faltered as his words sank in, their double meaning curling around your chest and tightening like a vice.

“I don’t take orders from you, Daniel,” you managed to bite out. Daniel raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “don’t you?”

His eyes dropped to the drink in your hand, then back to your face, challenging you. “C’mon, I know you can be good for me.”

Your grip tightened around the glass as you raised it to your lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. Daniel’s gaze stayed fixed on you, intense and unwavering, his smirk deepening as if he could feel the fire burning under your skin.

The drink was just as he’d ordered—sweet and cloying, the kind of thing that lingered too long on your tongue. His eyes flickered to your throat as you tipped the glass back, watching the subtle motion of you finishing the drink. The heat in his gaze made your skin prickle, and your breath hitched as you placed the empty glass on the bar with deliberate finality.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like silk, but there was a dangerous edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without another word, he picked up his whiskey and downed it in a single smooth motion, the glass hitting the bar with a quiet clink. His hand found yours before you could react, his fingers firm but not rough as he tugged you from the bar.

“Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You followed as he guided you through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. He maneuvered you effortlessly, weaving through the bodies pressed close together until you reached a dark corner of the bar. The music was quieter here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to swallow you both whole.

Daniel turned to face you, his smirk growing as he backed you up against a wall. His eyes raked over you, dark and predatory, and for a moment, you felt like a cornered animal under his unrelenting gaze.

“Drop the act,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the muffled thrum of the music. “We both know why you’re here.”

“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” His eyes dragged over you, taking in every detail—the way your dress clung to your frame, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His gaze lingered, unapologetic and ravenous, and you felt the heat of it searing into you. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and cutting. “All dolled up, hoping I’d notice. Hoping I’d take one look at you and decide to ruin you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing, like he could see right through you

“You’re not even trying to deny it,” he went on, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “The second I called, you came running, didn’t you? Like the desperate little slut you are.”

“Danny…” you murmured, the plea barely audible, your voice trembling under the weight of his words. Your cheeks burned, humiliation mingling with the thrill that coursed through you, leaving you lightheaded.

He simply chuckled, watching you squirm in place as he had you exactly where he wanted you. His grip was firm, his thumb pressing down just enough to part your lips. “Ah, ah,” he chided, his voice a mockery of sweetness. “Don’t get shy on me now. You wanted this. You wanted me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, desperately, the act slipping away as soon as he called you his slut—which was exactly what you were, what you’d always be for him.

“There it is,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His smirk widened, his thumb tracing the edge of your lip before dragging it down your chin, a slow, deliberate motion that made you shiver. “I can see it, you know. The way you’re squirming, the way your eyes keep flicking to my mouth like you’re imagining all the filthy things I could do to you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words wrapped around you, tightening the coil of tension low in your belly.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice dipping even lower, the edge of his accent sharpening his words. “Say you came here for me. Say you came here to let me ruin you.”

Your lips parted, the heat of his gaze pulling the words from you before you could stop them. “I did,” you whispered, voice trembling as your cheeks burned under his scrutiny. “I came here for you. I want you to ruin me.”

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “That’s my obedient little slut,” he murmured, a grin breaking out on his face.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick further—his kiss earlier already having ruined it—leaving a streak of red across your skin. His grin widened as his eyes followed the smear. “Such a pretty mess already. Let’s make it worse.”

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “Stick out your tongue.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting your tongue peek out, feeling utterly exposed under his watchful, predatory stare.

He tilted his head, letting a slow stream of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you held still, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Close,” he instructed, and you did, your lips sealing around the weight of his demand.

“Swallow,” he said next, his voice sharp and deliberate, the edge of his accent making it sound even filthier.

You swallowed, the act leaving a warmth in your belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. His smirk grew, impossibly smug, as his thumb returned to your jaw, tilting your face further toward him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “You take orders so well, don’t you? Makes me wonder what else that filthy mouth of yours is good for.”

You whimpered under the weight of his words, your knees threatening to give out as his free hand slid down to your shoulder, then lower, fingers toying with the strap of your dress. He tugged it down slightly, just enough to bare your skin to him—revealing a few more marks he left behind a couple days ago.

“Mine,” he muttered under his breath, leaning in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, biting down gently, then harder, until you gasped. He pulled back to admire the mark blooming on your skin—a deep red imprint of his teeth.

“You look so much better when you’re marked up,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Everyone who sees these will know exactly who you belong to.”

His hand wandered back up, fingers brushing the column of your throat before tightening just enough to send a wave of heat coursing through you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling it race under his touch. “Being claimed, being ruined. You’ve been craving this all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “Please, Danny. I want more.”

His grin turned almost cruel as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, you’ll get more, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Perhaps you did belong to him, but the realization wasn’t as terrifying as you’d expected. In fact, it felt strangely natural, even comforting, as you found yourself agreeing with him without hesitation. Not that you ever had the strength to resist him in the first place. You were already a goner from the first time he degraded you like no other.

taglist: @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @evasmlp @mycenterfold @uhhvictoria @kaorisakamotofan @alice-went-away @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lilorose25

[chaostudee]

controversially young girlfriend, lewis hamilton.

summary : the media crticizes y/n and lewis when they start dating due to their significant age gap. faceclaim : tyla a/n : been in the drafts for awhileeee also this is lowkey rly short so lmk if u want part 2?

y/nusername i can't call rn i'm doing hot girl shit

liked by sabrinacarpenter, addisonrae, gracieabrams and 3,678,447 others.

sabrinacarpenter angel face 👼

user728 ughh so so fine

user42 omg imagine serving this harddd

username22 she knows she's badd

user34 oml so so obsessed with u i acc cant

username99 mother

y/nlover more music plsss

user68 my icon my legend

username frrrr she's literally like my inspiration in life

lewishamilton we had decent race pace today but wasn't enough to convert a win. we will evaluate what mistakes we made and we will come back stronger

liked by charlesleclerc, georgerussell, francocolapinto and 5,829,620 others.

user727 my goat 🐐🐐

f1fan it's a struggle to be a lewis fan rn

user88 i'm so sick of the p10 curse i acc can't anymore

f1lover changeee your fucking car

georgerussell 💪

justanichident oh how i love britcedes

user89 still and will always be a legend

username11 we need more roscoe content lewis !!

y/nusername had the best time in brazil love you all ! 🇧🇷

liked by chappellroan, sabrinacarpenter, laufey and 3,818,919 others.

user727 aaaagh had the best time ilysmm

user99 her fits always devour

username22 obsessed with u acc

f1 we know this diva 💜

user728 F1 WHAT ARE U DOING HERE f1fan omggg y/n in the paddock when?? username28 omggg don't tease us like this

user782 what a cutie patootie

user44 ughh to be her

user62 LOVE LOVE LOVE HER

username26 ughhh she's so mother

y/nusername make me lose my breath make me water

liked by lewishamilton, sabrinacarpenter, madisonbeer and 4,829,728 others.

user727 GUYS OMGG LEWIS LIKED AND FOLLOWED HER

user44 damnnnn

username can we just collectively agree to dress like this 24/7

user62 WAIT GUYS THE CAPTION

user99 omggg is it a new song tease username526 i'd die stoppp

username90 serving cunt

user414 oh i'm so ready for ny show

f1 interview with lewis hamilton after las vegas gp

liked by f1fan, justaninchident,user78 and 752,629 others.

user62 OMG OMG

username FREAKING TF OUT

user44 omggg i'm so ready to see bf lewis

f1lover guys he literally asked for privacy so let's respect it

user33 🙌

user99 betcha it's y/n

y/nusername nyc ily so so much !!

liked by lewishamilton, gracieabrams, wiffygriffy and 6,292,628 others.

user72 OMG WE WON

username a new single announcement healed me

user673 hearing y/n live was utterly insane she literally sounds angelic wtff

gracieabrams so so obsessed with you 💕

username42 yummy

user99 need her actually

sabrinacarpenter mwah mwah lysm

y/nusername xxxx

user52 the choreeography was so fucking good

username66 omggg yes like someone teach me those moves pls 😫

y/nusername last week on tour doesn't feel real 😭💗

liked by lewishamilton, alexandrasaintmleux, chappellroan and 8,626,526 others.

f1fan sir lewis hamilton IS THAT YOU?!?

user727 girlll whaaaaat

user42 soft launching THE lewiz hamilton is crazyyy

username25 isn't there like a 15 year age gap 😭

user25 omggg wait you're right user626 ewwww

user62 i applaud you y/n for giving us pic of lew

username omlll his tats i can't

user52 knawing at the bars of my enclosure username22 plsss 💀💀

lewishamilton 🫶

liked by y/nusername, charlesleclerc, landonorris and 9,720,562 others.

user728 OMG A HARD LAUNCH

user82 holyyy shittt

username89 wowza didn't think that he had it in him

f1fan the age gap is wilddd

username22 y/n's face card is actually insaneeee

f1lover summer break (lewis's version)

user62 back tats 🫠

lewishamilton

》 awww y/n's so so cute

》 15 years between you's is crazy

》 she could literally be your daughter.....

》 pls take good care of her

y/nusername in light of all the backlash on online that both i and lewis have recieved i have decided to take a break from social media. i will be back but for now this is goodbye. i love you all sm see you soon <3

liked by lewishamilton, sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 12,682,720 others.

sabrinacarpenter i'm always here for you ❤️

user62 stopp wait no i kinda feel bad

username hope u guys are happy because this is what happens when you all hate for no reason

f1fan so sry you guys are being treated like this

user72 i'm going to miss you so so much

username12 ya'll really made her to do this like wtfff guys

f1lover they both don't deserve this

madisonbeer proud of you for speaking out and putting them in their place

user672 yesss queen shit

user89 fit still slaying tho

username44 take all the time you need we will be waiting for you <3

taglist ⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn

@mxryxmfooty

@sweetestgirlintown111

@hadidsworld

@llando4norris

@nichmeddar

@janeh22

@love2readd

@depressedriches

@seonghwaexile

[frogchiro]

Been thinking about Chris in the college AU…

I think he’s a fuckboy, but at his core he has trad sensibilities (because he’s an asshole). So he fucks around with girls at college, but his ultimate goal is to find a nice girl to marry who can stay in his house and raise his kids so she never has to use that pretty little college degree.

Maybe he’s a sophomore now, so he’s still looking to chase tail, not quite ready to find his wife, so he’s not looking very hard.

But then Leon keeps talking about you. And poor Leon… he has no idea that him talking about his crush on you and all of the things he likes about you is like dropping bleeding prey in a shark tank. If Leon had kept his crush a secret, you might never have been noticed by any of them! But now it seems like every guy in his frat wants a piece of you!

And Chris sees you occasionally around campus, in class, almost never at any parties. You’re a good student, well dressed (mostly modest!), with great hips and a great rack (childbearing!!). And one day he sees you sitting with Ashley for coffee, and you take a napkin to wipe some whipped cream from her mouth for her, and Chris has to run back to the house to take a cold shower because he can so easily imagine you doing the same thing to his babies when you have them. What?

You’re almost never at the frat parties, cause you’re a good girl. And when you are, he never sees you go off with any guys, never lets them feel you up, you never get sloppy and drunk like that other sluts that come to these things. You just delicately sip from your cup, smiling and laughing with your little group of friends. You wear such nice jewelry— his ring on your finger would fit so perfectly with your look. What?

And the way you brush off Krauser and Leon when they’re being sleazy and quite frankly, desperate. He might’ve fallen for you at the exact same moment as Krauser. And Chris has such a superiority complex about his attraction to you. Leon just has a stupid little boy crush, Krauser wants to dick you down stupid, and to be honest… he’s not entirely certain what Luis is angling for, but he knows it’s probably not anything virtuous. But Chris wants to make an honest woman outta you 💖 so in his mind, he’s the only one pursuing you for the “right” reasons.

And if you’re friends with Clair, he’s totally taking advantage of that. Fishing for information about you, asking if you maybe have somewhere to go during holiday break…

-🐱

Yeah tbh that sums Chris really well up ;; Also I apologize for not answering sooner I just had a lot going on with uni work and it really hindered my writing attempts </3

And yes, Chris is definitely that type of guy that will fuck any girl that is willing but they are the sluts!! They are the hoes who don't respect themselves and are only after the dick!!1 And he is the nice guy who will fuck them and throw them out afterwards bc he 'doesn't do feelings' or shit like that.

Chris is here only for a good time and ofc experience! Like you said, despite being an asshole and a obnoxious party and fuckboy, he has weirdly traditional values at heart; white picked fence, a sweet stay at home wife with a baby on her hip for who he will gladly provide for as the loving and caring husband and will need all the sexual experience to make his wifey feel good...But he still has time! He is in college for 'all the experiences' more than the education itself and he's not the sharpest tool in the shed with how reckless he is but that's fine!

...Until it isn't

It was all fine and dandy until Leon started to bring you up, some girl he met in class and was gushing over you. Okay, weird enough since Leon wasn't really the gushing type but fair enough, nothing to worry over. But then it started to escalate and Chris started to wonder what is going on with his friend. Leon stopped going on those casual dates, stopped hooking up, never even glanced at another girl and his whining about you got even worse.

The final straw for Chris was when he caught Leon jacking off and filming himself while whining something about 'please respond I send you a cumshot video, now you have to send me a pussy pic, please even a tit pic please-' and Chris knew he had to get to know this girl that made Leon so pussy whipped without even seeing it as far as he knows!

And yeah Chris probably saw you for the first time during that one party where you and your little friend rejected Krauser's advances and Chris almost snorted his drink out and spat on the girl he was flirting with; suits that blonde asshole right, and you're...You're honestly incredible in Chris's eyes. So assertive and composed...Your clothes on the more revealing side, your tits almost spilling out of that dress, fuck...But still nowhere slutty like other girls!

Chris definitely has a weird superiority complex; despite the fact that he's arguably the worst hypocrite out of the group he still believes that his love for you is the only 'real' one; Leon is a dumb horny rich boy with a middle school crush, Krauser will sleaze over pretty girls all the time and Luis is a certified ladies man, he refers to himself in that way for fucks sake! And then there is Chris who wants to wife you up! Isn't he charming?? Just please ignore those girls who complain about the hookups he had with them, they are probably just bitter that he threw them out <3

[solomonomenon]

skz kinks and favorite positions

⚠️ for entertainment purposes only *based on tarot

*I use what I read about how they are in bed as a base and draw a few more to see if it adds anything more so here we go

𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣

he’s bold and confident. he likes taking charge, he knows exactly what he’s doing and loves hearing you tell him he’s good at it (I think a little cocky). but there’s also a slow, sensual side—every touch deliberate, meant to make you melt. he’s the type to put in the effort, mastering what makes you tick, fiery yet grounded, and completely all-in.

kinks: praise, blindfold, bondage, food play, edging, overstimulation and I think he's switch (even though he likes taking charge, his energy doesn't scream dom to me)

positions: missionary, cowgirl, and maybe doggy or something that allows him to go deep

𝙡𝙚𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬

he’s imaginative and loves keeping things unpredictable, maybe even exploring roleplay to bring fantasies to life. he's also got a thing for authority? like some kind of power dynamics, playing push-and-pull between rules and rebellion. it's about balance, spoiling you one minute and taking charge the next.

kinks: roleplay, rules, power play, degradation, bondage, edging, overstimulation, I think he might like cockwarming, and his energy screams switch

positions: spooning (look at the taste choreo for ref.), reverse cowgirl (so he could look at your ass), anything standing when he wants to take control

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙣

he’s into pushing limits, testing boundaries, and diving into something raw and intense like make-up sex after a fight. he’s all about words, whether it’s dirty talk or playful banter. he loves the mental connection as much as the physical one.

kinks: roleplay, power play, I can see both praise and humiliation, (maybe) pain like choking or slapping, and he's definitely a dom

positions: doggy, lotus, stand and carry

𝙝𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙟𝙞𝙣

what I see is about mixing comfort with a hint of danger—something traditional, something vanilla, but with a twist to keep it exciting. he probably likes playing with tension, like power dynamics or pushing boundaries just for the thrill. he’s into trying new things, switching up roles, or breaking routines to see where the moment leads.

kinks: roleplay, I can see anal, something about costumes or like lingerie, maybe something like joi, exhibitionism?, and his energy leans toward dom maybe soft dom and he wouldn't mind being a sub

positions: anything from behind, missionary, butterfly

𝙝𝙖𝙣

he’s tender and playful but knows how to turn up the intensity when it’s needed. he loves quick, spontaneous moments with deep emotional connection, balancing fun and passion. one minute, he’s all gentle teasing, the next, he’s sweeping you off your feet.

kinks: sensory play like food play or temperature play, sex toys, edging, cockwarming, and he's definitely a switch maybe sub leaning

positions: doggy, mating press

𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙭

he seems like the type who’s confident but also soft and playful. he probably likes a bit of control, but in a way that feels natural and comfortable. with some teasing and fun surprises, and he’s all about keeping things exciting but still sweet and chill.

kinks: he seems pretty vanilla to me maybe something like sensory play wouldn't hurt but I don't see much. and I think he's a soft dom

positions: probably missionary

𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙢𝙞𝙣

he has this calm, confident vibe that builds tension slowly, making everything feel intense and exciting. he likes to take his time, finding the perfect rhythm and making sure everything feels right. but then, he throws in a playful side that keeps things fun and unexpected, always keeping you guessing.

kinks: sensory deprivation, movement restriction, edging, overstimulation, some imagery is giving me tits so I think he's into breasts play as well, and yeah he's a dom

positions: something like missionary, doggy, spooning with variations

𝙟𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣

he’s loving all the build-up, the tension and excitement of what’s coming next (definitely into long foreplay). he’s probably into contrasts—like switching between sweet and daring or keeping things just a little unpredictable. there’s definitely a cheeky, playful side too, like he enjoys teasing and keeping you guessing the whole time.

kinks: I can see some blindfold, roleplay, I can see mirror and maybe recording, and this guys is also a dom

positions: cowgirl, one card screams 69 and I couldn't ignore

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