#florist reader

[fizzyapplecandy]

Ateez as Romance Tropes

The one with the Mafia king's rose

Other members

Mafia king Hongjoong x Florist reader

Genres and warnings: mafia themes, heavy themes such as death, mentions of blood, minor character death, strangers to lovers, shy reader, falling in love, comfort, fluff, florist reader

Word count: 4.1k

Hongjoong's cruel world was about to collide with a woman so pure, she made his heart explode with joy. His dark past comes around the corner to do harm, but Hongjoong won't let anything happen to his little rose.

Hongjoong knew how cruel the world could be. He experienced it firsthand when his parents died, leaving him in the care of his uncle.

He didn't know it then, but in five years time, he would become one of the most feared leaders in the mafia world. His uncle was a strong willed man, albeit a bit easy when it came to women. Hongjoong watched as his uncle, his only rock, became so obsessed about an average accountant that he left his empire and fled to another country, just to live a normal life with her.

What a stupid man, Hongjoong thought at the time. He could have enjoyed the riches, people bowing to him out of respect, expensive cars and a plethora of beauties waiting to jump his bones. Instead, he was now an ordinary mechanic, drinking beer from his small front porch in a house somewhere along the coast of Italy.

What the fearless leader didn't know, was that he would soon wish to do the exact same, with a woman so special and unusual.

.

.

"Lisa, is the order for Mr. Jung ready? He'll be here in about ten minutes."

"Almost, just let me add a nice bow to the bouquet."

Y/N sighed, knowing how Lisa loved adding her finishing touches in the last minute. She couldn't complain, every customer adored their order, so she let the silly girl have her fun.

Running a florist shop was Y/N's childhood dream. After years of saving money, she got her little heaven with Lisa as an addition a month ago. She was a couple of years younger than Y/N, still in school, but she had a knack for arrangements.

"Lisa, honey, you can go now. I'll wait for Mr. Jung and close up."

The red haired teen came from the back room with a bouquet of white lilies, placing them on the counter.

"Are you sure? You know the street light doesn't work, they still haven't fixed it."

"I'm sure. My apartment is right around the corner, I'll manage."

They said their goodbyes and Y/N waited for her last customer of the day before starting to clean up. She changed the sign on the door to 'closed', but left the lights on inside. The lamppost outside flickered, but it still didn't turn on properly.

Just as she was about to grab her bag and head out, she heard the door opening. When she turned around, her breath got caught in her throat.

There stood a man in an expensive suit, his blonde locks combed neatly from his forehead. He looked like a model, but his stance was casual.

"Hi there. I saw you through the window, you don't mind helping out a man in need?"

She shook her head, almost hypnotized by his voice.

"H-Hi. I mean, we are closed, but if you are in need of a flowery emergency, I can make something happen."

Hongjoong chuckled, noticing how the woman checked him out. He knew he was handsome, but he had nothing on the lady in front of him. She was a true beauty, and for some reason, Hongjoong's heart started beating a little faster. He had to get it together, it's not like he hasn't seen beautiful women before.

"I would highly appreciate it. It doesn't have to be anything fancy."

Y/N nodded, going around her shop and showing him different types of flowers.

"What's the occasion?"

"The cemetery."

His curt answer made her freeze for a second. She turned to look at him, his expression now a little colder than before.

"Oh... Isn't it a bit late to go there now?"

"I was too caught up with... Work. I think my parents won't mind the time seeing as they are six feet under the ground."

Y/N didn't know what to say, thinking she would only make the situation even more awkward. It was clear that both of his parents were gone. She nodded, going over to the bucket of fresh white carnations. She took a good amount, cutting the stems and wrapping them in white paper. The man was watching her every move, and it made her feel a bit self conscious. When she was done, she handed the little bouquet to him.

"Here. Carnations are usually given to grieving families. They also represent Mother's day. Do you have a vase at the gravesite?"

He only shook his head, a bit touched by her effort. She could have picked up anything just to get him out faster, but she made sure the flowers had a meaning.

The lovely woman went behind her counter to retrieve a small vase, seemingly plastic, and handed it to Hongjoong.

"Make sure to put a bit of water in here so that the flowers can stay alive longer."

"I will. Thank you, Miss...?"

"Y/N. And you are?"

"Hongjoong." They looked into each other's eyes, not sure what was happening. The atmosphere in the room changed, and if Hongjoong's phone didn't ring, who knows how long they would have been at it.

"Hello? Ah yes Mingi, I got held up. I'm coming out in a second." He put the phone back in his pocket after ending the call, taking out his wallet.

"How much do I owe you? For the vase and the flowers."

Y/N shook her head, giving him a smile.

"It's on the house. I..." She sighed, her expression turning a bit sad.

"I also lost my parents, so I know the pain. I hope they are at peace."

For the first time in his life, Hongjoong was speechless. There she was, a woman who didn't know him or his background, doing a good deed just because she wanted to. The cruel mafia boss was surrounded with so much evil that he forgot what kindness felt like.

It was refreshing.

"Thank you, Y/N. I'm sorry for your loss as well. My mother... She would have loved these." He motioned to the flowers now sitting in the vase.

"No problem. It's getting late now, maybe you should..."

"Ah, yes. Sorry for barging in so late. Thank you, again. Enjoy the rest of your evening." The man nodded before turning around and exiting.

Hongjoong took out his phone, dialing Mingi's number.

"Yes, boss?"

"Mingi, I'll manage alone for tonight. Wait at the flower shop I just left and make sure the lady gets home safe. The street lights are off."

.

.

A couple of days went by since Hongjoong's last visit to Y/N's shop. Honestly, she was still thinking about him, and she hoped he would come back again. She felt like there was something between them, something that could be explored. Maybe he thought the same?

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" She whispered to no one in particular. Lisa had the day off for volleyball practise, so Y/N was left to her own devices. The afternoon rush was over - people buying flowers for hospital visits, one lovely grandpa coming to get his granddaughter's birthday sunflowers, and husband's rushing home to surprise their wives with bouquets of red and pink roses.

Wouldn't that be lovely? Y/N never got any flowers from her previous boyfriend. Notice the singular noun, because she only had one. Relationships weren't her thing because she was too shy to try and meet someone new. However, she could imagine a certain blonde man giving her a dozen red roses after a romantic dinner. But that was just wishful thinking. He probably forgot about her already. He seemed like a busy man, his suit pressed and expensive, and by the sound of if he had a driver of some sort with him. She shrugged off her thoughts and focused on making another bouquet that would make a wife somewhere in town very happy once she receives it.

The day went by quickly, and she was preparing to close up. For some reason, of because of false hope, she didn't turn the sign on her door to 'closed' yet. Her back was turned when she heard someone come in. When she looked over her shoulder, there he was.

"Hello again. I promise I'm not coming so late on purpose."

She smiled at Hongjoong, now facing him fully. He noticed how her dress moved, exposing her smooth legs a bit more to his watchful eye.

"Hi! It's no big deal, you stil have about... Two minutes left."

"Well I better make them worthwhile, am I right?"

Somehow, she knew there was a hidden meaning behind his words, but she had yet to discover it.

"What can I do for you today, Hongjoong?"

"I need a bouquet, a fancy one. Something... Pink?"

You glanced down at your dress, seeing its baby pink checkered pattern.

"Got it. What's the occasion this time?"

Hongjoong smirked, looking right into her eyes.

"A date."

Her face fell, and she tried to get herself together. Of course he would have a date, he's gorgeous! What was she thinking imagining them together? His date was probably some rich chick, dressed in branded clothing and adorned with expensive jewellery.

Y/N cleared her throat, managing to get it together. Hongjoong noticed how her mood changed, and he felt amused by the situation.

"Oh. Yes, okay. Wait here, it might take a minute longer. Any preference on the flower?"

He shook his head. "You choose what's best."

Going over to the pink roses, you grabbed them along with some baby's breath to give it a softer vibe. The wrapping paper was in baby pink tones, and you added a nice bow to finish it off. It was a bouquet you'd love to receive yourself, and the girl he was about to take on a date should feel lucky.

"Here you go. Pink roses for admiration. I hope she likes them."

He took the flowers from your hands, and your fingers touched for a moment. It was a light graze, no longer than a second, but you both stopped and looked at each other. Hongjoong got himself together before you did, and cleared his throat.

"I think she will. She was great taste, I can tell you that. And pink looks good on her."

You told him the price, and he handed you his black card. You knew he had money, so it almost didn't surprise you. After finishing the transaction, you were ready to go home and wallow in self pity.

Hongjoong had other plans.

"So, Miss Y/N, what do you like more - Italian or French?"

"I'm sorry, what?" You asked, a bit confused.

"I personally like Italian more, but French pastries can't be beaten. I'll have to take you to Paris sometime, just for the whole experience."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

You watched as the man in front of you smiled, handing over the bouquet you made.

"Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me?"

You were shocked. Did he really just ask you out? He made it seem like he had plans with someone else, when all this time he wanted you?

"Hello? Earth to Y/N?"

"Oh, Hongjoong..."

He could almost feel the rejection burning his heart. Maybe he should have had a different approach? He thought this would be cute.

"Yes, I'd love to go on a date with you. You just surprised me, sorry."

The blush on your cheeks now matched with Hongjoong's, and the both of you chuckled.

"I swear I've seen this in a movies, it went so smoothly, unlike this. But really, the flowers are for you. You deserve them."

Taking the roses from his hands felt like a brand new experience for you. Having never gotten flowers before, it turned out to be a wonderful feeling.

Hongjoong waited for you outside, and you were soon in his expensive car driving towards a nice secluded restaurant. He wanted to have some privacy with you, and he also had to avoid certain parts of town where people knew who he was.

He didn't really think everything through, but he knew he wanted you. That was enough for now.

When you went inside to get seated, you were surprised at how homey the place felt. The staff knew Hongjoong, and they took you to a secluded booth for more privacy. Once you got your drinks, the conversation kept flowing naturally.

"So, Miss Y/N, what's your story?"

You took a sip of your white wine before answering.

"Well, as you know, my parents died when I was young. I was raised by my grandparents until I saved up enough money to move. Flowers were something my mom loved, and she always told me I had a green thumb. So, after a lot of dirty dishes and lunch rushes I experienced as a waitress, I opened up my little shop. It's not much, but it's my pride and joy."

Hongjoong nodded along as you told him about your life, your assistant Lisa, your wish to have a pet but your landlord not allowing it, and so on. He took in every word you said, trying to memorize the things you liked.

"What about you? You seem like a guy who has a much more interesting life than me."

Oh, you didn't know the half of it.

"After my parents died, I went to live with my uncle. We have a... Family business, so I took over when he moved away. I don't do much besides work, to be honest, but I love my job. It just gets a bit lonely sometimes."

You looked at him curiosly.

"Lonely? Don't you have colleagues?"

"I do, lots. But majority don't speak to me directly. I have my right hand man, Seonghwa, he takes care of the communication between all of us. If it weren't for him, I'd be a lost cause."

You nodded, sipping on your second glass of wine. You were a bit of a lightweight, so you had to be careful not to overdo it.

"What exactly do you do?"

Hongjoong went silent. You were confused for a second. You were just chatting about jobs, nothing major. Why would he stiffen up so suddenly?

"I do... Accounting."

"Accounting?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm. A lot of accounting."

He changed the topic after that, not giving you a chance to question him further. You kind of got the message. Dinner went by smoothly, and you were in his car again making your way back home.

"I had a lovely time tonight, Hongjoong."

The man gave you a quick smile before focusing on the road again.

"Me too. I would love to do this again, and soon. I hope I'm not coming off too strongly, but I really like you Miss Y/N."

You blushed, looking down at the roses in your lap.

"Why do you keep calling me Miss Y/N?"

"I like how it sounds. Maybe I should start calling you something else, though. What do you say, rosie?"

The redness of your cheeks only got worse after that.

"I kind of... Like that better."

"Then it's settled."

He pulled up in front of your building too soon for your liking.

"I have to be honest with you, rosie."

You turned your head towards him, seeing his soft expression.

"Yes?"

"I really want to kiss you right now."

Silence followed his statement. You didn't know what to do. On one hand, you'd love to kiss the man, while on the other, you knew it would probably be too soon.

"I... We just met, and..."

"Hey, hey, I get it. I wasn't really expecting to do it now. Keep it in your mind, though, because I'm not a patient man when it comes to things I want, and I really want to have you, rosie."

Once you said your goodbyes you went to your apartment with flushed cheeks and your first bouquet. Hongjoong was something else, and you were looking forward to exploring what the connection you felt with him.

What you didn't know was that your little dream would be ruined the next evening.

.

.

"Okay Lisa, it's time to head out."

"But Y/N, you never let me stay and close up with you."

You looked at the teen sporting a new plaster over her brusied nose. Lisa loved volleyball, but the ball loved Lisa's face even more. The poor girl always had another injury after practice, but she was determined to keep going.

"That's because it's still light out, and I already told you the street lamp isn't working properly. I don't want you roaming around in the dark."

"Oh, but what about you?"

You smiled, arranging another order for tomorrow morning.

"I have a feeling I won't be going home alone tonight."

"Ah, yes. Your little mystery lover. Well, if that's the case, then I'll be off. Have fun, Miss Y/N."

You shooed her away, giggling along with her before going back to the counter. You didn't really know if Hongjoong would stop by, but you had a feeling he would.

Another hour passed before you went around the shop cleaning up and preparing to leave. Your back was turned when the door opened.

"Now, you said you wouldn't come by after clo-"

"So, you're the boss' new toy? He sure knows how to pick 'em!"

You turned around, shocked to find another man there instead of Hongjoong. He was tall and buff, but what caught your attention the most was the gun in his left hand. A gun pointed right at you.

"Say, do you think he'd be angry if I borrowed you? Only for tonight, I'll make your exit quick afterwards."

"Please, I don't know what your talking about. Here, take all you need from the register, my wallet is in my purse."

The gruff man stepped closer, shaking his head.

"I don't want your money, I want your blood."

Your hands were now in the air, your body trembling with fear.

"Please... I didn't do anything."

"Oh, maybe you didn't sweetie, but the little king did."

King? Why would he call him a king. Before you could dwell about it some more, the man started talking again.

"You see, Hongjoong owes me. You know how they say, and eye for an eye. Killing my brother was a mistake, and now I've come to get revenge. The mafia world is too cruel sometimes."

The blood in your veins froze, your heart beating rapidly. You were about to plead some more with him, not knowing anything about the mafia he was going on about. What in the world did Hongjoong do?

Luckily, the door opened again, and there was the man of the hour, also holding a gun in his hand.

"Drop the weapon Chan, you know I'm a better shooter than you. You should ask Hansol."

At the mention of his brother, the gruff man turned his head in Hongjoong's direction, but his hand was still outstretched in yours.

"Don't talk shit, boss. I have your little princess at aim. My finger is about to slip."

Before you knew what was happening, the man was on the ground, a hole right between his eyes.

"I hate traitors."

Hongjoong stepped over his body, going over to you. His face softened, noticing your trembling form. Your eyes were still locked on the body bleeding out on your shop's floor.

"Rosie, sweetie, look away. Come, we need to get you out of here."

"No! Don't touch me!" You swatted his hands away from you, but Hongjoong was persistent.

"Please, rosie, we need to go now. My men will clean everything up."

"Your men?! Who the hell are you?" You were now starting to panic, but Hongjoong managed to wrap his hands around you to keep you grounded.

"I'll explain everything once we get to my house. Please, you have to trust me."

You were to shaken up to notice how he was guiding you outside, hands still firmly planted around your waist.

"Mingi, take care of everything with Yeosang. I want the place spotless. You hear me?"

The two men standing outside nodded, and off they went.

Hongjoong somehow placed you in his car, making sure you were comfortable. The ride through the city was silent, your head hurting from the events replaying in it.

It was clear Hongjoong was involved in something dark. Something that made a random man come into your flower shop and try to... You couldn't even think about it.

"Y/N, we're here. Come, let's get you inside."

The mansion in front of you was lavish, to say the least. There were bodyguards all around the premises, with one of them waiting by the front door.

"The place is secured, boss. We've prepared a room for Miss Y/N."

"Thank you, San. You're free to go now. Make sure to keep me updated if you notice anything unusual. Chan was alone tonight, probably acting out of rage, but we should be careful."

"Of course, boss." The buff man nodded, walking away to give you and Hongjoong privacy.

He led you inside, the front room looking like it came from an expensive movie set. Everything was decorated tastefully, with modern furniture and expensive paintings. The living room was no different, where you were currently sitting and holding a cup of warm tea. You still haven't said a word, and Hongjoong was getting concerned. He knelt down in front of you, placing a blanket around your shoulders.

"Rosie, I know you're confused, and probably terrified, but you're safe here with me. You can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer truthfully."

"You're not an accountant, are you?"

The man chuckled, standing up and making himself comfortable next to you.

"No, I'm not. I'm a leader. This is my world Y/N."

You're voice trembled as you spoke. "You're in the... In the mafia?"

"Smart girl. Yes, that I am. I have my own empire, left to me by my father and uncle. We don't always do things such as what happened tonigh but your safety was my priority."

"You killed a man."

"That was about to kill you. It was an easy decision."

The anger you felt soon came up on the surface.

"But you didn't know him! Maybe he had a family as well? Why would you do that?"

"Do you know what him and his brother did, Y/N? They traded girls around brothels for easy money. Sometimes they beat them until they passed out. They took one of our workers and almost killed her. They deserved what was coming for them."

You went silent after that.

"Y/N, I know this is too much to take in at once, but you've got to listen to me. I like you, hell, I'm falling for you so quickly it's insane. When I saw the gun pointed at you, I snapped. I couldn't let you be in danger a second longer. You still owe me a kiss, don't you remember?"

A small smile appeared on your face.

"Owe? I don't know about that."

"Okay, call it how you want, but I want to kiss you. Everyday, all the time."

You looked at Hongjoong, seeing how intense his gaze on you was. The man seemed smitten, and you never had someone admire you like this.

"What do we do now?" You asked.

"Now? Now, you're mine. You get to be my queen. You'll never have to worry about a thing, my rose."

"But... My shop? I still want to work at my shop!"

"Hey, hey, that's okay. You can do whatever you want, I won't meddle in that. I just want you to know that you don't have to worry about anything else anymore. I'm going to take care of you, for however long you let me. Do you feel the same as me? Tell me you do, I won't survive the heartbreak."

He fell against the couch, closing his eyes and placing a hand over his chest.

Without much thought, you leaned over and placed a light kiss on his cheek. Hongjoong's eyes opened, and he stared at you with so much adoration, you felt shy.

"You... Oh, my rose."

"We need to take things slow, Hongjoong."

"Absolutely, no problem. As slow as you want. But not too slow, please, or I won't make it."

Again, he pretended to faint against the couch, hoping you'd place your lips on him again. Instead, you pinched his cheek.

"Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic, sweetie."

The two of you laughed before you settled against his chest. The fireplace was crackling, the tea in your hand going a bit cold, but you still took sips. Hongjoong's hand was going through your locks, and his breathing made you calm.

Somehow, you found yourself in the embrace of a mafia king, but it didn't matter. He was still Hongjoong.

Dramatic, over the top, but lovely Hongjoong.

You could get used to it.

.

.

[denksmail]

Hello love, i stumbled upon your blog and think that it's cool! Can you write a superman/Clark Kent x flourist!Reader? I can't think of a scene so go crazy😭

let me cook 😈 😈

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: Superman (Clark Kent) x Reader ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: none! xx ᴀ/ɴ: Finally a Dc request!! I love writing for DC sm >w<. Especially writing for the batfam. Also thank you everyone for the fat load of requests omg!! Multiple of you asked what my guidelines regarding NSFW, just DM me, and see if I'm comfortable writing your request. ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: Clark is visiting Smallville for the weekend and decides to go to his local florist shop to buy a little something for his mom. Little does he know, he will leave the shop with more than just a bouquet of flowers.

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Clark was always sweet but he put his work and responsibilities before everyone. Even his loved ones. His friends start to pick up on this behavior and demand that he take a break from saving everyone all the time. With time, Clark gave in and started with visiting his family back in Smallville. It's been months since he spoke with them. He didn't even know what he'd do when he saw them again. An idea crossed his mind. The least he can do is provide a gift for them. His first idea is to buy flowers for his mom, Martha.

He left the house in hopes of finding the perfect flowers for her. Across the street was a small pink flower shop that recently opened. Clark adjusted his glasses, smiled, and made his way across the street to the shop. Upon walking into the shop, he was immediately hit with fresh floral scents. A blend of roses, lilies, and other exotic blooms. The whole shop was decorated to match each flower displayed. With every flower of every color filling the room and making the shop vibrant.

Behind the counter stood a young woman, arranging a bouquet with deft hands. She had a warm smile and bright eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm. Clark approached her, his usual confidence slightly wavering in the presence of her captivating aura.

"Hi there," he greeted with a friendly smile. "I'm looking to buy some flowers for my mom. Do you think you could help me find the perfect bouquet?"

The florist looked up, her smile widening. "Of course! I'd be happy to help. What's the occasion?"

"Just a visit," Clark replied. "I haven't seen her in a while, and I want to bring her something special."

The florist nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tapping her chin as she considered his request. "Well, let's see. For a mother, you want something that conveys love, appreciation, and warmth. How about a mix of roses and lilies? Roses symbolize love and admiration, while lilies represent purity and refined beauty."

Clark watched her as she moved around the shop, selecting flowers with care. Her movements were graceful, almost like a dance. He couldn't help but be mesmerized by her dedication and passion for her work.

"That sounds perfect," he said, his voice sincere. "You really know your flowers."

She blushed slightly, her smile becoming a bit shy. "Thank you. I love what I do, and it's always a pleasure to help someone find the perfect bouquet."

As she continued to assemble the bouquet, they chatted about various topics—flowers, Smallville, and even a bit about the bustling city of Metropolis. Clark found himself enjoying the conversation more than he had anticipated. There was something refreshing about her genuine interest and warmth.

"You know," she said, tying the bouquet with a delicate ribbon, "these flowers remind me of my own mom. She used to tell me that flowers are nature's way of smiling at us."

Clark smiled, feeling a connection with her words. "Your mom sounds like a wonderful person."

"She was," the florist replied softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of fondness and nostalgia. "I think your mom will love these flowers. Here you go."

She handed him the bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of red roses and white lilies. Clark took it, marveling at the care and artistry that had gone into creating it.

"Thank you," he said, his voice warm. "I really appreciate it."

As he reached for his wallet, the florist placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. "It's on the house," she said with a wink. "Consider it a gift for your mom."

Clark was taken aback by her generosity. "Are you sure? I don't mind paying."

"I'm sure," she replied, her smile genuine. "Just promise to come back and tell me how she liked them."

He chuckled, feeling a warmth in his chest. "I promise."

Before he could leave, the florist reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. She scribbled something on it and handed it to him.

"Here's my number," she said, her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "In case you ever need more flowers, or, you know, just want to talk."

Clark took the paper, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. "Thank you," he said softly. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

With the bouquet in one hand and her number in the other, Clark left the shop, a smile playing on his lips. As he took to the skies, he felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. Visiting his parents was nothing new to him but this time, there was an added reason for his uplifted spirits—a charming florist who had managed to make his day a little brighter.

[cozmowrites]

Flowers Over Words

Katsuki Bakugou had always been a man of few words. He preferred actions over words, explosions over explanations. His presence, though often intimidating, carried a silent strength that had a way of drawing people in, whether they liked it or not.

You, on the other hand, were a florist—soft-spoken, gentle, and full of warmth. Your shop was nestled quietly in the back alleys of the busy city, a sanctuary filled with the scent of earth and petals, and a haven for those seeking beauty amidst the chaos.

It was here that your paths had crossed with the gruff hero, Dynamight. It had started almost by accident, or rather, by a misplaced explosion.

One afternoon, you were arranging a vase of wildflowers near the window of your shop, unaware that there was a hero and villain fight just a block away, when the door of your shop burst open, and a cloud of smoke wafted in. You were pushed aside, as the hero protected you from the initial blast.

Dynamight stood in the doorway, his eyes wild and his hair singed at the edges. His hands were trembling, and his expression was a mix of irritation and embarrassment.

"Watch out!" He snarled, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air between you.

You froze, instinctively looking up from the ground, a delicate white daisy clutched in your fingers. The explosion was so close to you.. if he wasn't there, you'd be hurt or dead. The fumes clung to his uniform, and his eyes were ablaze.

Blinking, you swallowed hard and stood up, knowing you have quite the mess to clean up, especially with the broken vases. "I-I'm sorry," you stammered. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?" You sure had seen heroes on TV, but none in person like this.

He glared at you, his eyes narrowing. "None of your damn business," he muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. But there was a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips, and you could almost swear you heard a grunt of embarrassment mixed in with his words.

He brushed past you, sending a gust of air that made the flowers on your counter shiver. He made his way to the small sink at the back of the shop and turned the water on full blast, washing away the dust and the residue of the blast from his gloves and uniform.

You watched him, unsure of what to do, but there was a strange tension that hung in the air—something unspoken and thick enough to cut with a knife. You had never expected a hero, especially one as notorious as Bakugou, to be wandering into your modest florist's shop. Even if it was on accident.

You decided you should probably sweep up the glass from the ground, so you did just that. You did that as Dynamight cleaned himself off. Another hero popped up and informed Dynamight that the villains were caught. And he grunted from the back of the flower shop. The hero nodded to you and told you that they'd cover the costs of the repairs, to which you were thankful for and said farewell to the sidekick hero.

When he finally turned back around, he noticed your eyes looking at him, and his expression softened—albeit only slightly.

"What?" he snapped, eyes flicking to his still-soaked gloves. You had finished cleaning the glass as the sidekick talked to you, so you were left with looking at the pro-hero.

You gave him a timid smile. "Uh.. I could get you a towel?" You offered, pointing to a stack near the door.

He huffed and snatched a towel from the shelf, wiping his face and hands roughly. There was a brief moment of silence between you, the air crackling with unspoken tension once more.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he muttered, his gaze avoiding yours. "Didn't mean to make a scene."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "It's fine," you said softly, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto your face. "It's okay. Your sidekick talked to me already about the repairs."

He grunted in response. He slung the damp gloves over his belt and turned to leave, mumbling something under his breath about idiots needing better aim.

As he pushed the door open, the scent of smoke clung to him, and he shot you another glare before disappearing into the busy afternoon streets.

That chance encounter became a catalyst of sorts. Over the next few weeks, Bakugou seemed to find his way back into your shop more often than you could have ever anticipated. It wasn't in a grand, dramatic fashion, but rather, in subtle and unexpected moments.

He'd saunter in, always with a scowl and an air of restlessness about him. Each time, he'd look for an excuse to talk to you: a flower he needed for a friend, or a quick errand for the hero commission, some bouquet of flowers.

The interactions were short and sharp, laced with grumbles and slight nods of acknowledgment. But with each visit, there was something more.

At first, you brushed off the peculiar occurrences, attributing it to the eccentricities of a hero who just happened to have a penchant for flowers. Yet, you began to notice that he'd linger just a moment longer, glancing around the shop with a slight curiosity. His eyes—once fierce and piercing—softened just a touch when they landed on the arrangements you'd carefully put together each morning.

One afternoon, you decided to break the ice a bit more.

As the pro-hero stepped into the shop, his eyes immediately narrowing at a particularly bright bouquet you had placed on the counter, he muttered, "That's a hell of a lot of pink for a hero's taste."

You giggled softly, setting down your shears and turning to face him. "Oh, I thought maybe a little cheer could brighten the place up," you said, flashing him a warm smile.

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, but his gaze had softened. "And who the hell needs cheer in this city?" he scoffed.

"Everyone," you replied gently, holding his gaze. "Even heroes."

For a moment, you both locked eyes. It was a spark, a subtle shift in the air between you, and you could sense that he felt it too. Bakugou's shoulders tensed, and his eyes flickered with a mix of irritation and curiosity.

He scoffed, turning his head away, his cheeks tinged a faint shade of pink. "Whatever," he muttered.

You chuckled softly, turning back to arranging, trying to hide the blush that had crept up your own cheeks. There was a subtle tug of a smirk playing at his lips. He wouldn't admit it.

Over time, those short interactions became more like a dance. Bakugou would come into the shop, and instead of grumbling about villains or other heroes' drama, he'd find himself captivated by the beauty and the soft melodies of your work.

There was an unexpected softness behind his usual snarl. He began to look for ways to ask about different arrangements, and you'd find yourself teaching him about the hidden meanings behind flowers: that a red rose symbolized passion, while lavender was a flower of devotion.

One evening, Bakugou burst into the shop, out of breath, and holding a wilted bouquet in his hands. He slammed it onto the counter with a disgruntled grunt. "I need something better than.. whatever this is," he muttered, his eyes flitting over the dying blooms.

You glanced at the flowers, noticing they were a sorry sight indeed, and grinned. "I can help with that," you said, gently picking up the limp bouquet and eyeing the wilted stems.

Bakugou watched you work, his expression unreadable. "What?" he grunted.

You chuckled softly, glancing up at him. "I think your friend could use something a bit more lively," you said, nodding toward the bouquet.

He scoffed, but this time, there was a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I'm not buying flowers for a friend," he muttered under his breath.

You glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Then who are they for?" you asked softly.

His eyes flicked away, and his shoulders tensed. "It's.. none of your business," he retorted, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks.

Smiling gently, you let the silence linger. "I think they'll appreciate it," you said quietly, focusing on the blooms once more. He didn't buy flowers that night, leaving the wilted ones with you.

A moment later, Bakugou grumbled, "Whatever," and turned to leave. But this time, he paused, glancing back at you with a small, almost unnoticeable tilt to his lips.

It wasn't a grand gesture, but it was enough.

It took weeks more before the tension between the two of you broke completely. One day, Bakugou found himself standing in front of the counter, holding a vase, and an uncertain look on his face.

He had a bouquet in his other hand, and his eyes were glued to the arrangement. He let out a soft, almost hesitant exhale. "I... think I'm gonna need a hand with this," he muttered, his tone gruff but tinged with something deeper.

You couldn't help but smile, looking up at him with a soft gaze. "Need help arranging?" you asked, chuckling gently.

He glanced up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a moment, and a small smirk tugged at his lips. He muttered something barely audible, "Just this once."

You grinned, and as you took the vase from him, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction that came from breaking through the wall Bakugou had built around himself.

"Flowers for a friend?" You asked curiously.

"Flowers for you." Bakugou mumbled quietly, not looking at you as you looked up at him.

With every arrangement, every gentle laugh, and every reluctant glance, it became clear that love had a way of blooming in unexpected ways, just like the flowers in your hands.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

[aventurineswife]

Hi! I've been holding back from rambling on about these requests, because I thought they were pretty cute and I was waiting for the day you'd open requests (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

It's about the reader and Aventurine, in a modern universe, it consists of Aventurine wandering around one day, he finds a flower shop, which looks pretty cute from the outside and decides to go in out of curiosity, there he's greeted by the reader who's pretty nice to him and asks him if he's going to buy flowers, Aventurine says yes, even though it was a lie, the reader doesn't comment and decides to give him a Jasmine flower along with a Carmelia flower, the reader never explains the meaning to Aventurine about said flowers.

Months go by, meanwhile Aventurine goes to the store and always finds the reader giving flowers to Aventurine, for free, when she asks him why that is, the reader shrugs and continues with his thing. One day she sees the reader explaining to a client about a bouquet of flowers to a client, Aventurine realizes that coincidentally they are the same flowers that the reader gave her this very morning, some flowers of: Magnolias, Violets, Violet Lilacs, Sunflowers, Gladioras and finally white daisies. They are of love, the reader fell in love with him at some point, then he looks for the meaning of the flowers that he has been giving her all these months, at first the flowers mean friendship but at some point they began to speak of love. This is how he expresses his silent love to Aventurine, with flowers and he never got to explain the meaning why he felt that it was better that his love was silent.

The meanings:

1 | Jasmine Flower: Kindness.

2 | Carmelia flower: Pure thoughts, beauty.

3 | Magnolias: The meaning of magnolias is different for each flower, but the magnolia also represents sympathy.

4 | Violets: They represent the subtlety of love, when you feel that you cannot declare yourself. It is a silent way of declaration.

5 | Violet lilacs: They represent the feeling of pure love.

6 | Gladiators: It can represent asking for a date or strong and at the same time sensual love.

7 | Sunflowers: They represent fidelity, loyalty and of course eternal love.

8 | White daisies: It represents love full of purity.

-💤🩵 anon

“I’m sorry I’m not the most romantic, but I try”

Summary: Aventurine stumbles upon a quaint flower shop and meets you, a kind, quiet shopkeeper. Despite not intending to buy flowers, you give him a bouquet, sparking a series of visits where you continue to give him flowers with hidden meanings. Over time, Aventurine begins to realize that the flowers are silent declarations of love, and your feelings for him have grown. As the meaning of the flowers becomes clear, Aventurine grapples with his emotions and the risks of letting his guard down, ultimately realizing that love, unlike his usual gambles, cannot be controlled.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Florist!Reader, Flower Shop AU, Slow Burn, Silent Love, Emotional Growth, Gambling with Emotions, One-Sided Love (initially), Subtle Romance.

Warnings: Mild manipulation (?), Themes of emotional vulnerability, Mentions of past trauma (?).

A/N: I'm not sure what I did but hope you enjoy! 🙏

Aventurine had always seen the world as a game of risks—calculated, measured, and always with a sense of thrill. But today, something about the mundane world around him felt slightly... off. His usual walks through the city had led him to unexpected places, his curiosity piqued by the smallest of details. And there, nestled between two towering buildings, was a flower shop. The exterior was simple, yet elegant—filled with pots of vibrant blooms and an inviting atmosphere.

Curiosity tugged at him, and against his usual instinct to ignore the little things, he stepped inside.

The moment the door chimed open, he was greeted by a soft, melodic voice.

“Welcome! How can I help you today?”

Aventurine turned to find you standing behind the counter, a gentle smile lighting up your face. Your attire was simple, but something about your demeanor was warm and unpretentious, the kind of presence that made him feel like he could relax, just for a moment. His usual confident demeanor seemed to falter for an instant.

“I… I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” he replied, his usual charm slipping into something more like uncertainty. “Maybe some flowers?”

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing, studying him for a moment. Then, without missing a beat, you stepped forward, reaching for two delicate blooms from behind the counter. A Jasmine flower and a Carmelia.

“These are for you,” you said, offering them to him with a softness that took him by surprise.

Aventurine blinked, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips. “For me? But I didn’t even say I wanted them,” he said, his tone playful but curious.

You shrugged lightly, your smile unwavering. “No explanation needed,” you replied, handing the flowers to him. “Sometimes, kindness and pure thoughts are enough.”

He stared at the flowers in his hands, his fingers brushing over the petals. There was something about your quiet generosity that intrigued him, and despite himself, he found himself returning to the shop again and again, seeking the odd comfort the simple act of receiving flowers brought him.

Months passed, and with each visit, you greeted him in the same calm manner. The flowers were always different, though—each bouquet more delicate and precise than the last, as if you were trying to say something, but never quite daring to put it into words.

One day, as Aventurine stepped into the shop, he noticed a subtle change. You were standing behind the counter, explaining to a client about a bouquet of flowers. The bouquet was a mix of Magnolias, Violets, Violet Lilacs, Sunflowers, Gladiators, and White Daisies. He watched, intrigued, as you described each flower’s meaning—sympathy, the subtlety of love, pure love, asking for a date, loyalty, eternal love, and pure love again.

For a long moment, Aventurine just stood there, watching the interaction, his mind slowly connecting the dots. The flowers you had been giving him were not just random choices—they were deliberate. They weren’t just flowers, they were messages. He hadn’t understood it at first, but now, he was certain. These flowers… these subtle, quiet gestures, were a language. A language he had never quite deciphered until now.

And then it hit him.

He had been receiving messages of love, of affection, but they were all unspoken. Silent declarations from you.

He turned away, retreating to a quiet corner of the shop. His hand brushed the flower in his pocket. Kindness. Pure thoughts.

And he realized that over the months, the flowers had told a story he hadn’t been willing to hear before.

He had always viewed life as a game—a series of moves and counter-moves, all part of the grand scheme. But what you had given him was something he couldn’t control, something far more fragile than his usual calculated risks.

You had given him love. Silent love. And he, in turn, had never truly given anything back. Not in the way you had. Not in the way you deserved.

Aventurine knew his reputation. He was the strategist, the man who calculated everything—every word, every gesture, every move. But now, for the first time, he didn’t know what to say.

He had gambled with everything in life, but with you… the stakes felt higher.

As he approached the counter once more, you looked up at him with that familiar, quiet smile. The air between you two was always filled with unspoken words, a tension he wasn’t used to. He held out the flowers you had given him over the months—one at a time, slowly placing each one on the counter.

“I understand now,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual, his usual bravado replaced by something more vulnerable.

You glanced at the flowers, your fingers brushing over each bloom as he placed them. “I never expected you to,” you said, your voice low and calm. “I just… wanted to give you something real. Something that didn’t require words. Love doesn’t always need to be explained.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours. In that moment, something shifted between you. It was subtle, yet undeniable.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Jasmine and Carmelia flowers you had first given him, holding them out toward you, his smile faint but genuine.

“I never thought I’d understand something so simple,” he murmured. “But I think… I think I’ve been playing the wrong game all along.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then took the flowers from his hand. Your smile, this time, was full of warmth. “Sometimes, it’s the quiet things that speak the loudest.”

Aventurine could feel his heart racing. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t prepared himself for it. But, as with every other gamble he had taken, he couldn’t resist the pull.

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t trying to calculate the outcome.

He was simply… here.

With you.

Aventurine was no longer playing a game. He was letting himself listen.

[horrorlove14]

Make My Sun Shine - Tokyo Revengers

Mitsuya Takashi X Gender-neutral! Florist! Reader

Warning: Brief mention of injuries and gang fights.

It doesn't cost to feel like you've blown it all away

And you'll get lost to feelin' like you've found the way

To feel like you want it (everyday)

Like you've got it (it's not gonna stay)

Life you always wanna feel this way

Takashi finds himself admiring a certain florist named Y/N from a distance while running errands for his mother, which he has been doing for the past couple of months.

They are often seen wearing a facemask while they're working, which has him getting all curious about what's underneath it and what kind of face they have.

Little did he know that he was being admired from afar by the florist. They have taken notice of Takashi ever since they started working full-time at a flower shop in the city center because they find him attractive despite having seen him with injuries due to fights and wearing the gang uniform.

You make my sun shine

You make my watch tick slowly

You make my sunshine

You make me tan in the rain

On one fateful rainy evening, as Y/N is on their way home from work, they bump into Takashi, who is injured with his face and knuckles, bleeding and bruising, and is limping and on the verge of collapse.

In a panic, they picked up Takashi and dragged him back into their apartment because they feared him getting ill from the rain and his wounds getting infected.

Once they are at the apartment, the soaked and injured Takashi is placed onto the sofa to lie down while Y/N retrieves their first aid kit and towels to treat him as he falls unconscious from the wounds.

Loosen your mind when you talk

Tighten your eyes with your thoughts

Call it whatever you like

My words don't seem to mind

A bit of time later, Takashi wakes up to see that he's bandaged up and dry at an unfamiliar place.

He's pleasantly surprised to see the person he's been admiring is here in front of him without their face mask, and their face is softly beautiful and kind looking.

Y/N explains to him that he's at their home after finding him injured outside and had treated his injuries as a result.

He thanked them profusely for their help and wanted to repay them by asking for their contact details and if they could hang out sometime, to which they said yes.

To feel like you want it (everyday)

Like you've got it (it's not gonna stay)

Life you always wanna feel this way

Eventually, they started hanging out together with each other and having play dates with his younger sisters, Mana and Luna, by teaching them how to make flower crowns and bouquets, etc.

Takashi and Y/N have grown closer over time and one day, he ends up asking them out on a date, which they have accepted.

For their first date, they went to an arcade and a diner before going to watch a film at the cinema where they had a good time together and enjoyed each other's company. Takashi wished that the date would last longer because he would miss them until the next time they see each other.

You make my sun shine

You make my watch tick slowly

You make my sunshine

You make me tan in the rain

Their second date is spent at the Mitsuya home where they babysat Mana and Luna while Mrs. Mitsuya is out for the day. They enjoy themselves by cooking meals together, watching TV and playing with their toys, etc.

Takashi is contemplating how he should do his love confession by turning to his closest friends for their advice. They give him good advice on how he should approach it towards Y/N on their next hangout, which is happening pretty soon.

I feel like I want it (everyday)

Like I got it (it's not gonna stay)

Life I always wanna feel this way

When the fated day arrives, Takashi and Y/N decide to go to the local aquarium together and just spend quality time admiring the animals in display.

During this time, he stares at them, observing the animals and commenting on their movements and appearance like an excited kid during a school field trip.

If it makes you feel better

That the time moves slowly

If it makes you feel better

That the time moves slowlyyyyy

Long story short, Takashi and Y/N became a happy couple and are now enjoying a happy and loving relationship as a couple by going on weekend dates, hang outs at the florist, study dates at each other's houses and hanging out with their friends.

You make my sun shine

You make my watch tick slowly

You make my sunshine

You make me tan in the rain

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

End of song fic. Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated.

[grapejuice32]

Overstimulation

florist!reader x older!rafe

warnings: overstimulation, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, colour system, squirting, subspace

word count: 500 + a/n: reqs are open for florist reader x older!rafe

You were spent, your body near limp in Rafe’s arms as he held the vibrator to your throbbing clit. You weren’t entirely sure how many times he’d made you cum, you’d lost track somewhere between your second and fourth. It felt like the two of you had been like this for hours, and maybe you had. 

Rafe pressed the pink toy harder against your clit, the added pressure causing you to whine while you tried to push his hand away. “Shh,” he pressed a kiss to your temple, your bare back flush with his bare chest as you sat between his parted legs. “You gonna cum again f’me, hm?” The only response you gave him was a lazy nod to which he tutted, “Words, sweetheart. Need you to use your big girl words f’me, can you do that?” 

You could only whine, your muscles going taut as yet another orgasm built in your stomach. Rafe sighed but remained patient, “Can you tell me your colour then? Please, baby.” 

“Green,” you mumbled, eyes falling shut and back arching as he slipped two of his large fingers into your sore cunt. 

“Good girl,” he hummed, curling his fingers. “Gonna cum again f’me?”

“Can’t,” you whined despite the obvious signs your body was showing of you nearing another climax. 

“Just one more,” he encouraged, “cum one more time for daddy.” You didn’t say anything that made sense, your words slurred together. 

“Feels weird,” you cried, feeling more pressure in your stomach than normal. He only hummed in acknowledgment, not letting up. You began to writhe in his hold until you went still, your orgasm hitting you full force.

It took a minute before you came to, the vibrator having been removed from your puffy clit and Rafe’s fingers no longer inside of you. You looked up at Rafe, your eyes glossy and your head clouded over. “There you are,” he spoke gently as he took you in, his glimmering eyes flickering back to the ruined sheets below you. “Made such a mess, sweetheart.” 

You followed his gaze, the sheets soaked with your release. “I did that?” You asked in confusion, not comprehending what’d happened. 

Rafe smiled proudly, “You squirted, baby.” 

Your lips parted and your face went red in embarrassment, “ ‘s that bad, daddy?” Your voice was small and soft. 

“Not at all, ‘s fuckin’ hot” he assured, something you wouldn’t quite place lining his words. “Want you to do it again.” Your eyes went wide at the words, your legs slamming shut. “Not right now,” his voice was deeper than it usually sounded. Was that him or was it because you were spaced out? You didn’t know. “But when your head is feelin’ better,” he paused, looking you in the eyes, “you’re gonna do it for daddy again, aren’t you, baby?”

You swallowed, your breathing growing heavier as you nodded, your overstimulated clit throbbing at the thought. “Good girl,” he purred, “now let’s get you cleaned up and rested, hm? Wanna make y’do that again as soon as I can.” 

[saintobio]

blank canvas. (2)

after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating

notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.

part 1 | part 3

The ride back home was uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.

When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it? 

The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.

It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family. 

To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this. 

Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight. 

“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.” 

His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.” 

You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first? 

“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.” 

Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really? 

“I want to do it.” 

“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”

“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not—”

“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”

Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.” 

— —

Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure. 

It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was. 

Did Sukuna feel the same? 

He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.

Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.” 

Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was? 

“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.” 

When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. 

You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk. 

Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed. 

Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…

“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was. 

“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.” 

Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”

He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.” 

You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.” 

Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.” 

Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?” 

“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.” 

“That’s—”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”

He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom. 

And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds. 

“Mm…”

Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it. 

Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked. 

With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here. 

“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?” 

Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.” 

When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V. 

“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.” 

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking. 

Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it? 

And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.” 

“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such. 

He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.” 

Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?” 

“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.” 

Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body. 

His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”

Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?” 

You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment. 

Holy fuck was all you could say. 

He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty. 

“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.” 

You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?

“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier. 

Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing. 

“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.” 

In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair. 

“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself. 

This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out. 

“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?” 

All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw? 

“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.” 

His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.” 

“Okay…” 

You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you. 

He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be. 

You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding. 

But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore? 

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?

The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance. 

“Haaa—!” 

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-No, I—!”

It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock. 

“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!” 

“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”

“I SAID STOP!” 

Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you. 

Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.” 

“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.” 

“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”

His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have. 

You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”

“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.” 

His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.” 

The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”

“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?” 

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.” 

Why did he sound like he was giving up? 

You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”

He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.” 

Then… then…

“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”

Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.” 

He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.” 

— —

Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay. 

No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly. 

Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s. 

“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”

You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.” 

Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.” 

“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on. 

“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued. 

And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”

Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”

“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”

“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”  

You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”

Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this? 

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.” 

“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.” 

You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.

Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon. 

“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school. 

“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.” 

“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”

“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”

Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”

“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.” 

“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.” 

The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.” 

“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.” 

“Be serious,” you warned. 

To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.” 

You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”

“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.” 

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?” 

Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.” 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?” 

Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior. 

“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”

Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.” 

“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment. 

The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.” 

“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark. 

“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”

You argued. “No, he’s not—”

“Are you sure he isn’t?” 

It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.

It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?” 

Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires. 

She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.” 

No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?

“Can you please just tell me?” 

Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.” 

Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.

“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”

— —

Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this. 

First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too. 

If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue. 

But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ‘opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together. 

Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.

But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating. 

It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close. 

“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face. 

His ex-girlfriend of three years. 

Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?” 

The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies. 

“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.” 

“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?” 

She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.” 

Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?” 

“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”

While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here? 

“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.” 

Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?” 

Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.” 

A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve. 

“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.” 

Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!” 

“Since you want a sleeve, we’re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.” 

“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head. 

And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed? 

Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it. 

He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?” 

Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.” 

By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?” 

“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.” 

“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?” 

She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?” 

Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”

“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.” 

Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life. 

And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right. 

But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart. 

**

“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?” 

Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.” 

“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp. 

“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.” 

You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?” 

“You’re being ridiculous.” 

“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.” 

“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.” 

**

“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?” 

What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad. 

“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”

He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit. 

“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.” 

**

“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.” 

Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared. 

But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.” 

“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.” 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“...Alright.” 

“Okay.” 

“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.” 

He knew what she was about to do next. 

And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses. 

But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.” 

“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face. 

“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”

Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”

Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”

Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”

Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.” 

— —

5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night. 

So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you. 

And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago. 

In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do. 

Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart. 

“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?” 

Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?” 

Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.” 

You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?” 

“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.” 

“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?” 

Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out. 

“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”

Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.” 

“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!” 

He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”

“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!” 

“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.” 

You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.” 

“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”  

…

…

…

“It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”

— —

It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you. 

You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you. 

In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.

But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way. 

What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others. 

And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up. 

“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop. 

Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”

“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”

He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.” 

“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully. 

His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.” 

Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well. 

“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.” 

Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.” 

You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”

“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.” 

Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future. 

“Satoru?”

He met your gaze. “Yeah?”

“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”

[kiwriteswords]

Florally Inappropriate [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 1.3k|| AN: Florist!Reader is making me miss my days as a florist! Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, established relationship, secret relationship, flirty!reader, bold!reader, sassy!reader, reader kinda has acts of service/gift-giving love language, sexual theme (if you squint), teasing BAU members, The BAU giving Hotch SHIT. Summary: Aaron Hotchner is not a man who treats himself, but when he begins dating a florist, you make sure he knows what it's like to be doted on...and the team slowly catches on.

Dating Aaron Hotchner had always been quiet by necessity.

Subtle glances. Brushed fingertips. A softness only shared in private.

He didn’t like attention. Didn’t like being fussed over.

But you liked taking care of people. 

And he’d accidentally made the mistake of falling for someone who loved to dote.

So, naturally, you made it your mission to turn him into something he never asked to be:

A flower guy.

Not for others—

He’d already mastered that.

You’d heard all the stories by now: the bouquet traditions with Haley, the subtle elegance he insisted on for gifts, the ways he used flowers like quiet punctuation in the lives of the people he cared about.

But when it came to himself? His own space? His own peace?

Not once.

“A vase of fresh flowers,” you’d said once, teasing him as he stirred sugar into your coffee at your shop. “Just for you. No occasion. No apology. Nothing to prove. Imagine that.”

He had rolled his eyes, but not unkindly.

“Not really my thing.”

You smiled. “That’s what you think.”

So you took it as a challenge.

It started the first time he called you late one night from the tarmac, exhaustion in his voice and a subtle softness you now recognized as I miss you.

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he said, voice low over the hum of the jet engines. “Can’t wait to see you.”

You hummed a quiet, “I can’t wait to see you too,” already flipping open your planner to jot down the return date.

And then the next morning, with a smirk and a plan, you pulled one of your smaller house arrangements—crisp white anemones, soft lavender sprigs, dusty miller—and walked it over to Quantico. You didn’t even try to get upstairs. You already knew the drill.

Security didn’t question you. 

You were the flower shop girl with the kind eyes and security clearance just shy of trustworthy. They took the vase from you, promised it would be placed on his desk.

The next time, it was something different. Warmer. Whimsical. Ranunculus and chamomile. You tucked in a note that said:  

“Fresh blooms for your fresh start (aka post-case paperwork hell). You’ve got this, Mister Tall-Dark-and-Tired.”

Just your handwriting, which he’d definitely memorized by now.

And it became a ritual.

Every time he let you know he was coming home, you delivered a new arrangement to his office. Always tasteful, always different. Sometimes elegant—simple roses and clean lines. 

Sometimes soft and romantic—pale blush peonies, trailing jasmine, a note that read: 

“For when you miss holding me in your arms. These won’t talk back, but they also don’t smell as good as I do.”

And sometimes just… you.

“Here’s something cheerful in case the world is being insufferable again.”

He’d show up at your door later, late and exhausted, but with that rare smile—

That real one. The one that crackedthrough his armor and made you feel like something inside him had bloomed just for you.

He’d step inside, slide his arms around you, press his mouth to your neck, and murmur, “You really don’t have to keep doing that.”

And you’d say, every time, “I know.”

And then do it again anyway.

Because if anyone deserved a small piece of peace—of beauty—it was Aaron Hotchner.

Even if he’d never pick flowers for himself.

And it started innocently enough.

A vase of flowers on Hotch’s desk wasn’t exactly out of place. He was a thoughtful guy. The team had seen him organize flower deliveries for others before—

Memorials, birthdays, even that one time when Penelope had a “bad vibe” week and he sent her peonies from Gideon.

So when they first noticed a small vase on his desk—a clean arrangement of white tulips and baby’s breath—no one thought much of it.

Until it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Always different flowers. Always perfectly arranged. Always with a small card tucked into the side.

The first time, Emily made a passing comment while grabbing a file. “Nice centerpiece, Hotch. Didn’t peg you for a soft bloom guy.”

He didn’t even look up. “Gift.”

From who? she wanted to ask. But he was already mid-profile, and she figured maybe Jack’s teacher or Jess sent something. Whatever.

But by week four, when another bouquet—this time sunflowers and eucalyptus—appeared in his office with a small envelope and zero explanation, the curiosity officially became a thing.

Morgan was the first one bold enough to poke the bear.

He leaned in Hotch’s doorway, arms crossed. “You, uh…got a secret admirer, or is this part of your new mindfulness routine?”

Hotch didn’t even flinch. “Flowers improve workplace morale.”

Reid, walking past, chimed in without looking up from his tablet: “That’s actually true. Studies show that the presence of plants and flowers can reduce stress and increase productivity in office environments.”

Morgan raised a brow. “So you’re saying Hotch here is just…a flower guy now?”

Hotch flipped a page in his report. “Apparently.”

But it was Penelope who finally cracked the code.

Or, at least, peeked into the vault.

She was walking past his office on her way to the breakroom when the newest delivery caught her eye—

Velvety purple calla lilies and dark greenery. 

Very moody romance vibes. 

She stopped, admired it, and then saw the card tucked in.

And, of course, she read it.

She gasped so dramatically, it startled Reid halfway out of his chair.

“Oh. My. God.”

Morgan leaned over the back of JJ’s desk. “What?”

“Hotch has a lover. A secret lover. A saucy secret lover.”

Reid blinked. “How do you know it’s…saucy?”

Penelope held up the small card like it was evidence in court. “‘If you’re reading this before taking your tie off, just know I’m already thinking about undoing it with my teeth.’”

JJ choked on her coffee.

Morgan barked out a laugh so loud, Hotch’s office door creaked open.

He stepped out, perfectly stoic. “Something wrong?”

Penelope froze, the card still dangling from her fingers like a loaded weapon.

“Nothing!” she squeaked. “Just… admiring your very professional workplace foliage.”

Hotch walked calmly to her, plucked the note from her hands with two fingers, and returned to his office without a word.

Door shut.

Silence.

Then:

“Oh my god,” JJ whispered. “Who is she?”

“She’s bold, that’s for sure,” Emily said, now seated at her desk, clearly invested. “I like her.”

Reid blinked. “He has a…romantic partner?”

“Clearly,” Penelope said, fanning herself. “And clearly, she knows what she’s doing.”

“I bet it’s the cute florist,” Morgan said suddenly. “That case I stayed back for, I saw her delivering something at the receptionist downstairs.”

Everyone turned.

JJ narrowed her eyes. “What florist?” The gears began turning in her head. She’d almost forgotten. 

He shrugged. “You remember a few months ago? You said you set Hotch up with someone to help with a flower arrangement?”

JJ paused. Blinked. “No way.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, JJ. Did you set him up with a flower shop femme fatale?”

Penelope nodded slowly. “Makes sense. She’s got the access, the handwriting, the aesthetic.”

Reid, slightly concerned: “Should we be… teasing him about this?”

JJ smiled, sipping her coffee. “Only if you want to die.”

Morgan laughed. “You’re just mad you didn’t call it.”

Emily leaned back in her chair. “I’m not saying we stake out the next flower delivery. But I am saying if she starts sending him candles, I need to meet this woman.”

“I knew she’d be good for him,” JJ said with a sigh, wishing she pushed the two of you together sooner. 

Meanwhile, inside his office, Hotch sat at his desk, reading the note again.

His lips twitched just slightly at the corner.

 He didn’t even care they’d seen it.

Because later, when he got home, you would pretend not to know what they were talking about, wrap your arms around him, and ask, “Did my flowers brighten up your scary little office today?”

And he’d murmur against your skin, “They did. But I think your note is what caused the real chaos.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy

[cayleeuhithinknott]

— mafiaboss!matt has repurposed your ribbons. . .

the ribbon you’d originally used to delicately tie matt’s usual bouquet of white roses together is no longer on that pretty little bouquet. in fact, they’ve been repurposed, tied in a sloppy bow around your wrists behind your back.

your cheek presses into the table in the back office of your shop, matt having you bent over it as he pounds into you mercilessly from behind. you’d always been a sweet, soft-spoken girl—but who’s to say you don’t like being fucked like a slut?

matt was naked, while you simply had your panties and jeans discarded on the floor. matt’s hips slap into your bare ass from behind, the lewd sound filling up the entire room. he’d pulled you into the back room the second you tied the last ribbon, ignoring the customers still chatting just outside the door. you can hear the customers’ voices drifting in, but the risk only makes your pulse race harder. you’d hoped to God nobody was hearing this.

“such a good girl, takin’ my cock so well, hm? hope nobody hears you,” matt mocks, fingers digging into your hips bruisingly. usually, he was an absolute sweetheart to you, despite his cold, dangerous shell. but during sex, he was a whole different person. he knew how you wanted to be spoken to. how you wanted to be fucked. how you wanted to be treated overall. and you loved that.

your walls clamp down on his dick, eliciting a low groan from him. “matt—“ you gasp as he hits a deep spot inside you, so deep it had never been reached by anyone before him. so deep you weren’t even aware it could feel so, so good. he chuckles darkly, slamming into you even harder, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with a sickeningly sweet pressure.

“yeah, baby? y’like bein’ a little slut for me?” he rasps. you lift your head from the table, nodding frantically with a whimper as tears drip down your cherry-red cheeks. his large, veiny hand snakes it’s way around your hip, his flesh shockingly cold against yours as he trails it down to your tummy. he holds his palm flat on your lower belly, applying a delicious pressure against it. “say it.”

“yes—yes, i—mmph!” you’re cut off by your own pathetic moan, walls tightening around his length once again, earning a shaky chuckle from matt. he trails his hand down from your tummy to your clit, rubbing small, teasing circles right on it. your legs begin to tremble beneath you, now relying completely on matt’s single-handed grip on your hip and the table you’re folded over. your body’s in a state of pure bliss, hardly able to keep up with the intensity of his harsh thrusts. “r-right there—fuck—right there, matt!” you cry.

“mm, right there, baby?” matt removes his hand from your clit, placing it back on your hip. you whine at the loss of stimulation, but he quickly makes up for it when he lifts your hips slightly, earning a new angle for his cock to hit all the good spots inside you. he’s hitting your sweet spot dead-on now, and high-pitched, squeal-like moans flow out of your mouth, your body starting to tremble in his grip.

your ass stings, flushed red, as his hips slam into you again and again, his quick pace starting to affect you further. you note that familiar hot feeling pooling up in your lower belly and you know you could snap at any given moment with the way he’s fucking you.

“bet you feel so, so good, sweetheart, hm?” matt coos, his voice shaky with pleasure as you clamp down on his length once again, symbolizing how close you are. a string of desperate whines leave your swollen, parted lips, eyes hazily fluttering shut. “matt—i—please!” you babble, the string in your belly fraying, violently threatening to snap. your tied hands squirm behind your back, muscles tensing as the pleasure builds higher and higher.

“you wanna cum, sweet girl?” matt purrs teasingly. he leans over your body, connecting his chest with your back, his lips resting right next to your ear. you feel his labored breathing beside your ear, trailing down the side of your neck, sending goosebumps to pop up all over your body, despite your high temperature. the harshness of his thrusts have you seeing stars.

his arms rise from your hips, up to your waist, wrapping around it and caging you between them.

you nod fervently, needily. matt growls, the tip of his tongue ghosting over the shell of your ear, “words, baby,” you whimper, not sure if you were even capable of forming coherent words. “yes—please—yesyesyesyes!” you plea, squeezing his cock between your slick walls harder than any time before, sending a shiver down matt’s spine as his loud, hazy groan plays into your ear.

“good fuckin’ girl…cum on my cock, baby. know you can.” matt assures, tightening his grip on you as he nears his own climax. your orgasm hits you first, a white-hot bliss flashing over you as you writhe between him and the table, a string of high-pitched moans falling from your lips. as matt feels your creamy release coating his cock, his hips stutter, his own high crashing into him like a tidal wave, his seed painting your walls warmly white, mingling with your own release.

he pants into your ear, not daring to detach himself from you just yet. “fuck, you’re so perfect, baby.” he mutters, his breathing ragged and uneven. your lips softly curl up into a hazy, proud smile at his words, eyes fluttering shut. “for you only…” you mumble, clearly absolutely spent.

whis arms tighten around your waist, like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go. his lips brush against your temple, pressing a quiet kiss into your skin. “mine,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of both your breathing. you hum, blissed out and content, your fingers twitching behind your back as the ribbon digs into your skin—still tied, still his. outside, the faint chime of the shop door opening goes ignored. you’re too lost in him to care.

author’s note. . . hi! first actual fic for matt and petal…hm…not sure how i feel about this it’s really short, NOT PROOFREAD and nonsensical but whatever! IM GOING TO SLEEP NOW CAUSE ITS ALMOST 1AM AND MY PERMIT TEST IS AT 8:30AM GOOODNIIIIGHT!

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwritess @mattsgracie @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3

© cayleeuhithinknott

[mitsua]

warnings: cursing, mentions of reader being abused by their partner, bruises, reader gets humiliated by their ex-partner, stalking, love obsession

reader's g/n

➻ Yandere rude florist! who only takes this job until his father who got sick recovers.

➻ Yandere rude florist! who'd deadass tell the costumers to fuck off if they even spend more than twenty seconds deciding what to buy.

➻ Yandere rude florist! whose mother hires you to help him to do not scare completely all the people his father's reputation gathered around the small city.

➻ Yandere rude florist! who'd now have to bear with old people telling both of you what a cute couple you make while you're blushing in embarrassment and brushing of their comments to charge them off.

➻ Yandere rude florist! who'd be absolutely straight forward with any story about a familiar being garbage to you when he asks about your day once you arrive to start with your shift.

➻ Yandere rude florist! whose suspicions of you being abused by your partner are confirmed one day you texted him you could not make it after some days of appearing slightly limping and long-sleeved shirts to cover bruises he saw when you put on your apron to work and maybe or not when he stalked you.

➻ Yandere rude florist! who couldn't bear seeing you being such a kind person along a piece of shit as your partner, so hed decide to have a little chat with them after you brought them one day to see your latest art works and they publicly and mindlessly humiliated you then and there.

➻ Yandere rude florist! who'd be innecesarly surprised when another day you come completely devastated saying your partner had gone missing last night.

➻ Yandere rude florist! who'd straight forward tell you they're better off, and it didn't really matter because you'll find someone billions of times better than them, like him.

➻ Yandere rude florist! who'd try to find a way to spend more time with you once his father goes back to work.

➹ "Wʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴍ I ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴀ.ᴍ.? Wʜᴀᴛ? Aʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ᴏғғɪᴄᴇʀ ɴᴏᴡ? I-I ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ʏᴀ' 'ᴋ? As ɪғ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴏ-ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀs ᴅᴀᴍɴ. Yᴇs, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴊᴏʙ sᴏʟɪᴄɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ's ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. Sᴛᴏᴘ ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ sᴛᴜᴘɪᴅ ϙᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ!".

[queenie-the-court-jester]

pucker up buttercup

Yandere florist x reader

Tw: mentions of physical abuse in sexual settings, implied drugging and somnophilia, stalking, implied possessive behavior and controlling nature, mildly nsfw. Not proofread 🌺

🌷Benny was the quiet kid of your school. You didn't know much about him, except he was a good student and apart of the gardening club. That was all, but Benny? Oh he knew you very well..

🌷you were stunning. You had such amazing hair that he wanted to play with every night before going to sleep, those stunning beautiful eyes that always ghosted over his form in the cafeteria, and your voice that always managed to make him rock hard down there

🌷 recently your family had gotten a wide assortment of flowers for an event. Thinking they were pretty, you asked for the florists name or any social they might have. They handed you a card with the info, and with that you looked up the account on Instagram.

🌷 scrolling through their posts you found a familiar face you'd see every day in the school halls. What was his name again? Benjamin? Beanie? No.. oh yeah! Benny! You didnt know he had such a good eye for aesthetics, especially flower arrangements. But that has to be expected since he spends all his time gardening

🌷the next time you saw him, you walked right up to his table on campus grounds. A bit far from the other outside lunch areas. He froze when he saw a familiar pair of shoes, looking up at you slowly with those big blue eyes

"you're a florist right?"

"y-yes..?"

"how much for a dozen roses and half a dozen tulips?"

🌷you became a regular after that. He'd wait anxiously every day for you in the plant nursery after school. He always gave you such cheap prices, claiming you were his friend and he only did favors for them. You thought he was sweet, so when you heard rumors about him being caught sneaking around the girls locker rooms and stalking a classmate? You shrugged it off,most likely empty gossip

🌷if only you paid attention to the red flags sooner.. you would have realized Benny's real nature. When he asked you out prom night, you agreed, he was sweet and you weren't seeing anyone at the moment. Who knew, maybe this would be the start of a beautiful relationship?

Pros with Benny:

🌹atleast he's a very generous lover. Spoiling you with what he could afford, since he came from humble beginnings he's always wise with the money you both have

🌹 he's completely devoted to you! Never looking at anyone else with love or lust, always worshipping you both in bed and outside it

🌹you learn new things. Like natural remedies, plants and their names, their usefulness to make nearly everything. Even drugs (He's vegan.)

🌹he wants to settle down and raise a family with you as soon as you graduate college! He gets tipsy and love drunk thinking about it too much. He'd make an excellent father. Kind of.

The cons:

🥀 randomly, he'll get very aggressive in bed. Biting you till your skin bleeds, slapping your chest and ass, degrading you with the most vilest words. Not to mention he seems to really like choking you till you almost pass out

🥀he doesn't know how to take no for an answer, he'll go scarily quiet and his eyes will turn dull. A complete contrast to how he usually is. Surely a little intimidation will make you change your mind no?

🥀 he's possessive with your time and love. If he ever notices you staring at anyone a little too long, who isn't friends or family he knows of, you bet there'll be missing person posters by the end of the week

🥀he forbids you from going into the basement. Saying it's his private nursery and you should respect his privacy, even if he doesn't respect yours

🥀 randomly you'll feel sleepy after Eating anything he makes you, growing drowsy and the last thing you can remember is feeling clammy hands hastily unbutton your pants and shirt

[marvelstoriesepic]

Tattoo Me in Flowers

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: Bucky gave you a flower tattoo weeks ago. Since then, he keeps coming to your shop for the real ones - or just you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: flirty Bucky; Bucky is smitten; tattoos; mentions of tattooing

Author’s Note: This was such a sweet request, thank you so much, my dear!! I hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The bell above the door sings your name again.

It’s late morning and the sun is inviting itself in and spilling all over the petals of your daffodils. The shop smells like spring came home and took off its shoes.

You’re wrist-deep in a bucket of eucalyptus, sorting stems by instinct, not logic, when you hear him.

The creak of boot soles against your old wooden floor.

The soft clear of his throat.

You don’t have to look up. You know it’s him.

Bucky Barnes, with arms like poetry carved into muscle and a stare that should be illegal in daylight. But seriously, the sun lights him up as if it doesn’t know how to behave around him.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greets you, as if you’re the bright thing in this room.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say lightly, brushing your hands on the hem of your apron, trying not to let your heartbeat spill out of your mouth.

With that charmingly crooked smile, he leans his forearm against the counter, careful not to touch the bouquet you made earlier, but close enough to smell the freesia.

In his other hand, he’s holding a small pot. Something purple and dramatic with curling petals. Clematis. A climbing thing. The kind of flower that grows fast and reaches high and needs something to hold onto.

“Someone’s got a green thumb now?” you tease, nodding to the flower.

His grin grows shameless. “Thought it looked lonely. Figured it might like some company.”

You laugh. Feather-light and blooming. And Bucky’s eyes sparkle. His grin widens.

He’s been coming into your shop more times than not since he spent those three hours giving you the most breathtaking tattoo on your shoulder a few weeks ago.

And every time he had a new excuse as to why he was here.

And every time he pretended as if he was only here for the flowers.

I think I need something for… a neighbor. She’s got a cat. Or a baby. I don’t really know.

My friend just moved into a new apartment. Thought he could use some decorative plant, what’d you think, sunshine?

Bucky doesn’t move, just watches you take the pot from his hands, fingers grazing his for one too-long second. Your skin remembers him, remembers the heat of his palms steadying your arm, the buzz of the tattoo machine, his voice like river stones rolling smooth and easy while he asked if the pressure was okay and wanted to hear you talk about your shop. How you fell in love with petals instead of people.

It was roses and marigolds and wild things inked across your shoulder blade, and he listened as if he was genuinely interested.

He was. He still is. That’s why he’s coming by so often.

“So,” he starts, leaning against the counter with a casual elegance that is anything but. “How’s it healing?”

And there’s the question you’ve been waiting for. Because he’s been asking every time he came into your shop.

You try to hide the smile, but your face doesn’t cooperate.

“It’s healing nicely,” you answer with a warmth in your voice. “It’s looks really beautiful, Bucky.”

He nods, pleased. There is a gleam in his eyes, in his smile.

“You took it like a champ,” he states earnestly. “Didn’t even flinch.”

“I did flinch,” you remind him, smiling a little shyly, taping down the wrapping paper and tying it with a silk ribbon.

But Bucky shakes his head, dipping it just slightly, maybe in shame, maybe in guilt, maybe in embarrassment. “Nah, that was my fault. Shouldn’t have flirted with you while tattooing your back.”

You could flirt with me now, is laying on the tip of your tongue but then you meet his gaze again. Mistake. Or maybe not. His eyes are the chaos that stirs the sky, steel and soft thunder, and he’s looking at you as if you’re the only thing in the room that’s blooming.

A breathless laugh escapes you and you turn back to the pot that is already nicely packed up. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind the flirting.”

You feel Bucky’s gaze. The way he studies you, as if you’re one of his sketches, and he hasn’t figured where to draw the next line yet.

There’s a pause, but it’s not awkward or rushed. It’s just filled with things. The way he keeps finding reasons to stop by. The way you keep letting him. The way your shop smells of eucalyptus and fresh-cut roses and something more now - something electric that carries his name in the air even after he leaves.

“You’ve been taking care of it,” he says, something underlying his tone. Something soft. But he means the tattoo. You know he means the tattoo. It tingles at your back.

“Of course I have.” Your fingers adjust the bow, but your thoughts are tangled somewhere else entirely. “I’m not going to ruin your art.”

“Wasn’t just the tattoo I was worried about.”

And it’s soft, the way he says it. Not casual, not flirty. Just soft.

Something inside you blossoms wild and sudden and a little bit dangerous.

Clearing his throat, he picks up a single stem - a pale pink dahlia.

“This one. What’s it mean?” he asks curiously.

You swallow, letting yourself speak in the language that’s easiest for you. “Dahlia means strength. Grace under pressure. Inner dignity.”

He nods once. Slowly. Considers it. Places the information in a box inside his head.

Then he sets it down and picks another.

“And this?”

“Ranunculus. Charm. Attraction. Like…” You refrain from clearing your throat, but your breath is lodged somewhere and won’t come up that easily. “I find you captivating, but I don’t want to say it out loud”

He holds your eyes, something swirling in those too-blue eyes. “Good to know,” he hums. “Why don’t you wrap me up eight of those, sunshine, and three of the others?”

He says it casually. But you wrap the flowers deliberately, knowing this is a game he’s playing. A slow, drawn-out thing. He’s patient. You’ve learned that about him.

While you care for his flowers, he walks a slow, wandering circle around the shop, fingers ghosting over petals, letting them breathe around him. He’s gentle, always. Even with all that strength curled in his arms.

Brushing his fingers over a petal, he speaks up again. “You know,” he says, and it’s too nonchalant again. “I’ve been meaning to ask… You ever do custom arrangements? Like, if a guy wanted something special. For, uh, a friend?”

You raise a brow. “What kind of special?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs. Shrugs as if it costs him nothing. “Something that says, I hope your day is as pretty as you are, and maybe we should get coffee sometime, no pressure, just casual, unless you want pressure, then-”

You laugh, breaking it before he can go on and his voice can drift too much toward nervousness. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you now, but his eyes are shifty, his hands are flexing, his stance is wavering.

“You don’t need to buy flowers to ask me out.”

He stills. Then his smile grows slow and real and brilliant, blooming like the tattoo on your shoulder, like the petals he’s been coming back for again and again.

You breathe. You bloom.

“Okay,” he says, and he’s beaming. “But I still want the flowers.”

“You really don’t need to-”

“But I wanna, sunshine,” Bucky interrupts, returning to the counter and grinning at you with bright eyes. “They’re for you, after all.”

Your cheeks warm up.

And when you try to hand him the bouquet, he only closes his fingers around yours, squeezes softly, and guides your grip to a vase on the counter.

You feel his touch all the way to where your skin still holds the memory of his ink.

Bucky takes his time with placing the flowers in the vase between you two, large and calloused fingers staying on yours, thumbs brushing your skin. With another slow squeeze, he pulls back again.

Your cheeks are on fire at this point.

And with a smirk on his lips and a fond adoration in his eyes, he leaves with the promise that next time when he comes in - and you know he will - you’ll let him stay longer.

Long enough for coffee.

[brownetry]

White Lilies at 3:46

Pairing : han taesan x f! reader

Genre : slow-burn romance, comfort, grief, healing.

Warning : mentions of death, grief, loneliness.

Your shop always smelled like lavender and wet soil. A tiny corner store squeezed between a bakery and a dry cleaner, where the sun draped itself lazily over the glass every morning and the wind whispered past the petals in the display window.

It was quiet. Peaceful. A little lonely.

You liked it that way.

That’s where you first saw him.

Thursdays. 3:46 p.m. Sharp.

He never said much. Just walked in, tall frame cloaked in a hoodie despite the heat, and offered a small nod of acknowledgment. His hair was always a little messy, his eyes a little tired. And every Thursday, he asked for the same thing,

“Three white lilies.”

His voice was soft. Not shy—just gentle. Like he was scared of disturbing the silence.

The first time, you offered to wrap them in burlap and twine. He nodded. Paid in exact cash. Left with a quiet “thank you.”

And then came back the next Thursday.

And the next.

And the next.

You started preparing them ahead of time. 3:40 p.m. You’d bundle the lilies, set them near the register, and pretend not to notice how he lingered for a moment after every exchange, as if debating whether to say something more.

But he never did.

You didn’t even know his name.

Week 7.

It rained. You placed the lilies in a paper wrap to keep them dry.

He smiled at that.

Week 9.

He noticed the bandage on your finger and frowned. “Did you cut yourself?”

You blinked. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Rose thorns.”

He paused, then muttered, “Be careful.”

That was the first time he said something not about flowers.

Week 13.

He didn’t come.

You waited. The lilies wilted by closing time.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Customers missed appointments all the time. But the empty bell above the door, the silence at 3:46, it felt… wrong. Too quiet. Too hollow.

You found yourself looking at the clock the next day.

And the day after that.

Week 14.

Still nothing.

You found yourself wrapping lilies anyway. Just in case.

Week 15.

The bell jingled.

You looked up so fast you nearly dropped the shears.

He stood in the doorway, soaked in rain, hoodie clinging to his arms, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

“Hey,” he said.

Just that.

His voice cracked.

You didn’t ask where he’d been.

You just wordlessly reached under the counter and handed him the lilies you’d wrapped before opening.

His fingers brushed yours. Cold. Shaking.

He swallowed. “I… forgot what day it was.”

You nodded slowly. “That happens sometimes.”

He stared at the lilies, then exhaled — a long, heavy breath that seemed to carry the weight of something unspoken. “They were for my brother. His grave. It’s been a year.”

You froze. The words sank in like ink on wet paper.

“I wasn’t gonna come this week,” he added quietly. “But I did. I don’t know why.”

You looked at him, this boy who never said anything but always came back.

“Maybe because you knew I’d remember for you.”

His head lifted. For the first time, he looked at you — really looked at you.

And something in his face cracked open.

That day, he stayed.

You made tea behind the counter while he sat on the wooden stool by the window, clutching the lilies like a lifeline. You didn’t ask anything else. Just let the silence speak for both of you.

“Taesan,” he said after a while.

You turned to him.

“My name. It’s Taesan.”

You smiled softly. “I’m Y/n.”

He nodded. “I know.”

You blinked. “You do?”

He gave a sheepish smile. “Says it on the business card by the register.”

He came back the next Thursday.

And the one after that.

Not just for lilies now. Sometimes for daisies. Sometimes just to sit. Sometimes just to exist beside someone who understood silence.

Spring melted into summer, and he started showing up early. Sometimes he helped unpack boxes of soil and seed packets. Sometimes he brought you iced coffee with your name spelled wrong on the cup.

He talked more. Told you about his brother—older by two years, full of bad jokes and worse tattoos, gone too soon in a car accident Taesan blamed himself for.

You never told him to move on. You just listened.

You told him about your mom’s love for roses, your fear of hospitals, the way flowers reminded you that nothing lives forever — but some things bloom again anyway.

You learned that he hummed when he concentrated. That he hated peonies but loved jasmine. That grief doesn’t always scream — sometimes, it just walks into a flower shop every Thursday and asks for lilies.

One Thursday in late autumn, he didn’t ask for any flowers.

Instead, he leaned across the counter, eyes a little shy now, and said, “Do you want to come with me next time?”

You blinked. “To the cemetery?”

He nodded. “I think he’d like to meet you.”

Your throat tightened.

So you said yes.

Because grief brought him to you.

But love?

Love stayed.

The flower shop looked different now.

You’d painted the counter a soft sage green. There were new shelves along the back wall—hand-built by Taesan after he claimed your “organization system was a crime.”

Your Thursday regulars had grown — older women from the nearby church, teenage boys awkwardly buying carnations for girls, little kids with wrinkled dollars and big dreams for their moms.

And every Thursday, Taesan still came.

But now, he came early. Sometimes before you even opened. With one hand full of pastries and the other full of quiet affection.

He no longer asked for lilies.

He still visited his brother — but now, he brought mixed flowers. "He’d hate being predictable," Taesan said with a small smile.

Some days he brought you too.

On the anniversary of his brother’s death, you walked beside him, boots crunching against the gravel of the cemetery. He carried sunflowers this time. “Bright,” he said, “like him.”

You stood beside him as he placed them down, fingers grazing the edge of the stone like he was touching a memory.

“He’d like you,” Taesan said suddenly, glancing at you.

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

“He’d say you talk too much. But he’d like you.”

You snorted. “Do you think I talk too much?”

He smiled. “No. I think… you say the things I’m too scared to.”

You looked at him — really looked at him.

The boy who used to be a ghost in your shop now stood beside you like something solid. Steady.

“I’m glad you came in that day,” you said quietly. “Even if you didn’t say much.”

He turned to you, brows soft. “I didn’t know I needed to be found.”

You nodded. “You didn’t. But you were.”

He stared at you. Then reached out, gently taking your hand. His thumb brushed your knuckles.

“I kept coming back for the lilies,” he said. “But then I started coming back for you.”

Your breath caught.

“You always looked like peace. Like stillness. Like the thing I didn’t know how to ask for.”

“Taesan—”

He leaned in, forehead gently touching yours.

“I think I love you.”

Your heart thudded.

“I know I do,” he added, breath warm, hand trembling slightly.

You smiled.

“You’re lucky I’m a florist,” you whispered. “I’m very good at making things grow.”

His lips curved into the softest smile.

“Then grow with me?”

“Always.”

And beneath the sky, in front of the past, with your hands entwined like vines — you bloomed.

Together.

© brownetry

[nottswitch]

꒰ florist!reader ꒱

florist!reader who has just opened her small flower shop – a passion project she’s been dreaming about ever since she was a little girl, much to the disappointment of her parents, who would prefer their daughter to have a more ‘prestigious’ job.

florist!reader who is as soft as she looks. her love for all things flowery and pastel is genuine, and it’s obvious in everything, from her clothes and shoes to the atmosphere inside her quaint little flower shop that stands out among the usually dull and dreary storefront.

florist!reader who is gentle, kind and prefers to see the good in people – sometimes, much to her own detriment. a strong believer in second chances, even if deep down in her soul she knows that even the first chance was barely deserved.

florist!reader who doesn’t get involved in drama, or anything that might indicate the disturbance of her peace. unfortunately, more often than not it leads to becoming a people pleaser, and she’s yet to realise that a lot of the times, it’s doing more harm to her than good.

florist!reader who loves quietly, but strongly. she never shouts about it from the rooftops, but you always know if you’re the one she loves. small gestures, whispered words – she always finds a way to let you know that you’re the one occupying a place in her tender heart.

꒰ florist!reader works ꒱

‧₊ ᵎᵎ coming soon.

more.

[sixeyesonathiel]

there's something so insane to me about florist!satoru who finds you bleeding in his poppy field, your wings shredded and trembling, your body crumpled like a fallen star among the flowers.

a soft gasp escapes his lips as he kneels beside you, petals clinging to your bloodied feathers like they, too, mourn your fall. he carries you home like a porcelain saint he prayed into existence, arms gentle yet possessive, whispering sweet apologies to god as he touches the wreckage he caused.

he wraps your wings in gauze laced with lavender and crushed petals, as though trying to preserve what holiness remains. he lays you in a bed of silk and feathers, one he prepared long before he ever found you, as though he'd been waiting for you—not by chance, but by prophecy. fireflies flit lazily in the dim light of the room, their glow catching in his pale eyes like starlight. he puts flower crowns on the remains of your halo and hums lullabies like you're a baby bird that just needs a little time. and he says,

"i'll help you heal, little dove. just stay here for a while. stay with me."

and you do. because you can't leave.

because your wings won’t lift. because your body doesn’t remember flight. because he says heaven cast you out and the sky no longer wants you. he shows you the scars across your shoulder blades with a sad smile and tells you how cruel divinity can be, brushing over the ridged skin with a tenderness that feels like a secret.

and maybe he’s right. maybe this strange little town with its eternal dusk and red poppies and glassy-eyed people is the best you’ll get. maybe this is your new eden. your new cage. maybe all that's left for a broken angel is the mercy of a man who smells like peonies and always smiles too wide. a man who plucks your feathers when you sleep and sings you lullabies to forget.

he feeds you sugared fruit and weaves thornless roses into your hair. he brushes your feathers with fingers so gentle they feel like prayers, whispered between the petals. the way he breathes near your nape, just a little too slow, makes your skin crawl. he never raises his voice. he never stops smiling. you're not allowed to open the windows. he says the air outside would sting too much.

but sometimes you wake up shaking. your wings ache. your soul aches. something about the fall feels wrong. your dreams twist with static and light—you remember a flash of blue. the scent of burning flowers. laughter as sharp as broken glass. your body hits the earth. silence. you remember hands not catching you—but letting go.

you try to ask questions, but he cups your face and says,

"angels don’t need to remember pain, only love."

and sometimes you catch him staring. not lovingly. hungrily. reverently. like he earned you. like he deserves you. like you are both prize and penance. a miracle he cultivated with blood and bone and time. his pupils dilate when you tremble. he tilts his head when you try to stand.

there are jars of feathers in his shop, sealed tight and labeled in cursive. none of them are white. they glint strangely under the sunlight, like they've been lacquered to never decay. your name is carved into wood behind the altar of his workspace, the edges scorched. a poppy with thorns grows in a vase that only he tends—its petals the same shade as your blood.

and maybe the reason your wings won’t heal isn't because you’ve fallen.

maybe it's because he dragged you down made sure you would never fly again.

and he calls it love.

after all, is blind reliance not what love is?

[delicatebarness]

barnes' girl | prologue

Summary: Your flower delivery to a major corporation takes an unexpected turn when an encounter with the enigmatic CEO, James Barnes, leaves you feeling both intimidated and intrigued. As your paths continue to cross, you find yourself drawn into a world far removed from the peaceful confines of the flower shop.

Warning: Age Gap. Power Imbalance. Intimidation. Sexual Undertones.

Word Count: 1368

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

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A/N: I am incredibly ill right now and did not expect to be writing at all so I do apologize if this is terrible. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Barnes' Girl: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this series. | @im-alestan | @carrotlove

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan

Stepping into the bustling flower shop, the scent of fresh blooms envelops you as you start another day of deliveries. Arrangements of roses, lilies, and tulips fill the space with vibrant colors and intoxicating fragrances. Above the door, the bell softly chimes, signaling your departure into the city– A particularly exquisite bouquet in hand. An imposing skyscraper of a major corporation was today’s first destination, a rare delivery for the quaint little shop.

Carefully cradling the flowers in your arms, you navigated the crowded streets until reaching the towering building. Sleek and modern, the lobby contrasts starkly with the charming disarray of the flower shop. You couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves as you approached the elevators. Hearing the door ding open, you begin to step inside, unbeknownst to you that James Barnes, the CEO, was stepping out. 

Suddenly, and chaotically; the collusion causes the petals to scatter across the polished, marble floor in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

“I’m so sorry, sir!” The words spilled out in a frantic rush, and you dropped to your knees, gathering the fallen flowers desperately. Your hand shook as you tried to salvage the bouquet. Panic surging through you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Mr Barnes stood above you, a towering figure of authority and magnetism. Sharp and discerning, his eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you. For a moment, his expression is inscrutable, then suddenly, his lips twitch as if suppressing a smile. Your breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze, as if he was sending unspoken commands that sent a shiver down your spine. 

Giving you a momentary reprieve, he looked away, clearing his throat. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you interpreted his reaction as disdain. Scrambling together the last of the petals, you muttered apologies and small comments about how your boss would be furious. 

As you manage to compose yourself, you catch sight of the now crumpled box that the flowers were in. Unbeknownst to you, Mr Barnes took a mental note of the shop’s name emblazoned on the side. You were left flustered and humiliated, convinced you had left a terrible impression on the older, powerful CEO.

~

Later that day, you were surprised to hear that he had called the shop. He explained the incident was his fault, not yours, and agreed to order flowers for the building regularly. “To brighten up the office,” he claimed, but his motives were more complex, layering with an interest that went beyond mere floral appreciation. 

The routine of delivering flowers to the building became almost comforting as the weeks passed. Yet, one morning, as you stepped into the lobby with a small bouquet of pink hydrangeas, you were unaware that he was watching, waiting for you on the cameras. The phone on the receptionist’s desk rang, echoing through the lobby, and she answered with a practiced smile. 

“Certainly, sir,” she replied, her accent thick. She turned to you after hanging up. “Mr Barnes wants you to deliver these personally today.” 

Taking the visitor key card she offered, your pulse quickened, and a mix of anticipation and dread bubbled within you. While making your way to the top floor, it was as if you could feel his gaze on you through the security cameras, a silent, omnipresent observer. The elevator doors open to the executive floor, and you step out, your grip tightening around the bouquet.

With a deep breath, you walked toward his office. The encounter of your first meeting played over and over in your mind. Ruining his suit, you felt jittery and self-conscious. Yet, as you enter his office, you see him there, every bit as intimating as you recall. His broad body was wrapped in a dark suit, attempting to look welcoming but still imposing. 

You felt small by the opulent surroundings as you hesitantly stepped further inside. “Hi… I, I’m, I brought the flowers you ordered,” your voice trembled slightly as you held up the bouquet– The vibrant pinks contrasting against the muted elegance of the office.

“Thank you, come, place them on the desk,” he instructed, his gaze never leaving yours. His voice was low, commanding yet inviting, almost like a purr.

As you made your way towards the massive glass desk, you couldn’t help but notice the way he watched your every move. His gaze followed you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. Placing the flowers down carefully, you turned to face him, your heart pounding.

You begin to thank him before his low voice interrupts. “What’s your name?” You stutter as you tell him, feeling even smaller under his intense gaze. A small, almost predatory smile curved his lips. “Such a sweet little doll, tell me, are you always so clumsy?” 

Shifting uncomfortably, you felt a heat rise to your cheeks. “I… I didn’t mean to be. It was an accident.” 

A hint of amusement glinted in his eyes, his smile widening. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again. From now on, bring the flowers directly to me. Understood?” 

“Y-Yes, sir,” you whispered, nodding quickly. You turn to leave, his glass of whiskey in his hand catching your eye. “I b-better get going,” you stammered, slightly moving toward the door. 

“Do you not want to join this old man for a drink?” He held out the glass toward you, the amber liquid glistening in the light.

Glancing nervously at the clock behind him, you hesitated. “I really shouldn’t… I’m still on work time.” 

Raising an eyebrow, a hint of a smile still played on his lips. “Just one drink. It won’t take long.” 

Your fingers brushed against his as your trembling hands took the glass. The contact sent a shiver down your spine. “Thank you,” you whispered, nervousness and curiosity coursing through you. 

“To unexpected encounters,” he toasted, his eyes still locked onto yours.

Taking a small sip, the warmth spreads through you. “To unexpected encounters,” you echoed, your voice barely audible. 

He watched you intently, an unspoken tension thick in the air. The walls of his office seemed to close in around you, the lighting added to the intimacy of the moment. “Tell me, doll, how long have you been working at the flower shop?” he asked, leaning back in his leather desk chair slighting. 

“About six months,” you replied, your finger tapping the glass nervously. 

“And, do you enjoy it?” he asked, his gaze never wavering.

“Yes, sir, I-I do… it’s peaceful,” you said, your heart still raced but your voice became steadier. 

“Peaceful, huh?” He tilted his head, considering your words. “Not like this place,” he added with a wry smile, his whiskey glass-filled hand gesturing around the room. The walls were lined with large abstract paintings and bookshelves filled with finance, and self-improvement books. 

Taking another glance around, you took in the grandeur of his office. “It’s… very impressive,” you admitted, your eyes returning to his. 

“Oh, you think so?” His smile widened once again, amusement dancing over his piercing blue eyes. “You don’t find it… intimidating?” 

“A little,” you confessed, your cheeks growing hotter. 

“Good,” he said, his tone serious as he leaned back again. His fingers steepled beneath his chin. “It’s meant to be. But, you, doll,” he added, his expression softening slightly, “you shouldn’t be intimidated.” 

You swallowed hard, his comments catching you off guard. “I- I should really get back to the shop,” you said, your voice barely audible again. 

“If you must,” he conceded, reluctance lacing in his voice. “But remember, little doll… I expect to see you here every week with those fresh flowers.” 

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, a strange sense of excitement and apprehension rushing through you. “I, um, thank you for the drink.” 

“Anytime, babydoll,” he replied, his eyes lingering on you as you turned to leave. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you walked back to the elevator. The marble floors echo your footsteps, and the soft hum of the employees fills your ears. The conversation replayed in your mind, every word, every glance.

The enigmatic and powerful James Barnes had taken a particular interest in you, and you realized that your weekly deliveries were about to become much more intriguing.

---

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