#flower carpet roses

[gummi-stims]

Cool Carpet Patterns

[thegivenchythree]

Zendaya in Louis Vuitton 82nd Annual Golden Globe Awards

[faguscarolinensis]

Rosa x 'Noala' / 'Noala' Floral Carpet Coral Rose at the Denver Botanic Gardens in Denver, CO

[aworldofpattern]

Zendaya at the Met Gala 2024, wearing a Givenchy by John Galliano gown from his Spring / Summer 1996 collection, with a rose bouquet headdress by Philip Treacy for Alexander McQueen, c. 2007.

[ruhachari]

~ Autumn vibes ~

[iwantitinpink]

Sveva Alviti wearing Ermanno Scervino at the Venice International Film Festival 2033.

[royaa]

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Picture That Changed Everything | LN4

𓂃۶ৎ summary ━━━━━━━ A drunken mistake intensifies Lando and Y/N's playful dynamic, forcing Y/N to confront her growing feelings. After a Grand Prix win, Lando returns to London, ready to prove his love.

𓂃۶ৎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓂃۶ৎ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.5k

Saturday Morning – London

Y/N’s alarm buzzed harshly, pulling her from a restless sleep. She groaned, rolling onto her side and hitting the snooze button with more force than necessary. It was the weekend, yet she still woke early out of habit. Her small apartment felt unusually quiet. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, letting the soft light streaming through the curtains illuminate her messy bedroom.

London was cold, but the thought of meeting her friends later kept her spirits up. As she shuffled into the kitchen to make her morning coffee, her phone buzzed with a notification.

“You have a delivery arriving this morning. See you soon, Y/N. 😉”

Her heart jumped slightly as she read the message. It was from Lando. The same Lando Norris who, for the past six months, had made it his mission to win her over. She placed her phone on the counter and stared at the message, her mind replaying every interaction they’d had.

Lando. The name alone carried so much weight. The charming F1 driver who was known for his playful demeanor and undeniable talent. And yet, despite his fame, his attention was laser-focused on her.

“Stop overthinking it,” she mumbled to herself, focusing on the steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

Just as she took a sip, the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find a delivery man holding a massive bouquet of roses.

“These are for you, miss,” he said with a polite smile.

Her cheeks warmed as she signed for the flowers. She carried the bouquet inside and set it on the counter, inhaling their sweet fragrance. A small card nestled among the petals caught her attention. She opened it, her pulse quickening as she read his familiar handwriting.

“Just something to brighten your day. Hope to see that beautiful smile soon. - Lando”

Her fingers brushed over the words, her stomach flipping. “He’s relentless,” she whispered.

Saturday Night – London

After a lively evening with her friends, Y/N stumbled into her apartment, the faint buzz of wine humming in her veins. The cold November air had left her cheeks flushed, her skin tingling as she kicked off her heels and stepped onto the plush carpet of her cozy London flat.

Her apartment was small but warm, filled with touches of her personality—bookshelves stacked with novels she loved, a collection of scented candles, and fairy lights that gave the room a soft glow. She sighed, relishing the silence after the laughter and noise of the bustling city.

Her eyes landed on the bouquet of roses sitting in a crystal vase on her kitchen counter. Their vibrant red petals were still as fresh as when they had been delivered that morning, a testament to Lando’s thoughtfulness.

Lando.

The thought of him made her pause. Despite her efforts to keep him at arm’s length, he always found a way to worm himself into her thoughts.

She walked over to the flowers, trailing her fingers over the soft petals. A small smile tugged at her lips, unbidden but undeniable. She hated how easily he could make her feel special.

Her slightly tipsy state had loosened her usual guard. She reached for her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she unlocked it. Her messages with Lando were already open; the last text was from him earlier that morning, teasing her about his latest delivery.

“Just something to make you smile today. 😉”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, her heart skipping a beat.

“I should thank him,” she murmured to herself, her resolve softening. With a sigh, she reached for her phone. Her inbox was full of messages from friends and acquaintances, but she was drawn to Lando’s most recent text. She had kept their exchanges light, playful—nothing too serious. But tonight, the alcohol in her system loosened her usually guarded heart. She wanted to thank him for the flowers, to acknowledge the gesture that had clearly taken a lot of thought.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard as she considered what to say. “Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful. You’re too sweet, Lando,” she typed, pressing each key with a soft deliberation. Satisfied with her message, she attached the picture of the flowers she’d taken earlier in the evening.

She hit send, then yawned. The wine, the laughter, the entire night’s energy weighed on her, and she felt a sudden fatigue. She tossed her phone carelessly onto the bed, her head spinning as she made her way to the bathroom to wash up.

The phone, forgotten and unmonitored, sat on the bed as Y/N moved around her apartment, oblivious to the accidental drama that had just unfolded.

Saturday Afternoon – Las Vegas

Lando sat in his motorhome, scrolling aimlessly through his phone as he mentally prepared for qualifying.

It wasn’t unusual for Lando to check his messages during moments of downtime, especially when he was away. He and Y/N had struck up an unusual friendship six months ago, and while they hadn’t officially started dating, he was determined to make her see that he was serious about her. His messages were always light-hearted and teasing, but each one carried a clear undercurrent of affection. He wanted more from her, and he was willing to do whatever it took to prove it.

When his phone buzzed, he glanced down, his heart giving a small skip as he saw Y/N’s name on the screen. His heart jumped. It was rare for her to text him first, so he opened it immediately, eager to read her response.

“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. You’re too sweet, Lando.”

A smile tugged at his lips. She was sweet—she just didn’t realize how much she meant to him yet.

As he scrolled to the next message, his eyes widened. There it was. The picture.

But it wasn’t the one of the flowers.

It was Y/N, standing in front of a mirror in her bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of black lace panties, her arms barely covering her breasts. The pose was bold and sensual, her body perfectly framed by the mirror. The photo was stunning in its rawness, capturing Y/N in a rare moment of vulnerability, but also a certain power. It was impossible for him not to be captivated by it.

“Holy shit,” Lando whispered to himself, staring at the screen. He was momentarily stunned, trying to process the image. Was she joking? Was it real?

His fingers hovered over the screen. He blinked several times, trying to shake off his initial shock. It was definitely an accident. There was no way she had meant to send this. Still, the thought of Y/N being bold enough to send such an intimate photo, even by mistake, stirred something inside him.

Lando chuckled to himself, already knowing how to respond. He couldn't resist teasing her a little, especially given her usual cautious nature.

He quickly typed a reply:

“Thanks for the picture. Now I’ll definitely get pole position. 😏”

He hesitated briefly, debating if it was too much, then sent the message anyway.

He sat back in his chair, his grin widening. What the hell had just happened? He knew Y/N—she was usually so guarded, always putting up walls around herself. And yet, here she was, sending him a photo like that, albeit by accident. His mind raced as he tried to piece it together. Was she secretly interested in him? Did she have feelings for him that she wasn’t ready to admit? Or was it just the alcohol? Whatever it was, he knew one thing for sure: He wasn’t going to let this moment slip away.

Sunday Morning – London

The next morning, Y/N woke up with a headache. The wine had hit her harder than she’d realized, and her mind was cloudy as she struggled to remember the events of the previous evening. She groggily reached for her phone, a part of her already regretting the decision to check her messages. Her eyes squinted at the screen as she scanned through the notifications.

Then, her gaze froze on one particular message.A message from Lando.

Y/N’s stomach flipped as the realization slowly dawned on her. The picture. The one she had meant to send him was of the flowers. The one she had accidentally sent, however, was the photo of her standing topless in front of the mirror.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. Panic swept through her as she scrambled to find the photo in the message thread. There it was, clear as day. Her reflection. Her bare chest. Her hands barely covering herself. Her face flushed bright red as she stared at the image.

She’d sent it to Lando. Of all people.

Y/N immediately typed out a frantic message:

“Oh my God, Lando! I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to send that! Please delete it, I swear it was a mistake!”

She hit send quickly, holding her breath, hoping for a quick reply. But there was no immediate response. He was probably busy, and it was already late in Las Vegas.

Sunday Afternoon – London

Y/N spent the better part of the afternoon trapped in her own anxious thoughts. The hum of her apartment felt distant, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional sounds of passing cars and her own nervous pacing. Every few minutes, she would pick up her phone, check for any sign of a message, only to set it down again with a resigned sigh. The feeling of dread had been creeping in since the moment she realized the picture she had sent to Lando wasn't the one she intended.

It wasn’t just that she had sent the wrong photo—it was the fact that it was so… intimate. She’d never been one to be particularly free with her body, and now, in her slightly drunk state, she had sent a picture of herself in a moment of vulnerability. The picture wasn’t even something she had meant to capture; it was from another day, a rare moment when she had felt somewhat confident and playful in front of the mirror. She had never imagined that picture would fall into Lando’s hands, of all people. He didn’t just see it, though—he would think she had sent it to him on purpose. That terrified her more than anything.

Her mind raced, imagining his reaction. Would he laugh? Would he think less of her? Or worse, would he use it to tease her endlessly? She had a history of pushing people away, of keeping them at arm's length, and the thought of Lando seeing her like that—vulnerable and exposed—made her want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Yet, the hours dragged on, and still, no reply from him. She had spent half the afternoon pacing in a tight circle, sending herself into a spiral of anxiety. The silence was deafening, making her mind churn even more. She had been waiting, waiting for him to reply, waiting for him to somehow absolve her of her own embarrassment, but nothing had come.

Finally, her phone buzzed in her hand.

Y/N’s heart leapt, her fingers hesitating over the screen for a moment before she opened the message. Her stomach dropped when she saw it was from Lando. The fear of what might be waiting on the other side sent a cold rush through her veins, but she forced herself to open the message anyway.

Lando’s reply appeared, and for a brief moment, she thought her heart might stop.

“Well, that wasn’t what I expected to see, but I can’t say I’m complaining. I’ve got to admit, it’s a bold move, Y/N. I like it. But I’ll let you off the hook for now—focus on the flowers, not the picture. But you’ll owe me a proper thank you later. ;)”

Her breath hitched in her chest, the relief that flooded through her was almost overwhelming. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t uncomfortable. He wasn’t judging her. He was… teasing her? In a gentle, understanding way? Y/N had half expected him to laugh it off, to make a joke at her expense. But instead, he had actually made her feel… okay. Maybe even a little desirable.

Her fingers hovered over the screen as she thought of how to reply. She didn’t want to make it awkward again. She didn’t want to let him think that she was overthinking it—although, truth be told, she was.

Taking a deep breath, she began typing her response, trying to keep the tone lighthearted.

“Win the race first and then we’ll see.”

It was the perfect answer, a playful way to keep the conversation going without making it seem too serious. She had always been good at keeping things light, at deflecting deeper emotions, and this was no exception. She could almost hear Lando’s voice in her head, playful and teasing, as she hit send.

She couldn’t help but smile at her own response. It was bold, just the right amount of challenge. Lando wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily, though. She knew him well enough to know that if she was going to tease him, he would tease right back, and probably even harder.

And sure enough, his response came almost immediately.

“Challenge accepted. Be ready, Y/N. You’re not escaping me this time.”

The words sent a thrill through her, a mix of excitement and fear curling in her stomach. There was something about the way he said it—something that made her feel both exhilarated and terrified all at once. Lando had made his intentions clear. He wasn’t going to give up.

Her pulse quickened as she read the message again. You’re not escaping me this time. It felt like a promise, and at the same time, a warning. There was a sense of inevitability in his words, like he was planning on winning both the race and her.

Y/N smiled despite herself, the heat of the moment sweeping through her. There was no denying it. Lando had a way of making her feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time. He had a way of making her feel like she mattered.

And that scared her.

For a moment, she stared at the screen, biting her lip. How could she have gotten herself into this situation? She had spent the last six months trying to push him away, telling herself he was just another F1 driver with a history of fleeting relationships, and that she wasn’t going to get involved in something like that. Yet, here she was, teasing him back, looking forward to his response, waiting for him to come after her.

No, I can’t do this, she thought to herself. I can’t let him in.

But even as she thought that, she knew deep down that it was already too late.

She had been playing this game with him for months, and now, the stakes were higher than ever. He wasn’t backing down, and she wasn’t going to back down either—not yet, at least. She would wait. She would see what happened.

Taking one last deep breath, Y/N leaned back against the couch, setting her phone down beside her. She tried to focus on anything else, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Lando and his words.

“Be ready, Y/N.”

Was she ready? She didn’t know. She didn’t even know what being “ready” meant in this situation. Was it about giving in to the pull between them? Or was it about staying strong and keeping him at a distance, as she always had with everyone else?

She was still mulling over the idea when her phone buzzed again. Her heart skipped a beat, and she snatched it up immediately.

Lando had replied again, though this time the message was short, sweet, and completely different from anything she had expected.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You won’t be able to avoid me forever.”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered at his words. She could feel the heat rush to her cheeks as the weight of what he was saying settled on her.

He’s not going to stop, she thought. He really does want this.

And for some reason, that idea made her heart race.

Sunday Night – Las Vegas

Lando’s hands gripped the steering wheel with precision, the roar of the engine beneath him blending with the thunderous applause that reverberated throughout the stadium. His heart pounded as he pushed the car over the finish line, claiming victory at the Las Vegas Grand Prix. The lights in the sky seemed to explode in a cascade of colors as the race ended, and for a fleeting moment, Lando felt as if the entire world had paused to recognize his achievement.

But amidst the chaos of celebration, his thoughts weren't solely on the race he’d just conquered. They were on one person—the woman who had occupied his mind for the past few months, even if she didn’t know it. Y/N. The image of her accidentally sending him that picture, her barely covered figure from the mirror, had been lingering in his mind ever since. The playful teasing, the witty banter—they had opened a door to something he hadn’t anticipated. Lando’s thoughts, both sharp and racing as fast as the car he had just driven, kept returning to her.

She had challenged him, after all. "Win the race and then we’ll see."

He had won. Now it was time to prove he was serious about this, about her, about the promise he had made to show up for her. The thought of being with her, seeing her again, and experiencing whatever would come next had his pulse quickening with anticipation. He wasn’t about to let this chance slip through his fingers. Not now.

As he crossed the finish line, the radio crackled in his earpiece with the excited voices of his team. Cheers erupted from all sides, and yet, Lando’s smile was tinged with a hint of mischief. The celebration felt like a blur of noise and flashing lights, but he only had one goal in mind. The trophy, the accolades, and the high-fives from his crew—all of that could wait. What mattered now was Y/N.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he stood on the podium. He’d shown up for this race, fought hard for this victory, but in the back of his mind, it was Y/N who had been his motivator all along. That picture, that small moment of vulnerability, had become a symbol for him. A moment of bravery, of her letting down the walls she’d so carefully built around herself. And that was something he wasn’t going to forget.

Once the ceremony ended and the celebrations started to wind down, Lando didn’t waste any time. He made his way straight to the airport, bypassing the usual after-race parties in favor of a private flight back to London. He was determined to keep his promise to Y/N—he would go straight to her.

Monday Afternoon – London

Lando stepped out of the car and onto the rainy streets of London, his mind still racing from the victory he had just claimed in Las Vegas. The flight back had been long and filled with anticipation, the hours stretched out as he thought about the moment he had promised to make real. He had won the Grand Prix, and now, it was time to win her heart, if she would allow him to.

His heart pounded as he walked through the quiet streets, the city’s usual hum muffled by the rain. The sky was overcast, typical for London, but Lando didn’t mind. He was focused on one thing, and one thing only: Y/N. The text message exchange, the teasing, the unspoken chemistry—it had all led to this. He had made a promise, and now it was time to deliver.

As he approached her building, he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. It had been months since they’d first met, and now everything felt so much more real. He had flirted, teased, and pushed the boundaries between them, but he knew this moment wasn’t about games. He had meant what he said—he wasn’t going to let her get away.

Lando looked up at the tall building in front of him, the weight of the situation finally sinking in. This wasn’t just a casual flirtation anymore. This was about proving he could be the man she needed. He wasn’t some passing celebrity crush or a racing driver who could be easily dismissed. No, he was here to show her that he was serious. About her. About them.

He rang the bell and waited, his breath shallow with anticipation. When the door swung open, he saw Y/N standing there, looking as beautiful as ever. But this time, she wasn’t just the quiet, shy woman he had come to know. No, now she was the woman who had sent him that picture—the one that had both embarrassed her and captivated him in equal measure.

Y/N blinked in surprise, clearly still trying to process the fact that Lando was standing in front of her. She hadn’t expected him to show up so soon. The night had been filled with texts, emotions, and nerves, but the reality of his presence hit her like a wave. She had been dreading this moment for days, not because she didn’t want to see him, but because she didn’t know how to handle the growing attraction between them.

“What are you doing here?” she stammered, trying to keep her composure.

Lando’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped forward. “I won the race, didn’t I?” His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness that Y/N couldn’t ignore. “You told me to win, and then we’d see. Well, here I am. Ready to see what happens next.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. It was both a challenge and an invitation—an unspoken promise that whatever came next was up to them.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” she admitted, still grappling with the shock of his sudden appearance.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lando’s grin widened, and he reached a hand up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was electric, and Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat. “I told you I would. I keep my promises.”

There was something in his voice, something sincere and direct, that made Y/N’s defenses start to crumble. She had expected him to be cocky, to keep things playful, but his presence here, standing in front of her like he had nothing to lose, was different. This was no longer just a game. This was real.

“Come on, Y/N,” Lando continued, stepping a little closer. “You know you can’t hide from me forever.” His voice lowered, his words almost a challenge, but his eyes were soft, full of something deeper. “You said once I won, you’d see. Well, I won. Now, let’s see where this takes us.”

Y/N felt her heart race, her breath growing shallow. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but the one thing that stood out above all the others was how impossible it felt to deny the pull she felt toward him. She had resisted him for so long, pushed him away with her shy walls and her need for distance. But in this moment, with him standing so close, she realized that the walls she had carefully built were starting to crumble.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She needed to understand. Why had Lando gone through so much trouble for someone like her? Was it just another game to him, another flirtation that would eventually fade away, or was he truly serious?

Lando’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he simply stared at her as if considering her question. He stepped even closer, his warmth radiating toward her. His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady, as if he was speaking directly from the heart.

“Because I want you, Y/N,” he said simply. “And I’m not going to let you hide from me anymore. You’ve been running, but it’s time to stop. I want to see where this goes. No games. Just us. No more pushing each other away.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The intensity in his eyes was enough to send a shiver down her spine. This wasn’t just Lando the driver, the flirt, the charming guy who always seemed to be surrounded by admirers. No, this was Lando, the man who was willing to take a chance on her, who wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable with her.

“I’m not sure I can just—” she began, but Lando placed a finger gently to her lips, silencing her.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he murmured. “I’m not here to rush you. I’m here to show you that I’m serious. We’ll take this slow, but you need to know that I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. Part of her wanted to pull away, to protect herself from the intensity of the moment. But another part of her, the part that had been secretly longing for something real, felt herself drawn to him. The truth was, she couldn’t deny how much she wanted him too. And now that he was here, making it impossible for her to ignore the chemistry between them, she knew that the moment of truth had finally arrived.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t expect you to be so... serious.”

Lando smiled, a genuine smile this time. He reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands, his thumb brushing softly over her cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he replied. “Just know that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with an unspoken promise. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N found herself letting go of her reservations. The walls she had built, the fear she had harbored, all seemed to fall away in the face of Lando’s sincerity. She could see it in his eyes—the truth behind every word.

And before she could stop herself, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him. It was gentle at first, a tentative exploration, as if they were both testing the waters, but it quickly deepened. Lando responded with equal fervor, his hands sliding down to rest on her hips, pulling her closer.

For that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the fears, not the uncertainties that had clouded her mind. It was just them, in that space, wrapped up in each other, finally allowing themselves to be vulnerable.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N’s breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest. Lando’s forehead rested against hers, his breath as unsteady as hers.

“See?” he whispered, his voice warm and reassuring. “No more running.”

Y/N smiled softly, her heart still racing. “I guess we’ll see where this goes.''

Lando’s grin was playful, but his eyes told a different story—one of determination and hope. “I’m ready to find out.”

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

[thegivenchythree]

Michelle Yeoh in Armani Privé 80th Annual Golden Globe Awards

[aworldofpattern]

Gigi Hadid at the Met Gala 2024, wearing Thom Browne.

[crystallinestars]

Romantic Scenarios

If I could draw, I would have drawn these instead of writing them out, but alas, writing is all I can contribute. This is 99% aesthetics and 1% plot.

Characters: Argenti, Jiaoqiu, Aventurine, Ratio, Sunday, and Luocha

🌹 Argenti

Inside an abandoned chapel of the Goddess Idrila, stood a princess and her knight. Moss and ivy covered the crumbling walls, and grass poked through the marble tiles, creating a carpet for you and Argenti to tread upon. You stood in front of the altar, illuminated by sunlight shining from the holes in the ceiling and the intact stained glass windows above. Argenti knelt on one knee before you, gazing at you with equal parts of devotion and adoration while extending a red rose to you, swearing to protect you as your loyal knight and secret lover.

🦊 Jiaoqiu

You entered a small medicine shop, and were greeted with the pleasant aroma of exotic spices and herbs. The walls were covered in shelves chock-full of colorful bottles, vials, and jars containing various liquids and powders. Behind the counter at the back of the shop sits Jiaoqiu, welcoming you with a sly smile and a polite greeting. A familiar tickling in your throat sent you into a coughing fit, and you cover your mouth with your hand while a concerned Jiaoqiu quickly walked over to you. Once your coughing subsided, you held up a flower petal for Jiaoqiu to see, one you had expelled from your lungs, much to his astonishment. He was your last hope, you said, your last hope in curing this mysterious illness. (Hanahaki AU)

🃏 Aventurine

Rain drizzled a steady beat against the window of your apartment. It was the middle of the night and the room was pitch dark, save for the dim light of a fluorescent shop sign shining inside from a neighboring building. It cast cyan and magenta hues through the window, outlining your and Aventurine’s silhouettes while you made out on the couch. Your wet hair was stuck to your face, both your and his hands eagerly peeled away the rain-drenched clothes on your bodies, but you didn’t feel the cold. There was only the warmth of Aventurine’s lips and the scorching heat of his whispered “I love you”s.

📘 Ratio

Countless stars reflected in the surface of the glassy, still lake, creating a beautiful cosmic pool. You and Ratio stood a few feet away from the water, gazing up at the glittering sky. It was a bit chilly so Ratio allowed you inside his jacket, holding you close to keep you warm while you both watched the meteor shower above. A myriad of shooting stars raced through the sky, leaving behind golden trails that disappeared in the blink of an eye only to be replaced with another. In that moment, you were grateful to Ratio for inviting you to watch this rare phenomenon with him, for it was truly beautiful.

🪽 Sunday

You and Sunday walked along the sandy beach, hand-in-hand. The cloudless blue sky reflected off the ocean’s surface and the warm water gently lapped at your feet. Each of you held an ice cream cone in your free hand, leisurely eating while strolling along the shore. Feeling mischievous, you lied, saying Sunday had a bit of ice cream on the corner of his mouth. Before he could react, you leaned in and kissed the corner of his lips, watching with restrained laughter how his face flushed at the sudden affection, and attempting to hide it from you by covering it with his wings.

⚰️ Luocha

Luocha’s hold on your hand and waist was firm yet gentle as he confidently guided you across the ballroom floor, dancing along to the live orchestral music. The glittering chandeliers, lively chatter and laughter of colorfully-dressed guests, and delicious scents of food piled on the tables had all overwhelmed you earlier, but now disappeared into the background as your gaze was caught captive by Luocha’s. The Duke’s eyes were gentle, and there was an unspoken emotion in his verdant depths that shone through every time he looked at you. You could never quite put your finger on it, but that emotion had your heart fluttering in your chest and wishing that this dance would never end.

[honeyryewhiskey]

it's just a stupid holiday ˋ°•*⁀➷ dean winchester

pairing, dean x cupid!reader abt, dean takes his cupid to a valentine's gala, where a rogue angel has been preying on adulterers. you're just excited to be part of the chaos, and dean is trying desperately to keep his focus on the mission and not on his bubbly lovebird wrapped in a little red dress. what could possibly go wrong with this situation?  cw, grumpyxsunshine go on a fake date     dean practicing restraint and failing bc this stupid cupid is just so sweet    fluff    mentions of violence but no gruesome details, mdni, 18+  wc, 3.9k masterlist! for more deanxcupid reads

“i still don’t get why it has to be me doing this crap,” dean groans, shifting uncomfortably in his usual seat behind the impala’s wheel. his fingers drum against it as he scowls out the windshield.

sam, sitting to his right, doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers he’s reviewing. “because you’re better at the whole…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, “pretending-to-be-charming-with-women thing.”

dean snorts, tossing his brother a sideways glare. “gee, thanks, sammy. real boost to the ‘ol self-esteem.” he rolls his eyes and adjusts the rearview mirror—only to catch a glimpse of you in the backseat.

that stupid dress. that strappy, red, distracting dress. you’re busy fiddling with the silky hem, completely oblivious to the way it hugs you in all the right places.

dean clears his throat sharply. fidgeting with his suit tie, he forces his eyes back to the road. “hey, cupid,” he growls, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “remember, this is a job. we’re not going to this thing to drink champagne and play house. we’re hunting. focus.”

you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of their seat. a playful grin spreads across your lips as you reach out to pinch his cheek. “oh, dean, don’t you worry,” you assure, ignoring his quick swat at your hand. “i’ll be the best hunting partner ever. all business. no play.”

you deepen your voice, mimicking his usual gruff tone. “just like you.”

dean groans louder this time, and sam smirks faintly without looking up.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the plan for tonight? attend some high society valentine’s night gala as dean’s date, while sam kept watch of the perimeter. honestly all you really heard was sam and dean entrusting you to go undercover on a hunt with them—and you smiled so hard your cheeks ached (to which the brothers again started bickering about whether or not including you was a good idea). then they explained the holiday, humans practically worshipping cupids for a day, the excitement thrummed through you so hard you damn near passed out right there in the middle of the war room. 

sam and dean made it sound so straightforward, but as you walked into the venue—your arm looped through a stiff and uncomfortable dean’s—it became glaringly obvious this event would be anything but simple.  

red and pink heart shaped balloons spilled out from the entrance, framing a sleek red carpet scattered with rose petals that guided you into the heart of the party. the ballroom was enormous, yet nearly every inch of the room was drenched in lavish decor—flowers, jewels, endless shades of red and pink. a sizable crowd mingled beneath the dazzling display, their chatter blending harmoniously with the soft, elegant symphony flowing from the orchestra on stage. 

a small gasp left your painted lips as you took everything in, “this is incredible.”

dean, watching you carefully as your eyes darted from one dazzling detail to the next, murmured, “yeah, sure is.” his voice was barely audible in that soft tone. 

you peeled your gaze away from the galore, meeting his with that sugary sweet smile that makes his knees grow weak. “this is really all for cupids and love?” 

his brows cock as he considers your words, trying for once to not immediately destroy the innocence beaming from your eyes with his charmingly pessimistic perspective on, well, everything. “yeah,” he clears his throat, his arm slipped from yours, absentmindedly raising his hand to push the stray hairs that had fallen in your face, he hated when anything—anything at all—hid that view. “all of this exists because of what you lovebirds do to us.” 

you’ve gotten sharper in the weeks you’ve spent with the winchesters. picking up on what they call sarcasm and double meanings isn’t the easiest, but you’ve become so observant of dean you can almost feel it when he says one thing, and inside guards his true emotions. something in the way his face tightens, how deep of a breath he takes to release the stress, you’re not even sure if he’s aware of these tells but you know better than to clue him in on your cheat codes for decoding this ever-complicated man. 

dean sighs, slipping his hands into his dress pants as his eyes scanned the crowd, “alright little angel, let’s—”

you’re about ten feet away before he can finish his sentence, bee-lining to a side table overflowing with chocolate boxes, teddy bears, bouquets, flower-shaped ornaments, and so many little cherubs adorning nearly every item. 

a woman dressed in crisp black and white approached you with a polite smile, balancing a platter of dainty, bite-sized cakes. “please, help yourself to anything you’d like. mr. and mrs. nightingale donated all of these lovely trinkets for our guests.” 

“uh, we’re good on toys, thanks.” a gruff voice booms over your shoulder. dean snakes one arm around your waist as he reaches out with his free hand, swiping two mini cakes off the platter. the woman shot him a withering glare before turning away. 

“here.” he muttered, plopping one of the treats into your open palm, devouring the other in one bite. 

“but, dean,” you whine, dropping the cake onto the table and reaching for a plush brown bear sitting front and center. 

dean’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you snug against his chest. the sudden shift made you wobble on the cherry-red heels you’d only recently learned to walk in.

“nuh uh.” he hums, low and firm. “business, lovebird. focus.” 

your pouted lips and narrowed eyes meet his steady squint—a silent warning for you to cut it out. 

“fine.” you whimper, giving the bear one last wistful glance before turning reluctantly back to the crowd. “what are we doing again?” 

“trying to figure out who the next victim is, while sam watches for the angel.” leaning down so only you could hear. his breath on your ear sends little sockwaves down your spine, his tone low to avoid drawing attention from the nearby guests. “think your cupid crap can sniff out any cheaters in the crowd?” 

your brows knit as you try to focus your energy on observing with your angel vision. you can’t necessarily see or smell infidelity, but there are glittering strings that exist between connected humans and only a cupid is capable of detecting them. 

slowly, the ballroom came alive before your eyes, dozens of ribbons in gold, red, white, and silver weaving through the spaces between bodies. each color represents a distinct bond woven in fate. but the sheer number of people packed so tightly together made it difficult to pinpoint who belonged to what thread. the tangled web shifted and shimmered, overwhelming your senses as you struggled to unravel it. 

“i can’t smell infidelity,” you state plainly, your tone clipped as you strain to focus on the red strings in particular. a throbbing begins in your head, growing sharper with each passing second. “There’s red, but—”

the throbbing quickly escalates into a pounding ache, forcing you to release the energy of the room. your vision shifts back to that of a mortal’s as your hands instinctively clutch dean’s arm for support.

he reacts instantly, turning you to face him as his strong hands steady your swaying form at the waist. “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low but firm, concern flashing in those jade-green eyes as they search your face for an answer.

“i can’t, dean, i’m not really strong enough to read this many people,” your eyes find the floor, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze, “the energy, it just kinda pushes me out.” 

when cas left you with the brothers, he failed to mention that you were a bit of a heaven reject. a cupid with faulty powers—and the whole issue with you not always wanting to follow heavenly orders. cas saw something in you, at least, and you hoped that the winchesters would, too. 

“c’mere.” dean huffs, locking your fingers in his as he guides you down another hall. you step into a smaller room where a few people are scattered about on lavish couches and chairs. standing slightly behind you he places a reassuring hand on the small of your back he leans over your shoulder, “try it in here.”

with a nod you focus again, dean’s thumb rubs against your back soothingly, his other hand tightly wrapped over the top of yours as he watches you with care. again the room is dancing with ribbons, but the power isn’t nearly as overwhelming. “there’s a lot of gold in here.” you speak without looking away from the crowd, a smile finding your lips as you notice the elderly couples bound in glittering gold. 

“what’s that mean?” 

“purity turned everlasting.” you release his hand to face him, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you describe the phenomenon that makes you most excited to be a cupid, “they were fated with white strings, or bonds, to have something sweet between them, a simple fling or a good marriage. but it could have easily turned red and fragile from something like cheating, and it didn’t. these souls will probably find themselves in the same heaven, now, because of their commitment to the bond.”  

dean grins down at you, catching the way your excitement practically vibrates through your body. truthfully, it all sounded like a load of crap to him. but then there’s you—with that unbound energy, one he’s certain no one else—angel or human—could ever replicate. the way your infatuation with love seems so genuine, so pure, it softens parts of him that have been hardened for years, wound tightly in cynicism for the very thing you embody.

before he can stop himself, his mind drifts. he’s already considering leaving sam to handle the case on his own, just for one night, so he can watch you explore this world with that wide-eyed wonder. to see you smile up at him like that a little longer.

and maybe—just maybe—to catch a few more glimpses of you prancing around in that little dress, oblivious to the way it rides up your thighs when you move, or how your bouncing excitement causes… other things to bounce right along with you.

dean clenches his jaw, mentally reprimanding himself as he forces his gaze away from you. focus, winchester. focus.

“so, you’re saying we need to find red bonds or whatever,” he mutters, working to keep his voice steady. “but you can’t see ’em with all those people in there.”

you nod, watching him closely as he weighs his options.

“uh-huh,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess that means we’ll have to chat up some of the drunk old birds with loose lips.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

dean’s plan worked. after about an hour of mingling with the party guests, the two of you find yourselves on the edge of the crowd, watching a middle-aged married couple whom numerous women had whispered about. rumors swirled of the wife and her tennis coach, the husband and his secretary—long trips taken without the other, late nights at the office. all the signs of mutual betrayal.

the exact kind of relationship the rogue angel has been targeting. 

“classic,” dean mutters, eyes narrowing as he observes the couple, now mingling on opposite ends of the room. his stance is tall and stiff, locked in hunter mode.

you tilt your head, less focused on the case and more on the glittering display of treats and trinkets catching your eye a few tables away. a quick glance confirms dean is too busy scowling at the couple to notice you quietly slip off.

the desserts are as extravagant as the rest of the party, each treat adorned with ribbons and delicate designs. A small card catches your attention: cordial cherries. intrigued, you pop one into your mouth. the sugary red juice takes you by surprise, spilling down your chin and all over your fingertips. 

the flavor is sweet against your tongue, the chewy red center tart in contrast. you reach for another, taking it whole, and another for good measure, needing more of that sugary taste. you hadn’t heard dean approach, closing in on you with a confused scowl etched into his brows.

“love,” dean’s gruff voice startles you, his hand suddenly grasping your sticky chin to turn your face towards his, “you’re making a mess.”

embarrassed, you freeze, cheeks flushed as you glance up at him with cherry-stained lips. dean’s eyes darken slightly, flicking down to your mouth as he brushes his thumb along your sticky chin. without a second thought, he sucks the sugary residue off his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. 

a strange, warm sensation blooms in your chest—and lower—making your eyes widen in surprise. that was a new feeling, and something about dean’s expression told you now probably wasn’t the time to ask him about it. 

dean looks over his shoulder toward the couple again, his expression unreadable. looking back to you, he sighs. “bathroom,” he nods to the corner, “now.” he orders, his voice a little rougher than usual. 

You pout but follow him obediently, weaving through the crowd until you slip into the lavishly decorated restroom. Dean locks the door behind you, the click of the latch oddly loud in the quiet space. In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection—smudged lipstick, syrupy streaks trailing down your chin, and little splotches on the swell of your breasts.

without a word dean is behind you, in the reflection his face is blank, barely hiding his agitation. he spins you to face him, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. his hands find your hips and in one motion you’re seated on top of the porcelain space between the sinks. 

“‘m sorry, dean.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in lap, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he grunts a ‘mhm’ in response, making that warmth in your center morph into a ball of anxiety. the feeling you usually get after doing something terribly wrong, and dean gets that familiar scowl and grumpy tone. 

like he is now, except he usually isn’t this quiet. 

he comes back to you with a handful of wet paper towels. his eyes are focused on your lips as he wipes away the lipstick and sticky sugar. 

“stop pouting like that.” he grumbles, folding the paper before dragging it down your chin. his hand stops, eyes flicking between your chest and eyes for a moment before he’s handing the paper over to you, “you can get the rest.” 

as you dab at the mess on your chest, the silence stretches between you, weighted by unspoken thoughts. your mind drifts back to the couple in the ballroom, their entwined red strings sullied by betrayal.

“why do they do that?” you ask softly, breaking the quiet, “that couple, why do they do that to each other?” 

dean shrugs, standing between your legs with his arms crossed. “just what people do, lovebird. it’s not something i can really explain. everyone makes choices for their own reasons, hell, they probably don’t even know why they do that to each other.” 

you nod, mulling over his words. “i wouldn’t make those choices,” you say after a moment. “if I could be human, i wouldn’t waste it. What they have… it’s a gift.”

dean chuckles dryly, “and somehow i believe you, little angel. but being human isn’t all kittens and rainbows, mortality sucks. our emotions suck. and making the right choices, it—it’s hard.” 

“but you get to feel,” you say, your voice softening. “you get to fall in love. those emotions are what make humans so… special. sometimes i wish i could feel that.” you pause, suddenly shy. “maybe that’s why I’m not a very good cupid. i get too distracted by all these questions.”

Dean’s gaze softens, his arms uncrossing, planting his strong hands on either side of you, leaning closer. “You’re not a bad cupid,” he says gruffly, fighting with himself to sound more gentle than usual. “you care, a whole lot. if it were up to me, i’d say that’s not a bad thing.”

before you can respond, the ring of dean’s phone echos in the room, shattering the tension. he pulls away to retrieve it out of his pocket, scowling at the screen. “sam says the angel’s outside. we need to move.”

his hand finds yours, instinctively, tugging you out of the room and through the crowd. dean is locked into hunter mode again, his entire body on high alert as he’s practically dragging you across the ballroom.  

reaching the furthest wall, large windows give view to an expansive flower garden shimmering under the moonlight. a rather beautiful sight, where each bush is perfectly trimmed to line the weaving cobblestone paths. dean pauses at the door, looking back at you with a look that makes you wonder if he’s about to be sick.

before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s dropping your clasped hands, “just—stay in here. keep watch of the people while sam and i handle this.” 

“what?” you begin, flustered. sam and dean had spent days prepping you for whatever might happen. you learned how to actually use your own angel blade, the one you only carried around because it was an order but had never intended on using. dean taught you how to shoot his guns, and despite your distaste for their sharp sounds and harsh rebound—you sucked it up because the boys were trusting you. “no! i’m in this, too, remember? i can help—”

“no.” his voice is stern, his mind already made. he was giving you that look again, that made you feel like a helpless baby. it was comforting when it got him to ease up on you for little mistakes, but right now it was annoying. irritating, because you finally felt like you’d get to prove your worth with this hunt. 

“dean—” you start, but the door swings shut behind him before you can finish. with an exasperated groan, you rush to a near by window, heart pounding as you watch him dart down the shadowed path. 

the moment he’s out of sight, a sick twist of nerves coils in your stomach. seconds stretch into centuries, a burning lump rising in your throat as your imagination runs wild. then, movement catches your eye in the darkness.

dean’s body flies through the air, crashing hard into the ground like a ragdoll. 

your breath stutters. you’ve never witnessed a hunt before—not firsthand—but you’ve seen the aftermath. bruises, cuts, even broken bones you’d healed despite dean’s gruff protests against your divine touch helping him.

he struggles back to his feet, but he’s too slow. the angel—a tall, imposing figure in a crisp suit—stalks towards him with eerie precision, circling like a predator toying with its prey. from your vantage point, the angel’s back is turned to you. that’s all the opening you need.

without thinking, you dart for the door. the cool night air sends goosebumps rippling over your skin, the chill mixing with the nervous heat burning inside you. you catch sam out of the corner of your eye, lying on the ground further up the path and groggily coming back to consciousness as he sits up. 

stopping short, you kick off one of your cherry-red heels, gripping it tightly in your hand. it may not be a bow, but you’re still an archer—and this will have to do. with a flick of your wrist, you send the stiletto flying through the air.

the heel collides sharply with the back of the angel’s head. he stumbles slightly before spinning around, fury etched into his face as his silver blade flashes in the moonlight.

fear floods your system, making your knees weak. you’re not sure if it’s bravery or recklessness keeping you standing as he charges towards you. but your distraction is enough.

dean is on his feet again, blade in hand. with one swift motion, he drives it deep into the angel’s neck. the being’s body flickers with light before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

for a moment, everything is still. to stand frozen, gawking at the scene before you as dean slowly staggers back, panting heavily. when his eyes find yours, they’re sharp with anger. with a huff he’s crossing the grass towards you, that grumpy scowl having taken over his pretty features. 

“dean, i—i’m sorry, but—”

he closes the distance in two long strides, hands cupping either side of your face. the firmness in his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. before you can say anything more, he gently tugs, pressing two rough kisses to your forehead.

you blink up at him, your thoughts a buzzing, tangled mess. 

“save it, lovebird. i know.” he sighs, dropping his hands. his voice is gruff but softer than you expect, his relief shining through the cracks of his frustration. “just never do that again.” 

sam slowly approaches, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek. his expression wavers between amused and impressed. “nice shot, cupid. i told dean you’d come through.”

“shut it, sammy.” dean snaps back, his scowl deepening as he glances over his shoulder at the angel’s body. “let’s get rid of the angel’s body and get the hell out of here.” 

you bite back a sheepish grin, slipping your remaining shoe off to follow behind the brothers. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

back at the bunker…

you had tried, several times, to get out of the stupid red dress. the thin straps came loose from your shoulders easily enough. but the damn zipper in the back was just out of your reach, no matter how you twisted or stretched, it remained out of grasp. the nice lady at the dress shop who helped you get into the damn thing, wasn’t around to get you out of it. 

with an annoyed huff, you padded barefoot out of your room and down the hall, the hem of the dress swishing faintly with every step. you stopped in front of dean’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. 

there was a pause, followed by a muffled shuffling sound. the door swung open, dean took up most of the door frame clad in an old band shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from sleep and his expression distinctly unimpressed.

“what?” he grumbles, voice rough and gravelly, clearly annoyed at having been woken up. 

“i need help,” you whine, turning your back to him and gesturing over your shoulder. “i can’t get to the stupid zipper.”

he let out a long-suffering sigh, but his rough finger tips brush against your skin as he grips the top of your dress in one hand and tugged the zipper down with the other. 

you’re not really used to wearing dresses, and you’re too tired to think about how, y’know, gravity works. 

the silky red material drops to the floor, pooling over your feet. “oh.” you mumbled, looking down at the discarded dress. 

“jesus,” dean muttered, his voice strained. when you looked back at him, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together as if trying to keep a lid on something. 

a wicked giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “thanks, dean!” you chirp, abandoning the dress on the floor and darting down the hall in nothing but your pink underwear. 

the sound of his exasperated cursing followed you, echoing against the hall as your laughter trailed behind. 

[azullumi]

"honey in your mouth when you say my name" ; aventurine

premise— happiest birthday to the man who had stardust on his wake and the sun for a soul; he was warm and he was everything you have ever dreamed for. this is a gift to the man who knew cruelty all his life but remained kind despite the cracks and blood on his skin.

content tags — 2.1 QUEST SPOILER, established relationship, soft aventurine (WE SAY IN UNISON), angst and fluff, a few metaphors, mentions of death and blood, birthday sadness (idk what u call that), NOT PROOFREAD I DID THIS ON A RUSH, 1.4K ; one-shot (bullet-form)

note — i have exams tomorrow and a lot of things due but the moment i heard it was his birthday, i wrote this for him AAAAAAAAAAAAA

AVENTURINE can still remember the smell of rain the day blood filled the line of his vision. It’s horrifying, haunting, sharp in all of its corners as it finds him in a sunny morning when he tries to look for the pieces of himself scattered on his floor, hidden beneath the carpet (and when he lifts the pattern, he’ll find torn and broken memories of when he was still young and loved). For this reason, he is not really into the prospect of celebrating his birthday, not when the day is intertwined with grief.

He avoids telling people of his day, avoids thinking of it by burying himself in hundreds of paperworks and cases to handle. He can’t think of that day without thinking of death, without thinking of his sister who laid lifeless in the golden sands (she probably thought of him in his last moments), without thinking of his mother who prayed even when her knees and hands are bleeding (the rain came to her as a blessing, but for him it has become a curse), and without thinking of his father who never got to hold his son (he never knew what he sounds like).

He’ll remember everything, that was his curse.

He never celebrated that day, not anymore, not even once. Perhaps he tried, perhaps he went into the bakery with the thought of getting himself a cake and lighting a candle, perhaps he tries to seek beauty on the day that he was born, especially when it coincides with the day of rebirth of his goddess. Perhaps he did and perhaps the cake was left rotting in his fridge because he can’t seem to enjoy the taste of it when its reminiscence of the bitter rain and fresh blood. 

(He can’t bear the thought that silence was his only companion either) He’d like to think that the meows of the critters as they approach him translate to words that greets him a happy birthday, but how could they? It’s a silly thought, it’s not like they can understand him nor any of these stupid traditions, and it’s not like he can understand them either. So he still remains alone.

But there, you came—unexpected, unwavering. When you learnt of his birthday, when he told you of his past and every line that exists in his being, a shell of determination washes on the shore of your thoughts. It didn’t have to be grand, it didn’t have to be extravagant; you only wish to make the day memorable for him, even just for once. You wanted him to let go of the thorns and feel how nice it is to have nothing that makes your hand bleed.

Although, you must admit, you were anxious, scared, nervous, everything while you were preparing for it. I mean, sure, it’s just going to be something simple with you and him only, and you made sure that in some aspects of it, he’ll enjoy it. You know that the burden he carries is heavy on his shoulders, and letting go is never easy nor simple, but for once, you wanted to do something for him to ease the tension that lies in his thoughts and bones.

Imagine the surprise and confusion on his face when he comes home to his apartment smelling like freshly-baked bread, tangled with the scent of lit candles and flowers, and the aroma of food. Surely, this wasn’t a burglary, right? What type of burglar would leave rose petals on the path of his doorway leading to wherever? What type of burglar would spend the time to bake a cake and even cook dinner? And what type of burglar would dress up so pretty and smile at him while their hands are trembling behind their back?

There’s the sound of his voice calling out to your name and soon, he heard something cluttering followed by rushed footfalls, and there you were, peeking behind the wall with a nervous grin plastered on your lips. You greet, “You’re home early, I thought you were going to be late?”

“I was going to be but I decided to bring some of the leftover papers home instead. I didn’t know you were going to come by, you should have told me.” He answers, taking off his dress shoes and placing it on the rack, “I could have come home much earlier if I knew.”

You laugh, emerging from behind the wall, “It’s fine, it’s fine.” You try to find the words to say in your trembling palms and fidgeting fingers. If he knew of what you were planning, surely, he would stop you and you didn’t want that. Albeit you don’t recall him saying he didn’t want nor like celebrating his day, but he did mention that he simply avoids it—does avoidance equate to dislikeness or hatred? It was plaguing your mind.

He hums, ushering you to come close to him so he can wrap his arms around your figure, engulfing you in a hug as he rests his forehead on top of your shoulder. “Why are you so dressed up? What’s the occasion? I don’t recall setting a date for the both of us tonight.”

“Do you not remember?”

Panic quickly shot over him like a bullet as he stood up straight from his position, “We have plans tonight?! There’s nothing on my schedule for today so I thought.” He’s quick to utter apologies, anxiety seen on his face as he spoke. It breaks your heart a little hearing what he’s saying—he doesn’t even remember.

“‘Rine, it’s your birthday.”

Silence.

Disbelief outlines the line on his lips, “What?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling like there is something that wraps and binds around your chest which suffocates you; It was your turn to panic, feeling it overwhelm the nerves of your body, “You mentioned it once, perhaps a few months ago. I wanted to make it a little special for you so I prepared something for us, for you. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I mean I can just—”

You were interrupted by him, your sentence cutting short, “Oh, love, you didn’t have to.” He cups your cheek, warmth seeping into your skin. You didn’t listen to his voice for so long to not be familiar with how it cracks and breaks when the words fall from his lips.

“But I did and I wanted to.” You answer, softly, reassuring him as you lean into his touch.

“Having you beside me already makes it all special.”

You laugh, eyes forming into a small crescent that reminds him of the moon, “And I want it to be more than just that kind of special.” And he sighs upon hearing your answer, it’s not one of frustration but it still has worry forming on your stomach as you swallow, “Are you mad at me?”

“No, how could I ever be mad at you? I’m just surprised.” He brushes the pad of his thumb across your cheek, gazing into your eyes with such affection and adoration as if the stars were born from his eyes. He presses a kiss on your forehead, whispering to your skin as if a small confession, “Thank you.”

How could he ever be worthy of you?

You hum, "I love you, Kakavasha."

Aventurine is grateful—it fills every gap and crack on his skin, soothing the scars of his flaws, and everything that sets him apart from his humanity. He never knew that cakes could taste this sweet, so kind and gentle as it melts on his tongue.

Slowly but surely, he soon let the warmth settle in his skin. The gray walls that surround that day are soon painted and drawn with different colors, with doodles that were made by your hands mixed with a few of his works. Perhaps the ocean of his grief will still haunt him but he won’t drown in it, nor will he find comfort in the cold embrace of nothing and everything that rejects him.

(Kakavasha, your sister would be so happy for you.)

And when the day comes once more, he’ll see and dream of the rain but not how bitter and heavy it was, but how it soon became warm and sweet, washing away the blood on his feet.

special mention to @toorurs, thanks for always being there for me even when i say the most nonsense of things or when my sheep genes are acting up 😔 i hope everything is going well for you and will go well for youuu!! sorry for being inactive AND NOT REPLYING TO YOUR TIKTOKS AAAA I SWEAR ILL BE MORE ACTIVE SOON I WILL REPLY EVEN WHEN YOU STILL HAVEN'T MESSAGED 👆 anyways this is a very short dedication note because gosh i still have to study hejsad ilyyyyy a lotttt please always remember that !!

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[backtothefanfiction]

Well this is awkward

Warnings: none, maybe a little cringe behaviour from Oliver, fluff

A/N- just an idea that came to me after a dialogue prompt I saw on Pinterest. This is just a quick one before I sleep.

It was hot. Too hot. You couldn’t understand how everyone was so content just out lying in the sun like this, especially when you knew they had to be just as hungover as you were. That’s why you had decided to excuse yourself and take a siesta.

You’d closed the shutters in Felix’s room but left the windows open in hopes that even the slightest breeze would help circulate the heat within the room just enough to give you respite and allow you to sleep. Alone in the room you hadn’t thought twice about stripping off your clothes and slipping naked between the cool white cotton sheets on Felix’s bed, burying your head into his pillow, allowing it to comfort you as you drifted off to sleep.

When you woke an hour later your headache was gone. When you looked to the bedside table you realised a glass of water and a note had been left for you. “Drink up pretty flower then come find us in the library.” Your boyfriend’s sweetness and care for others never failed to make you smile.

Dreamily you rose from the bed grabbing the closest clothes on the floor. You slipped on your denim shorts, but instead of putting your own top back on, you reached for a button up left lying on the floor. It was a little bit too big for you and you did the buttons up messily, but it was just what you needed, light and airy and enough room between the fabric and your skin to not feel like you were suffocating in the persistent heat.

You padded down to the library bare foot. The door was propped open slightly but you didn’t need to see to know who was in there, Venetia’s giggly cackle drowning out the three boys lower chuckles.

“There she is.” Felix cooed as you made your way into the room, moving across the carpet to flop into a small spot on the sofa beside him.

“Yay, finally, Daisy’s here!” Venetia sighed thankfully in a tone that implied that the boys had been ganging up on her and she was grateful for the girl power.

“Hey.” Felix said with a small smile, wrapping his arm around the backs of your shoulder and pulling you closer to him. His lips brushed against yours tenderly before he pulled away to look at you again.

“Hey.” You said back with a breathy smile.

Your eyes followed his as he trailed them down your body, his eyes slowly furrowing. His fingers began to toy with the collar of the shirt as he questioned, “whose shirt is this?”

“I thought it was yours.” You replied.

“No.” Felix said with a frown.

“Umm, it mine.” Ollie slowly said from the other side of the room, hand raised.

“Well this is awkward.” Farleigh said nibbling on his lip trying to feign ignorance to the fire bubbling in his veins over the hint of potential drama; as you and Felix slowly looked to the new comer of the group.

“I picked it up off your floor.” You said, head turning to Felix confused. “Fix?”

“I don’t know.” Felix quickly replied to your implied question before formally asking it to Oliver. “Ollie, why was your shirt on the floor in my room?”

Oliver shuffled on the floor uncomfortably before he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He said timidly, “maybe the maid dropped it while collecting stuff and passing through your room.” Everyone knew he was making excuses and looking to pin it on the help, but no one tried to challenge him on it. “It looks good on you though.” He quickly said.

You had no doubt he said it to reassure you, but it only made your skin crawl. You looked to the clock in the room, you had slept so long it was nearing time to get ready for dinner anyway. “I’m just gonna go and have a shower and get ready for dinner anyway.” You say quietly to the room, to no one in particular but more so towards Felix.

“Yeah, okay.” Felix said quietly as you got up off the sofa. “Uh, do you want me to join you.” He said quietly as he sat forward on the sofa cushions, hands rubbing at his thighs.

You made a point of looking towards Oliver, a look of jealousy flashing like lightning across his face before he met your eyes and schooled his gaze again, as you pointedly said to Felix, “That would be lovely.”

The moment you’d gone back into the safety of Felix’s room you stripped yourself of the shirt again, your boyfriend laughing as you opened the door of the adjoining bathroom on Oliver’s side, dramatically throwing it down the hallway.

“Uhh, get me in the shower.” You said as you turned back to Felix, a mischievous look on his face as he obliged. He turned on the water before picking you up with a squeal and dumping you in the shower, still half clothed.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: it's been years since Dieter last saw you, his childhood friend and the unrequited love of his life. still, he doesn’t blame you for leaving.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!childhood friend!reader

warnings: angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic. w.c: 1.0k

an: for @punkshort AU August writing challenge, I was given the prompt, “childhood friend with Dieter Bravo” thank you so much for hosting! huge thanks to @ghotifishreads for letting me talk your ear off about this little idea that took on a life of it's own and for reading this over. ilu!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dieter rubs a hand over his face as he steps from the SUV into a throng of flashing lights and frantic screaming. It was the premiere of his first directorial and writing debut; a lot was riding on this.

Sure, he'd won an Oscar and various other award nominations, but this was an entirely different beast. This movie was special to him. It was the first script he wrote after getting "clean." He always scoffed at that word. Clean. Was he pure and holy now simply because he kicked hard drugs to the curb?

He takes a deep, slow breath, adjusts his velvet purple suitcoat, and moves down the red carpet. He autographs cards and pictures, takes selfies, and banters with a few fans before moving on to the press.

It doesn't feel right being here alone, he thinks, his left side feeling raw and exposed like a wound that never healed. 

After rewriting the script several times, he has his assistant mail it to a few studio execs before having them print out one last copy. He wrote down your name and told them to send you the script. He wanted to deliver it to you in person; it felt like the right thing to do, but he couldn't be sure you ever wanted to see him again after what he put you through.

He's stronger these days. Mentally and physically healthier. He's lost a bit of weight now that he's no longer downing pills and chasing them with alcohol. It took him a while to get used to feeling again. Sitting with the uncomfortable thoughts and not letting them take control. He's proud of himself. He thinks you would be, too. 

You.

Seeing a large open field littered with red flowers while driving home from rehab for the second time kicked him square in the gut. Flashes of his youth came back in vivid, blinding colors.

Chasing his dog, Dali, around the yard. Playing with you in the field of wildflowers behind your house. His throat tightens.

You.

You were his reason. The sun he revolved around—inseparable childhood friends.

When you first met Dieter, he was covered in chalk dust, drawing funky, green aliens with big eyes on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. You'd just moved in next door, and your Mother told you to go make friends. He looked at you in awe as you stood before him, the sun creating a golden crown around your head. "Wanna be friends?" you blurted before kneeling and pestering him about his chalk alien.

From that moment on, you were forever linked. Dieter never wanted anyone else.

From scabbed knees and hide & seek to strange body changes and long school days. Consoling Dieter after he's pushed into a locker, copying each other's homework, watching Dieter shine on the theater stage, and spending almost every minute together that you could.

He wondered if you ever felt the love he held for you—the love that surpassed sibling bonds and grew stronger every time he laid eyes on you. The love that made him self-conscious and shy away from speaking his truth despite years of yearning. He couldn't convince himself to jeopardize the friendship or that you might possibly feel the same.

Cut to Dieter asking you to move to LA with him to be his assistant once his star power steadily rose. 

To the elaborate movie sets and lavish premieres, to the long nights and unspoken feelings. 

To find Dieter on the floor with vomit spilling from his lips to the empty bottles of pills and booze splayed around his Hollywood Hills home. 

The bickering, the raging parties, and the friendship that was slowly dying. 

The shell of a man he used to be. 

You were never around when he needed you the most after he drowned himself in booze and pills. He never blamed you. He was often inebriated, covered in a mess of sweat and other fluids. You could only stand to see him self-medicate for so long. 

"I can't keep doing this," he remembers you saying as tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled while he sat in a crumpled heap at the foot of his unmade bed with that usual glazed look. "I can't keep trying to save you."

He remembers wanting to argue, to save whatever piece was left. He tried to chase after you, but his brain and body were still under the haze from the night before, limbs heavy as lead weights, and they no longer listened to his commands. 

How your face twisted with a devastating sadness made his heart shatter. He never meant this to happen, for it to get this bad.

Had Dieter known the repercussions, that the last image he'd have of you would be wiping fallen tears that he caused from your cheeks, he would've gotten clean eons before. He would've let this version of himself die without a second thought. He wanted to be the man you counted on, with your best interests at heart. 

The man you knew him to be.

—

Just as he's about to step into the theater, he hears a voice call his name—a voice that would wake him from the dead. 

You.

His heart aches; it bursts with unnerving energy as he watches you approach. His gaze never leaves you as you glide across the room to where he stands, frozen. Could he be hallucinating?

"Hi D," his nickname sounds like heaven as it leaves your lips. He never wants it to end; he wants to hear it forever. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I needed to make sure I was in a good headspace to see you again." You nervously wring your fingers, and Dieter can't stop himself from reaching out and locking your hands together, calming your combined anxious energy.

"It's okay," he whispers, throat tight, holding back elated tears, "I'm glad you're here."

A smile tugs at your lips, eyes shiny with your own tears. "Me too."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

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