#or small moments where he's revealing way more about how he thinks of the world and himself than he might realize
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platoapproved · 5 months ago
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armand + a few offhand lines that give some insight into how he thinks (imho)
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nikibogwater · 5 months ago
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Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.
It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.
The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.
Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.
There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.
Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*
Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.
Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.
Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.
Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.
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pastryfication · 4 months ago
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could you write something about oscar proposing to his longtime gf? but maybe something private just the two of them because i imagine that oscar is not big on public engagements
i'm gonna love you 'til my heart retires
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pairing: oscar piastri x reader note: this was so fun to write and i really love how this turned out!! might be my new favourite thing i’ve written. it’s so lovesick and cutesy and everything i want in a proposal 😭❤️
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you’re sitting on the balcony of your shared apartment, overlooking the city of monte carlo as it’s slowly starting to wake up. the sky is a soft pink, the kind that makes you feel like the world is giving you a quiet hug. the morning is still cool, with the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the air. oscar’s sitting next to you, as he always does, his hand resting lightly on yours, caressing the soft skin. there’s a peacefulness between you, a silence that doesn’t need filling.
he’s never been one for grand gestures, despite the world of flashing cameras and roaring engines he’s a part of. you’ve both always preferred the quiet moments, the ones away from the spotlight. no one sees the way he looks at you when you’re reading, or how he listens so intently when you talk about your day. no one sees the kisses you share when he comes home after a triple header, or how you so tenderly takes care of him when he feels burdened by the intense pressure. it’s these moments you cherish, the ones that feel like they belong only to the two of you.
as the city slowly comes to life, he shifts a little, and you feel him reach into his pocket. your heart skips, but you don’t dare to hope too much, even though you’ve been together for years, sharing everything from lazy sunday mornings to the stresses of his racing season. he pulls out a small box, simple and unadorned, much like the way he lives his life off the track.
he turns to you, and for a moment, he’s just looking at you, as if trying to find the right words. when he speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an unmistakable softness in it, a tenderness that’s only ever for you.
“you know,” he begins, “i’ve been thinking about this for a long time. it’s funny . . . i’ve driven some of the fastest cars in the world, experienced an immense amount of adrenaline, but nothing’s ever made my heart race like you do.”
he pauses, taking a deep breath, his eyes locked on yours in an eye contact that feels so safe. so familiar and right. “when we’re out there, on the track, everything is loud and chaotic, but when i’m with you, it’s like everything quiets down. it’s just . . . us. it’s just peaceful. you give me that calm, that feeling that no matter what happens, as long as i have you, i’m exactly where i’m supposed to be.”
you feel yourself tearing up, and he smiles a little, a soft, genuine smile that you know is reserved only for you. “i’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, you know that. it’s just how i’m wired. i’ve spent so much of my life focused on racing, on training, that i didn’t really think i had space for anything else. but then you came along, and suddenly, everything else just fell into place. you made me realize there’s more to life than just the next race, the next victory. you gave me something to come home to, something to look forward to beyond the track.”
his hand tightens a little on yours, as if grounding himself in this moment. “i know i’m not always the best at saying how i feel, and i’m definitely not good at big romantic gestures, but you’ve always seen me for who i am, even when the rest of the world just sees the driver, the competitor. you see the real me, and you still choose to love me, and that’s something i’ll never take for granted.”
he opens the box, revealing a beautiful diamond ring that’s just like you would dream of. it’s not flashy or oversized, just perfect, like he somehow reached into your mind and pulled out exactly what you would have chosen.
“i didn’t want anything big or showy because i know that’s not you. and thats not me either.” he continues, his voice a little softer now. “but i want you to know that i’m sure, more sure than i’ve ever been about anything. i want to spend the rest of my life with you, in these quiet moments, in this perfect calm that we’ve built. i want us to keep building this life together, one day at a time.”
he takes another deep breath, his voice growing more tender as if he wants to say it just right. “you’ve been my best friend, my confidante, my anchor in a world that’s always spinning too fast. when everything else feels out of control, when everything becomes too much, you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded. you’ve been with me through the highs and lows, the victories and the defeats, and you’ve loved me through all of it. i can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
he swallows, his eyes never leaving yours. “i want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. i want to share all the quiet moments, the simple joys, and even the struggles, because i know that with you by my side, i can handle anything. you’ve made me a better person, a better man, and i want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you’ve made me.”
his eyes search yours, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart ache with how much you love him. “will you marry me?” he asks, and you can hear the slight tremor of nerves beneath his steady tone.
there’s no hesitation in your heart. this is right, this is everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in this quiet, perfect moment. tears are springing in your eyes as you nod, your voice catching in your throat as you whisper, “yes.”
he slips the ring onto your finger, and it fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be there. he leans in and kisses you, soft and sweet, the world around you fading away. it’s just the two of you, as it’s always been, and as you want it to always be.
you rest your head on his shoulder, your hands intertwined, the ring catching the morning light. the city continues to wake up around you, but it feels like time has slowed down, just for you two. there’s no need for words. everything you need to say is in the way you hold each other, in the peaceful quiet that wraps around you both.
this is your moment, perfectly private and beautifully simple, just like the life you’ve built together.
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vanteguccir · 26 days ago
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── ୨୧ ! HER WEAKNESS
matt sturniolo x mafia!reader
SUMMARY: Where Matt's secret relationship with Y/N, the boss of LA's most feared mafia, is revealed to the media in seconds. Now, Matt is in danger, and Y/N isn't afraid of burning the world down to protect him.
WARNING: Use of guns, car racing, blood, injuries, mean!reader ('hate the world but love him' trope), mentions of death, dark romance.
REQUESTED?: No.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is MY idea and work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
A/N²: I'm super into this trope of famous!matt x mafia!reader, and I want to write more for it, so feel free to send requests for scenarios inside this universe <3
   ༻✦༺  ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
Looking back, it was hard for Matt to remember a time when his life wasn’t full with the kind of fear that made him look over his shoulder every five minutes.
It wasn’t the kind of fear born out of paranoia, no, Matt wasn’t paranoid. He was just aware. Aware that being the boyfriend of Y/N Y/L/N, the most notorious name in Los Angeles, came with its own set of risks. Risks that loomed like shadows, thick and suffocating, creeping into every corner of his existence.
Becoming her boyfriend had been as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Y/N wasn’t just anyone. She was the Y/N Y/L/N, the Queen of Los Angeles, a woman whose name was whispered in hushed tones, whose reputation alone was enough to make the strongest men cry. She wasn’t just the boss of a mafia; she was the boss. Every move she made sent quakes through her world, her presence commanding respect and fear in equal measure.
To the rest of the world, she was the devil. But to him? She was something else entirely.
Matt often found himself thinking about the contradictions of their relationship. There was no point in explaining the downsides of being with someone like her; even with the constant threat of danger, the late nights spent waiting for her to come back to him, the uneasy knowledge that she ruled a world where mercy was a foreign concept, all of it came with the territory. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Because Y/N, for all her sharp edges and lethal reputation, treated him as if he was the one ruling. She hated the world, but she loved him. And not just him, his brothers, too. By extension, Chris and Nick had become part of her orbit, and she cared for them in a way that left Matt awestruck.
She always put him first, ensuring that he never wanted for anything, that he was shielded from the worst of her world even as he stood at its edge.
Her kindness to him came in forms, both small and extravagant. Expensive gifts appeared without occasion - jewelry that gleamed under the light, tailored suits he’d never wear unless dragged to one of her events, a vintage drum he’d only dreamed of owning. Once, she’d surprised him with a trip to Paris, casually booking an entire penthouse suite as though it were nothing. It baffled him sometimes, the lengths she went to just to see him happy.
She treated him like he was the most important person in her world, and maybe he was. He felt it in the way she looked at him, her eyes softening in a way they never did for anyone else. He felt it in the way her hand would linger on his arm, in the whispered words she saved just for him. With her, he wasn’t the Matt Sturniolo, one of the triplets that made worldwide success. He was hers.
Still, there were moments when the weight of her world pressed down on him, moments when the reality of who she was and what she did became impossible to ignore. Her enemies weren’t nameless shadows; they were people with resources and vendettas, people who wouldn’t hesitate to affect her, no matter how.
It was late at night, and Chris was sprawled on the couch, one leg hooked lazily over the armrest, the other propped against the coffee table. The glow of his phone illuminated his face, basking in the steady stream of comments that flooded his Instagram live.
"Yo, what’s up, everybody?" He drawled, the words slithering out while a grin painted his face. "Where’s Matt and Nick?"
He paused, scratching his stubbled jaw.
"Nick’s upstairs, probably editing our next video. And Matt? He’s over there being my personal maid."
The front camera changed its focus abruptly, revealing the kitchen in all its warm, domestic glow. Behind the table, Matt stood hunched over a cutting board, his movements clumsy as he sliced through a pile of vegetables, ready to make simple sandwiches for them.
Without missing a beat, Matt flipped him off, his voice a low, exasperated rumble.
"Chris, shut up."
The live chat erupted with reactions and comments. What Chris didn’t notice - but the viewers certainly did - was the figure walking from Matt's bedroom toward the kitchen - or, more specifically, toward the middle triplet.
Y/N moved silently, her steps deliberate, her presence commanding despite the casual simplicity of her appearance. Black sweatpants clung to her legs, and an oversized shirt - Matt's shirt - draped her frame, covering the gun holster that held her black Glock; an intentional option of indifference, one that she only used when she was at his house. But her eyes betrayed her.
They were sharp, focused entirely on Matt as if he were the center of her universe - only traveling briefly to Ricardo and Lucas, her bodyguards who stood like brick walls at the top of the stairs that lead to the main entrance, watching over them like hawks.
They were always the ones who Y/N chose to follow her when she went to the triplets house, since both of them were the best at treating the brothers as 'normal' as possible, and not like people who were under extreme protection 24/7.
Just as Chris turned the camera back to himself, Y/N reached Matt, her arms encircling his waist in a gesture that spoke volumes. Matt didn’t flinch - he never did when it came to her - but his body softened, the rigid lines of his shoulders easing as a faint smile ghosted across his lips.
It was nice to have her close.
"Hey." He murmured, his voice a private sanctuary meant only for her.
"Hi." She replied, her tone quiet but rich with adoration. Her guard lowered just enough for a hint of vulnerability to escape.
"You okay?" Matt asked, tilting his head slightly, his knife pausing its steady rhythm against the cutting board.
"Always." She answers, ignoring the way her voice showed the weight of a day that had pushed her to her limits. "Missed' you today. So fucking much." She moved her body slightly, searching for more skin to skin contact - no matter their clothes, ignoring the way Matt shivered when her covered gun pressed against his lower back.
"... going to feed me good, obviously." Chris joked from behind them, oblivious to the intimacy unfolding mere feet away.
Matt tuned him out, his focus narrowing to the woman resting against him. Her forehead pressed into his shoulder, and her breathing slowed, each exhale a quiet surrender. In his arms, she allowed herself to just exist, an escape from the chaos of her world.
The fragile peace shattered as a ringtone erupted from the hallway, its shrill insistence cutting through the air like a blade.
Her body tensed immediately, her muscles locking as if bracing for an unseen attack.
"Your phone." Matt whispered, his tone calm but underlined with an edge of concern.
"I don’t want to get it." She muttered, her reluctance heavy.
"It might be important." He pressed gently, his words carrying a logic she couldn’t ignore.
She sighed, frustration and resignation mingling as she withdrew from his warmth. She had already spent the whole day dealing with imbeciles who thought that owing her was a good idea. Her mind was in no right place to deal with more problems.
The absence of his touch felt immediate, a cold void where safety had been moments before. Her fingers brushed lightly against his back as she stepped away, a silent promise that she’d return.
Matt caught her gaze as she moved toward the bedroom, his eyes steady and reassuring, a quiet affirmation that he’d be waiting, always.
The sound of the ringtone grew louder as she neared the door.
The muffled sound of Chris's voice was grounding, but it suddenly turned distant, irrelevant, as her gaze locked onto the glowing device vibrating against Matt’s nightstand.
Raphael.
Her blood chilled at the sight of the name of her right-hand, her fingers flexing instinctively at her sides. Raphael never called unless it was urgent - unlike the idiots who bothered her minute by minute to ask mediocre questions and made her want to pull out her gun and see blood, and in her world, urgent rarely meant anything short of catastrophic.
The moment her fingers wrapped around the phone, she pressed it to her ear, the cool surface grounding her.
"Raphael." She said, her voice clipped and razor-sharp, an edge of control that allowed no room for weakness.
"Y/N." He began, calling her name in the way only he could, his tone level but brimming with tension. "We have a situation."
The words hit her like a punch to the chest, though her expression didn’t waver. Externally, she was unflinching. Internally, a darker part of her coiled, poised to strike. She had navigated countless crises since she was seventeen, each one making her tougher. But no amount of training or experience prepared her for the particular dread that crawled beneath her skin at the word situation.
"What kind of situation?" She demanded, already bracing for impact, her voice an anchor of authority. She hated when they told the bad news but didn't explain it.
Raphael exhaled sharply, closing his eyes tightly behind the call.
"Our tech team flagged something around the internet. There’s a picture of you circulating online. It’s starting to spread."
Her grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles blanching as she steadied her breath.
"Explain." She commanded, though her pulse betrayed her, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.
"It seems to be from Christopher Sturniolo's live thing. It's barely a second of footage." Raphael explained, his voice tight with urgency. "But it’s enough. Fans are analyzing it, trying to figure out who you are. Threads are blowing up. And..." He hesitated, his pause causing Y/N's eyebrows to furrow. "They’re connecting it to Matt."
A visceral reaction clawed its way to the surface, her breath catching in her throat.
Matt.
His name wasn’t just a word; it was a weapon, one capable of splitting her in two. The image of him - standing in the kitchen, his shoulders relaxed, his focus far removed from the chaos - flashed in her mind. He was a constant in her life, someone who turned her softer, someone she couldn’t afford to lose. The thought of him being dragged for life into her world - her dangerous, unforgiving world - sent a sharp pang of desperation through her entire being.
"Y/N?" Raphael's voice pulled her back, a glimpse of worry shining between his words.
"How far has it spread?" She asked, her tone glacial now.
"Far enough." He replied grimly. "If we don’t act now, it’s only a matter of time before someone makes the connection."
Her mind was a battlefield, each thought a calculated move in a war she refused to lose.
"I want it gone." She said, each word deliberate, unyielding. "Every post, every thread, every trace. Use whatever means necessary, bribery, threats, force. I don’t care how you do it. Just erase it."
"You got it, Boss." He didn’t hesitate, changing his demeanor abruptly, the sound of keystrokes filling the silence on his end.
"And Raphael." She added, her tone softening. "Leave nothing behind."
"It’ll be done." He affirmed, his voice steady. "Anything else?"
Her throat tightened, her guard faltering for just a heartbeat. She leaned against the edge of the bed, gripping the phone like a lifeline. She would have to tell Matt eventually, but not now. Not when her own composure was hanging by a thread.
"No." She said quietly, her voice betraying none of the chaos beneath. "I’ll handle the rest."
"Understood." The line clicked dead, leaving her alone with the silence.
Y/N lowered the phone, her hand trembling slightly as she set it down. She had always known this day might come, always known that her careful steps could fail, leaving Matt exposed to her world - or her to his. But knowing didn’t make the sting any less painful.
Her gaze drifted to the doorway, her thoughts spiraling to him. She despised herself in that moment; for the danger her presence brought to his life, for the quiet desperation she felt whenever she thought of losing him.
But she couldn’t lose him.
Straightening her spine, she forced the vulnerability back, locking it behind the iron walls she took years to build. She was a leader, a protector, a force to be secured with. And no one - not her enemies, not the nameless, faceless masses online - would take what was hers.
The air in the house had shifted, thickening with an invisible tension that Y/N could feel in her bones the moment she stepped out of Matt’s room.
Her sharp gaze swept across the living room first. Chris was slumped on the couch, looking almost guilty. His phone lay discarded beside him, screen dark, as though it had betrayed him. His face was pale, lips pressed into a tight line, and he stared at the floor with the kind of intensity that suggested he wished it would open up and swallow him whole.
Her eyes flicked toward the kitchen, her stomach knotting at the sight of Matt. He leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed defensively over his broad chest, head bowed slightly. His brows were furrowed, his jaw clenched, and his warmth from minutes ago was replaced by a cold anger that radiated from him in waves.
"What happened?" She asked, her voice slicing through the oppressive quiet. There was no softness in her tone, only a commanding edge that left no room for staling.
Chris flinched at her words, his head snapping up to meet her gaze. His blue eyes darted toward Matt, searching for guidance, for an excuse, anything that might soften the blow. But Matt didn’t move. He remained locked in place, his intense focus on the floor as though the answer to their problems might be just there.
"Chris." Y/N prompted, her voice lower this time, but no less cutting as she stepped further into the room.
Chris exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck as though the action might somehow delay the inevitable.
"Uh... people saw you?" He finally said, the words spilling out in a rush.
"Are you asking me or telling me?" She asked, her tone firm.
Chris hesitated, glancing helplessly at Matt again. When no help came, he pressed on, his words tumbling over each other.
"During the live stream, you showed up at the camera. It’s everywhere now. They’re asking who you are, Y/N. It’s blowing up..." His panicked voice seemed to start flying up. "I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t even notice-"
"Enough." She interrupted, her tone quiet but laced with an authority that made Chris snap his mouth shut. "I know." She said simply. "It’s already being handled."
Chris blinked, confusion flickering across his face.
"Wait, you already know?"
"Yes." She replied, her gaze shifting briefly to Matt. "And it’s already being handled." She repeated.
Matt straightened at that, his concern breaking through the desperation that had kept him rigid. This was one of the moments when the weight of her world pressed down on him, and he felt scared. For him, for his brothers... for her. He knew that if her picture at his house fell into her enemies' hands, it was the end of peace for them.
"What does that mean, Y/N?" He asked, his voice low and tense.
"It means." She said evenly. "That my people is taking care of it, and soon enough, it'll be as if nothing had ever happened."
Matt’s brow furrowed further, and he took a step toward her, the movement slow but certain.
"And how exactly are they doing that?" He asked. "You're being careful, right?"
Her heart twisted at the concern in his voice, feeling like she could laugh, because Matt was the one who opened the front door for a bloody version of herself earlier, and he was the one who took care of her wounds - the ones that didn't even made her flinch.
"Silly boy." She started, her tone softening just enough to reassure him. "Y'know that I'm always careful."
Matt’s jaw clenched, his frustration evident.
"I don't like that." He said quietly, the weight of his words settling heavily between them.
Her posture wavered for the briefest of moments, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
"What I need from you two and Nick." She said, addressing both him and Chris while keeping eye contact with Matt, completely ignoring his comment. "Is for you to be vigilant. For the next few days, you need to watch everything, what you post, where you go, who you talk to. Understood?"
Chris nodded quickly - even if she wasn’t looking at him, his expression contrite.
"Yeah. Of course. I’ll be careful."
Matt didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his intense gaze bored into hers, searching for cracks in her armor. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his shoulders remained.
"Fine." He said, his voice quieter now. "But you’ll tell me if anything happens."
She hesitated, the truth forming on her tongue before she swallowed it down.
"I will." She lied instead. She wouldn't be crazy to involve him in any of this more than he already is.
His features softened slightly, but his worry lingered, etched into every line of his face.
"Good." He said. "Because I’m not letting anything happen to you."
She was the one who wasn't letting anything happen to him.
"I know."
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
The triplets were now on an empty parking lot, surrounded by the kind of darkness that usually set the stage for their filming sessions. The camera perched on the dashboard blinked red, capturing every move of them.
Matt sat in the driver’s seat, his hands tapping the bottom of the wheel as Chris gestured wildly from the passenger side. His animated voice carried through the car, weaving a story with Nick chiming in from the back seat.
But Matt wasn’t fully there.
His brothers could turn the most mundane story into book-like ones, and while he’d normally give his opinion on each one of them - when they let him, today his mind felt unusually restless. He couldn’t shake the brutal unease that had settled in his chest ever since Y/N’s warning the day before. Her words played over and over in his head: Watch your surroundings. Be careful.
Still, he had tried to shake it off. She worried about him; he got that. But the longer the evening dragged on, the heavier that knot in his chest grew. His brothers’ laughter ricocheted around the car, but the sound barely registered.
"... if we take a right, then a left, and there's a guy down there walking his dog, I'm gonna freak out." Chris was saying, his voice rising dramatically.
"And then we did it, and the guy was walking his dog." Nick completed, widening his eyes to the camera to emphasize it all.
Their voices faded into background noise as Matt’s gaze traveled to a shadowed corner of the lot. He couldn’t shake the prickling sensation that something - or someone - was watching them. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as his mind replayed Y/N’s warning for the thousandth time.
You’re being paranoid, he told himself. It’s just a parking lot.
But paranoia had its place in Y/N’s world.
It was Nick who broke the illusion of calm.
"Hey." He said sharply, his voice cutting through the laughter. His posture changed in an instant, stiffening as his eyes fixed on something outside their car.
"What?" Chris asked, his smile faltering as he followed Nick’s gaze.
"Don’t make it obvious." Nick hissed, leaning slightly forward. "But look. SUV, two o’clock. Isn't it parked way too close for how empty this lot is?"
Matt’s pulse quickened. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror, and there it was, a sleek, black vehicle angled toward them. Its windows were so dark they might as well have been painted. Everything about it felt wrong.
Chris turned in his seat, ignoring Nick’s plea for subtlety.
"Weird." He muttered. "Why park there when the whole lot’s empty?"
"That's what I'm saying." Nick said, his voice lower.
Matt’s jaw tightened, his earlier unease turning into cold certainty.
"Do you think it’s a fan?" Chris asked, his voice tinged with forced optimism.
Matt shook his head, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
"Doesn’t feel like a fan."
The SUV sat unmoving, its presence heavy and oppressive. Matt’s thoughts spun as he tried to make sense of it. Y/N had warned him about things that could happen since day one, but she hadn’t given details. She rarely did. Keeping him in the dark was her way of protecting him, but right now, he wished he knew more.
"We should leave." Nick said urgently after some minutes of silence.
Chris frowned.
"Leave? We’re in the middle of filming-"
"Forget the video." Matt snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. "Something’s off."
The tension in the car thickened. Nick leaned forward again, his breath brushing the back of Matt’s neck as he watched the SUV through the rear window.
Then, as if sensing that it was seen, the door of the black vehicle opened.
"Guys." Nick warned sharply, his voice tight with alarm.
Matt’s heart slammed against his ribs as a man stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a tailored black suit that screamed professional. His face was obscured by dark sunglasses, even in the dim light. Everything about him was strange, the way he moved, slow and purposeful, like he had all the time in the world.
The man stood by the SUV for a moment, then began walking toward their car.
"Go, Matt." Chris urged, his voice strained.
Matt didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers fumbled with the ignition, the engine roaring to life.
"What’s he doing?" Chris asked, staring at the approaching man.
"Doesn’t matter." Matt ground out. "We’re not sticking around to find out."
He threw the car into reverse, his movements swift but controlled. The tires screeched as he backed out of the parking spot, his eyes flicking between the mirrors and the shadowy figure stopping behind them.
"Is he following us?" Nick asked, his voice tight with panic.
Matt didn’t answer immediately, focusing on navigating the lot. But as he turned onto the main road, he caught a glimpse of the SUV’s headlights flaring to life in the rearview mirror.
"Yes." He said grimly, accelerating into the main road without looking to his side, forcing himself to ignore the loud and random honk that followed his action.
Nick swore under his breath, his hands gripping the edge of Chris's back seat, grimacing.
Matt’s mind raced, calculating their options. He didn’t know who was in that car, but he had a sinking feeling that Y/N did. Whatever this was, it wasn’t random.
And as the SUV closed the distance between them, Matt realized that the shadows he’d been looking over his shoulder for weren’t just paranoia.
They were real. And they were coming for him.
Chris twisted in his seat, his gaze fixed on the ominous car trailing them. His voice cracked with a mixture of frustration and alarm.
"Okay, now that’s not just weird. That’s bad."
"No shit." Matt muttered, keeping his tense posture. "Buckle up." He growled, his tone leaving no room for argument, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like a drug. Before his brothers could react, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator, their KIA lunging forward with a roar.
"What the hell are you doing?" Chris shouted, his hands darting to the door handle as he braced himself against the sudden burst of speed.
"Losing them." Matt ground out through clenched teeth, his voice laced with grim determination. The engine roared, the car slicing through the sparse traffic.
The SUV responded immediately, surging forward with precision, its movements aggressive and calculated. It wasn’t just following them. It was hunting them, and it wasn’t hiding it anymore.
"This isn’t a movie, Matt!" Nick yelled from the backseat, his voice tinged with panic as the car swerved dangerously close to a parked sedan.
"Feels like one." Chris muttered under his breath, though his usual joking tone was replaced with raw tension. His fingers dug into the fabric of his seat, knuckles bone white.
Matt’s focus was razor-sharp, his mind calculating every turn, every gap, every possible escape route. The city blurred around them, streetlights streaking past like shooting stars.
He maneuvered with a precision that bordered on reckless, the heavy van sliding between vehicles with inches to spare. Years of navigating chaotic LA streets had sharpened his instincts like a knife’s edge, but even he wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up.
"They’re not giving up." Nick said, his voice a strained whisper.
Then, out of nowhere, a flash of silver caught Matt’s peripheral vision.
"Matt! Fuck- watch out!" Chris screamed, his voice cracking as a Audi RS7 tore into the intersection from their right to their left, leaving a perfect trail of white smoke behind, its polished body gleaming under the fluorescent haze of the streetlights.
Time seemed to slow. Matt’s heart slammed against his ribcage as he yanked the steering wheel, the van skidding violently to the side, definitely scraping a car or two. Their camera fell from its place with a force that told them itself that it broke. Tires screeched, the acrid smell of burnt rubber filling the air as the RS7 narrowly missed their front bumper by mere inches.
For a small moment, Matt thought they were done for. They would die in the hands of unknown, sick people. But the Audi didn’t slow. Its driver - whoever they were - handled the car with perfect precision, swerving past them.
"What the hell was that?" Nick gasped, his voice trembling as he craned his neck to look back.
"I don’t know." Matt muttered, his chest heaving as he tried to process what had just happened. His foot hovered over the brake, instinct warring with the need to keep moving.
The RS7 didn’t stop. Instead, it sped straight for the SUV, its engine roaring like a beast. It cut off the larger vehicle with a series of calculated moves, herding it like a sheepdog corralling a wayward flock.
Chris leaned between the front seats, looking back, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"It’s... helping us." He paused, his mind racing. "Do you think it’s one of Y/N’s people?"
Nick didn’t take his eyes off the unfolding spectacle.
"Who the hell drives like that?"
Matt didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His thoughts were a chaotic storm, torn between taking advantage of the distraction and trying to piece together what was happening.
The SUV, once so powerful, was now on the defensive, the Audi forcing the larger vehicle toward the shoulder of the road.
"They’ve got this." Matt said, his voice tight as he pressed down on the gas pedal. The van surged forward, putting as much distance as possible between them and the chaos in the rearview mirror.
Chris turned back to face him, his expression a mix of awe and unease.
"You think this is over?"
But that hope lasted only for a minute as the night exploded with sound. The first gunshot rang out like a thunderclap, ringing in the enclosed space of the car, followed by honks and screams. Chris ducked instinctively, his hands flying to cover his ears as a yell escaped his throat.
Nick swore loudly, his voice almost drowned out by the second shot that followed in quick succession. Matt barely registered the sound of it before the driver-side window exploded beside him.
The world stopped.
Glass shards sprayed into the car like a violent glitter storm. Matt flinched instinctively, his head turning away as the jagged pieces tore through the air. His hoodie absorbed most of the impact, but a sharp sting grazed his cheek. Warmth spread across his skin, and the metallic scent made him realize that it was blood.
"Shit!" Matt yelled, his voice shaking as he tried to regain control of the car. His hands were trembling so hard it felt like they would break.
Chris screamed, ducking lower in his seat.
"What the fuck?!" His hands flew to his head, shielding himself.
Nick, in the backseat, was wide-eyed and pale, his voice cracking as he shouted.
"Are they shooting at us?! Why are they shooting at us?!"
Before anyone could fully process the first attack, a third shot rang out. This time, the bullet struck the back of the van with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the vehicle. The car jerked slightly from the force, and Nick let out a strangled yelp, gripping the back of Chris’s seat as if it might protect him.
Matt's widened eyes found the rearview; catching just in time the Audi reacting to the shooting and executing a perfect spin, its tires screeching as it turned in a tight circle. The maneuver was so seamless that it felt like a dance. As the car straightened out, it began driving in reverse, keeping pace with the SUV.
From the driver’s side of the Audi, a hand emerged, gripping a handgun with deadly precision. The barrel gleamed under the pale moonlight for only a moment before the first shot was fired.
BANG.
The bullet hit the SUV’s hood, sending sparks flying into the night.
"We're going to die." Chris choked out, his voice raw with panic. "Matt, what do we do?"
"I don’t know!" Matt snapped, his voice sharp as his focus stayed on the road. "I’m just trying to keep us alive!"
BANG.
The second shot took out one of the SUV’s headlights, shrouding it in uneven shadows.
"Is this about yesterday?" Chris asked, looking over his shoulder at the fireworks created by golden bullets.
"What about yesterday?" Nick asked, his voice being cut by other loud sound.
Matt didn’t answer, but the hardened look in his eyes said it all, his eyes running around the street full of scared people and desperate cars.
The Audi’s driver didn’t stop behind them, firing round after round with precision, shielding their van. Each shot forced the SUV to swerve and falter, its pursuit growing more desperate by the second.
Suddenly, a new set of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, drawing closer at an alarming speed, maneuvering between random cars. Matt’s stomach sank as the black Nissan GT-R quickly closed the gap between them.
"Great, another one." Nick muttered, leaning forward to get a better look.
"Wait." Matt said, narrowing his eyes as the GT-R came closer. It wasn’t chasing them. It was moving with purpose, calculated, and controlled. And then, from the side street, another car emerged.
The third one sped toward them, a Dodge Charger, unmistakable and a far cry from subtle. It closed the gap with ease, pulling alongside Matt’s car.
Chris frowned.
"Matt, who the hell-"
The black window of the Charger lowered, revealing Walsh, one of Y/N's trusted bodyguards who he always saw close by, his expression as stoic and sharp as ever. He glanced at Matt briefly with a knowing gaze before lifting his hand, making a quick, sharp motion - a signal.
"I guess we are following you, then." Matt muttered, his voice resolute as he adjusted his grip on the wheel.
"What?" Nick asked, his tone a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Follow him? How do we know-"
"It’s Walsh." Matt interrupted, already easing off the accelerator slightly. "He’s one of Y/N’s people. He’s here to help."
Walsh accelerated, cutting smoothly in front of Matt’s car and taking the lead. Without hesitation, Matt followed, mimicking his movements as Walsh led them onto a side street, away from the main roads.
From behind, the black GT-R repositioned itself, falling into place directly behind the triplets’ car. It felt like they were being shepherded, boxed in with purpose.
Chris glanced nervously at the vehicles surrounding them.
"This feels like a crazy dream."
"Well, it’s very real to me." Matt muttered, his eyes darting between Walsh’s Charger and the mirrors to keep track of the GT-R.
The streets grew quieter as Walsh led them further from the city center, the cold air of the night invading the insides of the van through the broken window. The Charger weaved through back roads and alleys with practiced ease, its taillights a beacon for Matt to follow.
"Where is he taking us?" Nick asked, his voice breaking the tense silence.
"Not home." Chris replied. "That’s for sure."
They drove for another ten minutes before the Charger finally slowed as they approached a gated property on the outskirts of the city. Walsh leaned out of the window, flashing a badge at the intercom. The gates creaked open, and the small convoy filed through, disappearing into the privacy of the estate.
The driveway was lined with towering trees, their shadows dancing across the cars as they came to a stop. Matt parked behind Walsh’s Charger, the Nissan pulling in behind him to complete the formation.
The silence in the car was deafening as they sat there, processing what had just happened while the group of man dressed in all black suits backed out of both cars, moving around their KIA.
"What now?" Chris finally asked, breaking the quiet.
Matt exhaled, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly as he turned to look at his brothers, his skin itching with the dried blood.
"I don't know."
Then, cutting through the oppressive quiet, the distant roar of an engine reached their ears, growing louder by the second. Matt’s head whipped toward the gates just as the same Audi from earlier burst through.
The car moved with predatory intent, speeding down the driveway toward them. The headlights blazed like twin daggers, slicing through the darkness, and as it neared, it showed no signs of slowing.
The sleek vehicle skidded to a halt mere feet from where Walsh’s Charger was parked, its tires kicking up gravel in a chaotic spray. The door of the RS7 flung open with no ceremony, and at the second that Y/N stepped out, Matt was opening his own car door.
Of course, she was the first to find him. How could she not be? The GPS she’d insisted on slipping into his horse necklace after the last close call wasn’t just a precaution, it was a leash, one she pulled the second something went wrong.
He hadn’t even argued when she’d done it. He’d learned by now that Y/N always had a way of knowing where he was, no matter how far or how fast he tried to outrun trouble.
Her heels clicked sharply against the gravel as she strode toward Walsh, her every movement a calculated strike.
Matt watched her from his standing place, his body still trembling from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His legs felt weak, the rush of survival not yet dissipating, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
She was magnetic, terrifying, and commanding all at once. His fingers twitched at his sides, unsure if he should stop her, but something inside him begged to watch the whole scene unfold.
Y/N’s expression was a storm, her lips curled into a snarl as she closed the distance between herself and Walsh, who was standing near the driver of the Charger. The man had just been speaking, his voice low and controlled, but the second he saw her approaching, he fell silent, his posture stiffening. He wasn’t a coward - years by her side had hardened him - but even he couldn’t deny the raw, violent fury in her eyes.
"Walsh!" Her voice cracked like a whip, slicing through the air.
The men around her stiffened but kept their gazes forward, trained on the horizon. They knew better than to interfere and knew the rules that governed her world.
Y/N didn’t repeat herself. She didn’t grant second chances.
Walsh turned, his face already pale, though he tried to maintain his composure.
"Boss, I can expl-"
She didn’t let him finish. In a blur of motion, she reached for her knife, the familiar silver weight of it reassuring in her palm, small droplets of blood stained its holder, being there for a long time now. Before Walsh could react, she had him pinned against the side of the car, her arm pressed against his chest with force, knocking his breath away. The knife’s blade kissed his throat, the edge cutting just enough to draw a thin line of blood that trickled down his skin.
"You dare speak?" She hissed, her voice low and venomous. "You fucking dare?"
"Boss, I-"
"Shut your fucking mouth." Her voice was a growl, more animal than human, the kind of sound that made grown men cower. "You had one job. One fucking job! Protect them. Keep them alive. And you-" She pushed the blade harder against his neck, the blood now dripping faster, staining the pristine collar of his shirt. "Fucking failed.”
Matt’s stomach churned as he watched, his chest tightening with every word. Her rage was consuming, and while he’d seen her like this many times before, it always felt like the first time.
Nick had turned away, his face pale. He hated blood and hated violence, and now, he stared at the trees as if they might somehow shield him from the scene unfolding before him. Chris, on the other hand, kept his eyes glued to the ground, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He still carried fear for her when she acted like that, so he didn’t dare look up.
But Y/N wasn’t done. Her grip on Walsh’s collar tightened, and she yanked him forward, slamming him back against the car. The sound reverberated, as if she wanted the car's bodywork to deform under the weight of his body. And if it did, she would make him fix it with his bare hands.
"Where the fuck were my men?" She demanded, her voice rising now, echoing against the estate’s high walls. "I left five of my best men guarding them. Where the fuck were they, Walsh?"
Walsh’s lips trembled, his composure faltering for the first time.
"They’re dead." He admitted, his voice hoarse.
Y/N’s eyes darkened, the fire in her gaze burning hotter.
"What?"
"They killed them." Walsh continued, his voice steadying as he spoke. "All five of them. The second the brothers left the house, they were dead. By the time I got the call, it was already over."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, but Y/N didn’t flinch.
"I didn't thou-"
"Shut up!" She muttered, her free hand slamming against the car beside his head, her knuckles grazing the metal. "Shut the fuck up! Where the fuck were you? You’re supposed to anticipate this kind of shit. To have eyes everywhere. And instead, what do I get? Five man dead and a fucking alarm telling me they’re being hunted!"
Walsh kept silent. His hands stayed at his sides, fists clenched, but he didn’t dare move.
"You think I keep you around to stand there looking pretty, huh? You think I pay you to sit on your ass while my people are being slaughtered?"
"No- ma'am-"
"You’re lucky I don’t kill you right here." Her tone dropped into a deadly whisper, more chilling than her shouts. "You’re lucky I don’t slit your throat and leave your corpse here for the crows."
Matt’s breath hitched at her words, his chest tightening as he watched her, feeling a strange mix of fear and something deeper - something that made his pulse quicken.
"You’re worthless." She hissed. "A fucking liability. And if I ever-" She fist his hair, slamming the back of his head against the car for emphasis, almost begging for a concussion. "Ever see you fuck up like this again, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." Walsh croaked, his voice barely audible because he does understand it. Because he knows that she could kill him in seconds with her bare hands if she wanted to. Putting the triplets brothers in danger could drive her to burn the whole world down.
"I said, do you fucking understand me?" She shouted, her voice echoing across the estate.
"Yes!" Walsh gasped, his face ashen.
Satisfied - for now - Y/N finally stepped back, her hand still gripping the knife tightly. Blood coated the blade, glinting in the faint light. She wiped it on Walsh’s shirt, the act casual and dismissive, before putting it back at her hip.
He should be grateful that he still had his head glued to his body and that she didn't treat him like one of her enemies. Because if she had, his organs would probably be scattered across the front yard.
Y/N adjusted her blazer, her movements sharp, and turned on her heel. Her security detail remained impassive, and their faces were unreadable as they stood at attention. They knew better than to question her.
"I want to know who's the son of a bitch who dared to go after what's mine. I don’t care how many men we have to send. You find him. And I want him, and anyone else involved in this shit, dead. You hear me? Dead. No fucking exceptions." Y/N's tone was ice, colder than the Siberian winters, and it sent a chill through the men standing nearby. "Now, get the fuck out of my sight."
The bodyguards didn’t hesitate, retreating without a word, their heads low. Even Walsh - still pressing a hand to the bleeding cut on his neck - scrambled back, keeping his distance.
Y/N didn’t so much as glance at them. They were beneath her attention now. Her focus was singular, her sharp eyes scanning the scene before her as she stalked toward the three brothers.
Nick and Chris stood stiffly by the car, their postures tense, the weight of the night etched into their faces.
Y/N stopped in front of them, and for a moment, she said nothing, her icy gaze raking over their bodies like a surgeon searching for injuries.
"Nick." She called sharply, a softness hidden behind her tone.
Nick looked up at her, his hands playing with the bottom of his sweater. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him.
"You’re not injured?"
"No." He muttered, shaking his head. "I’m fine."
She turned her attention to Chris, her cold stare unwavering.
"Chris?"
Chris hesitated, swallowing hard before answering.
"I’m fine too."
Y/N’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she nodded curtly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Inside." She ordered. "Grace's here, find her. She’ll take care of you."
Nick and Chris exchanged a brief glance, neither daring to argue. They gave her a quick nod before turning and walking toward the mansion to look for Y/N's maid, the one who treated them like a loving mother. Y/N’s eyes followed them until they disappeared through the front doors, their figures swallowed by the shadows of the estate.
Only then did she turn her attention to Matt.
He was standing a few feet away, his arms hanging limply at his sides, looking like a wall in front of his side of the car, his face pale but his eyes wide with worry. His breath hitched as she approached, her movements deliberate, predatory.
"Y/N-"
"Quiet." She snapped, cutting him off as she reached for his face. Her hands, rough and calloused, cupped his cheeks, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her touch was firm, almost harsh, as she tilted his head this way and that, her eyes narrowing as she examined him closely.
Matt stood frozen under her scrutiny, his heart hammering in his chest. He felt small under her intense gaze, like a child caught misbehaving.
"I’m fine." He tried to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "Really, I-"
"Shut up." Her tone was sharp. Her thumb brushed over the dried blood that covered the small cut on his upper cheek, and her lips curled into a sneer. "Fine? You’re fine, you little shit? You think I should believe this?"
Matt swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wanted to protest, to reassure her, but the look in her eyes stopped him.
"You’re a fucking idiot." She spat, her voice low and venomous. "A fucking brat. You knew something was wrong, and you didn’t call me. You didn’t fucking call me." Her grip on his face tightened, just enough to make his breath hitch.
"I thought I could handle it." He muttered, his voice breaking. "I didn’t want to bother you."
Y/N’s laugh was sharp, bitter.
"Handle it?" She repeated, her accent wrapping around the words like a blade. "You thought you could handle it? You? Alone? Against men with guns?"
Matt looked down, unable to meet her gaze.
"I-"
"Do you know what I should do to you?" She hissed, her voice dropping lower. "I should kill you for this. For almost fucking dying on me. For being so goddamn reckless." Her fingers brushed against the necklace around his neck.
Matt’s lips twitched into a small, nervous smile.
"Thank god you put this thing on me then, huh?"
Y/N’s eyes darkened, her lips curling into a snarl.
"You think this is funny? You think I do this because I enjoy babysitting you?" She shoved him back slightly, her hands still gripping his face. "If it weren’t for this-" She tapped the tracker, her voice rising. "I wouldn’t have known. I wouldn’t have found you."
"I know." He whispered, his voice trembling.
"You’re fucking stupid." She muttered, her tone quieter but no less sharp. "You’ll be the death of me, you know that?"
Matt nodded, his cheeks flushing under her intense gaze because he knew. He knew that he was her weakest stop, the one who could make her lose her mind without consequences.
"I’m sorry." He said softly.
Y/N sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as her hand softened its grip on his face.
She let her gaze actually register his state, noticing his still trembling hands gripping the bottom of her jacket, and her jaw tightened. For all her strength and control, seeing him shaken dug into her chest like a dull blade.
"You really should’ve called me." She repeated, her tone no longer scolding but laced with a quiet plea this time. Her fingers moved from his jaw to his hair, threading through the strands in a gesture that was both tender and grounding. "Do you hear me?"
Matt smiled slightly, trying to ease her - and his - tension.
"I’m okay, dove." He murmured, risking using her favorite pet name, his voice low and calm, though it wavered slightly. "Just a little shaken up. A cut or two from the broken window. But... you saved me. Like you always do."
Her hand faltered for a moment in his hair as his words settled over her, turning her head slightly, breaking their gaze as if the vulnerability in his voice had pierced through her armor.
But Matt wasn’t about to let her retreat. His hand came up, his fingers gentle as they took her chin, forcing her to look at him again.
"I’m fine, Y/N." He said firmly, his voice carrying a quiet conviction that made her chest tighten. "Really. You don’t have to keep punishing me or you for this."
Her lips parted, a protest hovering on the edge, but he didn’t let her speak. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in a hug that was warm, strong, and grounding. Y/N stiffened for a moment before melting against him - in the way that she only let herself do in his arms, her hands clutching at his back as if he might disappear if she let go.
"I don’t want to see you in the line of fire because of me ever again. Do you understand me?" Her voice was a whisper against his chest, rough and laden with emotion.
Matt’s hands moved soothingly from her hips to her waist and her back, his touch steady.
"Y/N." He began, his voice gentle but insistent. "You need to stop blaming yourself. None of this is your fault. It’s just how things are. I get that. I chose to stay by your side, knowing exactly what it meant."
She shook her head against him, her arms tightening around his waist.
"You don't understand, I could’ve lost you tonight." She said, her voice breaking in a way that she despised. "I can’t-"
"You didn’t." He interrupted, leaning down to rest his chin on top of her head. "You didn’t lose me. You won’t lose me. Not tonight. Not ever."
The sincerity in his tone made her chest ache, and she closed her eyes, letting herself press closer. She nosed along his jaw, breathing him in, her mind desperate for a piece of peace amidst the chaos. His scent - clean and familiar - grounded her in a way nothing else could.
"You know." She murmured after a moment, her voice quieter now, almost teasing. "It’s your fault. You got me hooked from day one, making me worry too much."
Matt let out a low, warm laugh, his breath tickling the top of her head.
"Lies." He said softly, his tone playful but affectionate. "You wanted to kill me for the first few months we knew each other."
Y/N let out a quiet scoff, a small smirk tugging at her lips despite herself.
"It doesn’t mean I didn't want to have you to me." She admitted, though the sharpness in her voice was covered with affection. "You were insufferable, you know? Still are."
He leaned down further, brushing his nose against hers.
"Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have it any other way." He murmured.
She didn’t respond, but the faint, almost imperceptible curve of her lips was answer enough. Her fingers wrapped around his hoodie strings, bringing him closer until their lips touched, the force of her kiss taking him off guard.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss meant to soothe or console. It was possessive, claiming him in a way that made it clear he wasn’t just hers by circumstance. He was hers by choice.
Her hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers back to threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss, desperate to taste all of him as a way of reassurance, and Matt melted into her without hesitation.
When she finally pulled away, her lips still slightly parted, Matt stared at her, his expression a mix of surprise and arousal. She smirked faintly, wiping her thumb across the corner of his mouth before leaning back, leaving him dazed.
"Uh..." He exhaled slowly, trying to collect himself, though his heart was racing faster than he cared to admit. "I think I need you to get my window fixed." He gestured toward the gaping hole where his window used to be, right behind his back, shards of glass still clinging stubbornly to the edges.
The response came so casually that it almost didn’t register at first.
"No." Y/N said dismissively. "I’ll just buy you another car."
Matt blinked, his jaw dropping as he turned to face her.
"You’ll what?"
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pucksandpower · 2 months ago
Text
Mint Condition
Day 20 → Menthol Cream 💋 Oscar Piastri
Warnings: 18+ content
Kinktober Masterlist
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Oscar stands in front of the mirror, his shirt pulled halfway over his head, wincing as he twists his torso a bit too fast. That familiar sharpness shoots through his side, the one he’s been ignoring all day. His rib is still busted, still sore as hell. He drops his shirt on the floor, tired of fighting with it, and glances at the small jar of menthol cream sitting on the bathroom counter.
His eyes flick to the bed, where you're propped up against the pillows, nose buried in a book. The dim light from the lamp casts a soft glow over your face, your lips slightly parted as your thumb traces the edge of the page, but what catches his attention is how your nightgown is slipping, barely covering you.
“What's that look for?” You ask, not even glancing up, sensing him staring.
Oscar smiles a little, wiping it away before you can catch him. “What look?”
“The one you're giving me.” You finally put the book down, your eyes meeting his in the reflection. “You’re thinking something.”
Oscar opens the jar, pretending to be more focused on scooping out the thick, mint-scented cream than the fact that your eyes are on him. “Just … thinking I should have been more careful. Could have avoided this whole thing,” he mutters, rubbing the cool cream over his ribs, trying to be casual about it.
You roll your eyes, shifting in bed, pulling the duvet tighter around your shoulders. “You did your job, Oscar. Sometimes things happen. Doesn't mean you need to beat yourself up over it.” There’s a pause, and then your voice drops, softer now. “You're always too hard on yourself.”
He nods, but his attention is elsewhere, on the way your nightgown has slipped even further, revealing more of you — barely there under the light fabric. Something stirs in his chest, not the ache of his ribs but something more … magnetic. His hands slow, smoothing the cream over his skin, and the smell of menthol fills the air, sharp and cool.
“You want me to put some on for you?” You ask, breaking his thoughts, your tone so casual it takes him a second to catch up.
“Huh?”
“The cream,” you say, tilting your head. “You’re moving so slow. I can help if-”
“No, no, I’ve got it.” His voice comes out too quickly, and you raise a brow, noticing.
He clears his throat, finishing up, capping the jar and walking over to the bed, trying to keep his movements easy, natural. But his mind is elsewhere now — wondering what would happen if he did try it. How it would feel. If you’d laugh or look at him like he’s lost it.
He sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his ribs absently. “You think I’m too hard on myself?”
“Yeah. You act like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.” You close the book, setting it aside. “Like you’re the only one who has to get everything perfect.”
Oscar leans back, slowly easing himself into bed next to you. “Maybe that’s because everyone expects me to.”
You shake your head, sliding down the pillows a bit so you’re lying next to him, your head on his shoulder. “Not everyone. I don’t.”
He turns his head to look at you. “You don't think I should try to be perfect?”
“No one’s perfect,” you say simply, fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem of his shirt, which is now bunched up around his waist. “Not even you.”
He huffs a small laugh, though the thought nags at him. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he's been chasing something impossible, driving himself crazy in the process. But right now, in this moment, perfection feels closer than it ever has, lying here with you like this.
“I’m serious.” You shift so you’re propped up on one elbow, looking down at him. “You don't have to carry everything all the time. Sometimes it’s okay to let go.”
He blinks up at you, the words hanging in the air between you, and suddenly all he can think about is the feel of your skin under his fingers, the way you’re so close, the smell of that damn menthol cream still clinging to his hands.
You’re still talking, still trying to comfort him, but he’s distracted, watching your lips move, and his brain is running a mile a minute with this idea, this stupid, reckless idea.
Would you even like it? Would you even let him?
“You good?” Your voice cuts through the fog, and he realizes he’s just been staring at you. Your brow furrows slightly. “You’re being quiet.”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” His voice is lower than he means it to be, almost rough.
You’re still staring at him, searching his face. “Oscar, what’s going on? You’re acting weird.”
He’s quiet for a beat, his heart thudding in his chest. “It’s nothing.” But he knows that won’t fly. Not with you. You know him too well.
Your hand comes to rest on his chest, your fingers warm and familiar. “Tell me.”
He takes a breath. He should just say it. Just tell you what he’s thinking instead of sitting here with his mind spinning like this. But how do you even say something like that without sounding insane?
“I was just …” He hesitates, his fingers brushing over his ribs again, trying to find the words. “I was thinking about … the cream.”
You blink at him, confused. “The cream?”
He nods, his mouth dry. “Yeah. It’s just … I was wondering what it would feel like. On you.”
The words hang in the air, and for a second he thinks maybe he’s made a huge mistake, that you’re about to laugh or roll your eyes or something, but you don’t. You just look at him, really look at him, and for a second, neither of you says anything.
Finally, you break the silence. “You want to try it on me?”
His heart leaps a little, but he tries to stay calm, not wanting to seem too eager. “Only if you want to.”
You bite your lip, thinking it over, and then, to his surprise, you nod. “Okay.”
Oscar’s hand freezes on the jar as he processes what you’ve just said. He expected you to laugh it off, to shrug and change the subject, but you’re serious. You’re really letting him do this.
You shift under the covers, tugging your nightgown higher to give him better access, and he sits up, fumbling slightly with the lid as he tries to get it open without spilling any. His mind races as he scoops out a little of the cream, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Tell me if it’s too cold,” he murmurs, his voice low, barely above a whisper.
You nod, lying back against the pillows, your eyes half-closed as you wait. He leans in closer, the scent of menthol filling the air again as he smooths the cream over your skin, his fingers moving slowly, deliberately. Your skin is soft under his touch, warm, and the cream feels almost electric between you.
You shiver a little at the cold, but you don’t pull away, your breath hitching as his fingers move over you, tracing the curve of your ribs, up toward your collarbone, and then lower, spreading the cool sensation across your skin.
“How does it feel?” He asks, his voice thick.
You swallow, eyes still closed. “Good. Feels good.”
He can’t help but grin, his heart racing at the way you react to him, the way you seem to melt under his touch. It’s intoxicating, the way your body responds to him, the way you let him take care of you like this, and he realizes just how much he’s been craving this kind of connection with you, this moment of quiet intimacy between the two of you.
You shift a little, your body pressing against his as you turn toward him, your hand coming to rest on his chest again, your fingers brushing against his ribs. “You okay?” You ask softly, your voice gentle.
“Yeah,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. “I’m good.”
Oscar hesitates, his hands still resting on your skin. The air between you feels thick, the weight of what’s happening settling over him, but he doesn’t feel nervous. Not really. It’s more like anticipation, like every inch of his body is tuned into you, hyper-aware of every breath, every shift, every little sound you make. He watches you carefully, waiting for any sign that you’re unsure, that this is too much. But you just look back at him, your eyes half-lidded, and your lips parted slightly.
“You sure about this?” He asks quietly, his voice rough around the edges.
You don’t even hesitate. “Yeah.” Your voice is soft, but certain.
Oscar swallows hard and nods, his fingers slipping under the edge of your nightgown. He pauses, just for a second, before starting to ease it up, the fabric whispering against your skin as he pulls it over your stomach, then your chest, and finally over your head, tossing it aside.
His breath catches as he looks at you — completely exposed now, lying back against the pillows, trusting him with all of this. It’s almost too much to take in all at once. He has to remind himself to keep moving, to keep breathing.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his eyes trailing down your body, taking everything in. The way your chest rises and falls, the slight tension in your muscles as you wait for him to touch you again. He feels a tight pull in his chest, the kind of feeling that makes everything else blur, as though his entire focus has narrowed down to just this, just you.
Your skin feels warm under his touch, still tingling from the menthol cream, and he can’t help but feel a little thrill at the idea of what’s coming next. His fingers tremble slightly as he dips them back into the jar, scooping out more of the cream, his mind already imagining how it’s going to feel on you, how you’re going to react.
“You okay?” You ask softly, your voice pulling him back to the moment.
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Just … trying to take my time.”
You smile at that, and something about the way you look at him right then makes his heart stutter in his chest. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, here, together, in this quiet little world you’ve made.
He shifts, leaning over you, his hands hovering just above your chest, and for a second, he just looks at you. Then, slowly, he lowers his hands, spreading the cool cream over your skin, starting at the tops of your breasts and working his way down, his fingers moving with deliberate care.
You gasp softly, your back arching slightly at the sudden cold, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean into his touch, your breath hitching as his hands move lower, spreading the cream over your buds. Oscar watches, completely captivated by the way your body reacts, the way your skin tightens under his touch, the way your nipples start to harden, turning that perfect shade of pink.
“Jesus,” he breathes, his voice barely audible. “You look … you’re perfect.”
You let out a soft laugh, though it quickly turns into a shaky breath as his fingers move over you again, spreading more of the cream over your skin, lingering on your buds. He’s obsessed now, can’t stop staring at them, watching as they harden even more, turning a deeper shade of pink, almost like raspberries.
“How does it feel?” He asks, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You let out a soft moan, your head tilting back against the pillows. “Cold … but good. Really good.”
He grins, his heart pounding in his chest as he moves his hands lower, down your stomach, and then back up, focusing entirely on your chest, on the way your body seems to pulse under his touch. His fingers linger on your nipples, circling them slowly, gently, and he watches in awe as they respond to him, becoming more and more sensitive with every touch, every brush of his fingers.
“God, you’re amazing,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, his eyes never leaving your chest.
You let out another soft sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and it sends a thrill through him, knowing he’s the one doing this to you, that you’re letting him take care of you like this. He shifts again, leaning down slightly, his breath ghosting over your skin as he presses his lips to the curve of your breast, kissing the spot just above your peak.
“Oscar,” you breathe, your voice shaky.
“Yeah?” He murmurs, his lips still brushing against your skin.
“Don’t stop.”
He grins at that, his hands moving lower now, down your sides, over your hips, and then back up again, his fingers brushing over your stomach, your chest, everywhere. He’s completely lost in you now, in the way you feel under his touch, in the way you respond to him.
He moves back slightly, sitting up again as he reaches for the duvet, pulling it off the bed and tossing it to the floor. The air feels cooler now without the covers, and you shiver slightly, but it’s not just from the cold. He watches as your body trembles, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin flushed from the coolness of the cream and the heat building between you.
“Cold?” He asks, though he knows the answer. He can see it in the way your body reacts, the way you flutter beneath him, your skin covered in goosebumps.
“A little,” you admit, your voice soft, breathy.
He leans down again, his lips brushing against your collarbone as his hands move lower, his fingers tracing the line of your hips, your thighs. He can feel the tension in your body, the way you’re practically vibrating under his touch, and it drives him wild, makes him want to take his time even more, to make this last as long as possible.
He dips his fingers back into the jar of cream, scooping out more as he moves lower, his hands brushing over your inner thighs now, spreading the cream there, careful and deliberate. You let out a soft gasp, your back arching slightly off the bed, and Oscar can’t help but smile at the sound, the way your body responds to him so easily.
His fingers move higher now, spreading the cream over your bundle of nerves, and you let out a sharp gasp, your body jerking under his touch. He watches, completely captivated, as your clit starts to pulse, the skin tightening, turning a deeper shade of pink, almost red now, like a cherry, ripe and ready.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. “You’re … you’re a goddess.”
You let out a soft moan, your body trembling under his touch, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “Oscar …”
He grins, his hands moving over you again, spreading more of the cream over your pearl, watching as it pulses under his touch, the skin glistening with the cream, the coolness making you shiver even more.
“Does it feel good?” He asks, his voice low, rough.
You nod, your eyes half-closed, your breath coming in quick, shaky gasps. “Yeah … it feels … God, it feels so good.”
He can’t stop now, can’t get enough of the way your body reacts to him, the way you seem to pulse and flutter under his touch. He watches, completely mesmerized, as your clit swells even more, the skin darkening to that perfect shade of red, just begging to be touched, tasted.
He leans down again, his lips brushing against your skin, his breath hot against your chest. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his hands still moving over you, his fingers tracing your bundle, feeling the way it pulses under his touch.
You let out another soft moan, your body trembling even more, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your breath hitches in your throat. “Oscar … please …”
He knows what you’re asking for, knows exactly what you need, but he’s not ready to give in just yet. He wants to make this last, to draw it out as long as possible, to keep you on the edge for as long as he can.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I want to watch you a little longer.”
You let out a soft whimper, but you don’t argue, your body still trembling under his touch, your clit still pulsing, almost like it has a mind of its own, responding to his every movement.
Oscar leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving your body, completely captivated by the way you look right now, the way your skin glistens with the cream, the way your clit pulses under his touch, like it’s begging for him to take it.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers again, his voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. “Absolutely perfect.”
Oscar watches you, completely captivated by the way you’re losing yourself in the sensation, your head tilted back, your eyes closed, your breath coming in shallow gasps. He can see how far gone you are, how the cool menthol cream has you teetering on the edge, your skin flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly as every little touch sends you spiraling further.
Your body is trembling beneath his hands, reacting to every brush of his fingers as if it’s too much and not enough all at once. He can see the way your pearl throbs, the way your chest arches as if you’re chasing something, needing more but not sure how to ask for it.
You’re unfocused now, completely surrendered to the feeling, and he takes a deep breath, his heart racing as he shifts slightly, giving himself just a second to gather his thoughts. This is everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s been thinking about, but now that he’s here, right on the edge of something, the weight of the moment hits him. There’s no going back after this.
He glances at you again, just to make sure you’re still okay, that you’re still with him, but your eyes are closed, your lips parted as you let out another soft sound, completely unaware of what’s coming next.
Oscar bites his lip, his fingers fumbling slightly as he reaches for the bedside drawer, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts at once. This is the moment he’s been building toward, but now that it’s here, his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat. He hesitates for just a second, his fingers trembling as they brush over the small foil packet.
His eyes flick back to you, but you’re still lost in the sensation, your head tilted back, chest heaving. He swallows hard, ripping open the packet and rolling the condom down over himself, his breath hitching as he feels the cool latex against his skin. It’s almost too much, the mix of anticipation and nerves making him feel like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.
He hesitates again, his eyes darting between the jar of menthol cream on the nightstand and the flutter of your walls, still reacting to his earlier touch. His mind spins with the idea, something reckless, something he knows he shouldn’t do but can’t resist. He scoops out a bit more of the cream, his hand shaking slightly as he spreads it over the latex, covering it in the same thing that’s been driving you crazy.
His breath catches, and for a second, he wonders if this is too much, if maybe he’s pushing things too far. But you’re still lost in your own world, completely unaware, completely vulnerable beneath him. He swallows hard, his mind buzzing with excitement and nerves as he shifts closer, his body hovering over yours.
“You okay?” He asks softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
You nod, though your eyes stay closed, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice thick with the haze of pleasure. “I’m … I’m okay.”
Oscar takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he lines himself up with you, his hands trembling slightly as he presses forward, the cool, tingling sensation spreading through you as he slides in.
You gasp sharply, your eyes flying open, and for a moment, Oscar thinks he’s made a mistake, that it’s too much, too overwhelming. But then your body arches against him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you bury your face in his shoulder, your hands gripping his arms tightly.
“Oscar …”
He grins, the sound of your voice, the way you say his name, sending a thrill through him. “Feel good?” He asks, his voice rough as he pushes in further, the cool menthol sensation making your skin tingle, every inch of you hypersensitive to the way his body moves above you.
You can only manage a soft whimper in response, your nails digging into his arms as you nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “Yeah … oh my God … it feels … so good.”
Oscar’s heart races as he moves, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts as he watches your face, completely mesmerized by the way your expression changes, the way your body responds to him. You’re still trembling, still fluttering beneath him, your eyes half-closed as the pleasure takes over, and he can see the way the menthol cream is affecting you, the coolness amplifying every sensation, making your body tense and arch beneath him.
He bites his lip, trying to keep himself under control, but it’s hard — harder than he expected. The cool tingling of the menthol, combined with the heat of your body, is almost overwhelming, and every little sound you make, every soft gasp and moan, sends him spiraling further.
“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he watches you, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts deeper.
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut again as you try to focus, but it’s clear you’re too far gone, too lost in the sensation to form coherent words. “I can’t … it’s too … oh God …”
Oscar can’t help but grin at that, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at the way he’s undone you, the way you’ve completely surrendered to him. He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs softly, “I’ve got you. Just let go.”
You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair as your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps, your body trembling beneath him as you cling to him, your nails biting into his skin. The cool sensation of the cream on your skin, combined with the slow, deliberate rhythm of his movements, is pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and Oscar can feel it — can see it in the way your body tenses and arches beneath him, the way your breath hitches every time he moves.
He moves a little faster now, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he watches your face, completely captivated by the way your expression shifts, the way your body pulses and trembles beneath him. It’s intoxicating, the way you’ve given yourself over to him, the way you trust him completely, and it drives him wild, makes him want to push you even further, to see how far he can take you.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he leans down, kissing the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “God, you’re amazing.”
You let out a soft moan, your body arching against him as you gasp his name, your voice shaky, breathless. “Oscar … I’m … I’m so close …”
He grins, his heart racing as he moves faster, his hands gripping you tightly as he thrusts deeper, the cool, tingling sensation spreading through both of you as the cream amplifies every touch, every movement. He can feel it too now, that same edge, that same sense of urgency building inside him, but he pushes it down, focusing entirely on you, on the way your body moves beneath him, the way your breath catches every time he thrusts.
“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice rough, thick with desire as he watches you, completely captivated by the way you’re unraveling beneath him. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
You gasp his name again, your body trembling, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as you cling to him, your nails biting into his skin. And then, all at once, you let go, your body tensing and arching beneath him as the pleasure overtakes you, a soft cry escaping your lips as you bury your face in his shoulder, your whole body trembling with the force of it.
Oscar grits his teeth, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you, completely mesmerized by the way you come undone beneath him, the way your body pulses and trembles with every wave of pleasure. He’s never seen anything like it, never felt anything like this, and it sends him over the edge, his body tightening, his breath catching in his throat as he gives in, his hips bucking against yours as the pleasure crashes over him.
For a moment, neither of you moves, your bodies tangled together, your breath coming in quick, uneven gasps as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through both of you. Oscar presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot and heavy as he tries to steady himself, his heart still racing, his skin still tingling from the menthol cream.
“You okay?” He asks softly, his voice hoarse, rough around the edges.
You nod, your eyes still closed, your breath coming in shaky, uneven bursts. “Yeah … I’m good. That was …”
Oscar grins, his hands still resting on your hips as he watches you, completely captivated by the way you look right now — flushed, breathless, completely spent. “That was amazing. First time I’ve ever been thankful to have a fractured rib.”
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tini5 · 4 months ago
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In Paris, With You...
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Pairing : Drew Starkey x Reader
Summary : What starts as a playful tease from your best friend, Timothée about a crush quickly turns into an unforgettable night. Being invited to the Loewe fashion show in Paris, leads you to get tangled in your sheets with Drew.
Themes : Fluff/Smut
Word Count : 4346
Note : I am apologizing in advance bc it's my first time writing a fic that long, along with first attempt at writing smut and for drew in general!!! I tried my best, even tho i think i wrote more about timmys and taylors relationship i hope you enjoy!! Not proofreaded!!
"I wish you would get invited to Loewe’s fashion show in Paris,” Timothée said, his lips curling into a playful smile as he picked at a piece of sushi on his plate. The familiar hum of the restaurant around you made the moment feel even more personal, like the world outside was a distant dream, a comfortable quiet between you, only interrupted by the clinking of plates as the waiter brought over a fresh round of sushi. 
Your place—our place, you thought—was a small, hidden sushi restaurant in New York, a cozy spot where you two came to unwind, laugh, and share stories you couldn’t share with anyone else. It was a place you and Timothée had claimed as your own since your careers first took off. A lot has changed since then. Starring in Luca Guadagnino’s movie “Challengers” and seeing your career take off at just 22, was truly amazing.  
He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, narrowing them at you like he was about to reveal a grand secret. “That way, you could meet your lover boy,” he teased, adding a dramatic hand movements with his chopsticks.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the flush creeping up your neck. “You want me to go to Loewe’s show just because of Drew starkey? I don’t even like him like that.”
Timmy raised an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “Lies, lies, lies,” he sang, his voice dripping with mock accusation. You hated how well he knew you—sometimes better than you knew yourself.
“Whatever,” you muttered, stabbing at your own sushi defensively as you put down your chopsticks. “Do you know who’s the brand ambassador of Loewe?”
The shift in Timothée’s expression was instant, his face scrunching up in a mix of guilt and annoyance, as if he knew exactly where this conversation was heading. He sighed dramatically, but before he could stop you…-
“The most gorgeous woman you fumbled because of you know who – the one who shall not be named,” you said, letting the word her hang in the air, dripping with emphasis.
There was no need to explain further. He knew exactly who you meant. You watched as his shoulders sagged slightly, but the smirk stayed on his face, though now it was more resigned than mischievous.
“Low blow,” he muttered, and you both burst into laughter, the memory of his ill-fated relationship hanging between you like a shared joke.
Who knew that Timothée’s big mouth could sense the future? But here you were, sitting in a car, watching the skyline of Paris blur past as you headed toward Loewe’s fashion show. It was almost too surreal, the memory of that sushi restaurant conversation lingering in the back of your mind.
You glanced over at Timmy, who was typing something on his phone, his thumb moving in rapid, practiced motions. He looked up for a second and grinned. "See? I told you. Here we are, ready for your lover boy," he teased, leaning back in his seat, eyes glinting with mischief.
You couldn’t stop the eye roll that followed. "I swear, you have an obsession with that phrase. But we don't even know if he'll be there."
"You hope he’ll be there," Timmy quipped, nudging your shoulder playfullly.
You tried to suppress a smile, but it was useless. Yes, you hoped. Drew Starkey had become a quiet fixation in your mind—there was something about him that you couldn’t shake off. Maybe it was his blue eyes, his charisma, his –
Your hands smoothed over the fabric of your dress, custom-made by Loewe, every stitch and detail meticulously crafted to perfection. Jonathan Anderson had made sure it reflected not only the brand’s style but also you—soft yet bold, striking but elegant. You looked stunning, and you knew it. 
The car ride felt both too long and too short, your mind spinning with what-ifs. Timmy, noticing your quiet, serious for once, put his phone away and turned to face you. "Hey," he said gently. "We can ditch it if you want. No fashion show and no boy is worth you eating your nerves over."
You smiled softly at him. That was the thing about Timothée—he knew when to be playful, and he knew when to be serious. He knew you. "I know," you said, your voice quiet but steady. "But I’ll be fine. Besides, you’d be miserable if you missed the after party later.”
Timmy shrugged with a grin. "Yeah, you’re probably right. But seriously, if you want to go, we’ll go. If you want to leave, we’ll leave."
You appreciated that more than you could say, but instead of responding, you looked out the window. The car slowed to a stop, and the reality of the situation hit you. The cameras, the people, the flashing lights—it was all waiting just outside.
"Ready?" Timmy asked, holding out his hand like a knight in shining armor.
You took a deep breath and nodded, slipping your hand into his. "As ready as I'll ever be."
The fashion show itself was a whirlwind. Lights, camera flashes, the hum of conversation blending with the soft music in the background. But amidst the glamour, you were determined to keep your distance from Drew. Every time you caught a glimpse of his tall frame, you did your best to blend into the crowd and focus on the runway.
Timothée, couldn’t resist teasing you about Drew, his playful remarks making it even harder to stay composed. Despite your heart fluttering every time you heard his soft laugh, you managed to keep your cool, or at least you hoped you did.
The show itself was a visual feast, with stunning outfits by Loewe that left everyone in awe. Timothée was in his element, charming everyone he spoke to, effortlessly gliding through the crowd. Yet, you could tell he was also trying hard to avoid running into Taylor Russell. 
You couldn’t miss how his eyes flickered toward her now and then, a flash of something in his expression that only you could read. But you gave him space, knowing that whatever was going on between them was its own delicate web.
You exchanged polite smiles and laughed at jokes, did your best to keep up but your thoughts always circled back to one thing: Drew Starkey.
You both succeeded in your mission during the show. But as the show came to a close and the after-party beckoned, the sense of triumph was short-lived. 
The after-party was a different beast altogether. And there, at the heart of it, was Drew Starkey, mingling with his entourage and catching your eye from time to time. Despite your best efforts, you felt the electric pull of his gaze, the gravity of his presence impossible to ignore.
Timmy noticed, of course. "We can leave, you know, get a take out" he offered again as you both stepped into the car. But you shook your head, determined now. “Then stop worrying. He is not going to eat you.” Teased Timmy. 
Then it happened. As you sat at the table with Timothee, you saw Taylor Russell make her way through crowd. 
You quickly turned to Timothée, a note of urgency in your voice. “Timmy, don’t panic, but she’s coming over.”
Timothée’s eyes widened slightly as he turned to look at Taylor. His usual nonchalance faded into a look of mild panic. “You’re kidding,” he muttered, trying to keep his cool. “Why does she have to pick now to come over?”
And before you knew… - “Hello” – Tension shifted as Taylor greeted you with her ever the sweetest voice. 
“I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll catch up with you later.” you said, your voice carrying a light, reassuring tone. You shot him a quick look, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll kill you if you screw it up," you mouthed playfully, earning a quick smirk from him before you excused yourself to give them some privacy.
Making your way to the bar, you tried not to let your nerves overwhelm you. Just a drink, you thought. Just a quick drink, then I can blend into the background.
“One Cosmopolitan, please,” you told the bartender, just as a familiar voice from beside you made your heart skip a beat.
“It’s on me.”
You turned, and there he was—Drew Starkey, leaning against the bar with a whiskey in hand, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.
Your pulse quickened at the sound of Drew’s voice. He stood next to you, casually leaning on the bar like he belonged there—like he belonged everywhere. His tailored jacket hung off his broad shoulders as though it was designed for him alone. His eyes, that piercing blue you couldn’t forget, caught yours as he smiled—a lazy, confident grin that made your stomach do a flip.
“It’s on me,” he repeated, a little softer, his voice low enough to feel intimate despite the crowd around you.
Your heart stuttered, and for a split second, you forgot how to respond. All those times you’d fantasized about running into Drew Starkey in moments like this and now-  He was right there, buying you a drink, and you felt like a teenager all over again.
“Thank you” you finally managed, forcing the word out without sounding too flustered. But your face betrayed you, the warmth creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks. You prayed the dim lighting would hide the blush.
The bartender slid your drink in front of you, and you lifted it to your lips, hoping the cool liquid would calm your nerves. But Drew was watching you—really watching you—and that made it impossible to relax. His eyes never left yours, and there was something about his gaze that made you feel both exposed and flattered at the same time.
“You look stunning, by the way,” Drew added, his voice velvety smooth, the compliment slipping out so easily it nearly disarmed you.
You blinked, trying to play it cool, but the way he said it made your heart race. "Thanks," you said again, "You’re not so bad yourself."
Drew chuckled, a deep sound that seemed to ripple through the air between you. His presence was intoxicating, almost as much as the drink in your hand. “I’ve been told,” he joked, his smile widening just enough to show a hint of mischief. Your lips tugged into a grin despite yourself. 
“So," he said, leaning in a little closer, his elbow brushing lightly against your arm as if testing your boundaries, "how are you enjoying Paris?”
A warm smile spread across your face, and you took a moment to gather your thoughts. “Paris is... well, it’s like coming home in a way,” you began, your voice tinged with affection. “Even though I grew up in the States, there’s something about this city that just feels incredibly familiar and comforting.”
You took a sip of your cosmopolitan, letting the flavors mingle with your emotions. “It’s the little things, you know? The way the light changes on the Seine, the scent of freshly baked pastries through the streets, It all feels so...Parisian. It’s like stepping into a world that’s both new and deeply personal at the same time.”
Drew’s smile widened, his expression softening, a genuine appreciation in his eyes. “I can see how much this city means to you. It sounds like you’re really embracing the magic of Paris.”
You nodded, a playful smile tugging at your lips“So the��Queer, huh?” you asked, your tone light and teasing. Drew’s chuckle was light and warm, making you smile even more. “So the Challengers, huh?”
You both laughed, the easy banter between you making the moment feel effortless and natural. 
“So, how was working with Luca? I know how he gets sometimes.” 
His eyes lit up at the mention of Luca’s name, and you couldn’t help but smile warmly. “Luca is incredible. He’s not just a director; he’s like a creative force of nature. it’s like he has this unique ability to bring out the best in everyone he works with.”
You leaned in slightly, enjoying the conversation. “Oh, absolutely. Luca has this way of making you feel like you’re part of something truly special. I’ve learned so much from him. He’s like a father figure to me.”
Drew’s gaze was warm and appreciative, “Its sweet how full of love you are.”
You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, is that so? But enough about Luca. What about you, Drew? What’s your creative magic like?”
Drew’s smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes. “My magic? Well, I’d say it’s more about finding the right moments to create something special. And right now, I think the real magic is happening here.” He gestured between the two of you with a teasing grin.
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what makes you say that?”
Drew leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Well, I have to say, talking to you is a highlight of my night. You’ve got this incredible energy that’s hard to resist. And I’m not just talking about your career.”
A soft laugh escaped you, and you could feel the flirtatious tension between you growing. “Is that so? I must admit,you’ve got a way of making me feel special.”
Drew’s eyes met yours with a look that was both sincere and playful. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s not every day I get to chat with someone as fascinating and pretty as you”
You felt a flutter in your stomach at his words. “Well, I’m glad I could make an impression” 
Drew’s smile grew, his gaze held yours, But before either of you could continue, the moment shattered.
“Drew? What took you so long?”
Odessa’s voice sliced through the comfortable haze you and Drew had created, and the tension in the air shifted immediately. 
You didn’t have to turn around to know it was her—the sharpness in her tone was unmistakable. Drew’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and though his smile didn’t completely fade, it wasn’t as easygoing as before.
Odessa was stunning, of course—there was no denying that But there was something about her presence that felt... strange. Maybe it was the way she looked at you, her eyes flicking up and down, sizing you up in a single sweep. 
Her expression betraying a hint of impatience. “I was just about ready to head out. Are you not coming?”
Drew turned to her, his face a mixture of apology and concern. “Oh, right. I just got caught up in a conversation here. I’ll be right out in a moment, go wait outside okay?”
Odessa’s eyes flicked to you with a mixture of curiosity and something sharper—perhaps jealousy. She gave you a curt nod. “Nice to meet you.”
You offered a polite smile, trying to keep the interaction friendly despite the underlying tension. “Nice to meet you too, Odessa.”
Drew’s gaze returned to you, and there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter. “I really enjoyed talking with you. I’m sorry –
You nodded, feeling a mix of disappointment and understanding. “It’s okay. I hope you both have a good night.”
Drew’s smile was tinged with regret as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and sincere. “I’ll text you.”
With a final, lingering glance, Drew turned and walked away ,leaving you with a swirl of emotions. You watched him disappear into the crowd before taking a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest.
You downed the rest of your cosmopolitan in one go, hoping the drink would steady your nerves. Pulling out your phone, you quickly texted Timothée, letting him know you were heading out.
As you made your way to the Uber pickup area, you could feel the mix of excitement building inside you. Just as you settled into the backseat of the car, your phone buzzed with a new message.
It was from Drew. 
Drew: I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. I’d love to continue it… 
You: 44.
You: It’s my hotel room number. 
You: Don’t make me wait. 
The Uber ride back to your hotel was a blur. Your heart hadn’t stopped pounding. 
You leaned your head against the window, watching the lights of Paris blur past as the adrenaline surged through your veins. 
Stepping out of the car and you hurried your way up to your hotel room. Part of you wondered what you were getting yourself into, but the other part—the part that had been down bad for Drew Starkey since the moment you saw him—couldn’t resist the temptation.
And then, finally, not too long after you entered your room, a soft knock was heared.  You froze for a moment, staring at the door, before gathering yourself and opening it.
Drew’s eyes were dark, intense, but his smile was soft, disarming. He stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him, and suddenly the air between you felt charged, thick with anticipation.
“You really sent me your room number,” he said, voice low, teasing, as he leaned against the wall, watching you with that same amused glint in his eyes.
You shrugged, trying to keep it light, though your heart was racing a mile a minute. “I figured you’d appreciate the direct approach.”
Drew laughed softly, stepping closer, his gaze flicking over you like he was taking in every little detail. “I do,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I really do.”
The touch of his fingers on your skin sent a shiver through you, and before you knew it, you were standing impossibly close, the space between you shrinking with every breath.
“Do you know how hard it was to not look at you all night?” he asked, his voice warm against your skin, his lips just inches away from yours. “You were all I could think about.”
Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, your heart pounding louder in your ears. You looked up at him, eyes wide, and for a moment, all the nervous energy melted away.
“I noticed,” you whispered, barely able to keep the teasing out of your voice.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your cheek, his breath warm against your ear. “Good.”
Before you could respond, his lips found yours, soft but deliberate, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. The kiss was slow at first, testing the waters, but when you kissed him back, everything else melted away. It was just you and Drew, the rest of the world fading into the background as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer.
Time seemed to blur as the kiss deepened, your hands instinctively finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling from the intensity of it all.
Drew leaned his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his hands still holding you close. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he admitted, his voice low, almost a confession.
You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his words. "So have I."
Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing into his in a kiss that was nothing like the first—a kiss filled with longing and heat. Drew responded instantly, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His lips moved over yours with urgency, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.
You moaned softly into his mouth, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He backed you toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body, sending sparks of desire everywhere they touched. You stumbled slightly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed, and you pulled him down with you, the both of you collapsing onto the mattress in a tangled heap of limbs.
Drew’s body hovered over yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hands, now more confident, slid up the sides of your body, teasing the hem of your shirt before pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The cool air against your skin contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off his body, and you felt a rush of anticipation as his gaze darkened, his lips quirking up in appreciation.
“You’re stunning,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.
Your breath hitched as his lips found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. You arched into him, the sensation of his mouth on you sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your body. He worked his way lower, his fingers deftly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before his lips closed around your nipple, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin.
A soft moan escaped your lips, and Drew groaned in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. He moved with purpose now, his hands sliding down your sides, tugging at your pants until they were nothing but a heap on the floor. Every touch, every kiss, felt like fire, like he was branding you with his desire.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through you.
You reached up, pulling him closer, your lips crashing into his once more. The kiss was frantic now, filled with need and desperation. 
Before you knew it, Drew had shed his own clothes, his body pressed against yours, skin on skin, the heat between you almost unbearable. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. And when he finally slid his hand between your thighs, teasing you, you gasped, your body arching into him, silently begging for more.
“Drew,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, laced with need.
He smirked against your lips, his fingers dipping lower, sliding inside you with a slow, deliberate motion that had you seeing stars. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he worked you, his thumb circling your sensitive spot, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice strained with restraint. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop…”
“Then don’t”, Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling beneath him, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled his fingers away, leaving you aching and desperate for more.
You let out a frustrated whimper, but Drew silenced you with a heated kiss, his body pressing down against yours as he positioned himself between your thighs. The moment stretched out, the anticipation crackling in the air, before he finally pushed inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as the sensation overwhelmed you.
Drew groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, teasing you, making you crave more. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him to go faster, your body meeting his with every thrust.
The pleasure built quickly, each movement sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. Drew’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged in your ear as he drove you both closer and closer to the edge. Your body was a live wire, every nerve ending on fire as he pushed you higher, the pressure building inside you until it was almost unbearable.
“Drew,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need.
He responded with a deep groan, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling beneath him as you cried out his name.
Drew followed soon after, his body tensing above you as he found his own release, a deep groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest. He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat, still reeling from the intensity of it all.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing. Then Drew turned to you, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on his lips as he reached out, pulling you against his chest.
“I think I’m gonna need your room number more often,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and contentment.
You laughed softly, your body still buzzing from the aftermath of everything that had just happened. “I think I can arrange that.”
With that, you curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, your heart still racing as you drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, the feeling of Drew’s arms wrapped around you the last thing you remembered. 
And just like that, as you drifted into sleep, one thought lingered:
"Sometimes, love isn’t about chasing a fairy tale or clinging to the past. It’s about embracing the unexpected, even if it’s wrapped in a Loewe suit and a pair of smoldering eyes that see right through you."
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TMZ_TV : Last night’s Loewe show was nothing short of spectacular! From jaw-dropping designs to unforgettable moments, the runway was on fire. 🔥
🌟 Y/N L/N stunned in a custom Loewe creation by Jonathan Anderson, embodying elegance and innovation. Meanwhile, Drew Starkey’s sleek Loewe suit had everyone talking.
👀 The real buzz? The chemistry between them at the afterparty! The night was filled with high fashion and even higher drama. 💫
Swipe to see the highlights and catch up on the latest fashion gossip! 💃🕺
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I am very nervous!! Hope you liked it and i did not disappoint you...
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bianquitasunderworld · 1 year ago
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could you write something where dave is obsessed with readers boobs please?
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18+
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Warnings: 18+ English is not my first language! Smut, Fingering, Teasing, Switch Dave, Switch Reader/Dom Reader, Dave begs, Mommy kink, Female Penetration. (I think that’s it)
Parings: Dave Lizewski x Reader
A/N: This man is such a LOSER and I love that. I got carried away with this one. I don’t proofread.
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Dave’s obsession with boobs, especially your own is truly…questionable. We all know he’s got a thing for boobs I mean we all saw that one scene!
Dave struggles to voice his feelings, often too embarrassed to even speak about such things. He’s frequently averting his gaze, but his eyes involuntarily gravitate towards your chest. The ogling always intensifies when you choose to wear tank tops or choose to forgo a bra, leaving him subtly captivated.
On a particularly hot summer day, Dave had invited you to his home due to your apartment’s lack of electricity and air conditioning. You gladly accepted his offer immediately and chose to wear the most revealing outfit in your wardrobe to keep the heat from affecting you. The outfit was perfect; poor Dave couldn’t look away. He was hypnotized by the way your boobs looked, and his gaze seemed glued to them. Despite his efforts, he found himself entranced, unable to divert his attention.
You weren’t completely oblivious to your boyfriend’s wandering eyes. Of course you didn’t mind but you couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts were playing inside his head. Filthy thoughts consumed your mind, the way Dave’s tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth and the way he licked his lips only made you more curious as to what scenarios he could possibly be playing out in his mind.
You wondered if he was thinking about sucking your tits as you ride him, or if he was thinking of you kneeling in front of him with his dick between your tits as he coats them with his come. You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together in your seat as you bit your bottom lip, desperately trying to find some relief or pleasure. The thought alone is simply enough for you to get off on.
Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Dave’s hand and hear his soft voice. “W-what are ya thinking about?” He stutters, his voice laced with nervousness.
He watches and notices how you become fidgety when his hands caress your thigh. A sense of warmth comes over you at his soft touch. His featherlike touch further ignites the small flame that has been burning within you since you noticed his gaze.
your voice is soft as you trip over your words. “N-nothing. T-this is just a good movie, don’t you agree?” Your head nods towards Dave’s tv. Truthfully you couldn’t care less about whatever movie was on at the moment, and neither did Dave, all he could focus on was how thin your blouse was and how he could just barely see the outline of your boobs.
Dave nods even though he isn’t paying any attention to whatever the fuck was playing either, how could he when the most beautiful girl in the world was right in front of him with her boobs on full display! His heart was racing as he tries to calm down his arousal.
He can’t take it anymore, he decides to make a bold decision and just acts before thinking. If all failed he could just die of embarrassment and curl up into fetal position, right?
Dave slowly moves his soft hands up your torso tracing small random patterns against your skin. You shiver as you feel his cold hands make their way up and under your blouse.
"I-I'm sorry, I can't help myself..." He leans in closer, his breath tickling your neck as his fingers brush against your bare skin. His heart is pounding in his chest as he struggles with his desire for you.
“Davie-“ your voice is soft. Dave takes it as a good sign when you don’t immediately stop him and curse him out for being a pervert. You of course know what Dave wants and exactly what he’s up to, he plays this game far too often. Pretends to be shy, innocent, and soft then next thing you know you’re both naked as he’s deep inside you while his mouth is wrapped around your boob or his hand is down your shorts while he suck on your boob, regardless of what happens mark my words, some part of him will be touching your chest.
"I'm-I’m sorry, I can't help myself," Dave confesses, his lips moving against your neck, his hands gently squeezing your soft breasts through your thin blouse. "You're so irresistible." His voice is soft and whiny.
His hand trails across your cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps along your skin. “Y-you’re going to love it. I promise, alright?”
His hands slide down to unbutton your blouse, revealing your bare skin underneath. He leans in to lay a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your collarbone as his fingers skim across your chest.
You nod hesitantly as his hands focus on unbuttoning your blouse, once it’s finally off and your breasts are revealed to him, he can’t help but let out a small whimper. Dave can’t help it, when he sees your bare chest he swears he’s in heaven.
Dave's hands tremble as they slide up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. He leans in closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "They're perfect," he murmurs, his voice barely audible even to himself.
You hesitate to speak, stuttering at every word that leaves your lips. “T-Thank yo-u Davie.” The heat between your thighs is becoming so unbearable.
“I w-wanna taste you mommy” Dave murmurs, his voice rough with need. His hands slip inside your panties, his fingers finding the dampness between your legs. Dave’s mouth wraps around your nipple, flicking at it and sucking at it as his hands explore your panties, feeling how wet you’ve become just for him, because of him.
The only sounds that can be heard throughout Dave’s household is the sound of your moans and whimpers as his hand plays with your wet pussy. You buck your hips agaisnt his hand as his fingers rub your clit. "Dave... I'm close," you gasp out, your body arching into his touch. "Don't stop oh my god baby!" The feel of his fingers inside you, combined with his mouth on your breast, sends waves of pleasure coursing through your entire being.
You pant his name, your body trembling with need. The sensations are overwhelming, but in the best way imaginable as his fingers continue to tease you.
F-fuck, yeah, baby," Dave gasps out, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to feel you come around my fingers, come on pretty girl. Let me feel you come around my hand." His fingers move faster, curling deeper inside you as he searches for that one perfect spot to send you over the edge.
Your eyes shut tight and your nails dig into his shoulder as you feel your climax approaching, you cry out his name and beg for him to let you come.
“Fuck, yes," Dave moans, his hips bucking against your leg as he whispers in your ear."Let go, baby. Let me see you come apart for me."
"Come for me, baby. Let go," Dave urges in a husky whimper. "I want to feel you baby.." His fingers curl and stretch, finding just the right spot, the perfect rhythm.
Dave’s eyes watch your every move and reaction as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, his eyes light up as he hears you moan and watches you buck your hips uncontrollably agaisnt his hand. Broken cry’s of pleasure leave your mouth as you come apart around his fingers.
Dave watches you fall apart under his touch. He groans, his hips bucking up against your side , seeking more contact as he feels you shatter around his fingers. “Such a good girl, so fucking tight.” he breathes, his voice thick with lust and pride.
A small gasp leaves your lips as you feel empty when he pulls his fingers from your pussy and brings them to his mouth. You watch and bite your lip as with a slow, deliberate motion, he tastes you, savoring your sweetness.
“You taste amazing," Dave murmurs, his eyes locked on yours."Mmm," Dave hums, his eyes closing in pleasure as he tastes you. "You're so fucking addictive," he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.
Feeling your body pressing against his, Dave groans into the kiss, his cock twitching against the rough fabric of his jeans. His cock is begging for a release. He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he looks into your eyes. "You're killing me," he mutters, his voice rough with lust.
Your eyes slowly wander down to the bulge in his jeans, you lick your lips at the sight admiring the imprint of his cock against his jeans. “Is this all for me Davie? You’re this worked up over watching me come and playing my tits?” Your words are filthy and condescending, something Dave catches on to quickly.
“Y-you turned me on so much just by letting me play with your pretty pussy.” He whimpers "I need you right now." He tugs on your hand gently, guiding it to his erection. “I want to feel you wrapped around me so bad." Dave’s voice comes out as a whimper as he begs for you. He’s become desperate and grinds against your palm.
“Please, baby." He whines, his hips undulating against your hand. "I need you so fucking bad." His eyes bore into yours, full of desire and need.
Your eyes admire him as he begs desperately for you, your body is begging for him but the desire to make him beg for your body overpowered your need to please him, to have him inside of you.
Whimpering, Dave presses his hips into your hand. "Please, mommy, please. I need to be inside you.." His voice is raw with need and desire. He leans in, pressing his lips against your neck.
Your resolve slowly fades and you feel yourself giving into him. His desire and desperation turns you on more than anything. Watching him fall apart simply because he needs to be inside you is the most amazing thing you’ve ever experienced.
You give him a small nod and watch as he quickly moves to unzip and take off his pants and quickly drops his boxers to floor, kicking both items of clothing off and moving back to sit near you looking at you intently. You slowly bring your palm to his cock and wrap your hand around it. Admiring his manhood. His cock twitches in anticipation, leaking pre-cum onto your hand.
Your eyes sparkle in admiration as you watch Dave’s face contor into one of pleasure. A deep moan escapes from his throat as he jerks his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into your hand.
“What do you need baby?” You tease him, watching closely as his glasses fall askew. “I need you to take me inside that tight little pussy of yours, mommy." Dave's voice is ragged.
You tsk at him in disapproval. “Oh such nasty words coming from such a pretty boy, what a shame.”
His cock jerks in your hand, a testament to his arousal. Your hand slows around him, teasing him. “I'm sorry, mommy," Dave pants, his hips jerking involuntarily. "I can't help it. I need you." His cock throbs in your hand
“Oh that’s much better, good boy.” You praise.
“T-Thank you mommy.” As if responding to your approval, Dave's cock twitches again, this time more forcefully. He arches his back, offering you better access to his sensitive tip. "Please, mommy," he whispers. "I need you to ride me.."
You coo at him and slowly remove your hand that’s wrapped around his shaft. “I know baby, you’re just so pretty when you beg. Mommy’s gonna give you what you want baby”
Dave's breath hitches when you remove your hand from his cock. His head rolls back in anticipation, his eyes closed tightly. "Oh, god..mommy," he moans, his voice shaky with desire.
His eyes flutter open, he watches you through the lenses of his glasses. “Thank you, mommy," Dave breathes out, his body trembling with anticipation. As you pull back, he reaches out, tracing the curve of your breast with his fingers. "You're so beautiful."
His words send a shiver throughout your body, his compliment bring out a small smile from you.
“Thank you Davie” You kiss his lips softly then pull away as you straddle his hips. Your entrance hovering right over his thick length, his hands slowly make their way to hold your hips.
Dave watches as you position yourself above him, his heart racing in anticipation. "Mommy," he moans, his hips pushing up against you. His cockhead brushes against your entrance.
His cock twitches against your sensitive folds, begging for entrance. "Please, mommy." You slowly lover yourself down on him, your mouth falls open as you gasp and your eyes shut as you feel his large cock slowly stretch you open around him. “Oh Davie-“ You steady yourself against him.
A soft moan escapes Dave as you lower yourself onto him, feeling you stretch around him. He grips your hips tightly, guiding you slowly down his length. "Oh fuck, mommy," he whispers.
“You’re so big Davie” You cry out as you lower yourself down on him, feeling him inside you. Dave pants, his voice thick with lust and need. He thrusts upwards gently, meeting your downward motion, their hips slapping together in a rhythmic dance of desire.
his cock throbs inside you. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples, his hands hold your breasts tenderly. His hips buck slightly, pushing further into the tight embrace of your warmth. You whimper when he’s fully inside you, his throbbing cock fills your body and your brain feels empty, your only thought is him and how good he’s making you feel. You slowly grind your hips down agaisnt his own.
“Fuck, yes," Dave groans, feeling you move against him. His own hips buck up, meeting your grind with enthusiasm. He bites his lower lip, feeling overwhelmed by the sensation of being inside you. "So fucking tight," he pants.
You groan as you feel him thrust up into your pussy, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. “You feel so good baby-Oh fuck!” Every sound and noise that is being made is borderline filthy, every moan and whimper sounds almost pornographic.
Dave cries out, his hips bucking wildly as he takes you with force. His cock pistons in and out of you, driving you both towards the brink of ecstasy. Your tits bounce at his hard thrust, your moans and cries come out broken, due to the overwhelming sense of pleasure that’s he’s giving to you.
Daves hands roamover your body again, finding your nipples. He pinches and rolls them between his fingers, using them to his advantage as he continues to fuck you senseless. Dave’s hands wander back down towards your hips, his hands wander lower and grope your ass. he leans forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. Dave’s glasses are foggy and crooked, barely on the tip of his nose.
You whimper and reach your hand towards his face gently taking them off and tossing them to the side of the couch. His tongue circles around your nipple, tugging gently at the sensitive flesh, his face somehow burrowing further against your tit. Feeling the warmth of your ass against his hands, the taste of your nipple in his mouth, and the tightness surrounding his cock, Dave can't hold back any longer. His hips buck up fiercely.
You moan and your eyes roll back as you feel your climax approaching “I’m gonna fucking come!” You groan. “Come for me baby, fuck-Oh Dave-“
Dave’s groans are muffled as he sucks on your tit, his feels his own orgasm taking over. He thrusts up into you, his cock pulsing as he releases his seed deep inside you. His hips buck wildly, his hands gripping your hips tightly. His hip shudder as he thrust up into you, emptying himself inside you. He pulls his mouth off and away from your tit and just rests his head against your chest.
As the wave of pleasure subsides, leaving both of you panting heavily, Dave remains connected to you, his cock still buried deep inside. He kisses your chest tenderly, his ear still pressed against your racing heartbeat.
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snowball-doie · 4 months ago
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| pairing: Haechan x gn!Reader ; Yuta x gn!Reader ; Jaehyun x gn!Reader
| information: 18+ MDNI. Haechan and Jaehyun's happy trails. Yuta's arm pit hair. Licking/kissing body hair. Arm pit kink(?) Blowjobs. Unprotected sex. Rough sex. Creampie(s). Mentions of sex toys, bondage, light impact play (slapping). Mild body worship. Drool. Light dacryphilia. Haechan's more on the subby side for this one. Yuta def the nastiest one, goddamn...
| aurora's note: I'm a ride or die for soft tummy Hyuck.... If you don't agree...... this one's prob not for you... Also, please check out my dynamics page for more info on switch!Haechan, Dom!Yuta, and Daddy!Dom!Jaehyun!
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HAECHAN | even before you started dating, hyuck had been shy about his body. he was confident, that wasn't the problem, it was just that he didn't care to show himself off to the rest of the world like some of his other members did. it was their choice to do that. haechan wanted to save himself for whoever he'd fall in love with, because he wanted every bit of him to be theirs. the first time you saw him naked, you were taken aback by him-- he freaked out, thinking that you disliked what you saw, but it was the exact opposite, you were so enamored that you couldn't take your eyes or hands off of him. you started by littering tons of hickies around his neck, collarbones, chest, and even his stomach. oh, fuck, you loved how his stomach tensed the further down you went. he begged you for more... he was so embarrassed when you hesitated around his stomach, admiring it for a moment before you put all your attention on his small happy trail. he shaved it a bit. it was like he appreciated the act of grooming himself, but understood the necessity of having something there too-- and he conformed a bit to the expectations of korean men by keeping some hair. "wait--" he moaned when you laid your tongue flat against the bottom of his happy trail and licked upwards. he shivered. "wait, that's..." but another moan got caught in his throat when you did it again while looking up at him through your lashes. oh, fuck, he was so madly in love with you. no one appreciated every inch of his body the way you did. no one understood him like you did. after that, hyuck wasn't shy after that. the slip ups on stage where his shirt would come up too high and reveal his happy trail, it made him grin to think that you were watching and dreaming of getting to touch him again. when he got more cocky, he began lifting his shirt up to reveal his stomach-- sometimes he regretted it when he'd get home and you'd have him pinned under you for hours on end, draining orgasm after orgasm out of his body. but that didn't stop him from doing it again.
YUTA | the man with no shame whatsoever was yuta nakamoto. that man was willing to try anything and everything with you, and whatever was throwing his way in conversation or in the middle of sex would make him fall more in love with you. "sir, can we try out this new toy i found online?" "yes, darling, i'd love that." and then he'd torture you until you were begging him for mercy, and then some for good measure. nothing seemed to be out of bounds for him, it always came down to what you wanted and what your hard no's were. honestly, even you were a bit shocked when things took a turn one thursday night after he'd come straight home from the airport after being in china for a week. yuta loved to have his hands on you. the second he was through the door, he was leading you towards the bedroom, mumbling things about how he was going to fuck you so hard that you wouldn't be able to walk until you had to go to work on monday-- until then, you were all his. when he had you on the bed, your arms were immediately pinned over your head so that he could show his dominance. it worked. you immediately fell in line for his kisses and the way he fucked his cock in and out of you at a blissfully quick pace. but there was something distracting you. something you usually didn't pay too much attention to. he hadn't shaved in a while-- in fact, in preparation for his solo album, and in protest of his company's grooming expectations, yuta refused to shave his arm pits, and during his week away it seemed he was really letting it show. the tweets. oh, fuck, they were getting to you more than you realized. leaning your head up, you kissed the underside of yuta's arm. he shivered like it tickled, but he didn't stop you from kissing closer and closer until you stopped out of your own shyness. "do it." it wasn't a question, it wasn't a reassurance that it was okay to do, it was a flat out demand from your Dom that you couldn't ignore. so you swallowed your pride then kissed the thick patch of hair in his arm pit. yuta grinned. "dirty thing, aren't you? missed me that much?" you nodded in agreement. yuta continued to fuck you until your legs were shaking and your head was spinning, and he made sure you were stuffed full of his cum. fuck, you really were obsessed with every inch of him, weren't you? and of course he would never let you forget it. any time he wore a sleeveless shirt, yuta would make sure to stretch his arms over his head, or he'd corner you against the wall and put one of his arms next to your head while he leered over you. he loved how you were capable of worshipping every inch of his body. and he loved how embarrassed you got whenever he'd tell you to be dirty again and kiss or lick the patch of hair in his armpits. if you were too shy to do it, he'd grab you roughly, give your cheeks a few light slaps, and tell you to be good for him.
JAEHYUN | he loved to watch you drool. truly. it didn't matter if it happened when he fucked you for so long that you'd gone dumb and couldn't think about anything aside from his thick cock going in and out of your tight hole, or if it were when he fucked your face. you just looked so cute. struggling to take his entire length in your mouth, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, moans gurgling in the back of your throat as you tried to decide if you wanted to fight him off or let him continue to use you. it usually boiled down to the latter. all that drool at the base of his cock, it made jae's eyes cross. oh, but best of all was whenever he'd tip right over the edge finally, so he would grab your hair roughly and force you to take every single inch in your mouth, regardless of how difficult it could be, and your nose would be forced against the prickly texture of his pubes that he loved to show off to fans. after finishing down your throat with a hefty grunt, jaehyun would release you, watching as you gasped for air, drool and cum leaking everywhere. no, no. that wasn't sufficient. you were better than that. "clean up your mess for daddy." you'd obediently begin licking up the cum from his softening cock, his balls, and then when you were sure you'd done a good job, he'd tsk his tongue and force you to lick everything up from his pubic hair. "that's it... you're doing so good... make sure to get every drop." no one would ever know the nasty things he had you do for him, not even when he'd leave you in bed to rest behind closed doors while stylists would swarm the rest of the hotel suite to get him ready for the fashion show where he'd be showing off that same happy trail he had your nose buried in mere hours prior.
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regulusrules · 1 year ago
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A very long meta explaining why the confession scene in Good Omens is the best that has ever been written and performed on screen
First of, the scene begins with two different realisations that makes each of them believe that their dynamic will significantly change (Crowley wanting to confess his love and Aziraphale wanting to break out the news about heaven). This, you can see, creates an unprecedented shift in their energy, makes them super excited (Azi) and super nervous (Crowley) to break the news to one another. And despite the two matters being drastically different, when Aziraphale begins his revelation we don't get the Miscommunication trope where Crowley listens to the offer and passively retreats back his emotions. No. He is steadfast in his resolution, in his love for Aziraphale.
And that right here is king attitude no.1, because even if Aziraphale just threw something so godforsaken on him, he won't allow himself to be cowardly or let go of the one person he loves more than eternity. Crowley still bares his heart, still lets it all out, because he will not lose Aziraphale in his naivete of still believing that Heaven is good and Hell is evil. (I write this with supreme detachment of my own beliefs lol) He tries to make Aziraphale understand that sides didn't do them any good the past 6000 years, that the only solid foundation they ever had was them, and that Crowley would rather have them than have everything.
The way you hear Tennant's voice breaking when he said “And we spent our whole existence pretending that we aren’t”, is the perfect reflection of how Crowley genuinely despairs the time they lost and wouldn't have any more of it. And even with how bare and raw he's feeling with revealing all this, he still goes on. He still tries to tell him and I would like to spend our whole existence together, but struggles and struggles because he's strung wide open. But he keeps trying.
Now you see here a moment of disbelief on Aziraphale's behalf, because he doesn't understand why Crowley would refuse going back to heaven with him when all Aziraphale remembers of Angel!Crowley was how utterly bright his eyes shone when he lit up the stars and surely Crowley must miss that too? He wants the same thing Crowley is saying, just in a different dimension. The “I can make a difference” immediately changes to “We can make a difference” because that's all what’s ever been for Aziraphale; them changing the small engines of the world according to their partnered will. He is genuinely benign and not ill-intentioned when he says “Nothing lasts forever”, because he truly wants a better life for them, a better existence. And that's when it gets better: Crowley has his walls back up, he's walking away, because he can't bear that he was never enough as he is for Aziraphale. That he was never worth reciprocation.
But Aziraphale doesn't let him leave.
And that is king attitude no.2, because he doesn't want Crowley to leave when things are strewn all over the place that they don't know where they stand. All Aziraphale ever wanted was for them to stand on the same ground. He asks him to come back to him but hides it by finishing it with “to heaven!” because the whole conversation is going too fast for him, and he's undergoing a religious crisis of sorts that does not end in 6000 years, yet even so he still doesn't want to lose Crowley because he's everything he has and he can't do it without him and “I — I need you!”
And that's when it gets reaaally interesting. Aziraphale's expression then turns from sorrowful desperation to rageful desperation, because he's baring his heart and Crowley is walking away from him. Their solid ground is completely shaken when he says “I don't think you understand what I'm offering you” because he's trying to be subtle about his love for Crowley and still direct as much as he can, but Crowley responds with a condescending “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do” and if this isn't peak human beings in their arguments, I don't know what is. Because we all think we are so misunderstood every time we get into an argument with someone we love, and we absolutely despise it when we feel patronized, so it's no wonder Aziraphale bitterly says “Then there's nothing more to say”, because if Crowley understands, truly does, then he'd see right past his fear to how much he loves the ground Crowley walks over.
And on the other hand I don't believe Crowley truly meant to be patronizing, but in a desperate last attempt he wanted to make Aziraphale understand what he is trying to say, what he spent his entire eternity feeling for Aziraphale, what Aziraphale would be giving up if he goes to heaven. What their life sounds like with no nightingales.
“You idiot, we could've been.. us” is the very culmination of love confessions. It took every single emotion and equated it. Tennant's delivery of it was unsurpassed in the way that it truly covers everything. And the way he grabbed Aziraphale, not entirely lovingly but desperately and angrily and, honest to God, awfully, is the reason why their kiss is so perfect. No queerbaiting, no beating around bushes. It is raw and sad and giving and agonising. Crowley wants to say see what you're giving up? See what we can have? And all Aziraphale thinks is how could you lay this on me now after everything, after every chance we could've been something, after me loving you from the first time I've met you. He's angry towards himself too, because nothing he can offer Crowley will be good enough that he chooses him instead of his choices. Sheen's choice in making his character grab Crowley's shoulder and let it go and then grab it once more in desperation is so unexplainably perfect of how much Aziraphale wants to hold onto Crowley.
But in the back of his mind, Crowley isn't choosing the same. Instead, Crowley's choosing to run from something that no doubt will rebound in their faces. They are angels and demons of heaven and hell, how could Crowley expect they could run and hide without being a repercussion later on? At least what Aziraphale is suggesting ensures that they will have a high position of power, enough to make them together, enough to make them happy, but instead, Crowley is walking away.
And when Crowley lets go of him, not the other way around because of course it is Crowley who must let go and detach from the utter pain that pierced his heart, you can see his expression being one of defeated longing. He sees all expressions passing across Aziraphale, sees how torn apart the other man is, too, and awaits just a semblance of anything they could work with. But instead, Aziraphale's face closes, and he tells Crowley “I forgive you”, and Crowley thinks this must be his second falling, because he's never felt more pain. “Don’t bother”, he says, yet still waits for Aziraphale outside and doesn't leave until Aziraphale has left him. Because in the end, Crowley would always be there for Aziraphale, even if he doesn’t feel worthy of it.
And that, my beloveds, is why eternity will remember this scene.
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jandthecrow · 6 days ago
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Connected
Simon Ghost Riley x Reader
SUMMARY: Simon gives you one of those trendy bracelets made for couples on Christmas Day. Literally saw an ad for it and immediately thought about this.
CW: SFW, wholesome, Soft!Simon, Christmas Day, established relationship, non gendered reader
The room was quiet except for the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of wrapping paper. Snow fell lightly outside, the sun making the snow glow with a beautiful sheen. You and Simon sat close together on the living room floor, surrounded by open boxes and torn ribbons. The morning had been filled with laughter and surprises both big and small, but Simon had one last gift for you.
He reached behind the couch and pulled out a small box, wrapped in baby blue paper and tied with a simple white string. His fingers paused on it for a moment before he handed it to you, his eyes holding yours.
“This one’s… different. Don’t know if you’ll like it,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.
You tilted your head, as you took the gift. “Different how?” You say examining the box and the little white snowflakes printed on the thin paper.
“Just open it,” he grunted, his gaze unwavering.
With a small smile, you tugged at the white string and peeled back the paper, revealing a sleek black box. Lifting the lid, you were met with the sight of two bracelets nestled inside; sleek, simple, and modern. One was slightly larger and blue, clearly meant for a bigger wrist; Simon’s wrist specifically. While the other was smaller and white gold - with a small skull printed on top (he had to stake his claim somehow lol) designed for a smaller wrist - yours.
“Wait… are these what I think they are?” you asked, glancing up at him.
“They are,” he confirmed, his tone gruff but softened by the emotion in his eyes. “Thought it’d be… useful. For when I’m not here.”
You picked up the smaller bracelet, running your fingers over its smooth surface. “They’re the ones that send a signal, right? To let the other person know you’re thinking of them?”
Simon nodded, his forearms resting on his thighs as he leaned forward watching you. “Yeah. You press the button, and it buzzes on the other end. Subtle. Nothing flashy.”
Your chest tightened as the weight of the gesture sank in. He wasn’t the type to voice his emotions often, but this - this was his way of saying he wanted to stay connected, even when countless miles separated you.
“I…” You trailed off, trying to find the right words to express your aching heart. “Simon, this is… it’s perfect.”
He shifted slightly, reaching for the other bracelet and sliding it onto his wrist. “It’s not much, but I figured… if you ever needed… or um missed me… or maybe if I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you - this would help.”
You slipped your own bracelet onto your wrist, marveling at how well it fit. “It’s more than enough,” you said softly, pressing the small button on the side.
A faint vibration buzzed against Simon’s wrist, and his eyes crinkled at the edges as he glanced down at the bracelet. Without a word, he pressed his own button, and you felt the gentle pulse against your wrist in return.
The exchange was silent, but it spoke volumes.
“This way, you’ll never be alone… even when I’m not there for you,” he said his voice breaking and filled with a rare tenderness.
You reached over, placing your hand on top of his. “And neither will you.”
The two of you sat there for a while, the fire place crackling as the fire danced. The world outside seemed to slow, as if the world was giving you this moment to savor.
“Merry Christmas, Simon,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.
“Merry Christmas, love,” he replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
The bracelets weren’t just a gift but a promise. No matter where he was, or how far apart you might be, you’d always have a way to reach each other. A silent signal that said, I’m here. I’m thinking of you. And for both of you, it was everything you could ever ask for.
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florencemtrash · 10 months ago
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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Thirteen
Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader
Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.
Warnings: Canon typical violence. A walk through Velaris turns for the worse and the secrets of The Book are finally revealed...
The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist
Masterlist of Masterlists
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It would seem I was wrong. It does not take much for Bethsevah Mordeigh to turn. 
I should be ashamed, but the more often Thanatos keeps coming back, the more I come to like him. Make no mistake, he’s as dangerous and volatile as a starving animal, but compared to his siblings he’s a saint. 
I saw him kill a male yesterday. One who stumbled upon our hidden ceremony and threatened to come back with Koschei’s army and crush us and the Mother beneath his boot. 
But with a snap of Thanatos’s fingers the nameless fae was gone. Gone in a gust of red wind that smelled and tasted like metal. And Thanatos looked stronger for it. His pale skin stopped being so translucent. His hair looked a touch darker, so dark it swallowed all light. A piece cut away from the fabric of the world. 
Death is his food. Him and his siblings feed on it and crave it like nothing else. 
Except for me. 
Thanatos says he craves me. And I think I believe him. I think I’m beginning to crave him too. 
Gwyn froze when the mountain’s door slid back. Azriel stood outside Cagniv Library with a bouquet of salt-white water lilies clutched in one hand and pale blue tulips in the other. 
“Azriel,” you smiled brightly, the last word you’d meant to speak to Gwyn dying on your lips. “What’re you doing here?”
The midday sun beat down on the face of the mountain, shortening the shadows around your feet. 
“I was coming from the House of Wind and was hoping you’d take a long walk home with me. These are for you.” He held out the tulips. “And for you.” He held out the lilies for Gwyn, which she accepted after a brief moment of hesitance. 
Azriel looked… lighter. His shadows were stronger than ever, clinging to his body like a second scent, but his eyes held a fondness and love for you that Gwyn had never seen before. Not when he was looking at Mor, not when he was looking at Elain… not when he was looking at her. It was so obvious to Gwyn’s eyes, she was amazed you hadn’t caught on yet. You just looked at the flowers with a touch of color flooding your cheeks. Bashful and uncertain of how to accept such a gift. 
“Thank you.” You touched the velvety petals between your fingers as though they might crumble if you weren’t gentle. 
“Yes. Thank you.” 
Azriel looked at Gwyn, that small smile of his faltering and then growing once more when Gwyn nodded her head. It was a silent acknowledgement. A quiet understanding that didn’t completely escape your notice. 
I’m not happy with you. Gwyn’s eyes spoke. But I understand. Her teal eyes flashed protectively. Don’t fuck this up.
“I assume I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” Gwyn smirked at you and nudged her shoulder with your own, feeling the soft give of her skin and the strength in her arms. 
“Where else would I be?”
“At home. Sleeping.”
“Pffft. Sleep is for the weak.” 
“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Az. Now shoo.” Gwyn waved you off, watching as you took the arm that Azriel offered and made your way down the smooth steps of the mountain back to the city. 
You bowed your heads together, lips barely moving and cutting out two dark silhouettes in the air. Azriel must have said something funny because your gentle laugh carried itself on the wind, weaving into the air like silver thread. Gwyn couldn’t help but smile at you. 
If she knew what was about to happen, she would have never let you leave the library. 
“They’re in love.” 
Azriel looked sideways at you, catching the sweet scent of your hair as you leaned against him. The Palace of Hoof and Leaf buzzed with quiet energy, the air tinged with the scent of sugar from the confectionary booths. 
“Who?”
“Beth and Thanatos.” 
The book rocked against your hip, matching the beat of you and Azriel’s steps as you walked through the cobblestone marketplace. Lanterns hung unlit from the arches above, bobbing on wire like the bubbles that a pair of hawk-winged children were blowing from the steps of a peach-stone apartment. The girl, blue-eyed and red-haired, nudged the boy, pointing at the Shadowsinger with something like awe. Azriel offered them a faint smile and a few tendrils of his shadows licked at their feet as they scampered away with laughter. It was just a game to them after all. 
“I didn’t think he was capable of love,” Azriel noted. He thought back to the memories you’d unearthed with your powers and of the violent ways Thanatos had inched his way into Beth’s life. Wherever he lingered, death followed. But so far as you knew, he was also incredibly protective of Beth and the other priestesses. They’d benefited from his presence even if they were unnerved by it. He’d kept them hidden from Koschei.
“Beth didn’t think so either.” You flinched when one of the marketplace hawkers held his hand out to you. He didn’t shout like the others and seemed grieved when you stepped back into the folds of Azriel’s wings. He opened his sticky fist palm up to the sky revealing a handful of neat caramel candies wrapped in wax paper. 
“For the miss.” 
Y/n looked at Azriel, who only nodded with a smile.
“Thank you.” You gingerly took them from him, taking a moment to admire the light brown of the confectioner’s eyes, like burnt sugar, and the wisps of candy floss clinging to his shirt like loose threads. 
He didn’t resume his shouting until you were a good distance away, deep voice bellowing out over the square that his wares were made fresh that morning. You unwrapped one of the candies and stuck it in your mouth, sighing as it turned around on your tongue, slowly melting. Azriel took one of the candies you offered, but tucked it into his pocket when you turned your head to inspect the baskets of spices laid out on the sidewall.
“But he keeps staying with her. Keeps warning her of Koschei’s movements so she and her fellow priestesses can stay hidden. He… he cares for her. Or at least Beth seems to think so. The information — the story — is more pleasant than I could have hoped for, and I’m eternally grateful she doesn’t go in depth about their activities—” 
Azriel chuckled. “So it’s not like one of Nesta’s books.”
“Thank the Mother no. But it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out how to defeat Koschei. She doesn’t even talk about Koschei or the priestesses much. Only Thanatos. It’s just a love story.”
“Love stories are never just that though. They’re probably the most powerful things in the universe. Look at Rhysand and Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. I don’t think we’d be where we are now if not for their love for one another. The things they were willing to do to protect what they cared about.” 
“Do you ever wish you had that?” You dared to ask. “That kind of love? A mate?” Azriel turned to look at you, eyes filled with more cryptic meaning than you could ever imagine unraveling. There was hope, longing, grief, and a slew of other emotions. Their weight seemed to press in on you, but you didn’t feel overwhelmed. 
“All the time,” he whispered. Then he smiled, staring down at where your arm was linked to his. “Do you?” 
You turned away almost bitterly. “I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.”
“I would disagree.” 
You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you settled on silence. Luckily for you, silence with Azriel never felt uncomfortable. 
“If your shadows keep taking them, I’m going to forget how many I’ve selected.”
“I see no problem with this,” Azriel shrugged and continued to follow you around the bookshop. It had stuck out to you immediately on your long walk back to the River House. A squat, two-story townhouse with charmingly chipped white paint laid over sturdy brick and sage green shutters. Candles winked in the afternoon light pressed up against window sills where two fat ginger cats lay purring in the sun. The dark, woodsy interior dripped with books, leather notebooks, and automatic writing pens that hovered over thick pages like butterflies. “We have space in the house.” 
“It’s less about space and more about how much I’ve spent.” Your fingers brushed the next book on the shelf and its deep purple binding. 
Oh that one’s interesting — a romance between a Spring Court nymph and a Dundarian knife maker filled with adventure, lust, longing, and found family. 
You’d no sooner plucked it from the shelf before shadows crowded your hands, whisking it off to whatever ether Azriel kept them hidden in. He wrote the name of the book on a sheaf of paper, his handwriting neat and simple. 
You turned on him, arms folded over your chest. “You can’t keep doing that.” 
“You are not to spend a copper of your own money here. Rhysand and Feyre’s orders. Just put it on the House’s credit. Rhysand’s already added you.” 
“They put me on their credit?” You balked even thinking about the money you’d been given access to.
Azriel nodded. “Consider it repayment.”
“Repayment for what? I haven’t done anything.”
Azriel looked at you quietly, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re the reason I still have a sister-in-law and a niece. You’re the reason we now have a name to investigate and are one step closer to defeating Koschei. You’re the reason the Godswoods and the Gallows haven’t been stolen from yet and a number of Librarians still have their lives. Do I need to continue?”
You thought through what he said. It was true that Helion’s intervention in the Godswoods and the Gallows had been effective. No deaths had been reported since then, but it didn’t make you feel any safer. A snake was still a snake, even when camouflaged.
“Only two of those things matter to the Night Court. Helion owes me for the latter.” 
“Then you can have him contact the banks and transfer the sums.” Azriel’s eyes twinkled with mischie. You went to snatch the paper out of his hands, but all he had to do was raise his arm to the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips. You jumped up, one hand firm on his shoulder for leverage, but it was no use. He was too damned tall. 
You stood on the tips of your toes to get closer to eye level with Azriel. His eyes flickered down to your lips, the shapes they made as you quietly said, “Thank you.” 
You lingered in the stacks for a few moments longer, nervously asked the shop owner to put the list of books on the High Lord and High Lady’s tab — which she did with a warm smile — and then made your way back outside. The bell hanging above the doorway jingled happily, the wood burned sign saying Come back soon! Love, Jessebell. 
You trailed ahead of him down the street. Every sign, every shop window display, every street sign — you drank them in like you were ravenous. 
Azriel felt Rhys’s presence drift in the outskirts of his mind, and without hesitation, he let him in. 
Where are you? What’s taking so long?
Nearly to the Sidra. I brought her to Jessebell’s. 
That explains your lateness. Rhys paused. She must have loved that. 
Azriel smiled inwardly. She did. She really did.  
A female with weathered, dark skin and flowers sprouting from her ears stopped you on the street and although your first instinct was to recoil, you relaxed when she only lifted up a deep black tulip in her textured hands. The wilting flower straightened up when you kissed one of the petals as instructed and the gentle laugh that followed had Azriel’s heart soaring. 
Well make sure you get here in time for dinner. I want as many of our family members under my roof as possible.
Is this an ask, or a command?
Don’t make me use my High Lord voice on you.
Azriel rolled his eyes with a smile. I am absolutely trembling. Do you use that tone of voice on Nyx? 
He felt as much as heard Rhys’s laughter. Enjoy your time with Y/n, but come back soon. Mor is looking to get her hands on your mate. Mother help us all.
Rhys cut the connection and Azriel was free to admire you once more. 
You cradled the bouquet he’d given you in your arms, light reflecting off the petals and casting a faint blue glow on your face as you chatted with the florist. Your smile, which had started out forced and nervous, was slipping into something more relaxed. When the female laughed merrily and touched your wrist, you didn’t flinch. 
Dark tendrils of night curled around his ears and Azriel felt a shiver trail down his spine. 
Behind you. His shadows whispered. The boy needs help. There’s something wrong with him.
The boy startled back when Azriel turned towards him, tripping over a nick in the cobblestones and landing with a wince on his palms. Glassy pale eyes stared up, wide and terrified. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt and his white-blond hair was a mess of curls flecked with grey, like he’d been rolling around in dust. Pale pink and blue veins rose to the surface of his green-tinged skin, sickly and unnerving. He looked like a corpse on puppet strings.
Azriel looked around, but no one was searching for the little boy. No yelps belonging to scared parents. No calls from a sibling. 
“Shadowsinger, sir?” Even his voice sounded sickly, like his vocal chords were disintegrating in his throat. 
Azriel immediately dropped to his knees and slid his hands behind his back. “What’s happened, little one? What’s wrong?” His voice was smooth and gentle. 
He was too busy thinking that his boy was younger than Nyx, too busy ordering his shadows out to search for the boy’s parents that he didn’t think twice about the lingering stench of blood clinging to the boy’s shoes or the faint pain beginning to grow behind his hazel eyes. 
The boy looked around furtively while wringing his grubby hands, and then leaned close to whisper in Azriel’s ear. His pale eyes narrowed in concentration.
“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a black tulip before.” 
“It’s a little secret of mine. You need to get the seed and soil just right.” The female brushed her waist length hair over her shoulder. The knotted strands had the thick, coarse texture of seafarer’s rope, as aged and wise as the rest of her. When you held the flower back out for her to take she shook her head. 
“For you, my dear. I have dozens more and I think it would attract more business if you wore it around today. A beautiful creature like you must get lots of attention.” 
You knew she was probably just saying these things to get your business, but you couldn’t help the spark of joy the compliments gave you. She helped tuck the flower into the braids of your hair and you felt the petals kiss the tips of your left ear. 
“Say.” The female leaned in like she was about to share a secret. “If you aren’t already taken, I have a niece who’d love to have a pretty girl like you on her arm.” 
Your blush deepened and you found yourself stammering, “That’s very kind, but I don't-I don’t-'' You glanced up the street. Azriel was kneeling on the ground, head bent down to a small child. You only caught the wisps of white, candy floss hair over Azriel’s broad shoulders. 
The female traced the path of your gaze and sighed. “Ahhhhh. I see.” There was a triumphant look in her eyes, even as she said, “Shame. But I’ll still give you my niece’s name if you don’t mind.” 
Your eyes snapped away from Azriel’s and you smiled in embarrassment. “Oh, we’re not—”
“Henna.” 
You stepped back. Panic froze the blood in your veins and you felt pinpricks traveling up your body, stabbing your heart and your mind. You could see her now. Her silver hair fanned out around her. Her broken body. Her bloodied eye socket, dark and empty. 
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” You had to have heard her incorrectly. Your head was pounding but you pushed back on your mental wards, shoring up your defenses until the feeling passed.
The female tilted her head to the side. Her eyes were as milky and glassy as pearls. “Does the name mean anything to you, dear?” 
You took another step back and the female stepped forward. Her eyes seemed to clear then and her brows furrowed in concentration and pain. She lunged forward, tearing away at your clothes and knocking the flowers of your hands as she begged. “Help me. The boy. He’s inside—HELP ME!” 
You surged back, crumpling to the ground under her heavy weight as she continued to pull and claw. 
She’d been restocking the back room when the dirty little boy and the tailor showed up in the alleyway. He still carried that bolt of fabric under the crook of his arm. He took out a knife, orange eyes flashing and slit his throat from ear to ear while the little boy watched. Smiling.
“LET GO!” You kicked out, ramming your knee up and into the soft flesh of her stomach like you’d seen Emerie do to Cassian, but you lacked her strength and technique. The female wheezed but didn’t let go, even as others came to try and pry her off of you. Their voices were frantic, trying to calm you down, but they were the voices and hands of strangers. 
“AZ!” You screamed, feeling the female sink her nails into your arm.
There was an ugly tearing sound and the cool touch of wind at your chest. Your robes were ripped apart under her rough hands and her eyes narrowed in on your belt and the chain that connected to the book. She bucked off a cherub-faced female with a blow to her nose and blood splashed over your cheek. 
“Help me. Please. Oh… oh gods.” She grabbed at the book, but the chain glowed iron hot in her hands. The smell of burning scorched your nose as the magic did what it was meant to do. Nothing could break that chain. Not unless you willed it. Not while you were still alive. 
“Oh gods. Oh gods help me. I’m so sorry.” There were tears streaming down her face, tracing the canyons and valleys of her skin. She threw off the fae clamoring around you both and ran with jerky, uncoordinated leaps back into her flower shop. She snatched the gardening shears off the windowsill where she’d been trimming her hydrangea bushes. She wept and shook her head, mouth struggling to open and scream as she held the shears up high and then drove them into her neck.
The scene took a long time to filter through the haze of panic and disbelief. 
“Az… Az… Az—AZRIEL!” Your shrill scream pierced through the air. You scrambled away from everyone. Stones shaved away the skin of your knees, your palms. The tattered silk of your robes trailed behind you. “Don’t touch me!” You shrieked at the male who tried grabbing your arm, soft voice whispering. 
He wasn’t the one you wanted. 
“AZRIEL!” 
The female dropped to her knees, hands clutching her throat as blood poured out in bubbly, gurgling spurts. The candy pink strips of her apron turned a wet, sticky black as she crawled back towards the door.
“Oh gods… Please,” she wheezed, wet and agonized, before collapsing face down on the floor. Motionless. 
You staggered to your feet twisting away from everyone crowding around you. 
“Don’t touch me. Don’t!” 
“Miss you must sit. Please—”
“Let me help—” 
“Are you hurt? What’s—” 
“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!” 
Screams. The sound of doors slamming shut. Locks turning. Commanding barks calling for a healer. Calling for the High Lord and the High Lady. Calling for the Shadowsinger to help.
Azriel was still kneeling in front of that boy and no matter how many times you called his name and pushed through the crowd of people now rushing up and down the streets in a frenzy, he didn’t get up. He didn’t look at you. You may as well have not existed. 
You finally reached him, narrowly missing being run over by a satyr who seemed to have gotten the wrong impression about which direction to sprint in. Every clip clop of his hooves shot through you. 
“Az.” 
Why hadn’t… Why hadn’t he helped you? 
“Az.”
Why hadn’t he come when you called?
The Shadowsinger rose. One hand grabbed the hilt of Truth Teller and the malicious blade sang as it was unleashed. The shadows that normally hovered about him like mist were gone. They were all around you now, tugging you in the opposite direction towards the Sidra. They pleaded for you to run, but you couldn’t understand them.
Something was deeply, deeply wrong.
“Az.” You begged and grabbed hold of his hand. “Please. You’re scaring me.”
Truth Teller shot out and pain radiated up your arm as the blade cut neatly through your clothes and sliced open your skin. You tripped backward, landing with a thud on the street that rattled your bones. Your sleeve turned dark with blood. 
You whimpered, holding your ruined arm up to your chest. There was no feeling in Azriel’s eyes. No flicker of recognition. None of that warmth and kindness you were so accustomed to. Just a menacing, silent form towering over you and blocking out the sun. 
A pale boy stood by Azriel’s side with ice chip eyes and rectangular pupils. He grinned brightly and the stretch of his waxy cheeks was too tight. Too forced. He shouldn’t have been alive. He-he—
Andrian. 
You’d seen him in Henna’s memory. You’d heard the snap of his neck beneath Koschei’s hands. Even now the boy was bent awkwardly, his head left in a perpetual tilt that should have looked charming and inquisitive but instead made you want to retch.
Andrian smiled at you then plastered a practiced look of horror on his face before running away with tears streaming down his cheeks, shouting for his mother. A burly male grabbed his shoulders, alarm on his face as he hoisted Andrian into his arms and disappeared into the crowd. Because who wouldn’t stoop down to help a fragile little boy? Who would dare suspect that the daemati that had roamed the Day Court’s halls and slithered his way into Velaris was a child?
Azriel gripped you by the front of your ruined clothes, hosting you up in the air. Your feet kicked uselessly and grabbed onto Azriel’s arm, trying to alleviate the choking pressure of his hand so close to your neck. 
“No. Azriel please. It’s me,” you whimpered. “It’s me.”
There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. There and gone. So brief you wondered if you’d imagined it.
His left hand parted the tatters of your robes, and you flinched when his fingers brushed against your hip before settling on the chain that kept the book tied to you. 
Panic seized your soul. 
You’d been chipping away at the book’s secrets for months and you couldn’t let Azriel — couldn’t let Koschei — get his hands on it. Not without you knowing what it was that made Beth’s story so special.
You flung a hand out, feeling the leather of the book beneath your fingertips like it was your own skin. Your magic called out to the book, desperate and powerful and familiar, and the barriers it possessed to hide its secrets melted away at your beckoning. You poured every inch of your power into it even as Azriel’s lips turned down in an ugly frown that didn’t belong on his face. 
Your eyes turned to gold, bright as the sun as you basked in the knowledge flooding your mind with the force of a tsunami. You didn’t hold anything back. Not this time.
You were so lost in the book — in the emotions and memories wrapping around your mind, sharp and brighter than the light of a thousand suns — that you didn’t feel it when Azriel gripped that golden chain. The metal flared, a high-pitched ring piercing the air as it snapped in two, giving way to Azriel’s power. Nothing should have broken it. And yet there it was dangling from your waist.  
You did feel it when he broke your wrist. 
When he forced the book from your grasp. 
And then stabbed you in the stomach. 
Cassian and Nesta winnowed to the street and watched in horror as your body was dropped to the ground. Your head cracked the pavement, hands twitching palms up at your sides. 
Nesta shrieked. The sound was harrowing. The mourning, dying screams of an animal.  
She charged forward, twin blades flashing in her hands, and silver light shot out of her chest, crashing into Azriel’s shields and forcing him back twenty feet. He gritted his teeth. The rubber soles of his shoes skidded and burned. 
Cassian collapsed on his knees beside you, peeling off his leather jacket and wrapping it around your head and neck to keep it in place. 
“Shit.” His hands came away bloody. RHYS! FEYRE! He screamed into the corners of his mind, hoping they’d hear. GET HERE NOW! 
“Thanatos.” Your voice was weak.
“It’s Cass. Hey, keep your eyes on me ok.” He pressed his hands against your stomach, wings flared out to protect you from the cold burn of Nesta’s power as she went toe to toe with The Shadowsinger. Magic sizzled in the air, raising the hair on the back of Cassian’s neck like a lightning strike waiting to happen. Blood pooled over his hands, thick and dark. “Eyes open,” he commanded, “On me.”  
Your eyes were open, and glowing strangely, but you weren’t staring at Cassian. No. You were miles outside of your body. 
“The Bone Carver. That’s it.” 
“Eyes on me, Y/n. Eyes on me.” 
“Thanatos,” your hand twitched, “The Bone Carver. That’s how she did it.”
Nesta screamed, flying overhead in a burst of blue light that had her back slamming into one of the marketplace towers. The white marble cracked viciously and Nesta dropped to the ground, dazed and distracted as blood dripped out from her nose. 
“NESTA!” Cassian roared, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as Azriel waited at the bottom of the street. 
The Shadowsinger muttered something dark and revolting beneath his breath. Ancient, powerful words that were whispered in his mind. He held onto the book in his hands as it lit up in flames and then blew the ashes into the wind that would carry them all the way to Andrian’s master. 
Koschei.
The call of her mate sharpened her senses and Nesta rolled onto her feet, calling her weapons back into her hands and leveling a glare at Azriel that would have killed a lesser male on the spot. 
She was Nesta fucking Archeron. 
Lady Death. 
Queen of Queens. 
And she would be damned if she let Azriel hurt her or anyone else.
“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Az,” she growled. 
She’d been holding back before. She’d been holding back a long while. But no more of that. The power she let out burst through Velaris with light brighter than a dying star, crackling with an energy that knocked Azriel off his feet and sent him crashing into the river wall with a sickening crack that shattered the bones in his arm, his leg, and his wings. 
Rhys appeared at his side, violet eyes wide open in shock. He could feel the magic suffocating his brother’s consciousness, burying him so deep there was almost nothing left but anger behind his whiskey-brown eyes. 
Rhysand grabbed the sides of his head, shoving his way into Azriel’s mind even while he fought back. Rhys flinched when one of Azriel’s knives nicked his temple, drawing blood that dripped down onto his velvet dinner jacket and floated on the dense material like dew drops. 
“Stop. This isn’t you, Az.” 
Azriel seethed, teeth bared and bloody. He spit in Rhysand’s face and he winced. Rhysand would never be able to forgive himself for what he did next. But someone had burrowed themselves into Azriel’s mind so thoroughly, so viciously, that in that moment, it was the only thing Rhys could think to do. 
Rhysand’s talons dragged down on Azriel’s mental walls so viciously he screamed as they were torn to pieces. He dug in with brutal efficiency. Reaching, tearing, clawing to catch the curl of power that had infected Azriel’s mind before it could do any more damage. He latched onto its slithery, silver body and wrenched it out of Azriel’s consciousness. 
When I find you. You’re as good as dead. Rhysand promised. 
The daemati slunk away with a giddiness that sent a shiver through The High Lord’s bones. 
Azriel slumped, weak and boneless, against his brother’s shoulder. Sweat beaded his brow and he shook, blinking the saltiness out of his eyes. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. His bones were broken. His wings twisted. There was a raging headache that a hundred shots of vodka paled in comparison to. 
But it was his hands that horrified him most. Red and slippery. 
His breath shook.
He couldn’t… he couldn’t remember… what…. 
His eyes shot to Rhys, then up the street where he could make out Feyre, Cass, and Nesta huddled over your still body. The bond sat deep within him pulsing with terror and pain. 
“Rhys.” His voice broke. Rhysand angled his body to hide you from view, but it was too late. Azriel was panicking now, body trembling uncontrollably. “What happened?”
Rhysand said nothing. His eyes shined with horror. 
“What did I do? Rhys, what did I do?!” 
“Cass. Cassian, I’ve got her.” 
His hands were shaking. There was so much blood. The smell burned his nose and made him want to throw up his lunch. Feyre covered his hands with her own, peeling them away sticky and red from Y/n’s stomach. 
Light flooded out from Feyre’s palms, warm and lovely and Cassian and Nesta breathed a sigh of relief as the flow of red slowed and then stopped, flesh knitting itself back together. 
“It’s ok. You’ll be ok.” Nesta’s words were commanding as she held your neck and head still.
Your eyes searched the empty sky, seeing and unseeing. Then your hands shot up, grasping Feyre’s shoulders and digging in deep enough to leave bruises. Your eyes were wide, staring at her with an intensity that spoke of a thousand years. An unfathomable wealth of knowledge that should have crushed you beneath its weight. 
“Y/n it’s ok,” she murmured gently, pushing more power into your body, willing you to heal faster.
“Look. Feyre you need to look,” your voice was thick. Wet. Blood coated the inside of your mouth bitter and metallic. 
“I’m looking. Y/n, you hit your head. It’s going to be ok. You hear me? It’s going to be ok.” 
“You need to look,” you said once more.
You trailed a bloody, weak hand down Feyre’s arm and pulled her fingers up to your temple, tapping once. Twice. 
Without any more direction, she slipped into your mind and gasped.
Feyre stood in a pool of mist, white fingers reaching up her legs and splintering outwards before they changed direction and started to climb up into the darkness like trees. Or rather… like bookshelves. The mist formed stacks that disappeared into the distance, endless hallways and shelves that wound around each other. Chaotic and orderly at the same time. 
She could feel your presence beside her. Or rather she was you. In that moment she felt the raging winds of your power, hot and ravenous. It wrapped around you, tugging you to and fro like that uncontrollable lurch when you stand too close to the cliff’s edge. The call of the void.
She needed to answer that call the same way you did whenever you used your powers, because somewhere in the halls of your mind stood the knowledge you’d worked so hard to obtain. The truth of how it was Bethsevah Mordeigh was able to trap Koschei, and how to end it once and for all. 
Feyre let your magic pull her in the right direction. In the mist she stumbled upon the final memories you’d absorbed from the book before it had blown away in the wind.
Bethsevah wept, “No. No. No. I won’t,” shoving away the reed thin body that held her so close. Thanatos grasped her face in his pale hands, begging her to listen to him even as she shook her head frantically. “I won’t do it.” 
“You must. Bethsevah, you must.” His pitch black eyes winked with starlight… or maybe it was his tears. 
This world and its people had changed him. He could feel it in his bones. Something very deep and cruel within him had been twisted into something sacred. Something that toed the line of kindness. 
Koschei thought it was this element that made fae and humans beneath the three of them. They were supposed to be pure. Powerful. Handing out life and taking it away like the gods they were. But now Thanatos knew better. Now he knew exactly what it was that made Koschei and Stryga worse than even him — they would never be able to care for anyone. Not the way he cared for Bethsevah. Not the way he cared for the world she loved. 
“I won’t do it,” she growled.
“Then they’ll die,” he said, with a tone of finality that could only belong to a death god. “Everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you care about. I know my brother. Koschei craves attention and devotion above all else. He won’t let you worship your Mother. He won’t stop until you all kneel or until you’re ashes in the wind. Beth—” He wrenched her hands back from where she covered her eyes, refusing to even look at him. 
He tucked his crooked finger beneath her chin, coaxing her gaze up. Together they were storm clouds blanketing an eternal night. A lightning strike — brief and chaotic and electrifying. 
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” she whispered, steel laced in her soft voice, “You don’t know what you’re offering.” 
He smiled, sad and simple. “I know exactly what I’m offering up.”
“Once I lock you in The Prison, I won’t be able to let you out. No one will. You’ll be trapped there for eternity.” She shivered, closing her eyes. She wouldn’t wish that fate upon her worst enemy, but her mate? She shook her head. 
“I know.” 
“No, you—”
“I have seen the first fall of snow on a new world. I have seen entire cities leveled to dust with no survivors. I’ve lived thousands of years. I understand.”
“We’ll find a way. Kosch—” 
“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, “Back at the cabin? You were made to ruin me, Beth. And I will let you do it a million times over. Without hesitation.” 
You and Feyre felt Beth’s pain as acutely as if you shared the same heart.
“I wish she hadn’t done it,” Beth whispered, “I wish the Mother had never created me to be your mate.” 
“I don’t.” Thanatos leaned his forehead against Beth’s and got lost in her. “There is no other way, Bethsevah.” He kept saying her name, like just speaking the word and feeling the shapes it took in his mouth would prolong the time they had together. Would tie them together more surely than the bond that burned in their chests.
She felt the battleground slip beneath her feet and no amount of power, no amount of willpower, could change it. 
He brushed back her hair and trailed one of his slender fingers down the curve of her cheek ending one teardrop’s race to her chin. “Mating bonds are powerful things, Beth. Your magic — your blood — and yours alone will be able to cut through my defenses and sever me from my power. I want you to take it and lock me away. Once my magic is yours, Stryga won’t be able to see you coming and you’ll be able to take her power as well. So long as you leave Koschei for last it may just be enough power to rid him from this earth once and for all.” 
“You’d have me do this. Destroy you and your family. This is what you want?”
Thanatos hesitated. “I am not a good male. But this… this will have to be enough. This is what I want, Bethsevah. For you and your family to live. To be happy and safe.”
“I won’t be happy, “ she said, eyes now flat and dull as the silver coins they placed over the dead, “I won’t take anyone else.”
“I want you to,” he begged, “I want you to marry and to have children. I want you to grow your family so that one day, if I ever do make it out of that Prison, I’ll still see pieces and memories of you roaming this earth. That’s all I want, Bethsevah, and it’s already more than I deserve.” 
“I’ll find a way,” Beth promised. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I swear it.” 
“Don’t make any bargains with me.” He smiled sadly, thumb wiping away at her cheeks, “That’s what got us into this mess.”
Finally she laughed, just a little. “I don’t regret it.” 
“Neither do I.”
The memory froze. A moment in time trapped like a beetle in amber.
A hand grabbed Feyre by her shoulders and swung her around. You stood there cloaked in pale, golden light, your eyes shining like copper coins. When you opened your mouth, you spoke in Beth’s voice.
Thanatos told me that magic runs in blood — familiar, same. But mates are different. Powerful. Their magic can protect one another. Identify one another across space and across time. But they can also turn on each other viciously. A lock and a key. Madness and salvation.
What I could destroy in Thanatos, I stood a chance at destroying in his siblings.
Your face fell, hauntingly beautiful in the glow of your powers. 
But I couldn’t do it. Not in the way he asked. I took his power. I locked him in that Prison. I bound Stryga to her cabin in the woods. But I didn’t kill Koschei when I should have. When the power of three gods was coursing through my veins and stripping me down to my bones, when I had enough light within me to see the birth and death of stars and the face of the Mother, I couldn’t do it. 
I thought I would be capable of destroying Koschei and freeing Thanatos, but I couldn’t do either. I had only enough sanity left to take that power and bury it somewhere Koschei couldn’t touch. To trap him on the lake where he can live in madness knowing his magic is so close by and yet locked away. Unreachable. 
I’ve done my part. I’ve had my children. I’ve left my mark on the world, great and terrible as it is. If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood. 
And if you have any love for me at all, find a way to release Thanatos. That is what I ask of you.
Bethsevah’s calls had never been answered, at least not by her children. You knew this much in your heart. Thanatos — The Bone Carver — had freed himself thousands of years later only to die beneath the Cauldron’s power. 
You whispered a silent prayer to the Mother. You hoped the Bone Carver was at peace now. Now that he must be with his Beth. 
Azriel was screaming your name, broken cries cutting through the quiet of the marketplace. You’d never thought him capable of such a wretched noise. 
The High Lady sat shock still above you with tears streaming down her face. Grey eyes glistening.
<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->
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Author's Note:
I apologize if you thought I'd forgotten about the plot with Koschei and was just writing cute, fluffy scenes between our favorite Librarian and our favorite Batboy. But you also should've remembered that I burned this girl's house down and had her kill a another character in self defense so... this was coming... sorry...
This is by far the chapter I've been most nervous about posting because it's where I start to tie together all the weird loose threads that have been accumulating throughout this story so I am very much open to feedback on how I can do things better and on how I can make things clearer moving forward. Or! If you thought I did a good job and are intrigued, I'd appreciate it if you let me know that too!
But anyway thanks for reading 😅.
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strangersteddierthings · 1 year ago
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"I think we should break up," is what Eddie blurts the moment Steve opens the front door to reveal him.
Steve's first reaction is anger -how dare he?- but he doesn't do anything with that anger. Instead, he takes a deep breath through his nose, crosses his arms, and looks Eddie over.
He's breathing heavily yet his van is parked along the curb. He didn't run here. His hair, while never tame, looks rougher. He is fidgeting but in a nervous way, not his usual too much energy way. His eyes are wide and scared. It's the last bit there that drains Steve's anger.
Something's happened.
He drops his arms and says, "well, you're not dumping me on my porch. Get in here."
This doesn't seem like the response Eddie was expecting. Even though he has been looking at Steve this whole time he still manages to do a double take at him. Steve just shoves the door open a bit wider when he turns and heads back to the kitchen, where the dishes are not washing themselves because he doesn't have a dishwasher.
"I-I'm serious, Steve," Eddie is stammering behind him, which is good. Means he did follow. Steve hears the door shut and the shuffling sound of what he assumes is Eddie trying to pull off his combat boots without untying them, like the animal he is.
"Don't shout at me in my own home! Get in this kitchen," Steve shouts, then smiles and relishes in the offended huff Eddie lets out because Steve is the one shouting. Steve picks up the dish towel he'd deposited on the counter and throws it back over his shoulder, then get back to the dishes. There's just a couple bowls and a pot left, might as well get them done.
The sink is perpendicular to the doorway, so he watches Eddie slink into the small galley kitchen, stopping just inside the doorway to frown at Steve. "I'm breaking up with you and you're just, what, gonna wash dishes?"
"You're not breaking up with me, but yes. Look, one bowl down already. Just two more dishes."
"I- what. Yes, I am!"
"Edifer, you are 24 years old. That's much too old to just show up, yell 'we're over' at someone and run away. We're going to talk about this," he's not sure if it's the nickname, or the scolding parent voice he's put on, but it gets a huff of laughter from Eddie, and he counts it as a win.
"Alright, dad."
Steve grins, "I'll be dad if you be Daddy."
There's some sputtering from Eddie, and Steve gets the final dish done before Eddie says, "you can't just say that when I'm breaking up with you! That's- that's manipulative!"
He shrugs in response. "Seems fair. You're messing with my feelings; I'm messing with your feelings."
Those words freeze Eddie, and Steve can see him processing the words. Did Eddie really not consider that Steve had feelings involved? "I- that's... um."
He takes his time to unplug the sink, rinsing away the left-over bubbles before drying his hands and turning around. Eddie looks less wild and scared, now. More conflicted and uncertain. Which could be a good or bad thing. "Did you think you would just come over, break up with me, and I'd be, like, completely fine with it?"
"No," Eddie is quick to say, "Not completely fine but like, fine enough. It's- we've only been together for a month."
Steve frowns at that. He's not going to take offense to the 'only' added in there, because he's grown a lot over the last four years. He's mature now. "Sure, but beyond that, we've been friends since the world almost ended. I don't understand. I thought we were on the same page, here."
Eddie's fidgety again, in the bad way, pacing up and down the length of the kitchen. "What if this was a mistake?"
"What if it wasn't?"
That stops Eddie in his tracks, whipping around to look at Steve. "What if this goes bad? What if you meet someone else and they can give you everything I can't? What if-"
"Whoa, Eddie!" Steve shoves off the sink and gets to Eddie in two steps. His hands come up, hovering. He wants to touch, comfort, but... well, if he allowed to? "I- where's all this coming from?"
"Dustin and Suzie broke up!"
"What?"
"Dustin and Suzie broke up!! They were the forever couple! Perfect for each other! If they couldn't make it work, how am I supposed to be able to?"
Ah. The root of it. Eddie, afraid he's not good enough. Fuck it. Eddie can shove him off if he doesn't want Steve to touch him. He slides an arm around Eddie's waist, his other hand going up to caress his cheek before cupping it, a move he knows makes Eddie melt like cotton candy on the tongue. "Eddie, baby, we make it work by working on it. Not just giving up."
Eddie does melt into Steve, his own arms wrapping around Steve (probably against Eddie's will). "I- I don't know what I'm doing. I'm gonna fuck this up and you'll hate me, and everything will be ruined."
"Well, that's melodramatic."
Eddie glares at him even as he nuzzles into Steve's palm. "Rude."
"Baby, so long as you just talk to me, we'll be okay. Don't just show up and declare you're gonna break up with me. I think there's some steps we can take before it gets to that."
He watches Eddie swallow thickly before he nods his head. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
"So, we okay? You aren't gonna break my heart?"
Eddie whimpers at that, throwing himself forward to shove his face into Steve's neck. Steve settles his hand on the back of Eddie's head, idly scratching it while his other arm tightens its hold. When Eddie speaks, it's muffled and directly into his skin. "No. No breaking hearts."
"Hmm, good," Steve says, content to hold his boyfriend in his kitchen for however long Eddie wants to be held.
He'll call and check in on Dustin a bit later, too.
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justporo · 1 year ago
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Even more fluffy relationship headcanons for Astarion and Tav
Listen guys, I'm not done yet. For now, as soon as I get one idea out, three more pop up in my mind and since you guys seem to really like these (it's seriously and positively insane to me), I'll happily provide you more as long as I am able to. So, let's-a go: more headcanons and little ideas about them being together!
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(I formerly used an reuploaded and stolen version of this gif here - I didn't check where it came from and that wasn't right - I'm sorry!)
You love when Astarion smiles at you - just openly and full of joy; the sort of smile you've rarely seen from him during your adventures but they keep getting more and more, also they make him look just so young and carefree and beautiful and your heart just... melts
When Astarion quickly notices how you basically faint whenever he does this, he starts employing it to work his charms on you when he needs it - not the real big and joyous smiles though because they are so real and cherished to him he wouldn't dare use it to tease or manipulate you - they're only reserved to make you happy
Charming you is like breathing to Astarion though, you are just so helpless against his flattery and flirting because why would you resist if you could just give him everything that makes him happy?
When you mention once though that you'd hope to gain some immunity to it some time, Astarion is insulted: "No, love, making you blush is my favourite thing in the world. You are so beautiful with your cheeks all flushed. As long as I have a say in it, we will never stop!"
Tav likes teasing him just as much as Astarion enjoys it the other the way around: "You know if you would stop drawing your brows together all the time, it'd take fifty years off your face immediately." Moments of silence in which Astarion is just utterly shocked by your burn, then: "Who taught you to be this brutal, darling?" You raise an eyebrow at him, he helplessly lifts his arms: "Yeah right, I have only myself to blame."
Also, Astarion and Tav are definitely the kind of power couple that throw each other meaningful sassy looks when they're with other people and those are talking shit or something
Also, afterwards they will most definitely discuss and gossip over everything they experienced
Astarion is definitely the kind of man that would shower Tav with gifts, from coming home with a single beautiful flower that "reminded me of you, my beautiful blossom" ("How cheesy..." "Ah, so rather a gouda next time?") or a nice bottle of wine to share to bigger gestures like jewelry or expensive dresses ("When am I ever gonna wear this, Astarion?" "I don't know, we'll just make an opportunity!")
Tav loves all of his gifts but probably the small ones or the hand-crafted ones the most, she's happy with the little things but Astarion insists she deserves the big ones just as much
One time though, Astarion comes home with something else entirely; it's pouring outside and he's completely drenched and hiding something in his doublet jacket; "What do you have there, Astarion, a wheel of cheese?" Astarion carefully opens up his jacket to reveal a small white kitten that is just as drenched as him and is desperately trying to cling to the vampire's chest. "I found her all alone in a dark alleyway, cold and completely soaked, I thought maybe we could take care of her and she could be friends with Scratch?", he says while he carefully lifts up the small ball of fluff with an incredible softness in his eyes. Your heart is thoroughly melting as you walk over to them and you give Astarion the most loving of kisses
Well, the last one would almost be a drabble on it's own, I saw a similar post that made me think of this (I will find and tag them later!) Hope you enjoyed and I'm late for work now, whoops...
This is the post I mentioned before, by @mushy6902 (I hope it's okay I wrote a somewhat similar idea, thanks for inspiring me!)
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primofate · 4 months ago
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A Shot in The Dark (Chapter 2) Wriothesley x fem!reader
Summary: As the upcoming Weapons Master of the town, you've started to take more responsibilities in your father's shop. Little did you know that taking up this job would cause you to get thrown into the messy world of criminals and the messy world of confusing feelings for the Duke of Meropide.
Warnings: blood and talks about the use of blood for something unconventional, some might find it disturbing.
Read other parts: Chapter 1
Wriothesley didn’t show up.
Not the day after, nor the day after that.
At first you wondered if he was thoroughly offended by you not remembering who he was, but on second thought, he didn’t really seem like the type of guy to be offended by someone—especially you—not remembering his name.
And so the days passed by normally, the usual number of customers, the usual number of people walking in and asking general questions about weapons and the like. No sign of Wriothesley, nor any other “celebrity”.
It was a week after meeting the Duke that the shop door nearly flew off its hinges and in came a man with a sword strapped on his back.
You took one look at him—scraggly beard, mid 40s, head of hair that was somewhat long, but tied back into a small tail—and was immediately transported to a conversation with your father.
“We usually don’t judge books by its covers, Y/N, but you’ll know when to deny service to someone,” your father exclaimed, magnifying glass in one hand, pointed at a piece of metal.
You purse your lips at the statement, watching him quietly, until you had to ask. “What do you mean? How would I know if they were good or bad people? There’s no way to tell in such a short amount of time,”
Your father muses a bit, a slight hum emanating from his chest. He puts the magnifying glass down and meets your gaze. “Sometimes, your instincts just know, my dear,” he smiles a tiny one. “Our talent of fixing any weapon in existence may be a mundane skill…but weapons are powerful things Y/N! There are times where we have to stop and think, will I be doing the right thing if I fix this?”
“Good afternoon,” the man speaks and you blink back to present day. He stands confident in front of the counter and pierces you with his gaze. There is nothing inherently wrong with how he looked, but you could tell he wasn’t from Fontaine, and there was a strange feeling of anxiety trying to surface from the bottom of your stomach.
Instinct, huh?
You smile at the man. “Good afternoon,” you reply, eyes darting up to the hilt of his sword, peeking behind his back. “How can I help you today?”
The man moved with a type of grace and fluidity that told you he was no ordinary citizen. He most likely had been wielding a sword for years. His hand came up to the hilt of his sword and he pulled at it until it came off its scabbard, revealing that the blade was a blood red colour.
You controlled a shiver that ran up your spine as the man laid the peculiar looking sword on the counter. On closer inspection, the hilt was a deep purple. And the blade was a natural red colour—for a moment you thought that it had been dipped in blood—it was, to your knowledge, a katana, and a very beautiful albeit uniquely coloured one. The wear and tear was visible and you knew that this weapon was most likely centuries old. You dare not to touch it.
“What’s wrong with it?” You simply ask, prying your eyes away from the weapon and towards the man.
The man doesn’t show any sign of disappointment nor worry. “It’s not as strong as it previously was,” he explained. “I assume it needs a bit of refinement,”
A bit, was an understatement. It needed A LOT of refinement. It was an old blade, anyone could see that, weapons master or not. Your hands hovered above it and you ask, just as you always do “May I?”
Your hand inched closer as the man nodded and you took time to run your hand over the entirety of the sword. It had…a lot of ill intent. How you could tell, you weren’t quite sure. It was not wholly about its colour, but its aura, and how heavy and tired it looked.
“…I’m sorry, I can’t fix this,”
It’s time for this blade to rest.
You never thought that you would decline someone of service, it just didn’t seem like something that would happen.
“Do you know of Dendrobium flowers?” The man’s voice is rather low, but still smooth and somewhat friendly.
You blink up at him, taken aback by the sudden topic change. “…I can’t say I do,”
He talks, and while he talks he tries to retrieve something from his rucksack. “Dendrobium. A rare and expensive plant, found in Inazuman soil,” he takes a small box and opens it, revealing a blood red flower that you’ve never seen in your life before. “Rumor has it that these plants are watered using blood,”
There’s a small pause. A moment for you to internalize the information he just shared, and you were sure now, that there was something strange going on with your customer.
“…Mmhmm,” you let out quietly with a small nod, not knowing what else to say, feeling the atmosphere in the shop grow colder.
“The bloodier and more brutal the battlefield, the more lovely the Dendrobium blooms,” he closes the box, and hands it over to you. “Consider it, a gift,” he takes his blade in his hand and stretches it out for you to see clearly. “This here, is Muramasa… and the only way to fix him…is to refine him with Dendrobium ore,” He sheathes the katana onto his back and levels his gaze back towards you. “…but, it’s been centuries, since anyone has seen a Dendrobium ore. People say that the Dendrobium flowers crystallize when it’s been watered with enough blood…and yet I haven’t seen a single Dendrobium ore in my life,”
You stay silent, merely letting him finish his story.
“Well then, ma’am, I’ll be on my way. My thanks, for taking a look at Muramasa,” he tips his head forward, turns, footsteps towards the door, pulls it open and he pulls it close again as he leaves.
You stand still, the flower box in your hand. You wait a few minutes before you can completely feel yourself relax back into your normal state—you hadn’t even realized that you had been tense the whole time—and your eyes drop back to the small black box.
…Does he know? I’ll have to tell father about this…
And just as you always do with your other customers, you try to replay the interaction back in your head, to see if you missed anything or if you said anything wrong. The next customer didn’t come in until lunch time, so you were thankful that you had time to unpack your interaction with the strange man whose name you didn’t get.
The more you thought about it, the stranger it had been, or perhaps he was merely an eccentric? Still, it was completely unnecessary to tell a long-winded story about the Dendrobium…what was his purpose?
“You look out of sorts today,” A smug, familiar voice echoes through the shop. Wriothesley is suddenly there, you hadn’t even heard the door open nor the bell ring.
“Oh, Wriothesley,” you absentmindedly let out, snapping out of thought, eyes adjusting to the view in front of you rather than staring off into space. “Welcome back,” you give a small smile, which has the man a little suspicious.
He thought you were just tired, and maybe hungry, it is lunch time after all, but on closer inspection Wriothesley was conscious of the deeper frown lines you wore. Something as subtle as that, he would notice. Having a good eye for detail was one of his job descriptions.
“Ah, she finally remembers my name,” He takes a jab at you, grin appearing on his features. You can’t help the upward tug of your lips, and refrain from rolling your eyes. You don’t get to retort back because he follows up almost immediately: “Something happen?” He has his gauntlets tucked under his arm yet again, his frame seems taller today, or perhaps you were just feeling small after your weird interaction with your earlier customer.
“…Nothing for you to worry about,” You give a real smile this time, eyes darting over to his gauntlets. “Just…mulling over some fixes,”
It was convincing to the normal person, but to Wriothesley, it was a good attempt at diverting his attention from the real problem. Nevertheless, he didn’t push it, and set his gauntlets down on the counter for you. “Brought these back… I would’ve been back earlier but things happened at the Fortress…” he chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had done something disappointing.
The sight made you raise an eyebrow in amusement, mouth turning up the slightest bit more. He seemed to have a talent for making people feel at ease. “That’s nothing to apologize for, it’s your job,” your hands rest on his gauntlets, remembering the exact fix that it needed. “I say I’ll be done with this in 3 hours. You can come back for it right around then,”
He made a sound of understanding watching you start to take tools out to finish up the work. Wriothesley seemed to pause for a moment, his weight shifting from his left to his right. “You’re not getting lunch?”
You shake your head no, “I tend not to get hungry when I’m busy…or I guess I get too occupied with things and forget to eat,”
He again indicated that he heard you with a slight hum, but adds “…Well I’m reminding you now. Café Lutece is just down the road from here,” he points his thumb behind him. You look up to blink at him, your mind blank for a moment.
Was he asking you to eat with him or was he telling you to eat by yourself? You weren’t quite sure and you were stuck about what to say, until he made it clearer to you.
“Come on, I haven’t eaten either.” He jerked his head towards the shop door, indicating that he was about to go, and it sounded like he wasn’t going to offer again.
“Mm…” You think aloud, loosening your hold on the screwdriver in your hand. “I…guess I could go,” you decide, and its as if he relaxes the slightest bit more, waiting for you to walk around the counter, then walking ahead to hold the shop door open for you.
As you lock the shop up for lunch, you turn to him when done, somehow completely forgetting about your strange customer earlier, pointing a finger up to make a point “Lunch break is one hour max, otherwise, I’m charging you a late fee!”
Wriothesley chuckles, “and I thought I was a hard worker,” as the two of you walk together towards the restaurant down the road.
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eponymous-rose · 1 year ago
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A little thing I'm also really appreciating in this rewatch of TNG is something that seems to have all but disappeared in the age of tightly plotted, entirely serialized eight-episode miniseries TV: little slice-of-life moments that don't serve any driving plot purpose except to flesh out the world a little bit.
The scene with Picard's hairdresser earnestly telling him how he should better have handled diplomatic relations with the Romulans doesn't serve a deep narrative purpose in the sense of echoing the themes of the episode or foreshadowing some important moment with that hairdresser. It's there to share a little picture of the world - yes, there are still hairdressers in the future, yes, there's still awkward small-talk with said hairdressers. There's also the nice little reminder in all these domestic scenes that normal life is happening aboard the Enterprise, families and all, which adds to the sense of danger when the ship's in peril and paints the moments of war and conflict as uncomfortable juxtapositions. It's not there to serve the plot, it's there to build the world. And the characters! Picard's mostly-polite demurs, the reveal that Riker has been 100% humoring this guy like "oh man, we should've thought of that, you're so right". There's no reason to include it beyond reveling in the world.
I really miss that about a lot of modern TV - we get these needle-sharp hard dives through a world, coherent and concise and often quite lovely, but trying to take in the scope of the world around that plot is like watching out the window of a fast-moving train: you're getting nothing more than vague impressions at a remove. It's the difference between a guided tour of a museum and a self-guided tour: sometimes, at some museums, you just want to meander around a bit at your own pace and let it wash over you.
Given the choice, I'll almost always fall deeper in love with a show that's criticized for "filler" or "monster of the week" because I know it'll give its characters and its universe time to grow. That's what drew me to TV in the first place - I adore movies, but there's only so much you can do with character and world in 2-3 hours. Lately a lot of TV seems to be seen as a rather long movie with the odd break where you get up to make popcorn midway through. I think there's something unique about the format of television that's being lost in this attempt to emulate the structure of a movie, in the same way that some novels feel like they might as well just have been novellas or short stories. It's not just a longer version of the same thing. It has the potential to be something entirely different.
Give me the bloated 20-odd-episode seasons of the 90s and 00s, where characters grew and changed slowly, by inches, and we had the time to change along with them. I love the new stuff, don't get me wrong, but I sure miss that specific brand of mess.
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rafedarling · 4 months ago
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𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧
pairing: drew starkey x reader
summary: back to the 1980s era, in a quiet corner of southern italy, you and drew find solace in each other’s company on a rainy evening. the two of you sit by the pool, with “downtown” by triathalon playing on an old radio. you, with your red lipstick and nightgown, enjoy a cigarette while drew swims languidly in the pool. the conversation between you unfolds softly, revealing the deep connection and unspoken emotions shared between you. | word count: 615 (small drabble 🫣)
warning(s): english is not my native language. contains smoking, reflective conversations, and a tranquil, nostalgic atmosphere filled with tender moments.
au: like, reblog and comment are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. taglist | tagging: @rafeyslamb @mileyraes @xoxohoneymoongirl @enjoymyloves @tracymbcm @rubixgsworld @akobx @maybankslover @nemesyaaa
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“Do you think the rain will ever stop?” Drew’s voice drifted from the pool, soft and contemplative, as he floated on his back, his eyes fixed on the cloudy sky above.
You took a slow drag from your cigarette, savoring the familiar taste. The rain was a steady drizzle, tapping gently against the surface of the pool and mixing with the dreamy melody of “DOWNTOWN” playing from the old radio.
“I don’t know,” you replied, your voice calm and unhurried. “But I kind of like it… the rain, I mean.”
Drew turned his head to look at you, his lips curving into a lazy smile. “You like everything, don’t you? The rain, the quiet, the music…” He let his voice trail off, his tone filled with a kind of admiration.
You shrugged lightly, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you exhaled the smoke. “What’s not to like? It’s peaceful. Feels like the world slows down, like we’re the only ones here.”
“Yeah,” Drew murmured, his gaze lingering on you. He swam closer, resting his arms on the pool’s edge beside where you sat. “And you… you look like you belong in a painting, you know that?”
You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, though you played it off with a small laugh. “You’re always saying things like that. I’m just sitting here, Drew.”
He shook his head, droplets of water trickling down his face. “No, it’s more than that. The way the rain falls around you, the way you sit there with your red lips and your nightgown…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “It’s like you’re part of this place, part of the moment. I can’t look away.”
His sincerity caught you off guard, making your heart beat a little faster. You glanced away, focusing on the faint glow of your cigarette as it burned down. “You always know how to make something simple sound like poetry.”
“Maybe that’s because you make the simple things feel special,” Drew replied quietly, his eyes never leaving yours.
You looked at him then, really looked at him, with the rain running down his face and that earnest expression in his eyes. There was something about the way he was watching you, something deeper than just the words he was saying. You could feel the weight of it, the unspoken connection between you, humming softly like the music in the background.
You leaned down a little closer, a smirk on your lips. “You’re not just trying to distract me from your bad swimming, are you?”
Drew laughed, the sound rich and warm, cutting through the quiet. “Hey, I’m not that bad! But if it means I get to hear you laugh, maybe I’ll take the blame.”
You shook your head, grinning as you flicked the ash from your cigarette. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Maybe,” he conceded, still smiling as he propped his chin on his arms, staring up at you with that same, soft look. “But at least I’m good company, right?”
You felt your chest tighten slightly, a warmth spreading through you despite the coolness of the rain. “The best,” you admitted softly, feeling the truth of it settle between you.
The song on the radio faded out, the last notes lingering in the air, and you both sat there in comfortable silence, the rain and the quiet stretching out the moment.
Drew reached out and gently took your hand in his, the touch warm and grounding, and you knew that in this quiet corner of the world, with the rain falling around you and the echoes of music in the air, you’d found something rare and beautiful.
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